Samuel C. Canino

She is looking at me when I wake up. She asks me how I slept. She wants to know if I dreamed? I can never remember. She tells me about her’s. “Isn’t that strange?” she wants to know. She tries to get out of bed, but really just rolls over and sighs. 

She is wrapped in a towel. She glances in the mirror and the corners of her mouth turn up in an infectious smile. My returning grin is as inevitable as Newton’s apple hitting the ground. 

She brushes a stray hair out of her face and looks at me. She wants to know what I think. She wants to know what I’m doing, where I’m going. She lets me mumble a few inane excuses and equivocations.

She is looking at me all the while, searching for the answer behind the words. I’m looking there too, in the same spot as she is. She sees the answer. She says not to worry, “just think about it please?” I’m still looking at that spot for it. She tries to help me focus. 

She raises her eyebrow at me. The arch expression says more than “What do you think you are doing?” ever could. She plays along with my jokes–until she doesn’t. She lifts her nose in the air and huffs. She wants a sincere apology wrapped in laughter and kisses. She gets what she wants. 

She hugs me from behind while I chop onions. I feel her lips on my shoulder blade and the side of my neck. She never lets me wash all the dishes. There’s only one more left anyway! She steals the brush and finishes. I roll my eyes and surrender the sink. What are you gonna do? 

She smiles at me. She walks across the room. She does a yoga stretch casually after returning a mug to the kitchen. She curls into a ball on the couch. My eyes follow her. She is fierce and proud and sharp and imperious. She is fragile and delicate and soft and empathetic. 

She puts my things in her bike basket. She turns to make sure I’m still there. She always bikes in front. She makes the right turns. She looks at her phone with one hand and navigates around potholes with the other.

She is always trying to go the right way, or at least constructing a plan to find the right way. She makes me want to follow her on this right-way or maybe-right-way. She makes me feel like following her can’t be a bad thing. She wants me to go in front sometimes. She knows I will when I’m ready, we both know it should happen sooner than later. 

“We’re almost there,” She tells me. 

“I’m right behind you, love.”

She smiles and pedals on.