The cruise was
Dana’s idea. All our romantic getaways were her idea. I would be happy to stay
home and just be together, but she always seemed to want something more. At
least she wasn’t leaving me, so I was secretly grateful when she would settle
on my lap and drape her arms around my neck to begin another, “Honey, what
would you think about…”
So. Married ten
years might not seem like a lot to some, but after my heart attack this May,
Dana insisted every day was precious and blah blah blah. Don’t get me wrong. I love
that woman more than anyone in the whole world. That’s pretty easy, actually.
And I’m perpetually mystified that she chooses to be with me.
Especially since
the visitors that started while I was in the hospital. At first I thought I was
hallucinating on some of the drugs they were pumping into my system.
Nightmares. I’m mean, I’m not a wake-up-screaming kind of guy. Never have been.
But they were about ready to restrain me, and they were talking psych consult
before I got it together and convinced them it was just nightmares.
Almost convinced
myself. Until I got home. No more drugs, and they still kept coming. Nothing
really concrete, more impressions than images, even. Pasty white faces, diffuse
around the edges, black eyes, black hair. Long tendrils for fingers, reaching
for me. Burning where they latch on, scratching long bloody streaks down my
arms, across my cheeks, my chest. But when I wake up, nothing shows. I can
still feel every mark, but there’s nothing there. See? Nightmares.
They didn’t come
every night, and over the next few months, they faded more and more. I would go
a couple of weeks with nothing and then, blammo. So when Dana suggested the
cruise as a second honeymoon on our tenth anniversary, I sort of heard, “Let’s get
the hell out of Dodge.” I might have surprised her with my enthusiasm for the
idea. Might have set a bad precedent for future romantic getaways. If I survive
this one…
Dogs
in house
|
Houdini
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Time
writing
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~20 minutes
|
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December
word count
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9,754
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