Darling, I miss you - day 2

Darling, I miss you. We've only been apart one day, and there's at least one more night to go. I'm not even halfway there. And today is going to be a difficult one; I have a difficult meeting this morning, I am not sure what the outcome is going to be. It could mean this entire journey has been wasted; it could mean I might have to go ahead and do something else I don't want to do in order to get everything finished. I didn't sleep last night; didn't sleep much at all. My skin crept, fidgety, a touch of the nerves; more than once I wondered if there were bedbugs in this hotel bed, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't it. Just nerves, just not having your soft shoulder to nuzzle. The room's not co-operating much, either. The fridge seems to have frozen up and is dripping, drip, drip, drip, a twentieth-century variant of water torture. The toilet's got a leak, I think. I best not try to put a plug in the sink again, it took me twenty minutes with a car key last night to pry it back out to let the water drain.

I was good this morning, you would be proud of me. I got up early, by myself, I didn't grumble, I didn't complain. I made my 'phone call, bright and early. I took my joint health pills, all part of you taking care of me even when you're not right there with me, I guess. Ironic, that. You packed me an extra day's worth, just in case. I did take them yesterday before I left, didn't I? I can't remember much about yesterday morning, actually. Something makes me think I'd rather not. I wish this guy would hurry up and return my call. I want to know what I've got to be doing the rest of the day. It's a question of hurry up and wait. I might have a lot to do, and not much time to do it in, or I might be able to delight in il dolce far niente. The sweetness of doing nothing. It could go either way. Wait, the phone's ringing. It's him, he wants me in his office right now... oh wait, now I've got another call waiting. It's you? Go back to sleep darling, it's still ridiculously early for you... if you slept. I didn't sleep much, did I already tell you that? Yes of course I'll let you know as soon as I know something. Of course. Of course. Oh, for some reason I just remembered. I have to call Mom. She is going to be madder than a wet hen about me not calling her for her birthday yesterday.

OK, this town is ludicrous. I'm a mathematician; some things are invertible, reversible, but not driving in this town. Don't even think you can get from A to B by reversing the driving directions from B to A. It's all one way systems, all convoluted. My best bet to get from one place in this town to another is cross the river, drive along the riverfront to where I need to be, then cross back over. It's imperative that I either cross the river or the levee at least six times in any journey I make, like it's some kind of superstition the town planner had, requiring every motorist to cross themselves and genuflect their vehicles in some bizarre ritual of calling quarters. I'm going to be late for this appointment; I'm going to swing the vehicle in a wide arc, escape this town completely and take another shot at it from the outside. Bullseye.

It went well. It went better than well. It went incredibly well. I'm going to have to write it all down in an email to you, I think. It's going to be too easy for me to miss something important when I'm on the 'phone. We did the right thing, sending me here at a moment's notice. It seems we have saved the system a whole lot of trouble. Touch wood, everything should go very smoothly tomorrow. I just have to make sure I tell them everything, give them everything, explain everything. I've got copies of everything. And this really, truly, genuinely is it. I won't have to do this again. I guess that's what's been the hard thing for me to deal with; I said we would never have to do this, we'd never have to be apart again; we both said that, we thought this part was long over, and here we are, again, one more time. It's always one more time. But no more times after this one more time. OK?

So it's the sweetness of doing nothing, nothing to do, no-one to do it to - and I've been advised not to do that other thing we talked about, either. Not until everything is done, everything else. It's OK, you know I don't multitask well, I have to focus on one thing at a time. I'm smiling right now. Thinking of you in the kitchen. I've seen you sweeping or mopping with one hand while holding the little baby in the other arm and with all four burners running on the stove, while dancing and singling Walking On Sunshine. It takes me every brain cell in supreme synchronized concentration to make sure I don't trip over my own feet. I'm amazed at the way you juggled things; you found a way to make this happen, even though you knew it would be a rough couple of days for us, you focused on what had to be done. I'd already fallen apart. I've done it again. I did the meeting this morning, and right now I'm thinking about you, and that's got me fully occupied. I don't have the multitasking chromosomes. XX, XY, that's why it's you and me. I've done it again. I've somehow managed to forget to eat with all these other things I've had to do. I am feeling faint. What time is it, anyway. Is it breakfast time? Or lunch? You're eating what on waffles?

