Storm ☾ Paul Lahote

~WELCOME HOME~

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I've been so lost in constructing scenarios for the evening ahead that I'm surprised to see how far I've come. 

Paul gripped the wheel, his knuckles turning white as he pulled into his long driveway.

I saw a narrow dirt-path leading to a tiny red-brick cottage. The cottage was so small it looked more like a doll's house than a human dwelling. The bricks it was build of were old and crumbly and very pale red. It had a grey slate roof and one small chimney, and there were to little windows at the front. Each window was no larger than a sheet of tabloid newspaper and there was clearly no upstairs to the place. On either side of the path, there was a wilderness of nettles and blackberry thorns and long brown grass, An enormous oak tree stood overshadowing the cottage. It's massive spreading branches seemed to be enfolding and embracing the tiny building, and perhaps hiding it as well from the rest of the world.

The wooden framed sash windows were propped open with sticks and the brick work, perhaps once a jaunty red, looked dirty with over a hundred years of Washington grime. A small rose garden had been planted in front, and although it had obviously once been carefully planned and loved, it was now riddled with weeds.

My eyebrows raise, not seeing Paul as a gardener.

Paul pulls up to the end of the dirt path, a few feet away from the front door. Just ahead, a silver truck exactly like Paul's was parked on the edge of the dirt.

Paul shuts off the car, making me tap my leg nervously.

"Wow," I sigh. "I'm about to meet your dad." I look over at him, grinning. He was already looking at me, a soft look on his face.

"You are," He shakes his head, stuffing his keys in his pocket and opening the truck door. I do the same, making sure not to put too much pressure on one ankle.

We meet in the middle, Paul holding out his hand for me to take. I take it eagerly as he leads me up to the wooden stairs.

"Paul!" The front door creaks, opening up to what I assumed was Paul's father. He had a black beard that was slowly going grey. But on him, it looked natural. A welcoming smile made its way onto his face as he glanced at Paul and I's entwined hands. "Hello, my dear." He nods at me, urging us to come inside.

The house was welcoming from the open door to the wide hallway. Upon the walls were the photographs of children, so obviously so loved. The floor was an old-fashioned parquet with a blend of deep homely browns and the walls were the greens of summer gardens meeting a bold white baseboard. The banister was a twirl of a branch, tamed by the carpenter's hand, it's grain flowing as water might, in waves of comforting woodland hues. Under the lamp-shine, it was nature's art, something that soothed right to the soul.

"It's so lovely to meet you," He closes the door behind us, "Take off your shoes, get comfy. Dinner will be ready soon," He disappears down the hall, turning into what I assumed to be the kitchen.

"Alright, Reggie," Paul says after we both take off our shoes. "The living room is down here," He grabs my hand and leads me towards the living room.

The living room was dimly lit with the vintage wall sconces that hung on the mute colored walls like earrings. Thick velvet curtains hid the long windows across the walls, just leaving a shy peak of the woods beyond. Two antique couches stood the opposite sides of each on the hand-woven rug in front of the ashen fireplace, accompanied by rich velvet and bronze wing-chairs that stood as a sidekick. The paintings and faded tapestry panels on the walls seem to blink as we enter.

If I painted the walls black the room couldn't be any darker. The light that struggles through fails to reflect from the once beige carpet that is more like a forest floor in both color and texture. The walls could be any shade at all, I can't tell.

The room gives away his bachelorhood. Everything is functional. The mantle is where he puts his keys and garage door opener. On the coffee table is a wrench set. He's not hopeless though, he clearly knows one end of a vacuum cleaner from the other. He turns, smiling shyly, not a look I've seen on his face before. I can't help but smile back, he just told me all I need to know. He doesn't bring people back here often, perhaps he's a keeper after all.

"I love it, Paul," I reassure him, taking my hand away from him and walking over to the couch, plopping onto it. He looks at me in adoration before shaking his head and sitting down beside me. He wraps his arm around me, practically pulling me into his lap.

"The game's on!" His father, hurriedly walks into the room, carrying platefuls of foods, skillfully if I might add.

"What game, Mr. Lahote?" I sit up slightly, intrigued as he placed the plates on the coffee table before sitting on a rocking armchair.

"Soccer," He reaches for his plate of food. "And please, call me Darren." He winks at me. "Eat your food, it's getting cold." He urges, making me look at the plate of heaping food. Steak and a monstrous pile of mashed potatoes.

"I love soccer!" My food was completely forgotten as a professional game of soccer was being played on the small television set.

"Paul here doesn't find it interesting. He says it's way too boring because it isn't as overbearing as football." He shakes his head at Paul who scoffs at his father's mocking tone.

"That's the best part! The passing and the plays that always work." I shake my head at Paul who looked at me, grinning.

"You picked a special one, my dear." Darren winks, making me lean back into Paul, flustered.

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"He loves you, Reggie." I pull the covers away as Paul goes to get into bed. "Almost as much as I love you," 

I couldn't will my lips to move. As if stuck underwater, everything was slow and warbled as we laid under the covers staring at each other on our sides.

"Tell me what you're thinking." He urges, stroking my face with his pointer finger as he looked at me softly.

But my mind was blank and my eyes wide as I stared at him in astonishment. His eyes desperately searched mine... waiting. I had to say something. I searched my mind for something reasonable to say, but to my surprise, my heart answered for me, "I love you, Paul."

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