Each morning, the alarm wakes us well before it’s time to actually get up and start the day. Or rather, it wakes me while he sleeps through the blaring static of a barely-received radio station. I nudge him awake, instructing him without words to hit snooze. He complies, stretching his long arm across an unused section of bed to quiet the noise. He reaches back over to me and pulls me close, so that we spend the fuzzy moments between asleep and awake curled together. At the last possible minute, he gets up, kisses my sleepy mouth and escapes to the shower.
While he prepares for work, I fade in and out sleep, stretching my slumber until I absolutely have to leave. When the clock tells me it’s almost eight, I roll out of bed, dress and collect my things. He returns as I’m slipping into my shoes, his hair dripping still from his shower, body freshly sprayed with delicious cologne. He smiles at me, hugs me, and we talk about our plans for later. He buttons up his dress shirt, selects a tie, and I watch him, waiting to leave because I want to spend as much time with him as possible.
We go downstairs together, exchange wishes to have a good day, a safe drive and part. I climb into my car and head home to get ready for work, my window barely cracked to the fresh morning air. When the breeze catches me just right, it sends a hint of his Chanel over me. It’s my favorite part of the morning.
“I wish you were here right now,” he said to me last Wednesday night. He was standing outside of a restaurant in Lehighton, Pennsylvania, talking to me on his ancient cell phone.
“Me too,” I smiled. “But I’ll be there in two nights.” I was giddy like a schoolgirl, clutching the warm cell phone to my ear, hugging my bare knees to my chest beneath my comforter.
He went over the directions again, the ones that will take me on a two hour trip from Milford to him. And even though the ride was only a day and a half away, it still felt too long.
When Friday night finally rolled around, I hopped into my 4Runner, rolled down my windows, and was on my way. Prior to my departure, and as I sped down Route 209, my stomach was full of nerves, just like the first night I went out with him. I was excited to see him; Four days apart feels like an eternity when you’ve spent the whole month sleeping in someone’s arms.
And even though this is so new that it still feels strange to refer to him as my boyfriend, something about it feels comfortable and familiar. Effortlessly, he fits into my life: He’s on speed dial, I find my way to his house on auto-pilot, I no longer feel the need to leave my name along with my messages on his phone. I smile every time he says “It’s me,” on a message, spurred into the grin by the familiarity of such a sentence.
This week, again, work has taken him away. We’re separated by only a few hours’ worth of driving, but still it makes me long for him. Waking each morning in my own bed has taken on a foreign feel, especially when I know I’d be so much happier in his presence, sharing his air and his bed.
Tomorrow night, I will see him for the first time in days. We will fall asleep curled together, and on Saturday morning I will wake once again to the loud static of an alarm clock. He will leave for work, and I will stay in bed long after he leaves, comfortable and breathing in the hint of his cologne while I wait to see him again.