The Routine Interrupted

The Routine Interrupted

I feel his calloused hand brush the hair away from my face as I lay in a morning haze. I smile before I can even see his face. I have missed that touch. 

"Hello Sunshine." he says, his voice still filled with sleep. 

I open my eyes and find familiar hazels before me. His smirk sits inches from my lips and he drops a single peck before wrapping his hands around me and pulling me into his bare chest. 

"I've missed you." I whisper into his skin. 

"I know." He squeezes me a bit tighter. 

"Don't go" I plea and tilt my head to look upon his face one more time. He begins to disappear before my eyes, his skin turns to dust and escapes from my open bedroom window. 

The bed s***s and I know Bailey has come to wake me from my dream. 

"Good Morning Mama" 

Bailey whispers into my face while she pokes at my eyelashes. The same way she's done since she was 8 months old. Here we go. Time to get going in our routine. Breakfast. Bailey's determined to pour her own milk. I supervise as she pours sloppily into her Cheerios. Her grip loosens when her little arms can't take the weight anymore. I reach out and grab the handle from her and she scowls at me. Her disapproval for not allowing her to spill milk all over the kitchen floor. I bring my tea and toast to the table and watch my daughter in all her perfection. I know every parent thinks there child is God’s gift to humankind, but Bailey's beauty is genuine. Her olive skin is flawless, her soft brown waves of hair fall with grace around her face. Her pouty little mouth reminds me of cherries and her cheeks of the pink roses that grow in front of my parents house. Her bright green eyes are her winning feature though, they are a thing of true beauty and often stop strangers dead in their tracks. They take my breath away.

"So Bay, what's on the agenda for school today?" 

"Today we're learning a song about the Easter bunny and Miss Maw is bringing in a real bunny!" 

I'll never be able to match a five year olds excitement at 7am, ever. 

"Wow" I smile 

"big stuff." 

"Big stuff" she repeats around a mouthful of Cheerios. 

I see Bailey off to school where I avoid contact with other mothers. They all glance my way with the same heartbroken look. It’s infuriating, I know it shouldn’t be. It serves as yet another reminder that my husband is gone. It’s a Monday, so I've got to rush off to the studio, we’ve got a spring showcase coming up and that means more work to distract me. I’m giddy with the gift of work. I nearly burn rubber leaving the drop-off line from the elementary school parking lot. 

After checking emails and handling all pressing matters I find myself with time to spare. I head to my favorite classroom and switch the light on. This room sold the building to me when I first began to search for a studio. The huge windows that overlook the town below are covered with heavy burgundy curtains.  Floor to ceiling mirrors reflect the elegance of this antique room, allowing the sunlight to play across the floor. The wood floors are worn from years of slippers gliding across their paths, shasay here, glissade there. The baby grand piano in the corner for the once a week classes that are accompanied. I love my job. I drop my tote off at the piano and pull out my phone. In just a few taps music fills the room through the speakers. I walk over to the barre and begin to stretch my body. It’s not often that I get the chance to have free time, alone, in my favorite place. I take a deep breath and appreciate the moment. Here I am just me. I am not mom, widow, teacher, business owner. Here I am just Camille. I stretch my leg onto the barre and lean forward. Aging is a cruel fate. I feel the stiffness of my thirty-year-old muscles. I need to set aside more time to stretch. I chuckle at the thought of finding regular free time. Once my limbs are loosened  I stride to the center of the room while Bogoroditse Devo glides through the speakers. The thing I love about performance art, is that it’s therapeutic for me. My mind explores regions I’ve left untouched. It delves into emotions that words can’t comprehend. My heart is in every turn, from the tip of my fingers to the point of my toes. The song ends and I’m left sweating, panting. I didn’t realize how much I had put into that dance. It was spontaneous and just for me, now it’s gone forever. I couldn’t replicate that dance if my life depended on it. 

I go to the piano where my phone is sitting and shut off my music. I sit and take long deep breaths, cooling myself back down. I slide my hands over the old ivory keys laying before me, and let my hands start to play before my mind can protest. I start to play a rendition of David Guetta’s "Without You." The words of the song flowing from my lips and the tears starting to flow from my eyes. With every word I see Paul. I can almost feel his hands on my shoulders. I can smell his skin. I'm in a trance. My memories have formed him standing next to me. On a normal day, you couldn’t pay me to sing this song. I hate hearing this song, the memories are too hard to face. I know it’s the fact that that dance left my guard down. Maybe, right now I need this, this cry, this song, this time to feel lost and alone. I finish the song and burry my face in my palms, sobbing. 

"Please don't cry." 

