Intimacies With Another
Though it wasn’t as rough as on the day the Wahine went down, nor the last time we had crossed between the North and South Islands of our beautiful New Zealand, it was still far from calm. I tried so hard to keep it together…looking out the window, taking my jacket off to stay cooler, trying to concentrate on anything else apart from my churning innards. But, alas…
My darling dearest came back from watching the big screen rugby match to a ghostly white-faced wife. Being the hero he was off at a trot to get some little white bags…actually, I was so white it was more like a gallop. Returning with not only bags but also a container of ice to suck, and advice that if I moved just a little further back I would feel even less movement.
Quickly gathering our belongings we began the move, him moving gracefully, feeling fine, and me with the awkward gait of someone with no sea-legs yet. Finding an unoccupied table he proceeded to get me seated all the while watching the barometer of white to see if there was improvement. But, alas…
The little white bag and I became intimately acquainted with the deepest parts of each other.
That wonderful husband of mine lovingly took my intimacies with another and threw them all away. Back in a flash he rubbed my back, let me lean on him to sleep a little, kept me sucking those little ice cubes. He missed the game for me.Now that is love.
Under his tender ministrations I even came round to being able to draw a few people sitting around us. The colour barometer went back to pink before we disembarked.