Sunday, January 27, 2013

Momma by Tim Wilkinson

Affection placed in an open palm is really no affection at all.
(Wayne Wilkes)

Momma
by Tim Wilkinson

The night was exceptionally dark. Only a few lonely shafts of brash, yellowish light, seeping through the window from the street lamps below, illuminated the upstairs bedroom, and they had to shyly sneak and creep around the dark green curtains, lest, discovered, scolded and shunned.
Wayne was not aware just what had awoken him; perhaps it was the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof or the distant rumblings of thunder off to the east. Yet whatever the cause he was awake now, lying on his back on the right side, his side, of the large, wooden framed bed.
He listened silently, lying motionless in the darkness as the light, yet steady rain fell upon the roof, spattering lightly against the pains. He liked the rain. It soothed him, made him feel comfortable and safe. Bad things don’t go out in the rain and seldom come knocking, or so he believed.
As he lay, the dull rumbling of the thunder grew lighter more distant, the storms rage having passed, leaving only the calming rain and the clean, cool air. Yet it boomed and crashed in the distance, threatening worse on nights to come,
“I will be back,” it yelled in the distance. “I will be back!”
The breeze puffed through the partially opened window, constant yet light. He could hear it rushing past the leaves, teasing and toying, laughingly spinning about, testing. However, the leaves held fast, for it was but the first of September and the green still clung solidly to their surface, holding firm, flowing thick within their watery, sugar filled veins, still sticky and moist. Clinging fast to mother tree, they ignored the winds teasing and testing,
“Not tonight,” they whispered. “Not tonight. Youth still lives within us. Life still clings. Not till October, not until fall. Fly away wind. Fly away.”
Wayne only listened, smiling at their childish discourse, knowing their tone would soon change as the first frosts of winter crept upwards, and the icy fingers of blustery death plucked and snatched them from their branches, dashing them to the ground. However, for now, only play and laughter met his ears, joy and the warm September rains.
She moaned lightly stirring just a bit.
Her breathing came slow and regular and oh so soft. She lay with her head in the crook of his right arm, one forearm tossed across his bare chest, her long supple body curled tightly against his side. She had filled in a bit since the night they met, a bit rounder in the tummy, heavier in the back, yet that mattered little to him. He found her as lovely and beautiful as he had the first second he set eyes on her.
As the slight, sweet sounds escaped her pink lips, she edged ever so slightly closer beside him, pressing the soft warmth of her long body more firmly against his. Her tiny pink nose giggled and twitched as she stirred, romping through dreams meadows and the wonderlands of sleep.
Turning his head, just a smidge, he looked at her face, silent and calm, eyes closed loosely, lips gently smiling and he knew all was well. She made him feel safe, secure and cared for. She made him feel loved, needed, all the things he knew little of, until her. He put one hand over hers, pressing tenderly, evenly, lightly kissing one cheek.
As he lay, listening to the rhythm of her sleep and the symphony of heavens tears, he wondered. He wondered if she remembered, as he did, the night that they met. It was a cold and bitter night. Ice and frost coated the streets and the leafless branches as the wind howled in vicious delight and long awaited triumph. He was alone, driving up to a local convenience store for smokes and beer. He had not seen her as he went in. It was only as he exited that he first noticed her.
Yes, he remembered, as if it was yesterday. Did she?
She walked right up to him as he stood on the sidewalk, heading for his car. He knew right away that she was in trouble, big trouble, pregnant, alone, hungry and shivering. He greeted her rather suspiciously, she in return. Yet it took but one glance, one look into her eyes, one sad lonely stare and one silent moment of unexpressed need, and he was hers.
He had not asked for her attentions nor begged for her affections, she offered them freely and without cause, seeking no recourse nor recommence and he loved her for that. For affection placed in an open palm is really no affection at all.
Of course he had had to carry her to the car, as he was afraid she could not make it. He still questions whether it was he invited her, or if she invited him. He leans towards the latter, but of course, he knew, she would see it differently. Either way he took her home, to his home, empty, silent and cold, and there she stayed. She never thought of leaving. She certainly never tried, as she could have easily done so. No, she stayed, and as they say, the rest is history.
He wondered for a second, but only a wee bit of a second, a smidgen of an instant, why. Why had she stayed? Yet no sooner than that thought filled his mind, she opened her sleepy green eyes, jade colored eyes, reptilian eyes, yawning wide. Fixing her eyes on his she held, and he knew. He knew the answer, no need to ask or to doubt. He knew why she stayed. She stayed because she loved him. He loved her. That was all there was, all that there need ever be.
She pushed her head closer to his and purred. He petted the soft, long hair of her head and stroked her long, sleek back before getting up, going downstairs and filling her bowls with water and food, in case she got up in the night.
She did not follow. She understood. She waited. She always waited, waited for his return. And as he slipped easily back into bed, pulling the sheets up to his neck, she returned to her place beside him curling firmly, tightly against him.
He thought he saw just a bit of an unused kiss upon her lips but decided to take it later.
“I love you Momma Kitty,” he said.
“I love you too Dad. Goodnight,” she purred into his ear, falling quickly back in to sleep, one paw held snuggly across his bare chest.
“Yes,” he thought.
“She remembers.”
The End
© 2009, Tim Wilkinson
Author Bio:
Father of two girls, Mr. Wilkinson has been writing since the age of twelve.Recently accepted for publication in ‘The Path’, ‘The Speculative Edge’, ‘The Global Twitter Community Poetry Project, and ‘Static Movement’, he continues to write and seek new avenues for publication and distribution.After spending thirty years working in the telecommunications industry, traveling and writing in between the often conflicting commitments of family, work, home and life in general, Mr. Wilkinson now focuses more time and effort on his most enduring dream, writing. Collections of his earlier works are available online, through Amazon-dot-com. http://timwilkinson.org
 
 
 
 

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