The Prodigal Child - I, Catalyst

Rebellion, Recklessness, Realization, Repentance, Restoration
Mail The Prodigal Child
The Prodigal Child's Home

Sometimes, lying next to her, it's hard to think of anything else. Looking at the tiny dimple, the one made by the gentle smile she always wears when she's asleep, wondering at the dusting of freckles light enough that you can't tell they're there unless you know where to look, it kind of makes everything else seem so much less important. Sometimes, when it's too much to resist, I'll lay a hand above her ear and smooth her hair back, because she always reacts the same way. The smile gets a little curvier and she nuzzles her head into my shoulder.

Today though, there's none of that. She was up before me, and now she's standing at the side of the bed, looking down at me.

"Get up." She extends one hand, palm down, fingers splayed, and helps me stand. "You've got things to do today, right?"

I nod and grunt, thinking foggy-morning-thoughts that it's good she knows not to take my morning demeanor personally. I'm no good fresh out of bed. Once I get my jeans pulled up, she stops me from closing them to raise my arms and pull a shirt down over my head. Before I get it adjusted around the shoulders, she's done up my fly and smacked me on the ass. Just as quickly, she grins, pecks me on the cheek, and pushes me out of the room.

She's right, of course. I do have things to do. People to meet, places to be, it's that whole responsibility thing. All in all, it's not a bad day though. There's not too much traffic in the morning. Nothing breaks at work. My team is actually a little ahead of schedule on the latest project. We're not doing anything special, just a custom job for some hole-in-the-wall body shop somewhere down state. They're a little annoying, they call every couple of days asking if we can make it do this or telling us they made a mistake and they need it to do that but they're not the worst client we've ever had by far.

Today though, there's none of the calls, and it's business as usual. I manage to get away from the team for lunch, something I do every now and then because I never was very social, and I like to treat myself to some down-time during the day when I think I'll be able to enjoy it. I was right this time, and I enjoy it very much. I tip my glass and drink a silent toast to my girl. And, on further thought, to her freckles.

The rest of the day passes just like the morning. Snag-free and generally pleasant. On the way home from work I stop for some fudge-swirl ice cream and a small bouquet. I get home and she greets me in the living room with a hug and a quiet smile. I give her my surprises and get rewarded with a second hug, tighter than the first.

After a dinner of chicken we curl up on the sofa and watch a horror movie, one of the old ones. We take turns pretending to be startled and clinging to each other, until I point out that we're both awful at acting scared. She agrees, and we spend the rest of the movie getting startled more and more dramatically until we're laughing too hard to keep it up. The movie ends and we move to the kitchen, where we spend about an hour sharing a bowl of ice cream and telling each other stories we've told each other dozens of times before.

When the bowl is empty, we leave it in the sink and I lead her off to bed. She turns off the lights while I doff my clothes and climb under the blanket. She sits on the side of the bed and I watch as she bares herself, then I hold the cover open until she joins me. I'm struck, as I usually am by about this time, with wonder that she can be so warm, and I close my eyes to focus on the feel of her thigh against the side of mine and that of her arm lain over my stomach. A bit of quiet kissing later, we tangle ourselves up with each other and fall asleep.

When I wake up next, it's not yet morning, but again she's awoken before me. She's sitting in the dark on the side of the bed with one hand curled around the corner and the other in her lap. I hear the click. I put the pad of one finger at the back of her neck and she nods. I run my palm down her spine and squeeze one of her hips.

"I love you." The bedclothes rustle as I put my hands behind my head and lace my fingers together.

She turns around and lays along my side, pressed close, and lays a weight on my stomach. "I love you, too."

I nod. "I know."

The weight slithers quietly up my chest. It's coldness makes the warmth of her arm behind it feel a little strange. I settle myself into the bed, relaxing, and feel the muzzle of the weight touch me under the chin.

She smiles, and it's the sleeping smile, the one that gives her dimples. It's the first time I've ever seen her smile like that awake, it's stunning, and it's okay that I'll never have time to smile back at her.