Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/694519-A-Morning-Visitor
by Toby
Rated: E · Fiction · Relationship · #694519
When you think of looking up that old flame, think of this story first.
         I stopped by to see you today. I didn’t stay long, nor did you see me. I was there though.

         I went by your apartment first. The door had changed, as had the tenant. I called an old friend, who told me where you’d gone. I found the place easily. Your place.
         A house. A house in a good neighborhood. I’m impressed. You’ve gone far alone. Or maybe you’ve just gone far without me. A pretty blue house with a porch. I don’t even have a porch. A porch with a swing. A pretty blue house with a porch and a swing in a good neighborhood. I might be jealous. I sat in my car for nearly an hour watching your pretty blue house, contemplating what to say or if I should leave. What would we say? What would you think? I know what I thought. I didn’t come all this way to sit in my car. And I didn’t.
         I got out of my car and ascended the stairs of your porch. Your green Astroturf covered porch. I stood in front of your door, knuckles paused mere inches from the glass. I could almost hear your voice on the other side of the door. Calling to me. ‘C'mere, come on, c'mere. You’re so close,’ your voice echoed in my head. I tried to peer into the house, but curtains on the door shrouded the inside. Pretty blue curtains to match the house.
         Again I raised my hand to knock, but then I heard your voice in my ears, and not just in my head.
         “C'mere, come on baby, c'mere,” rang out sweetly.
         I reached for the knob, and then stopped. You weren’t inviting me in. You’d never called me Baby.
         I stepped away from the door and looked in through the big picture window. There you were. As beautiful as ever, (if not more so). A little age had done you well. Your cotton pajama bottoms and loose tank top looked good on you. Your hair was longer than the last time we’d been together. Back to its original color, too. Nice. Your skin glowed. Oh, how it glowed. The sun must’ve been breaking on the other side of the house, through a distant window and highlighting only you.
         You sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor; your back to the couch and your attention towards the sun.
         “Come on baby, c'mere,” you said again. You outstretched your arms to the sun, ready to take it all in. And the sun came. It came and it curled inside your outstretched arms. It played about your body and spilled onto the floor illuminating your lap, your breasts, and your face. Helen of Troy might’ve been the face that launched a thousand ships, but your glowing, radiant face this morning is the one that brought them home again.

         “You’re almost there. Come on. Come on baby,” you called again. You had the sun. The sun held you in its glory and you held it in yours. What more could there be? What else did you want? The moon? The stars? But nothing in the celestial heavens were what you called. Nor was I.

         Looking at it through your big picture window from the porch of your pretty blue house, I turned towards the sun. I had to see your heart’s desire, even if it wasn’t me. Then I found it.

         It was four arms, two big and two little. The two big arms came down from above, holding the two little arms. The two little arms came up from a baby girl. Your baby girl. Your sweet baby girl in a baby blue jumper to match your pretty blue house. She had a smile as big as yours, and eyes as bright. Her baby feet staggered towards you. She wanted her mother as much as I. The sun backlit your child, making her almost a cherub in my eyes, but certainly one in yours. She slipped, but the two big arms stopped her from falling. She stepped another step towards you. As she did, so did the two big feet, (attached to the two big arms), behind her. These belonged to your man. Your strong, bare-chested man, crowned with a dark mop of hair and adorned only in plaid pajama pants. Not as handsome as I, but perfect in your pretty blue house.

         Then came the most beautiful part of this morning. It came as I watched and as the sun reached perfection in the window on the other side of your house.

         You reached out and plucked the cherub from the arms of the sun. You held her high in the sunlight as an offering to the bare-chested warrior. The warrior took the cherub from his goddess in the sunlight and held it close. The warrior, the cherub, and the goddess, laughed and cried in delight.

         I laughed, and cried, too. You were happy. I went back to my car, looking again at your pretty blue house.

         You were happy.

         So am I.
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