You Remind Me Every Day

Discussion in 'Literature' started by kyo, Oct 8, 2012.

  1. kyo Wyvern

    It’s three-fifteen in the afternoon and unconsciously my phone finds its way into my hand, conveniently out of my pocket. As expected, there is a new notification announcing that you have sent another message to me. Same time every day. Same theme every day. The occurrances make the last two hours of work bearable, knowing that soon I won’t have to want to be with you.

    Today it was a reminder that my eyes makes your knees go weak. A sly smirk crawls across my face and I try to suppress it, but there’s no helping it. My fingers fly as I send off a challenge to prove your claim and quickly stow my phone out of sight before returning to the task at hand. With my spirits significantly elevated I am able to concentrate and accomplish my task. Sometimes navigating the maze to the supervisor’s office can be a challenge due to the requests to explain how smiles can exist past noon. The usual response is given:
    “Obviously I want it more than you do!”

    which does nothing but dampen their already foul mood. The familiar door frame, always open, displays a picture of a cat. Nothing special is noticeable about this cat, but most who pass by this particular office wonder why, and that may, in fact, be the reason.

    “Natalie, can you approve this before I submit it to the goblins?” my cheerful voice breaks the silence of her office, and startles her somewhat.
    “I’m sure it will be satisfactory, Erik. I trust your work,” she replies with a smile.
    My left eye winks before I reply, “Ah, but you will be to blame should there be any, what do they call them, ‘fundamental errors?’” a joke between the two of us that renders us useless due to laughter.
    “Damn you for being so happy,” she says in jealousy, I assume.
    “I’ll be sure to remember you when you’ve died of sadness,” I jab.

    The last of the time given to the company is spent on the phone with clients and a janitor; your gift is in my empty hand because the memory of the day you presented it is still a favorite memory. The time finally comes and my feet take me down the halls, down the stairs (because you want me to be more active) and out the door. Twelve blocks later you are already seated at our usual café. Sneaking behind you is easy because you are engulfed in your phone. With all the business you do on that device it begs the question, how do you remember? A quick search of your phone (while you were showering) did not reveal the obvious alarm. How do you do it?

    My fingers rub their way around the back of your neck, sending your body in a fit of frenzy. Your body is most precious to me. I embrace your neck and plop my head atop your own.

    “What did you order me?” An innocent question.
    “A guilt-salad followed by an entre of murderer-stew,” comes his quick retort.

    You stand up and turn around within my clasped hands. A quick kiss, because you don’t like the public eye. A chair opposite of yours is presented by the friendly waiter we both befriended after frequenting this quaint establishment. It cannot be denied that the food here is good, but after sampling almost every dish (something that suits my fancy, while you seem to discover your own favorite and rarely deviate) the chef is running out of ideas of spicing each plate differently.

    “Devon, please surprise me,” the request comes out seductively, and the waiter winks in reply. You pull my seat out for me and after you sit down my leg wraps itself behind yours.
    “Long day?” you ask me.
    “Not at all,” I answer. “I love you.”
  2. kyo Wyvern

    The wind must have blustered in through the open window and startled the blinds, simultaneously allowing sunlight to barrage my eyes. This seems to be the most logical explanation because when my wits return the blinds are still being pushed about. Whatever time it is, it feels like a good time to greet the day. Undress. Shower. Dress. Organize. Clean. Check phone. Shi-

    Nine unread messages. Nine of them. Exasperated, my thumb touches the screen and opens the first one. One by one I learn that the warehouse has received the instructions and will ship the products as planned, two clients ask about ask for a meeting, four questions from product testers, a note from Mother, and a notification that of a sale at my favorite department store. Relief comes along with the realization that there is still time for breakfast.

    After having eaten, your face comes into my mind and the clock cannot be found fast enough. It is a few minutes past one. Soon my heart will slow down. After finding my phone again it is time to get to work. Meetings with clients were easy to set up. Each was given two hours on Friday, which leaves two days for preparation. The first tester wanted to know why he couldn't turn the device on. Yes, he had charged it. No, he had not dropped it. No, it had not gotten wet. Perhaps the problem is electrical. Plans were made to deliver it to the engineers.
    The second tester had dropped the device in a bird-bath of all places. So far it still worked, though it had reset itself and would randomly turn off. No, it was not intentional. No, he would not tell me how he managed to accomplish such a feat. The other two testers had other issues, but their concerns were easily resolved because I had experience the same problems myself.

