Of Lance & Gwen

My first thought when I wake up is always of Gwen.

Before we met, I was just existing: doing the sort of thing I was told, but not really understanding or enjoying any of it. Then I met Gwen, and it was a bit like an experience I am sure you have had, on the subway or in a restaurant or waiting in line for some annoying, inescapable reason, you have eavesdropped on a conversation in a language you don’t know at all, or that you know in the most shallow, casual way. And then a word, or a phrase, or a complete sentence uttered by one of the people involved in that conversation makes complete, perfectly clear sense to you. Suddenly gibberish is poetry. It’s not that there was nothing there before. It’s just that it didn’t make any sense.

The first time I saw Gwen, I knew why I was alive. I was alive to love her.

This morning, I woke up, loved Gwen and acted like it. I cleaned everything in our home that needed cleaning. I put her favorite novel, which had tumbled to the floor next to the bed, onto the night stand and delicately replaced her bookmark. I drove to the market and acquired all of the fresh ingredients for her favorite meal and I prepared it with ruthless attention to detail and joyful enthusiasm. I made the kitchen sparkle when I was done, not to impress her with my fastidiousness, but because I did not want her enjoyment of the meal to be compromised by the mess.

As her moment to return approached, I put fresh roses that I had purchased at the market next to a delicious glass of wine, so that they would be the first things to greet her dazzling eyes when she opened the door. Next to them, I put the "damn" remote she can never find.

She walked in beautifully, looked around, and sighed. She picked up the remote.

“Almost, Lance,” she said. “Try again tomorrow.”

She pointed the remote at me, and turned me off.

My first thought when I wake up is always of Gwen.