“Good morning, pookie!” he cheerfully greets me at the break of dawn. His voice is the first thing I hear, waking me and cajoling me into my morning, before I even roll out of bed.
We chat, discussing our respective days, until I’m finally obligated to get up and prepare for work. I say good-bye; we’ll talk when my shift is over. It all sounds so normal. But, the reality is, this whole situation, my empty nest, is far from the norm. His voice isn’t beside me, as it should be. I’m the only one sleeping in our bed these days. Instead, he’s calling me from Las Vegas, where it’s still yesterday. He’s been working for hours, enduring the desert heat. And I’m here, shivering from the early morning chill of winter, wrapping myself in a sweater as I hop out of bed. This has become our routine. This is how we survive living on opposite sides of the International Date Line. We work, talk when possible, and look forward to seeing each other. It’s similar to our first year together, only multiplied by several thousand miles. Soon, I remind myself. He will be here soon. And he will be. Only one more week until he is back in Brisbane. It won't be long until we're reunited. Only seven short days until I’m able to touch him, feel his presence, breathe him in. Maybe then, life will begin to feel normal again.
No comments:
Post a Comment