Yūgen

Something Blue

I felt the box shake a little as he gingerly took it out of the closet. As far as I can tell, she's only been gone for a week but the this is the tenth time that he's taken me out. Sometimes he does it soberly, most times the stench of alcohol on his person is the first thing that greets me when he lifts the lid of my box. This was one of those times. The smell of vodka (or is it tequila? Maybe it was scotch. I can never tell the difference, it all smelled foul to me.) wafts over me as he carefully took me out of the box and stared at me numbly. If despair had an odor, I'm pretty sure he would reek of it too. He misses her, that much is obvious. But the use of the word miss almost seems like a disservice to the way he feels because it was so much deeper than that. He ached for her, while still not enough, would be a more accurate description of his current state. Everything hurt and he didn't know what to do to make the pain stop because it was rooted deep within his skin, it permeated his bones and coated his blood. The hurt was evident in everything that he did. He tried to distract himself with work, tried to go out with friends, tried to spend time with his family but everywhere he went just reminded him of her.

the ugly plant that she insisted he put on his work desk that he had grown incredibly fond of

that bench in the park by the lake where they liked to sit and feed ducks (naturally, she gave them all names)

his mom who never liked any of his girlfriends but who loved Maine right off the bat

her favorite bookstore where she could browse for hours and not get bored; he, on the other hand watched her and never got tired of looking at her

There was nothing and no one in his life that didn't remind him of her. So he stayed home and wallowed. At home, he thought, at least he could cry in private.

***

The first time he saw me was during their wedding reception. He lifted the voluminous skirt of her dream wedding dress amidst cheering and catcalls from their closest friends and family. She laughed when he got tangled in the fabric of her dress but she stopped, eyes widening, when she felt his warm hand on her calf.

Slowly, deliberately, he skimmed his palm upwards until he felt me on her upper thigh. He was about to tug me down with his fingers when he got a better idea. If her skirt hadn't been covering his face, she would have seen the mischievous glint in his eyes before he gripped me between his teeth. Her breath hitched when he playfully nipped her inner thigh before he pulled me down her smooth leg with his mouth. The guests roared their approval. When he emerged from under her dress, his ears were the color of tomatoes. She gave his shoulder a playful shove. He saw me for the first time in the light and was pleasantly surprised to note that I wasn't the traditional white garter. I was his favorite shade of blue. She picked me with that in mind and was pleased to see the blush spread from his ears down to his neck. He liked me.

He helped her up from the chair she was sitting on and pulled her in for a hug so he could murmur in her ear.

"Hindi ko 'to itotoss."

She pulled back slightly so he could see her raised eyebrow.

"Really? Why not?"

"I don't want anyone else wearing this but you."

She laughed at how serious he looked.

"But the garter toss is a wedding tradition!"

"I don't care. Basta no one wear this garter but you, Maine."

It wasn't a request. He was rarely ever bossy with her but when he was, she found it hot. So she leaned over and whispered, "I'll wear the garter for you later, Mr. Faulkerson. Nothing but the garter."

She didn't get to fulfill that promise until the following day. They were so tired after the wedding that they didn't get to do anything more than cuddle before they passed out from exhaustion. When he woke up the next morning she was sprawled next to him, her hair fanned over the pillows, mouth slightly open with drool on her cheek. He thought she looked magnificent. Careful not to wake her up, he wiped her cheek with the back of his hand. He then traced her the shape of her face with his fingertips, marvelling at the fact that his college crush was now his wife.

She was his wife.

He was her husband.

She was his.

His wife.

His.

When she opened her eyes, he was still looking at her with something akin to wonder.

"Good morning, Mrs. Faulkerson," he beamed at her.

"Good morning, asawa ko," she beamed back.

"Bakit ang ganda mo kahit natutulog ka?"

"Bolero. Pinakasalan na nga kita, binobola mo pa din ako."

"Di kita binobola ah."

He nuzzled her shoulder before he slowly skimmed his nose up her neck. He nibbled on the shell of her ear.

"Maine," he said in his bedroom voice.

"Yes, Richard?" she answered breathlessly.

"Ang ganda mo pag tulog, kahit tulo laway ka."

She pushed his face away with the palm of her hand.

"Gago ka. Ikaw nga naghihilik eh."

"Gwapo pa din."

"Di ah. Pangit mo."

"Talaga pangit ako? Eh Bakit mo ko pinakasalan?"

She looked him straight in the eye and said deadpan, "I married you for your body." She promptly burst into hysterical laughter.

That's how they spent their first morning as husband and wife, talking and laughing in between lazy kisses and intimate touches. Back then it wasn't hard to believe that this was how they would always be: happy. That they could face any challenge that came their way because not only were they a couple, they were best friends. Richard believed that nothing could ever come between them because they could talk and laugh through anything.

He was wrong.