    At this point it is almost time. Three eleven in the afternoon. What do I long for the most? Your touch, always. The way you seem to always find that one itch I just can’t satisfy. Your quiet laugh that makes me smile every time I hear it. The way you rub your eyes when I am lucky enough to wake up before you do.
    That will do. It is time and the message is sent the moment my fingers punch the last letter.
    Now it is time to leave the apartment we share. Mail, groceries, home. The decision on what to eat for dinner is always unanswerable. This is why we meet at the café. You always tell me how much you love my cooking, but I just can’t. Not now. Why you understand is baffling. Breakfast comes easily, which is why there is always something for you to warm up each morning. Perhaps a breakfast course for dinner some night? Maybe.

    Bugger.

    It’s time to leave now. You are almost done with work and I need to be there before you get there. It is a long walk for me. Much longer than your own walk. I walk inside and Julie, the afternoon hostess, is there. We embrace because she’s a wonderful person, and you are the reason she has this job. I ask for the usual table and she escorts me outside. She tells me that yesterday after we left the restaurant was very busy and a group of loud men came in and, although they tipped well, were a nuisance. I tell her that she will not have that problem with us, and she laughs. My heart aches for her because I know that she hates the man who does not treat her the way she should. She needs to get out but she has no place to go. One day you might just find her at our house.

    I see you walking toward me, but very far off, and Julie goes back inside. My phone rings and I have to apologize to Devon, who appears behind me because the filth pouring out of my mouth was not meant for his ears. It is my boss. I update him quickly because you are almost here. He doesn't want to let me off just yet so I sit facing away from the direction you are coming from and focus on the conversation so that I can focus on you.
    The conversation ends and my heart stops.
  3. |skyki-husky| Miss Alpha - KG

    Brb worshipping everything you post-

    But no seriously your writting style just pulls me in and compelles me to every word. Please continue on and off this thread.
  4. Zai Nobody Destroyer

    with my certified review badge that i got, being an official member of the review team, i rate this 6/5 because 5/5 isn't enough
  5. kyo Wyvern

    Dinner passes quite slowly, an aspect that began to subtly present itself the more we came. Often you suggest a different place to eat, and we experiment with new tastes and atmospheres, but you are turned off by the fast-track mood that permeates most other eateries. Our plates arrive and each of us peppers Devon with questions.

    “How is the salad today,” I ask, meaning something completely different from what I am asking.
    “The salad has seen better days,” Devon responds, half of his smile disappearing. No matter what, he keeps on smiling; I wonder if the reason is because giving in would only complicate matters.
    “Well, I think we are both overdue for a ‘tasting’, don’t you think so?”
    “Very overdue,” you respond. “I wish I had thought of it sooner.”
    “When are visiting hours over?” I ask.
    “I believe eight o’clock,” Devon informs me. “But I don’t know how the medicines are affecting her.”
    “Either way, she still makes the room brighter just by being there.”

    At first your statement confuses me because you rarely compliment others out of fear of making me jealous (which you know won’t happen). But the realization that you might be saying these things to cheer him up settles in and I think I understand. Devon’s smile returns to full capacity and he moves on to other customers, leaving us to our delicious fates.

    I honestly have no idea what was set before me. Devon knows that there is only one thing to avoid ( bad food) which makes this dish all the more intriguing. The first bite reveals that it is a fish. A delicious fish! My taste buds are almost literally kicked in the face; it is delectable. And then the memory of the first time you made dinner: a savory three course meal of potato soup, filet of fish that I can’t pronounce, and homemade chocolate cake.

    “This is… No way! This is your recipe,” the words are all but a shout.
    “Really,” you say, not surprised in the least.
    “Did you tell Henry to make this for me?” I ask.
    “Yesterday I did, yes,” you answer. Your attitude of almost-not-caring-like-it’s-no-big-deal is infuriating.
    “It’s not very good,” I say, trying to torment you.
    “What? Why?” My comment catches you off guard, making what comes next all the more thrilling.
    “It’s missing something,” I say, leaning forward.
    You lean forward as well and narrow your eyes in the most flattering fashion. “What is it missing?”
    “You.” A simple statement. The distance between us closes and a quick kiss is placed upon your lip before my back straightens and another delicious morsel of delicious fish again attacks my mouth.
    Your face blushes and chuckles, soft and low, emit from your chest as you eat your own grilled turkey sandwich.