Sorry. Yes, I was eating, yes, I know. Thanks for the pictures, so you saw the lemons on our tree? I thought he just needed a bit of encouragement this year; I don't know why you didn't have any luck with him last year. Why are they blacktopping everything? You know, these pictures are making me feel extremely homesick. I can't wait to make it home. I'll let you know as soon as I get out tomorrow, and I'll have to gamble with the return flight again. One way or another I'll get back. Where was I? You'll never believe me. I got called on my accent. Interesting gentleman, he records his own music, He sounds like he has the same sort of equipment I used to use when I played. That reminds me, I need to start doing that again. We talked about the Beatles and chord progressions; and how you can play a C major and you can layer an A minor or an E minor on top of it and you can pick out whatever note in the triad you feel like in the bass part, I must admit, I really wasn't following a lot of it. I'm out of practice, you see. I mentioned you once or twice, I think. It's hard not to mention you, isn't it? He was amused by that story about the Ed Sullivan show. You know the one. He asked me to look him up. And here's his original song on YouTube. Pay him a visit, give him a comment, would you?

I never bothered resetting my clock, you know. It's still three hours back, for you it's still yesterday. For me it's already tomorrow. You must be finishing up at work, because I haven't heard from you for oh, at least two minutes. Drive safely darling, it should be just tonight, just one more night, and then it's back home. Oh darling I wouldn't have believed I'd miss you like this.

In three YouTube videos?

Darling, I miss you - day 1

I love you, darling, I mouthed the words silently, as I zigzagged my way ever closer to the security checkpoint, cordoned off by the cloth rails. I can't help but remember the first time we queued like this; beside each other, waiting to board one rollercoaster after another, seeking thrills at the theme park, early last fall. The biggest thrills we experienced that day were the joy at how something as simple as queueing together was a sheer delight. I'm British. I know how to queue. But that day was something else entirely. We'd be lost in one another, and forget to move forward until an insistent harumph behind us reminded us exactly where we were. There's a picture of that day, packed in my suitcase. I'm wearing the shirt. Today, you're wearing it. Today is something different for both of us. We've each seen the other arrive at an airport. For the first time today, one of us gets to see the other leave.

I zigzagged away from you, looked over my shoulder, and saw you still there, still watching, still whispering sweet everythings, while the gap opened up in front of me again. I rounded the corner of the corral; facing you yet again. I love you so very much. I'll be home soon. This time, it wasn't just mouthing the words, I voiced them quietly, somehow expecting them to carry across the crowded airport. The lady in the couple in front turns to her companion. "What did you say?" she asked. He grunted noncommittally, seemingly they'd long abandoned saying that kind of thing to each other. You shuffled a little further down the arrivals lane, still able to watch me make my way, ever closer to the event horizon, beyond which you wouldn't be able to see me any more. We managed to stretch this part of the morning as much as we dared this way; a peculiar morning, one that saw us mutually rely on each other. You had managed to get me to this point, through focus, commitment to action, all those skills you've cultivated in your career, the half of you that everybody sees, expects, time and time again, while I virtually collapse under it all. Now it was up to me to do what has to be done, and, now I needed to act, I could be the strong one, and held you, comforted you, the half of you that I saw so long ago, the delicate, vulnerable side of you that I promised to treasure; the whole of you that I fell in love with.

The TSA member gestured to me to show my boarding pass and my ID; a cursory inspection, and he ushered me towards the plastic boxes, ready for the inspection. Jacket, shoes, laptop, baggie of toiletries, contents of pockets, emptied into the plastic box; shuffling, head down, ready to be frisked. The gentleman in front of me panicked a little as he approached the metal detector; he had an artificial hip. The female TSA staff member running the metal detector radioed for male assistance to perform the frisk the old-fashioned way; the pause was just long enough for me to glance over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of you; shirt stripey, hair fiery, evaporating into the crowd, out of sight. I walked through the portal, no turning back now, and hurriedly gathered up my belongings. The standby boarding pass, pocketbook, Blackberry, Nintendo DS, and the heart of gold. It felt warm to the touch, exceptionally warm, somehow embodying our connectedness, seeing you safely back to the car, seeing me heading towards the gate, where the board looks like it is summarizing odds for a race meet. There I was, in starting gate number 5 in the Standby Handicap; with three other runners, currently with six seats left open to claim. Better make that five; oh wait, the screen changes again, to those without seat allocations, those looking for an upgrade to Business class; names bounce and reorganize alphabetically from one display to the other; the free seats in first class dwindle down to zero; four remained in coach. The gate staff announced the inbound flight had only just landed; it would take a few more minutes to clean and prepare the flight to leave; a twenty minute delay, safe to take another potty stop, it seems I've been going more often than a five-year-old on a road trip. Nerves. Another sigh over the odds of getting a seat standby; if I missed out on this one, then I'd find myself having to find a spot around the gate to curl up and snooze for the next twelve hours and hopefully, nay, surely, clinch a spot on the red-eye. This is why standby isn't for everyone; these are the risks you have to take; it was a godsend for us. L, you are an absolute angel. It must run in the family. And then, I hear my name... there it is. 11B. Can you assist in the event of an emergency? Of course, just get me on that plane.

