Bring It On Home To Me

The Waterworks

April 1, 1968

6:50 A.M.

The sun nestles in the sky, and the birds chirp outside the hotel. I jump out of bed and open the curtains. Bright sunshine pours into the motel room, causing a dorky smile to curl my lips into a pearly white smile. The sound of John groaning distracts me from the beautiful sun outside. The blond groans again before turning around and facing the wall to the bathroom, hiding his face in the covers.

I laugh at him before walking over and pressing a few soft kisses on his temple. His bangs fall onto his face, covering his eyes. I shook my head at his smooth, loose strands of hair. I leaned down to his ear and nibbled on it, whispering for him to get up. A small "no" fell from his lips. After debating whether to wake him up or let him sleep in, I decided on the latter.

Going over to the closet, I finally decided to use the hangers and hang our clothes up. It's tiring having to bend over for such a long time - especially when you can barely see your own two feet! It never fails for my lower back to tingle in pain. I softly sigh, examining my choices for today. Noticing there are fewer choices for me to wear, I toss around the thought of asking Father James to go shopping with me tomorrow. He might help me prepare for New Bordeaux's heat better than John.

I grab a pink sleeveless dress. I don't venture out too far in fashion. I like to keep to myself. Not to mention, they also make me feel better about my pregnancy. I enter the bathroom and see my hair perfectly curled over my shoulders. Initially, my hair was down to the middle of my shoulder blades during Vietnam. The ends were jagged because of how I cut them with my combat knife. When I came back, I got three inches of it cut off. 

Now, my hair is down to the top of my shoulders. It suits me better.

After an hour of getting ready, I walk out of the bathroom and see John still sleeping. My smile drops. It's as if my blood begins to boil in the hot Louisiana humidity. My legs march over to the sleeping blond, and I gently shake him around. He still wasn't awake.

Are you  fucking serious?

I tugged on his bangs and softly smacked his cheek a few times. I poked him like he was roadkill, and I had a stick! I even kissed his cheek like there was no tomorrow! Yet, he still didn't budge.

I guess modern problems require modern solutions.

He might whip a gun out on me, but I don't want him to miss this appointment. I warmed my hands up, and then, with a deep breath, I clapped them together six times.

"Caca dau! Caca dau!" I yell, and a silver item pierces the raging hot sunshine beaming in through the blinds. John jolts out of bed, and before I know it, I'm facing the barrel of a gun. I hold my hands high, showing him I'm not a threat. John sighs as his arms fall to his sides. His eyes close out of relief.

"Goddamn it, Sofia," John shakes his head, a long breath elasping from his lips, "I almost shot your gorgeous face." He conceals his gun under the pillow again before pulling me into a tight embrace. I chuckle, holding him. My hand pushes his bangs back to see his beautiful blue eyes. Before getting lost in a trance, I inspect the clock on the nightstand.

8:00 A.M.

A tingling sense of dread spills into my nervous system. I escort John into the bathroom.

"I'll get your tux ready, shower quickly, and do whatever you're going to do. You got twenty minutes!" I bark before closing the door and quickly looking into the closet. I don't want him to wear his tan suit—he's worn it for God knows how long. I have to do laundry at Father James's house, too.

Ugh!

I scanned over his clothes, only to see two tuxes: his brown and tan ones. He did look good in dark colors. On our wedding day, he looked good in his black and white tux - quit it, Sof, focus.