The 12th Kiss

❁throw my love away

❁throw my love away

The sun was bright, the clouds had settled on the ground as dew. John removed his shoes outside the door. His aunt hated when he brought in mud with his shoes. He removed his long, mustard trench coat and set it on the sofa.

Few minutes after walking aimlessly though the house, he found his aunt. She was sitting in the library. John breathed in the scent of old books, rotting papers, and dust. In the sunlight, specks of dust danced. His aunt's library was old. It had been passed down from one generation to the next. The furniture was at-least a couple decades old. The upholstered chairs were now falling apart as cotton seeped through the fabric.

Aunt Rein, a portly woman, sat on the maroon rugs. A screwdriver and grease  bottle in her hands. She was taking out bolts of an old radio. The antennae was bend at an awkward angles and the back lid was open.

John plopped down beside his aunt and rested his head on her shoulder.

Instantly Aunt Rein turned her head. "Oh dear boy, when did you come back?"

"Just now." He sighed.

"Long day?"

He simply laughed. "You have no idea." Then in a serious expression, he whispered. "I almost lost Metilda today."

She smiled sadly. "But you didn't"

"I didn't. I was scared though. Really scared. For a moment, my heart had stopped beating. You know, aunt that feeling of losing someone you lo-... I can't describe it."

"Ah, the doings of love. Brings pain if the other is in it."

John didn't reply. He simply stared at his aunt, lost in thought as her deft fingers tightened the bolts of the radio. In a gentle, soft voice, his aunt began singing the song she often sang him to sleep with.

"Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,

Blow the wind south o'er the bonny blue sea;

Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,

Blow bonny breeze my lover to me."

John closed his eyes. The weariness of the day escaping him.

"They told me last night there were ships in the offing,

And I hurried down to the deep rolling sea;

But my eye could not see it,

Wherever might be it,

The bark that is bearing my lover to me."

"This radio keeps breaking," His aunt sighed, setting the radio in a standing position

"Why don't you throw it out? I could always get you a new one." John spoke through half open eyelids.

"What can be fixed shouldn't be thrown." There was a strange peace in his aunt's eyes. "It was your uncle's. He would often tune into the news about the wars. Then when he left me to serve the nation's Navy, I would sit in his chair, listening to the war's news. It was my only solace in the days when he was so far away."

"What if it can't be fixed?"

"Maybe," She stroked his hair. "You don't want it to be fixed."

"Why would I want that?"

"It would be easier to get a new radio, wouldn't it?"

She smiled at him. And then meaning of her words finally settled in.

John woke up. Sprawled on a grubby sofa, it took him moments to adjust to the light. He was in Jannet's apartment. After the incident, Jannet had brought him to her house. He hadn't protested, not wanting to hurt her.

He shifted on the sofa, coming to a sitting position. Jannet sat on the loveseat opposite to the one he sat in. She was intently watching a football match.

"You're up?" She asked him, when she noticed his gaze upon her. "Should I get you something? Water? Juice?"

John was pretty hungry but he wasn't going to ask Jannet to cook. Let's say she was lacking in the cooking department.

"No, I'm fine."

Jannet sat back down. "Well, how are you feeling?" Metilda probably wouldn't ask him that question, she would wrap her arms around him and rest her head on his chest. One glance and she knew what he was feeling.

"I'm okay."

Jannet gave him a close lipped smile. Being in the police, she rather not talk about unpleasant encounters. After all, that was what surrounded her average day. "Elise couldn't believe it," Jannet changed the topic. "that I am going to the New Year's party with you,"

"What is there not to believe?"

Jannet walked over John, a sly smile on her lips. "You really don't know, do you?"

John raised an eyebrow as she placed a hand on her hips.

"You're one of the most coveted man in our entire police department," She pushed his shoulder gently. "Sir, women think you're H-O-T,"

John wondered if Metilda still found him attractive. The way her eyes glazed over him, bored, uninterested- he didn't think so.

"You flatter me too much. There's nothing like that,"

"And that's the best part of this. You're so oblivious to all the attention,"

John glanced at the clock. 9:13 p.m. it read. Had it been five hours already?

"Jannet, I'd love to talk but I've got to go."

She stood up as he did. "Why? Your wife won't be missing you,"

"But my son will,"

❁ ❁ ❁

     John walked into a silent house. He roamed through the house, room to room searching for Metilda. He found painkillers scattered on the bathroom floors, dishes piled up in the sink, food left on the dining table. Clearly, Metilda wasn't expecting him to come home.

He checked in Louis's room and finally found her. Cuddled next to their five year old son, Metilda slept soundly. She snored softly, light brown wisp of hair falling off her face.

John walked to the bed. She looked so innocent. So did his son.

He leaned down and planted a kiss on his son's forehead. Before he could stop himself, he kissed Metilda's cheek. Her cheeks were wet from tears. She had cried herself to sleep. 

"I'm sorry, Mel."  With his thumb, he wiped the last trailing tear from her lashes. "I should  have never let you go." 

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Note:

. Blow the Wind Southerly is a traditional English folk song from Northumbria. It tells of a woman desperately hoping for a southerly wind to blow her lover back home over the ocean to her. (source wiki).

Now, it kind of makes sense why Aunt Rein would sing this song since her husband was in the navy. Metaphorically speaking, I can imagine Metilda singing this song for John, asking the winds to bring John back to her.

Please do comment.

(well that was a long note.)