The rasp to his voice and the low baritone are doing nothing to calm my nerves. Can the spoken voice be sexy? I sit still and try to hide the fact I was crying. My fingertips hurriedly swiping up tears. Even if I destroy any evidence of my tear stained cheeks and what are sure to be red eyes and nose, the sobbing was unmistakable. I hear footsteps slowly, steadily striding towards me. I'm humiliated. I'm hoping that if I don’t turn around whoever is here will realize they shouldn't intrude on such a private moment and leave me the hell alone. That's not the case. My shame filled eyes are glued to the floor, but I am brimming with curiosity. As he nears, my body is at attention. My breaths are short and I’m not sure if it’s from my crying bout or the proximity of this stranger. I feel the warmth of his fingertips between my shoulder blades, and his palm lay flat across my spine.  The hairs on the back of my neck all stand at attention. My heartbeat increases tenfold and now I’m certain that the tears I shed were not the cause for my hasty breath. The touch of his hand has sent shivers down to my belly and awakened a part of me that I thought would be in eternal slumber. He squats down next to the piano bench, hand still placed on my back, and with hesitations peeks around my face to meet my eyes. 

His beautiful blue eyes meet my brown bewildered stare. A tentative smile spreads across his face, and I’m lost. 

"Are you alright?" 

I'm speechless. I feel like I could just stare into his eyes for hours. Is he as uneasy as I am right now? If so he seems to be handling himself far better than I am. How and why in the world did this gorgeous creature get here? 

"Hi, I'm Alex" 

I realize I haven't said anything. I'm still immobilized but form words. 

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realize we were expecting anyone this morning." 

We’re speaking, but still have yet to break our intense stare. 

"That was beautiful." 

I blush, from shame or his beauty. It doesn't matter, I’m the first to break our gaze, I look down at my feet and push a few stray hairs behind my right ear. Instinctually my hand falls down my cheek and onto my neck. When I look back up to him I find his eyes focused on my hand. 

"Thank you. I didn't intend for anyone to hear." 

His eyes are back to mine, and his face displaying the slightest look of confusion 

"Why not? You have a lovely voice." 

His blues are almost as beautiful as Bailey's greens, almost. 

"Well, they all seem to end the same way." 

Then I remember why I was crying in the first place, and I feel sick to my stomach for allowing myself to be mesmerized by a stranger’s blue eyes. 

With every intent to break this moment I get up from the piano. The hand that was laying on my back shifts when I rise and grazes over my rear. 

"S**t! I mean..erm...I'm sorry." 

Now he's blushing, and biting his lip. It's adorable. I giggle, trying to keep it hidden under my breath, but I'm caught. He smiles, it's a beautiful sight, and starts to laugh. Now we’re both laughing. This moment should be uncomfortable for both of us. Instead of being angry, which is how I would have predicted my emotions to run, I’m comfortable. I’m alarmed by how comfortable I am. We finally calm ourselves and we're both smiling idiots gazing at each other. It's the first chance I get to soak him in. He's about 6'2'', brown hair and his T-shirt is clinging to every rippling muscle on his body. His body looks like an editor at Cosmo photoshopped him to look exactly perfect in this room and lighting. The curtains blow in the wind, and the sun washes over my face, which awakens my mind. I am so glad that I at least put blush and lipgloss on this morning. I wish that I wasn’t sweat coated, wearing a leotard, leggings and sporting my typical messy bun. In my minds eye I see us standing in this room. He’s tall, beautiful, perfect, then there’s me. I’m short and messy. My heart picks up again. I hope that he's not expecting me to start a conversation. I don’t think my embarrassed brain could put together a coherent sentence at the moment. 

"I'm sorry to intrude on you, I tried knocking, but no one answered. Then I heard you, and I had to see..." 

He stops and the lighthearted expression he had has shifted to something more serious. 

"...I just had to see."

 I'm standing still drinking him in, my mind battling to retain anything he’s saying.

"Anyway,”

He shakes whatever previous thoughts he had off with a shake of his head,  

“I'm directing a movie, and we're searching for locations to shoot. Are you the owner?" 

I'm listening to his cool raspy voice when it dawns on me that I'm supposed to respond when someone asks me a question. 

"Yeah, I'm Camille." He smiles and repeats my name aloud, 

"Camille." 

I'm not too fond of my name, but when it comes from that beautiful mouth it sounds rather nice. The alarm from my phone assaults the silence between us. I rush over to stop it and note the time. I pick up my things and start to arrange my bag. 

"I'm so sorry to do this, but I have to go pick up my daughter from school. Is there a time when you can come back? I can give you the studios number..." 

"No, it's alright I've seen what I needed. Thank you." 

He puts his hands in his pockets and begins his slow steady stride to the door. He reaches the doorway and pauses, looks over his shoulder and says. 

