The Five-Minutes Late 5:30 Train

5:30

There’s no chance my watch is wrong.  I admit to my obsessive-compulsive act of changing the battery every six months and calling the automated time service once a week (just to make any fine adjustments).  Hey, everyone has their vice; at least mine doesn’t involve carcinogens or one-armed bandits.

No, my watch isn’t wrong.  The train is late.  How long will I have to wait?  Two minutes?  Ten minutes?

5:31

It doesn’t really matter anyway.  I’m already home in my mind.

The instant I walk in the front door, I feel the day’s grit slough-off, falling to the floor like so much swampy residue.  Cleansed, refreshed, I seek you out.  I open my senses, trying to catch a lingering scent, an echoing whisper, a fleeting luminescence.

I do not call out your name (though I repeat its beauty endlessly in my mind - Tasha).  The search is an adventure to be relished; an adult Hide and Seek.

Gliding effortlessly through the furniture minefield in the living room, I make for the hallway and the bedrooms beyond.  I have no hint yet of your whereabouts.  The house is as silent as any suburban home is expected to be, but you are here nonetheless.  That much I can sense.

Tasha

Past Rockwell prints on the left, darkened bathroom and guest room on the right, I approach the open door to the master bedroom.

I realize before I even enter the room that you are not there, but I play the game.  I check the walk-in closet, the master bathroom, even under the bed for good measure (if I had a nickel for every time you’ve jumped out of unexpected places and scared the hell out of me….).

Returning to the living room, I extend my mental antennae even further, my senses probing far ahead of my vision.

Tasha

Amazingly, I can not pick out any trace of your perfume, usually a dead giveaway.  You are truly an enigma today.  My thoughtful smirk slowly widens into a sly smile.

Consciously controlling my pace, I make my way into the kitchen.  The refrigerator’s humming-buzzing distorts any potential hints of your presence.  I pause, listening to the motor’s whirring fury.  I could wait here for a few more minutes.  Wait for the refrigerator to complete its cycle and fall silent.  But that would be cheating.

Instead, I move toward the dining room, barely glancing at your car keys on the table.  For all I know, you could have planted them there to intentionally throw me off course.

Tasha

To the right of the table is a door to the laundry room and utilities.  You could be just beyond that door, neatly ironing tomorrow’s ensemble or accurately eyeing a measure of laundry detergent.  My senses tell me otherwise.  But I willingly play the game, feeding off of the forced deliberation, devouring that gut-tingling bittersweet anxiousness.

The door hinges squeal like a rusty tricycle wheel, then a universal silence greets me through the open door.  The smell of Spring-scented Tide eddies around me on the currents stirred by the opening door.

Tasha

Other than a few stray articles of clothing, the room is virtually spotless and uninhabited, yet a childlike jubilation spreads through my body, encouraging my heart to beat just a little faster.  There is only one more place for you to be, and despite a hint of disappointment that the game will soon end, sheer pleasure pushes through to the surface and shines upon my face:  The pleasure of knowing I will soon be holding you in my arms, softly nuzzling your silky neck; ultimately swimming in your sweetness.

Tasha

I turn around and walk straight across the dining room to the French doors, which open onto the backyard deck.  As I touch the brass colored doorknob, Recognition rides a lightning bolt through my body.  As if sensing the residue from your delicate fingers, I know you have been here.  For a brief moment I bask in the overwhelming familiarity of your touch, virtually envious of the doorknob’s recent intimacy with you.

Tasha

My desires escalate at the mere notion of what lies beyond, and I tear open the door in an adrenaline fit, no longer able to feign calm and patience.  The redwood deck stretches before me, alternating sections of diagonal planks that momentarily confuse my vision.  I teeter on the threshold, suddenly unsure of the world’s solidity.  My eyes ping-pong around the backyard, unfocused yet determined.

Tasha

I step tentatively onto the deck, somehow simultaneously aware of both the placement of my foot below and the presence of a curious mermaid-shaped cloud above, swimming in the vast deep blue of the sky.  I hear the door close behind me, although I don’t consciously recall pulling it shut.  Suddenly, the world is alive with noise, as if I just exited the cottony realm of a padded cell.  Sounds of birds chirping and flapping, dogs barking, squirrels chattering, kids frolicking, cars, garage doors, radios.  A symphony in chaos.  And behind it all - a voice - calling my name.

Tasha

Unsure of myself, I strain to block everything else out, listening for it again.  Applause cascades from the nearest tree as Nature’s breath rises briefly.
Block it all out.  Listen.
There it comes again, a nearly musical voice inquiring of my presence.  Silence returns to the world as I focus on the voice and home in on its source.  Around the corner of the house, by the pool - that is where you are.

Tasha

My gelatinous legs shuffle to the corner of the house and, miraculously, down the two steps onto the grass.  My eyes scan the pool area, at first finding nothing to reveal your presence.  Then, at last, a slight bobbing in the water at the near side of the pool.  If only my legs will carry me that far.

Tasha

I seem to float the last few yards to the edge of the pool.  My shadow moves across your body floating so carefree in your liquid cocoon.  You tilt your head up to the sky and gaze into my face.

Those eyes.  Those lips.  That smile.

You ask me a couple questions about my day, but I have already decided not to answer.  To answer would require thought and reflection of the day’s activities, and that is exactly what I want to avoid.  Instead, I answer your questions with gestures, kneeling on the edge of the pool above you, cradling your head softly in my hands, indulging in the bliss of your kiss, whispering I-Love-You’s in you ear…

And the chaos of sound suddenly returns.  Footsteps, people talking, yelling - how many hundreds of conversations?

Tasha

Your vision lingers, but I know now it is not real.  A rush of wind and the squeal of steel finally bring me back to the train station.

5:35

I am surrounded by swarms of strangers complaining about the train being late.

Funny, I hadn’t really noticed.

Don L. Waddell, 1997