Flying. I don't enjoy it; I've been so out of practice at it; what's it been, eight years? Nine? I honestly can't remember. And yet, here I was, about to notch up another 5000-odd air miles in the space of a couple of days to add to those a little earlier in the year, and still outshone by a little stuffed animal who has managed one more jaunt than I have as she made her way to me on Valentine's Day, to sing I'll Be There. CB gets fussy; she has to travel in checked luggage, because I'm not keen on her facing all sorts of inappropriate examination at the gate, but she at least doesn't have to worry about occupying herself for the duration of the flight. For me, it's a matter of calculation; fidgeting, working out how much of the flight has gone, how much of it remains, and how agonizing the remaining time is going to be compared to what I've already had to put up with. At least there's legroom on an Airbus. Read some emails; write some responses, they'll send when the plane lands. Another potty stop, another. A bit of fidgety Nintendo. A quick nap. How much time has passed since I last looked? Just five minutes, it felt like an hour. There's the book I should be reading, the book C packed for me, it's in the overhead compartment. Traveling has always struck me like the famous quote about Wagner's music; some wonderful moments, and some dreadful hours. Best to skip the dreadful hours, and on to the frenzied activity on arrival.

And now the frenzy, the busy-ness of business, the getting all the ducks in a row. A rental car, first, no wait, that's not first at all; baggage claim, waiting, watching, wondering whether CB made it too. There she is, get her out, a quick photo op, Now, the rental car, follow the signs, follow the signs... wait, what's going on? I just left the airport, where's the kiosk? There isn't one. The rental car place is offsite, I have to wait for a shuttle bus; another passenger waits, I seem to recognize him, and he's carrying a laptop sack from a company very near where I used to work before I started telecommuting. Too much to do, too much to do, I think as I ride the bus. Have to get the car, have to find the hotel, have to get this all together, it's so humid, I can't breathe, I used to live near here, now it feels like I'm swimming in it, the sun is about to set and I'm unbearably hot. Secure the car, seem somehow to have charmed my way to an upgrade, it's a nice car, it's another photo op for CB. As I take the picture I catch sight of the sky; it's unusual for this area, clouds in mare's tails, it looks like I've brought a California sunset with me. Four more shots, north, east, south, west. More things to do; CB is getting impatient, wanting to navigate me to the hotel, but there's one more to-do on the list first. I need to eat. I haven't eaten all day, I've only just realized that; it's going to be junk food I'm afraid. It seems tasteless, not a patch on the food I've been used to at home. It should be the same, make the meat taste of nothing and standardize on the sauces, right? It isn't, I must quite simply be homesick. Devour it, take it for nutritional value alone, and move on, up the interstate, into the city. It's dark now, and it's still eighty degrees, still swimming in the humidity, still unbearable. I enjoy this part of the trip, it's been a while since I've done it. Cincinnati is peculiar, as you approach it from the interstate you see nothing, you see nothing, and then you round a corner at the top of the hill, and.... there it is, like the Emerald City, glowing on the opposite side of the river, worth a cheap blurry shot with the Blackberry through the windshield at 65 miles per hour. Our hotel is just off Pete Rose; the city forgives him, at least; past the ballpark where the Reds are playing the Marlins, the town is swarming with fans, what a time to arrive. Ironically, after crossing the bridge to enter the town, to leave Kentucky and enter Ohio, the GPS suggests a sharp right, and we're crossing another bridge, back out of Ohio, if the swarm of Reds fans will let us. There's the hotel, and check-in, it's a smoking room. Yuck. Reformed smokers are the worst, you know, but there's no other free option, here it is, our lodging for the next two nights. Two nights. Two nights away from home, away from you.

It just needs a few homely touches, right? I empty my bags; CB makes herself comfortable on the bed and begins to sing I'll Be There. All your memorabilia laid out on the bedside table; your cards, your words, the heart of gold. The picture of that day, the day that I was wearing the stripey shirt. I'm not busy any more; I made it here, well begun is half done, and in two days, I'll be home again. I take a moment and breathe, and realize for the first time in the past few hours, I have nothing to do right this moment. Nothing, that is, except burst into uncontrollable tears, for yet another of several times over the past few days.

Darling, I miss you. Even though I feel you right here, with me right now. Always and all ways.

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