groovy sounds ♪♪ the who imagines

pete 2

"darling, don't say such things"

pete wears a wool jacket that swings at his knees with each step. it's something, you think, you would have bought for him. underneath his boots, dead leaves shiver and crunch and wet with the soil and his footsteps sound more like verse than human motion to you. these are the times when you feel most in love with him. the fog from morning has yet to evaporate; it settles and clogs the tree branches. 

"darling, where are we going?" you ask.

you've taken to using pet names on each other. somehow, it seems appropriate in this november month caught between chill and rain. he turns and looks over his shoulder at you. his face is a sweet flush, pink and dewy. 

"our tree. don't you remember?" 

but of course you remember. it was only a year ago when you ran into the forest like children and kissed in secrecy. wine-drunk and very happy, he said you were the best thing to grace his little world. 

"i couldn't forget, pete." you jog to him and he smiles and gives you his arm.

"good," he says. a step or two more and he stops. "now, somewhere around here . . ." he searches, a hand to his face, then hums like an artist finding the right tone. you follow the track of his eyes to a large, arching tree. marked in its bark are your twin initials. you'd carved them with his tiny pocket knife and etched kisses and hugs, x's and o's, around the joint names. your heart hovers.

"we were drinking that night," he steps forward, an actor progressing on his audience. "when i handed the blade to you, i thought, oh shit, she's going to cut herself. and you did."

you laugh and throw your head back against the air. "i was bleeding everywhere."

"i know. dripping while we hurried back home." he touches you, hands on your arms and body tall against your own. "i nursed you back to health."

"you nursed me back to health . . ." you repeat. you're drawn into the depths of his eyes and the small smile his face takes on. you run a fingertip against the laughter line that frames his mouth.

"and kissed it better." with that, he brushes his nose to yours and drops to one knee. the wool of his jacket dampens and he messes with the pocket, producing a box that fits in his palm. you question yourself, the state of your body and the space you're taking up, the distance from pete. and you question him too. this is an action you've never seen before: his opening of the box and the sparkle inside, his bit lip, his round, round eyes.

he whispers your name. "will you be my wife?"

you turn from him at first, unexpected, flushed and body filled with a thousand hummingbirds. "darling," you gasp. "don't say such things."

"i have to. there is no one else to complete me but you. no one else i can ask. so tell me, will you?"

in the middle of the foggy forest, with his knee compounded into dirt and his hair plastered with sweat, pete waits for your yes. when it comes, finally, expelled from your body like a breath held too long, he slips the ring onto your finger and stands with you.

without the fruit of wine, you both giggle and kiss. for a long time, you stand still with him, just to find his body whole, just to know him.

{ the who are coming to my city & i plan on giving $$$ to see them with my own real eyes! plus read "Barbara Ann" by dilemmaemma_ for sweet sweetness with mr. moon }