    The bill comes and is snatched before it is set down. You insist upon paying because my job pays the bills, and your endeavors presents us with “play money” as you so wittingly call it. As usual, a twenty is slipped into Devon’s pocket when he comes to collect. Hospital fees are steep, and we both agreed that our comfortable living arrangements allow us to be this charitable. However, you have had to develop a habit of ninja-ing a bill into his pocket to prevent him from declining.

    The walk to the hospital is manageable, especially when I don’t have to carry the bag containing all the papers to be worked on tomorrow. You chivalrous nitwit. The hospital is easy to navigate through. Kaytlynn’s room was changed. Hopefully because she has improved. Fortunately for us she is awake. We apologize for not coming in sooner. She teases you by pointing out the chub forming on your stomach, and tells me my uni-brow is coming back. A pillow finds its way through the air to her face, and I deny throwing it.

    “Do you know how much longer you have to stay here?” I ask once the atmosphere settles down.
    “They said possibly next week I could go home,” she replies, but she has said that twice before, and her face showcases her doubts.
    “Then someone better get started planning your party,” I say, trying to cheer her up. To me she looks better than she did the last two times she said she might get released soon. I have hope that it will happen this time.
    “Devon is looking good,” you say.
    “I’m sure you took advantage of him now that I’m out of the picture,” she fires playfully.
    “How could you?” I feign outrage. You punch me then wrap your arms around me, swinging me around, then throwing me into a chair. Then your butt crashes down on my legs and I can’t move. Kaytlynn laughs and throws the pillow back at us.
    “Seriously though,” I say, “you’ll be out soon.”
    “I hope so,” she says, visually uplifted.

    We left a short while after that and finally made our way home.




    What are some question you have? Is there something you're wondering about that hasn't been explained? What are you thinking? I may not directly answer them, but I'm interested to know your thoughts and questions as you read this.
  6. kyo Wyvern

    ▲▲▲▲

    The walk home is unpleasantly glum. Feelings and emotions wrestle to the death in my stomach and nervousness sets in. Never has blood or needles upset me, but the sight of seeing Kaytlynn sitting there after six weeks, bags of fluids dripping I don’t even want to know what into her, her countenance emanating a look of someone who has given up, the thought of Devon working so very, very hard at two, sometimes three jobs that take up all the time he wants to spend with her; everything about their situations came crashing down and my stomach almost cramped in empathy. You probably heard my sniffles. Saw me walk a bit slower. Something alerted you to my true feelings and you will never know just how much I needed your arm around me at that moment. The mostly cloudy sky that covered the city before we entered the hospital had turned the gloomy grey that clouds assume in movies to suggest a sad scene and the light mist that fell only added to the effect. A small stream of complaint while simultaneously bringing to light how cliché this moment is came pouring out of my mouth before I could stop myself. You merely held me tighter. The warmth on my head where your mouth pressed down almost pushed me over the edge. My arm wormed its way across your back to your side. You are so tall.

    The rest of the walk home rushed by. Keys from my pocket opened the door to our apartment and you take off your dampened dress shirt, revealing a mostly dry undershirt. Exhaustion, more mental than physical, sets in and my feet find their way into the living room where the couch, cold yet inviting, accepts my bodily sacrifice into its fluffy jaws.

    Your sounds vibrate and echo down the hall and I can hear that you are going into the bedroom to change. You always change after you get home. Always. In the bathroom now; I don’t know what you are doing.

    What is going on? Confusion. Fear. Worry. Yearning. My heart aches after what I have seen and my inability to help, even though we are doing what we can. Sinking, now. Worst case scenarios start flooding my thoughts: freak accidents, limbs lost, crippling illnesses, car accidents that leave-

    The pressure around my legs interrupted my despair and feel your hands grasp my calves to sooth them from the panicked state they jumped into due to the shock. I suppose that I did forget to dry off before dampening the couch. The towel doesn’t do much to absorb the moisture from my clothes, but the pressure and the mere fact that you are touching me does more than you will know. I can feel myself being lifted, both physically and emotionally, and I mentally promise myself to make it up to you.



    In all seriousness, I apologize for taking so long to finish this.I had it started then my inspiration for writing this diminished. I discovered drafts of this and the next part on my phone and my computer and decided to finish it.
  7. kyo Wyvern

    ▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

    Walking these streets at night is a rare occurrence for the two of us. I blame your rural upbringing. Having been brought up in a city bigger than the one in which we reside, there is nothing that causes me to worry. As long as you are near me then you won't be harmed. Still, I wonder if your fear of getting mugged is the reason behind why you clung to me for dear life after my arm wrapped itself around your shoulders. I'm not complaining about the closeness, but I would be a fool not to notice that you are upset. It started to rain but never fully got to that stage. I tried to pull out my light rain jacket and cover your head, but you refused so I left the matter alone. Your pace quickens once our building is in sight, and I keep up so you can get dry again, although I expect I took the brunt of it.