"I hope to see you again, Camille."  

With that he's gone, and I’m left a drooling puddle of desire.  

The rest of my day’s routine is performed in a haze. What happened this morning? That is the first time, in a long time that I've felt emotions for some man who's not Paul. All day I've been replaying our interaction in my head. His voice is resonating in my ears. 

"Mama" 

My hands are washing dishes. 

"Mama" 

I'm just staring at my hands replaying his voice saying my name, 

"MAMA!" 

I drop the cup I've been cleaning and water splashes everywhere. 

"Yes Bailey?" 

My daydream has been interrupted by the cutest five year old on the planet. 

"I want to take a bath please." 

"Of coarse my love. Let me finish up these dishes and I'll bathe you. Go and get a towel in the meantime." 

Bailey and I have a fun time playing in the bubbles of her bath. Bailey makes a long bubble beard and I instruct her to yell, 

“You shall not pass!” 

I know she has no idea why that’s funny, but I still think she might be the funniest person I know.  I'm beaming while I tuck her into bed. Paul would have loved that. 

"Mama, can you tell me a story about Daddy?" 

I try my hardest to not let Bailey see my eyes well up or my breath hitch. I die a little every time she asks. I want to give her all my memories of him, but it still stings like salt in the wound on my heart to relive them. I also am feeling incredibly guilty for daydreaming about Alex. Paul was the love of my life, and I owe it to Paul and our daughter to stay focused on her. 

"Of coarse my love."

 I regale her with an antidote of one of our first dates. We spent the entire day at the beach and laid underneath the night sky counting stars. It was magical and one of my favorite memories of us. Bailey falls asleep as I describe the waves washing ashore and the night air cooling our skin. I omit the part where we got a ticket for parking too long in his fathers car, and how we got in a heap of trouble for it. I stroke her hair and wonder to myself, will this ever get easier? I pray kneeling next to her bed. 

Dear Jesus, Son of God and my savior. I come to you tonight and pray that you help me love Bailey enough for two parents. I pray that she never endures a broken heart. I know it’s a long shot, but no parent wants to watch helplessly as their child is in pain. I pray tonight that you could help mend my heart so I can be strong for my daughter. She deserves the best and I cannot be the best without you. Please guide me to follow your will so I can lead my daughter by example. In Jesus name, Amen. 

I get up from my kneeling position and head down the hall to my room. My bedroom sounds so empty and lonely. I opt to snuggle in with my little girl and soon I'm asleep breathing in the scent of her lavender shampoo laced in her curls.  

Author's Note

I know, I know, these are long chapters.

Reviews

[Tina]

I still like it, But can't help to ask, how did Paul die? It might be something that will come out later, but a quick how would end the question. I started to tear up for her but not enough information to get me there. Look to a thesaurus to find another way of putting "calm", overall great job.

[T. Adams]

I've been struggling with the reveal of how he dies. I've finished writing the entire book and am just editing as I go along now. I feel like that the part of the story needs to come out organically, and everything I've written revealing how he died felt forced. I think I might just put it in here. It's so funny about the "calm" thing, because I didn't realize that this is how I talk in real life. Apparently it drives my husband nuts.

[Tina]

I think you're doing great. Maybe just how here and later go into detail.
Heart attack, shot, however it was. I'm not sure if I'm making myself clear or not.

[Carbon Muse]

This is beautifully written, the little girl is just adorable and the woman's thoughts and feelings feel genuine and touches ones heart.

[Grant Duncan III]

Damn... I must say that was sincerely one of the best chapters I've ever read. The words gave me a vivid image of everything going on.

[Jennie Baron]

Your additions are excellent! You added another poignant emotional touch as well.

[Jennie Baron]

You certainly have a gift for description and conveying emotion. I truly empathize and feel sad. I see parallels between your book and mine, especially in the latter stages, and I can't wait to see the differences in our unique ways of handling the themes. Truly well done!

[SweetNutmeg]

The first chapter was an interesting start. It is tantalizing, and starts off with a big adrenaline pump. I had to know who "he" is and how she ended up in that parking lot. So I came on to read this chapter, eager for answers.

I am still wondering who "he" is, but now I'm sure I'll find out soon.

The encapsulation of her prior life is well done, interesting, detailed, but compact. Just the right length. And not too sweet.

The one thing I noticed that gave me pause is the repeating of certain words, like the word "calm." I just got "SmartEdit", a free program that counts a number of things in a document. I got it mainly for its adverb counting, but it counts and locates cliches, repeated words and repeated phrases. It's pretty darn handy and easy to use. I had no idea how often I used the word "really" until I ran my doc through SmartEdit.

This is an excellent start. I eagerly look forward to reading more.