Monday, January 15, 2007
Of things I leave unsaid...
Assalamualaikum wrh. wbt.
Late last night, I had to get something out of my system. And I figured that like with all other things, I could do it by writing something. Anything. I didn't really care what is was about.
But somehow, I got this story that really wasn't my thing at all. It's so unlike me. But I figure that maybe I've been influenced a lot by the babies around me: the ones growing up like lightning, the ones I've only recently knew existed, the ones to come, and the ones who remind me so much of me and the fact that I really need to grow up sometime soon.
Maybe it's because I've stood by and watched my cousins get married and build families of their own, quietly sympathizing with the difficulty of growing up, and not wishing the same for myself.
Allahu'alam.
But this story is pretty weird, and pretty short. And also, pretty much the only I've written in so long. And in the present tense, too. An experiment, of sorts.
So here you go:
He simply stares as long strands of her dark hair flutter over her face. Allowing himself a small smile, he remembers a time when he couldn’t even so much as glance in the direction of her head without a hearty blush. This, this ability to do without the infamous blush, is rather liberating.
She is reading about physics as she sits by the wide windowsill overlooking their backyard. It is one of the books he‘s started using in his lectures. Ever since the day she weaselled out an eternal permission to use all his things at all times, she has taken liberties with his share of books in their joint study. It suits him, anyway. He rather likes that the written word is a passion they both share. She has a head filled with daydreams dating back to her childhood, while he favours factual works on tangible topics. Together, he knows that they make up a sort of balance, like the Yin/Yang ideogram he remembers from his schooldays.
She looks up at him and makes a face. She has a silly smile on her face as he throws his head back and laughs, before she turns her head to look outside. He knows what she’s looking for. He planted that chestnut tree back in July with a silent plea for it to live. She wants to see chestnuts in her garden. She wants to stand back and watch as their children run about among the tall trees in the yard. He wants to grant both her wishes, but can only see one becoming real.
At times, he gets scared of looking into his wife’s face, afraid to face the familiar loss he sees. It lacks the maternal glow he’s seen in so many other female faces; the soft, gentle care that appears on their features. Something in him breaks when he watches the quiet longing in her face for the only thing he cannot give.
She has never blamed him, although she could. She mentioned to him once of her fear that he blames her instead. It is beyond his imagination. He considers himself lucky to have gotten what he once prayed so hard to get. He still mutters his appreciation to God everyday. Anything beyond her would be wonderful, but he can be satisfied with only this.
They are still trying, although five years of doing so might tire other people. He knows of how young they are, still; they had married young, in college. Still, sometimes he feels a keen sense of failure, especially when they spend time with the children of their friends. He knows that she loves children, as he does. He once suggested adoption, and she had given her approval. But her eyes gave her away, as they always do, and he decided against it.
Another thing he finds so fascinating about her are her eyes. Sometimes, when they’re babysitting, she will be sitting in the backseat with the child, and he would glance in the rear-view mirror and instantly know what she is thinking of. He would know how she is feeling. Her eyes were so sad by nature before they were married, but he learned to look past the inherent sadness and to read the twinkle in her eyes like he would his most favourite book.
Tonight… he bends his knees slightly to that he can peer into her eyes from where he is standing, near but away from her. Tilting his head, he leans forward, suddenly unsure of what he sees. Again, he is amazed by her simple beauty, which she covers from being seen by all others but him. Before he knows it, he finds himself sitting in front of her, spinning the Tous ring on her finger, round and round, all the while studying her face.
There is something in her eyes; an emotion he cannot place.
Finally, she looks up, her soft smile hit by moonlight. She asks him if she looks different tonight. He shrugs in return, placing a finger on the page she is reading and closing the book around it, pulling it away from her. It surprises him that she is so wrapped up in the question that she doesn’t even notice this. He tries again to distract her by fiddling more with her wedding ring, but her intent gaze unsettles him. He gives her a definite answer; yes, she looks different tonight.
She makes him guess the reason why.
He is not able to; what is the matter? Now he is concerned, and wanting to know. But he lets her play this small game for a little while.
She asks him; what is the one thing left that she wants, but cannot seem to have? He blinks, stammers as he weighs this in his empty hands. He looks up at her, trying not to answer.
You know, she says; you always have. But now, you don’t have to be afraid to say it. You don’t ever have to say it again. She takes his hands, and he realizes he doesn’t quite get her. She says; I’m going to have what we want. She places his hand in the small space of her lower stomach.
It takes him a moment for reality to sink in. She smiles at the expression on his face. This time, he can take his time to celebrate.
Labels: writing
this has been a rant by Syazwina Saw at 2:10 am
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