    Once inside your shoes come off and fly at the wall. Hands separate and the warmth beside me travelled down the short hallway and a “fwoomph” sound shoots throughout the apartment. It did not sound like the impact involved the floor, so anxiety did not rise. After shedding my moist outer clothes and a quick trip to the half bathroom, my feet carry me to the living room where you had collapsed on the couch. The towel in my hands wipe off the rain from your stationary figure. Working from your legs up to your shoulders I can slightly feel the heat of your body. Once I reach your head I flip the towel over and wrap it around your noggin, then lift you up into a sitting position. With your face still bound, my butt finds your lap and my legs swing across the rest of the cushions.

    "You are worrying me."

    You didn't get a chance to respond because the towel started scrubbing your face and ruffling your hair. I may have shaken your head in frustration. The towel finally uncovered your eyes, your wonderfully blue eyes, they were staring right at me with emotion (but I had not a clue which one) in them. My lips found your forehead and I could feel that it was probably too warm. Not pressing right now.

    Your hands balled up into fists and pressed against my chest as you leaned into me. After straightening my back your head lowered slightly and my chin found rest atop your still-moist hair. Your breathing became more labored. My fingernails traced abstract patterns on your back; hard enough to be felt, gentle to the point of enjoyment. This continued for several minutes before something changed and you seemed to have regained your composition. You explained your sadness for Devon and Kaytlynn and about how you yourself do not know if she will recover. You keep placing yourself in her situation, and sometimes me, and the possibilities and uncertainties scare you.

    I don’t have words. I cannot do anything in this situation. All I can do is present the familiarity of me. I roll over and sit on your lap, drape your arms over my shoulders, and grab the backs of your legs as I stand up, bringing you with me. You cling to me, which I hoped for, as I take you into the kitchen with me and begin the process of steeping tea bags in boiling water. The aroma is a mere precursor to the calming effects that the actual peppermint beverage. Even though it is early in the evening I presume that you are drained emotionally. After you finish yours I carry you into the bedroom and place you upon the unkempt pile of sheet and comforter.

    When I finally reenter the bedroom, after attending to several trivial matters with a few important ones mixed in, you are still awake, staring at a spot on the wall. Your arms reach out for me as I join you. Unable to resist, I give myself to you. There we lay until the morning. Weekends are suddenly exponentially more attractive.



    This is all I have written right now. I'm going to try and hammer out one more from both POVs and then I'm done.
  8. Zai Nobody Destroyer

    Ammish passed out into a drug-induced coma so the review team is temporarily disbanded and my review badge isn't exactly valid right now, but if it was I'd still give this story a certified 6/5. Right now you'll just have to stick with the uncertified/black market 6/5.
  9. kyo Wyvern

    Without an alarm clock to blame it is hard to determine what, exactly, woke me up. Sometimes discovering the cause is a game, but usually it is an annoyance. Today the culprit doesn't matter because there you are, still lying next to me, very much awake. I have no control over my mouth, which curls into a very enthusiastic smile. Your own smile is warm in its own way, even though there is some confusion mixed in. The slight movement of your leg alerts me to the slightly tangled state we are in and I wrap my own legs tighter around yours, as best I can manage; I'm not the best cuddler, but you've never complained. I worm my way against you and place a light kiss on your lips before staring into the hazel eyes I love so much. I can never get enough of the designs splayed out on those ocular thresholds; the eyes that locked on to me across the street and wouldn't let go.

    I don't want to let go just yet. This moment is too precious to walk away from. You are able to shower me with almost lyrical expressions of your love and devotion to me. I can barely form a rhyme. I can't imagine myself with anyone else or being anywhere where you aren't. You are a part of me. I look forward to the times when we are near each other rather than any solitary instance. I would rather ponder in your presence, or on your chest, than be alone with my thoughts (which would run to you). I try to tell you these things but my tongue seems to have not woken up quite yet.

    "You're my favorite thing."

    Definitely not woken up yet.

