A Morning By The River by wetzelbill

A Morning By The River
by
� wetzelbill

Caramel apples. The smell of her hair always reminds me of caramel apples. I could sit here and look at her and taste caramel apples in my mouth. She just does that to me. Has that cause and effect part of infatuation that I always loved about being in love.

I remember as a young child going to the Marias Fair in Shelby. My dad would take me to watch the horse races; my cousins would take me on the rides, but I recall most fondly my mother buying me caramel apples at one of the concession stands. I always marveled at the way a blanket of caramel stayed on the apple, and how my teeth left little tracks in the it, until I dug in hard enough for a bite of fruit. Then it slowly melted. Sweet. Lovely. Just melted in my mouth. My world lost in sweet decadence, one bite at a time.

We�ve been sitting out here all morning, doing nothing special, but being together. Which, in all honesty, is more special than anything else I could have thought of doing. �Let�s go down to the river,� she said. �Have a picnic or something.� I loved how she smiled when she said that as I rolled around groggily in bed. I�m amazed at how my angel can be such a wicked little devil at times. It didn�t take long for me to jump out of bed to get ready. That smile and the thought of what �or something� might be is worth more than a million extra hours of sleep.

Her hair. That�s what lingers in my mind. When I first met her I had bumped into her in the grocery store. Or she had bumped into me. Maybe, probably a bit of both. I was looking at the various types of coffee; trying to decide, French Roast, Kenyan, Breakfast Blend, Columbian Supreme, Starbuck�s, Folgers; Seattle�s Best, Whole Bean, Ground. Sometimes I just want to say, �Do you have the kind my dad always made?� �The kind that helped me get up for school every day for years and years?� �The kind that makes people laugh and tell stories until stomachs hurt and voices start to fade away?� I�m not even sure if they make that kind of coffee anymore, but I still look for the brand anyway. Always will.

After a prolonged search, I, finally, made my choice. Folgers� Arabian something or other, like it really matters compared to what was about to happen. Time slowed for a second, then she hit me. Not hard but just a slight jolt as I turned around to my cart. Her hair. That was all I noticed. I think I said �Excuse me� and I bent down to pick up whatever she had dropped. She was doing the same thing. We clunked heads, She said �Sorry�, then flicked her blond hair back out of her eyes and smiled. That was it. I was done for. I remember she had a box of �Fruity Pebbles� in her hand and I couldn�t think of another cereal that suited her better than that. I still can�t think of one. I stood there for a few moments savoring the taste of caramel apples as it washed over my mouth.

She was splashing around in the river, in the rising sun. In my eyes. Laughing like a little kid as I watched happier than anyone could ever know. I laughed as she slipped on a smooth rock and fell in the shallow water. She laughed even harder at me laughing at her, which made me love her even more, if that was at all possible. �What a klutz, you are,� I yelled. She mocked anger at me and splashed water onto the bank. I ducked as sparkling rivulets seemingly hit me from all sides. It wasn�t even noon yet, and the water still held a bit of the moon�s chill. �Brrrr� I said. �You�re in trouble now, girl� She just looked at me with that wicked smile as I walked towards the river�s edge and said �No, you�re the one who�s in trouble�. Then she did it. She flicked her hair back out of her eyes. Water dripped down the side of her face, glinting in the late morning sun; she was right. I was in trouble.

Mary. That�s who she reminded me of when I first met her. Cameron Diaz in the movie with all the guys who couldn�t help, but fall in love with her. That�s how she struck me in the store that day. She had short blonde hair. Constantly smiling with this goofy laugh- you know the kind of laugh that puts you in a good mood no matter what; she has that laugh- and she always seemed on the verge of disaster. Bumping into somebody, something, maybe everybody and everything, I was too enthralled to really notice anything else but her. Still am, I guess.

I bought her a rose and gave it to her as we walked out of the store and somewhere along the line I must�ve done something right �cause we�ve been together ever since. I do wonder what would have happened if I had given her a bag of green apples and some caramel dip instead, which was what I felt like doing. Somehow, that was more indicative, if not as traditional, of the way I felt at that moment.

Drying off on the bank of the river, the breeze blew slightly against her hair and she caught me staring at her. I fell as I stepped backwards and looked away; pretending I hadn�t been so blatantly gawking. I heard her laughter and I was only too happy to fall. I almost got up and did it again. Her laugh is that good. That beautiful. That gorgeous. Us being together has the equivalence to two of the Three Stooges having a daughter and son married to each other. It�s both dangerous and sexy to be in love with someone else as klutzy as myself. She often jokes about us having a son and naming him Larry, Moe or Curly. But she doesn�t get it when I say our daughter�s name should be Mary. She doesn�t get a lot of things about me. She doesn�t understand my little secrets; my minute moments I cherish of her. Those reasons why I watch her sleeping. Why I act so foolish just to make and hear her laugh. Why I like it when she flicks her hair out of her eyes. Why that smile turns me upside down a thousand times a day. Most of all, she doesn�t get why I love caramel apples more than anything else on earth. Except for her, anyway.