I love her for her oblivion. The last thing I want is to carry work home. My bad days crave her company because she overlooks their power to persist through the night; gloom is disarmed and forced to fade. So when I do get home, I go to a different world where I get to actually forget about little annoyances that I can effortlessly magnify.
It’s easy with her. She makes it easy without trivialising things.
“Exams begin next week, right? Yeah, work was good. Still refining the Happy Creeks project,” I reply.
Her name is Sharadini, it means autumn and she feels like it. If you had the honour of holding her in your arms, you’d agree with me. She’s a teacher and her kids adore her. We all do.
Our backs are to each other, I’m folding clean laundry, she’s checking our bills. As I finish speaking I turn around to love her from five feet away, her silk blouse is in my hands.
I can see her concentrating. She snaps out in a second, looks at me and smiles. I die again. It’s like a wave throwing me down, drowning my heart. She’s mundane now, how can she kill me over and over with a flood like that.
“Speaking of projects, check this out,” she walks to me and grabs my hand knowing that I won’t follow her without her coaxing. She knows me and she doesn’t have time for that. I drop the blouse on the bed and we walk to the living room.
“Woah! What’s all this?”
She had opened the balcony door to almost fifteen different potted plants, a pebbled path to the center of them, and a ridiculous electrical fountain about a foot high in a corner near the switch board – a garden, our project.
We carve out a life together. It’s exciting.