    You smile and ask me about my appetite. I let you know how many animals I could eat. You don't ask about yesterday. I don't want to think about yesterday. I want to think about right now and about how I really don't want pancakes, but waffles sounds inexplicably more appetizing. And bacon. We don't have bacon. No matter. Today is ours. You are mine. Breakfast can wait. Breakfast can happen whenever we want it to.
    The trip to the store doesn't take long. I went two days ago but since bacon is the main thing we're after I grab two packages; one for today and one for a soup I suddenly crave. Orange juice is a must, because there is something about bacon, eggs, and orange juice that is magical. A few more items and we check out and return home.

    Once we are home again I begin preparing the meal, whatever you want to call it. You try to help, but I force you out of the kitchen. Ingredients are mixed, and animal products are fried and flipped. All the while my thoughts swirl pleasantly around happy things. There are unfortunate things happening to people we know, but there is only so much we can do, and we are doing it. There are many unknowns that still frighten me, but there are also things that comfort me: the inexplicable knowledge that you and I will remain together for as long as we can; how I know that you and I would do anything for each other; the way you can never stay mad at me. For whatever reason, today is a day I count my blessings, and most of them revolve around you.

    The look you give me as a plate of yummy things is set before you is all I need right now.



    THIS IS NOT THE END!
    Inspiration struck me yesterday as I was driving home from ice fishing so here you go. It's short, but they're all short.
    Hopefully it has been easy to differentiate which character is in which post.
    I'm going to go through this all again and clean it up because it needs it.
  10. kyo Wyvern

    You have no idea how little sleep I got during the night. Our bodies colliding was most often the culprit stealing the rest I wanted, but we haven’t slept like this in a long time so the consequences are to be expected. When I crawled into bed with you I knew right away that simple cuddling would not satisfy you. You rolled over and wrapped your whole self around me. Arms went around a neck and a midsection, legs wrapped around legs, both of us desperate for skin contact and neglecting personal comfort. You must have found a decent position because the snoring started shortly after you calmed down and lay still with me. Gradually, as you twisted in your sleep, we drifted apart. I think around two in the morning I was able to get my arm free.

    I gave up around the time the sun began to rise. The dark window began to slowly illuminate out bodies, the sheets of the be having migrated elsewhere. With some effort I was able to lie still so as to let you rest. It gave me time to ponder on a few things: projects I wanted to finish and probably never would, projects I wanted to start, things I might have forgotten, people I needed to not forget. Eventually your eyes opened and you smiled at me with one of the most genuine smiles I’ve ever seen. I never did fully understand what dampened your mood yesterday, but I tried to smile in return because it was good to see you happy again.

    The distance between us closes again, and I must admit that you are more fun to hold against me when you are conscious.

    “You are my favorite thing.” The words come out of nowhere, but they’re sweet. I guess your talent with words is limited to your texts, but maybe that’s just because you have more time to think about what to say. Maybe I’m a jerk for thinking that.

    “You’re my favorite thing too, hon,” I say with a chuckle and a squeeze. “How did you sleep?”

    “Wonderfully, actually,” you say, and I’m glad for you; I really am.

    “That’s great. Are you hungry? I’m starving.” The words tumbled out and I regret saying them because I may have just given away that I stayed up all night.

    “I could eat an entire pig. Bacon, chops, the butt; all of it.” At least I’m not the only one. Although I don’ think a breakfast made entirely out of meat would be wise, your enthusiasm is just what I need.

    I can’t help but laugh before replying. “What do you have in mind?”

    A look of deep contemplation takes control of your facial features. As you propose your menu it becomes apparent that we will need to go to the store in order to make this feast.

    For as long as I can remember I have never enjoyed shopping and when the task is done and over with the idea of cleaning the whole apartment is so much more appealing. And since you refuse to let me help with the cooking that is what I do.

    When the time comes, the table has been cleaned and set, the living room picked up and vacuumed, and the toilet scrubbed.

    “Food’s ready!” your shout cuts the silence just in time.

    We both bring the meal to the table and sit down. I reach across, grab your hands, and look at you.

    “I don’t know what upset you yesterday, but I’m not going anywhere. I love you. I’ll never leave you. You can count on me.”

    A smile brightens your face and the words you say surprise me. “I know. I love you too. Let’s eat.”
    Normally I would protest, but today I allow you to serve me a delicious looking plate of waffles, eggs, bacon, and… is that a muffin? You’ve been busy.

    It’s a good day.



    AND IT IS FINISHED.
    I'm done.
    Sorry it took 7 months to do. I kept waiting for inspiration to strike.
    Jess likes this.

Share This Page