Finding the Right Words

Finding the Right Words

After Sunday breakfast, William Love had slipped out on the back porch for a cigarette and was admiring his well-groomed yard that he had spent most of yesterday working on. With both of his children off to college William was enjoying a quieter life with his wife Mary.  As he watched a squirrel scamper up a tree, across a branch, and then leap over to another tree, William Love considered how he hadn't told his wife often enough how much she meant to him, and when he did try, how it didn't always come out right.

Sometimes Mary’s response to his feeble attempts at heart-felt communication would be surprised suspicion: “OK, what’d ya do now?” Occasionally he would foul up his intention so badly that it wound up causing an argument. But most of the time she would just chuckle at his bungled stumbling over misbegotten words, lean against him and say, “you’re sweet.”

This morning, in the midst of his perfectly level lawn and sculptured bushes (sculptured is probably pushing it), William thought not about the bigger aspects of their relationship, the deep love or the soul mate thing. This morning he thought about how much he enjoyed all the little things about her. The way she got excited when she completed a crossword puzzle, how she would tell a funny story about someone at work or the way she hummed a happy song while doing chores.

William couldn't recall himself ever telling his wife how much he enjoyed just spending time with her doing nothing special at all. He tossed his cigarette into the sand filled coffee can, walked in and entered the kitchen.

“Honey,” he said.

Mary turned from the kitchen sink with a smile, continuing to wipe the plate in her hand and still humming some melody. She watched her big-old-lug of a husband standing there with an uncertain look on his face.

William searched for a few clear and simple words to express his honest affection. His lips moved and sound came out of his mouth.

“Honey,” he said, “it’s been nice knowing you.”