A Love Story One summer day, hot and humid, she, with windows open, fans going, was standing letting the air blow an ice cube up and down her arms, around her neck, thinking, a man to run his finger up her arm like this ice cube, making goose bumps as a knock on the door made her jump, feeling guilty somehow for her thoughts. On the porch was a man looking with a grin at her feelings, she thought, selling Bibles, he said. She watched his face, not listening; the way his lips moved, the straight line of his teeth, the crease that appeared, then disappeared from the corner of his eye. She had wished for a man and this one had appeared. He told her about college and selling Bibles door to door to support himself, to help his family. He told her about his three young sisters and one brother, how his mom was sick his dad having trouble. She bought a Bible, of course. She bought a Bible, even though she already had one. How could she not buy a Bible from this man? Usually, words flowed from her like music from an early morning song- bird. How to make him stay, after the Bible was in her hand and the dull day was threatening return? The ice melted slowly in her hand making a wet spot on the bodice of her dress. She thought of the heat and this man trudging with his sacred suitcase full of the Word, and the ice slowly melting on her chances. He stayed drinking ice tea as shadows fell on the day and the afternoon breeze curled the pages of the Bible that lay on the table between them. They were married in the spring and they had just planted a garden, when he was drafted. She kept him safe under her pillow where his love touched her with long and passionate letters. Killing was not in him and he was sick from the fear of it, he said. He had seen his friend turn in the middle of a laugh into a land mine and disappear. After that he kept to himself, afraid friendship would breed more pain. One cool evening as she turned the bed down and touched the stack of envelops as tenderly as skin, she was with him in the trenches watching the quiet of the morning. She could hear the birds, her loves loud breathing and a frantic heart-beat. Was it his? Was it hers? Be still, she said, but, he was running up the hill away, away, then the hill exploded like red rain. ---------- tani
Posted on: Tue, 11 Mar 2014 10:01:34 +0000
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