A Little Touch of Henry

A type of short love story, a revision

 

A Little Touch of Henry

Spontaneously over coffee, across dregs of bran cereal, and crusts of toast, Henry lowered the sports section of his morning paper and blurted.

 

“Do you still love me?”

Looking up from her Modern Romance, Ruth inclined her head forward so that her eyes could focus over the rims of her glasses.

“You can’t imagine,” she said, and returned her eyes to the tip of her forefinger; the exact spot where Henry  interrupted the misadventures of the buxom heroine and her savage lover.

If he had expected any reply at all it was some standard noise that could be translated as “yes” or “of course.” He mouthed her words silently as if he was chewing aluminum foil. Can’t imagine. Can’t imagine! I can’t imagine? Now where the hell does she get stuff like that?

Henry considered for a moment the notion that Ruth could be right. After all, the last mistake he clearly remembered her making had something to do with Richard Nixon. I had that son-ah-b***h pegged for exactly what he was. But now I can’t imagine. Can’t imagine indeed!

 

He put his mind to it, concentrating in the way he had focused on knotty problems during his decades with the bank, trying to see all sides of the question. It was no use, her words got bigger and bigger like a bit of gristle in an otherwise perfect steak.

Soon he quit trying. But, before he could open his mouth to question Ruth, get an amplification of what she meant or at least start an interesting argument, he had a thought, then another, and another, blurting away inside his head.

Henry thought of himself alone in all the world, naked, kneeling on a beach of terrible, endless sand. He imagined he was blind from the salt of his tears. Then Henry imagined his outstretched hand found Ruth’s and that their fingers meshed. In a final magnificent tour de force he imagined that hands were souls.

“Ruth, I believe you’re right. I’ll have to work on that.” Henry resumed his morning paper exactly where he had left off.

Ruth marked her place and warmed Henry’s coffee. Into his left ear, rather loudly, she said, “Old man, sometimes I think you are losing your mind.”

 

Henry grunted, completely engrossed in the box scores.

 

Author's Note

any comment welcome

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

I watched my Grandmother skin, clean the buckshot out, flower and fly the squirrel my Grandad
would bring home for breakfast. While I sat back, google eyed and totally repulsed. I learned
early on that expression of love was that which fit most snugly against the bosom. A clever
yet wonderful short story Delmar.

your biggest fan,

dana

[Delmar Cooper]

Lovely words Thanks Dana

[barleygirl]

This is why I love living alone at my advanced age & diminished faculties. You capture perfectly that way the mind wanders in between landings. I admire those who manage to land & resume normal conversation, whereas I prefer not to have to *wink! wink!* This is an age-old topic, but your way of showing how it manifests is fresh & inventive (((HUGS)))

[Delmar Cooper]

I am glad to have you as a reader of this piece. I followed your comments with interest. In some sense we all live alone even those of us who are paired off for life. It is those moments where our alonenesses intersect that make things interesting. I hope my tiny story intersected with yours.
Thank you for reading.

[Willard Wells]

Hoping to see if some of your mind will rub off so I am reading more of your stories. A fun piece and I see many long term couples having the same talk at the table with neither one really listening. Thank you for sharing.

[Delmar Cooper]

Glad you read this one. It's a story that never leaves the breakfast table.

[Goose Eggs]

Delmar, very well done! Your use of internal dialogue is great, and the characters are very real and fleshed out. The only thing I saw was that he was imagining himself alone in all the world, but he wasn't alone at all. And honestly, I only noticed that on my second read-through. Overall, it's brilliant in my opinion.

[Taylor]

Hi Delmar. Me again. I like this story and appreciate the moment you capture between a couple who has grown complacent. The writing in this story is not as spare as the story I read yesterday. Maybe shorter sentences? Nevertheless, an interesting slice of real life. Thanks again for sharing it.

[Delmar Cooper]

And thank you for reading it.

[Chris]

...and smiled...

well, I would have...

It went well with coffee.

[C. Rose]

Each paragraph had a fun word choice or turn of phrase that kept me engaged. I like how expansive this story is for a short breakfast interaction. I was pleasantly surprised by Henry's imagination.

[Delmar Cooper]

Thanks much. I am glad you enjoyed it.

[ANTO]

Love can be just sitting in the same room as someone, breathing the same air and being comfortable with just that. Silences mean nothing - nothing to fear and gentle ribbing is to be expected. I love these guys.
(and yes, I realise they aren't real - are they??)

[Tania]

I loved reading this ! so lovely

[Woody]

nice little story, Delmar. love can mature beautifully with age. but I particularly your choice of words, your sentence structure. you write divinely.

[Delmar Cooper]

Hello Woody,
Thank you for reading this tiny story and for your kind comments. A tiny story demands tiny words and sometimes it is difficult to find small things, so double thanks to you.

[Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere]

You have a way with words that I can't explain, Delmar. There's always a twist and I like this one. Who says that old people can't be in love. You can't explain love or determinate it. Maybe you can give examples; love is a rock where you can built on, love is a hidingplace where you can shelter, you can rely on real love because it never lies...but to say love is something between two young people or between an already mature couple, I don't think so. I like the way you write. Very good.

[Delmar Cooper]

Now that you mention it this old couple is in some way similar to your Japanese couple.

[Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere]

Yes, now that you say it, I must agree. :)
Rudi