When he is coming

 

When I hear he’ll be here, I wake up a bit earlier than before. This is the day, unlike others, where I don’t snooze my alarm but rather get up and take a shower without any complains, like an obedient kid. And as I get out, I won’t be in a white check-shirt or a black pant but a red body gown trying to act lady like. I don’t create a messy bun; I straighten and comb it, instead because he claims to love playing with my hair and I know he does. I don’t rush for things, yes, I know he won’t be here on the Sundays but, I don’t, because when he’s here, it’ll be our day, my day. Things have to go as I command, I will be the boss.

When he’ll be here, our tiny apartment will be surrounded by orchids all over because he adores them more than me. All of my friends know, I don’t cook my own meal, always a regular customer at the restaurant nearby, but I’ll move towards the kitchen and prepare zucchinis, which I would deny to eat even if I were on a life-death condition, (I don’t know why on earth would anyone like it? ) but he would ever have even when I’m not a good cook, all I know is how to prepare vegetable using zucchinis and you can guess why.

When he’ll be here, even if I always write, that day I won’t be able to, ending up with an empty paper, maybe because, then, I don’t try to simply write but write for him, to him and I guess, he knows, I haven’t left anything for him to know, or get it full with stupid musings which he is never tired of only reading but also, re-reading, he says he loves them, I know he does.

When he is to be here, I shift the sofas, the tables, the shelves, I change the curtains, the bed-sheets, the clothes I wear, again and again, ending up to where and how they were, the first, last and each time he was here. Everything is the same to me, the rooms, the shelves, curtains, and to him too, but me?  He claims to find me different every time we meet, not the looks, the excitement, but I, as a person.

When I hear he’ll be here, I re-think about what he said but end up finding myself the same, no less and no more. Like the same girl who got her father’s first slap for she sneaked out of her house to spending their first night together, who nearly drowned herself trying to save him when she wasn’t aware he could swim but she herself didn’t, who kissed him first when they were 16, who went her dates in school dresses, always desperate to see more of him and hear more from him.