Dr. eeL
Farmer
MIDDLEWALK-63
It must be Stardew magic that physically, Haley has recovered from the past two years as if nothing had happened. Her skin shines, her hair dances in the sunlight, her voice gives me goosebumps, and her laughter now has a tiny echo coming from the other room. I can hear her singing again inside the house, a perfect clone of the girl I married two years ago. If anything, her eyes speak of a deeper emotional love different from the giddy first days of our marriage. All this recovery meant that I was facing a problem. A s-e-x problem. For two years, the subject had never come up, simply because we were both in survival mode, lucky to make it from one day to the next. To be sure, we still cuddled together at night like two chipmunks hibernating on a cold winter's night. But . . . . prior to her pregnancy, so much of our humor, teasing, threats and promises of what was going to happen soon, and just plain fun centered around spoken and unspoken sexual implications. I had trouble wrapping my brain around the fact that she simply was more open and uninhibited than me, and of the overwhelming joy she experienced giving expression to her imagination. Today, although we had the cutest little creature zooming about the house, some of the 'fun' was lacking, and it was all my fault. I was so naive to imagine that we would have a farmhouse full of kids, but I had been totally without a clue as to how that would come about. As I hunched over outside, pulling up red beets in the hot sun, my thoughts dwelled on the horrible ordeal that we had survived, and that nothing, not even Haley's version of the enchantment of sex, nothing was worth paying that price again. I didn't know if Welwick's magic potion was good for one baby or for a dozen. I didn't know what Haley's thoughts were. I only knew that I was never, never ever going to put Haley through that experience again. Because I was so silent on the subject, I really felt on the inside like someone who had told a lie. And now, with the passing days, I had to continue to tell lies simply to avoid admitting that I had told a lie in the first place.
Gradually, my thoughts coalesced around Welwick. Maybe she had the answer. I looked closely at the screen of her morning show, looking for a phone number, but it wasn't there. I went and visited the wizard, and he said that while he was often in contact with Welwick, she was the one who called him, not vice versa. I thought of visiting Mr. Qi's dark casino, but rejected the idea, as it was probably only an accident that I had seen her there. Finally, I was simply forced to wait, to wait for the summer festival. When the day arrived, Haley and I played the same games as we had done two years ago, and my big chance to get away came when she took Cassie to see the clown act with Emily. There was Welwick in her tent, currently without a client, and I approached with a trembling heart. She took my palm, and said, "Ah, now you are a family of three." Without any prompting on her part, I poured out my worries, and my wonder on just what effect her magic potion had on me. She reached in her garments, pulled out the little bottle again, and set it down in front of me. Impulsively, I backed away from it. She gently began to explain, "History often seems to repeat itself, but it never really does. Each time, choices are made, choices made by you. Two drops are only enough magic for one baby. You are free. But when you are ready, come back again."
Ten thousand elephants suddenly jumped from my back. I was free. Haley and I were free. I had a chance to turn back the hands of time and return to experience the raw wonderful joy we felt before she got pregnant. Haley and I would be complete again (with one little addition). As the three of us were walking home, I was bursting with excitement and couldn't wait to tell Haley the whole story. At first, she was silent, and I felt the tiniest bit of air leaking out of my balloon of happiness. And then my balloon blew apart as it was roasted in a volcano of hurt and anger that made the one on Ginger Island look like a popsicle. Haley was hurt. Her cute husband had always shared every secret in his heart with an openness that was like sunshine to her flowers of love. And now he had hidden something behind a cloud? Haley was angry. Why had I cut her out? Why had I talked to Welwick about our love life? There's not the slightest doubt that Haley's far more intuitive than I, that she's super special in that department. Why had I not included her in "our" team of two? I was guilty. Guilty of being stupid. Guilty of being a selfish idiot. Guilty on all counts (cue in the sound of a heavy hammer rapping).
After putting Cassie to bed for the night, I sat alone on our porch and tried to gather my thoughts. In my imagination, dozens of slimes came out of the dark to attack me. Bite, ouch. Bite, ouch. Bite, ouch. "Oh hi, little slime, you want a piece of me. Here's my arm." Chomp! Chomp, chomp, chomp. I could go on in and apologize. Not good enough. Apologies do not mend broken trust. I could cover the room in sunflowers. Haley's too smart for that. She would think that I'm a fake. I am in so much trouble. How can I be so much in love and so stupid at the same time? Gradually, I let my panting breathing slow down. My thoughts slow down. A story comes to mind. A true story. Have you ever had to fart, and instead of smelly air, a little diarrhea comes out? Ack! You run to the bathroom, feeling your wet bottom on the way, and pull down your underwear and look, and sure enough, there's a spot of brown. You go to the sink to try and wash it out, put on fresh underwear, and stick the wet one in the laundry. You don't feel completely recovered until the laundry is done the next day, and your underpants come out fresh and white again. That's me. Here I sit, brown. How does one recover? Imagine a blackboard with chalk writing on it. Take an erasure and clean the board. The past writing no longer exists. Yesterday, I ate a cheese sandwich. It tasted good. But the memory of the taste is completely gone, erased by new writing on the blackboard of life. In the same way, the memory of the farting discomfort will soon also become erased. Memories are strange. In the same way that they can be erased, they can also be repaired, particularly with the most innocent and genuineness of little stores.
Later that night, as Haley's head lay on my shoulder in bed, she listens quietly as I retell the story. She starts to snicker, and says that the same fart disaster has happened to her too. She turns and starts to crawl up a little higher on me and for the first time in two years, we share a kiss that's more than a peck. Within moments, we are touching again, and Haley lets me know in a thousand ways that our blackboard is sparkling clean.
It must be Stardew magic that physically, Haley has recovered from the past two years as if nothing had happened. Her skin shines, her hair dances in the sunlight, her voice gives me goosebumps, and her laughter now has a tiny echo coming from the other room. I can hear her singing again inside the house, a perfect clone of the girl I married two years ago. If anything, her eyes speak of a deeper emotional love different from the giddy first days of our marriage. All this recovery meant that I was facing a problem. A s-e-x problem. For two years, the subject had never come up, simply because we were both in survival mode, lucky to make it from one day to the next. To be sure, we still cuddled together at night like two chipmunks hibernating on a cold winter's night. But . . . . prior to her pregnancy, so much of our humor, teasing, threats and promises of what was going to happen soon, and just plain fun centered around spoken and unspoken sexual implications. I had trouble wrapping my brain around the fact that she simply was more open and uninhibited than me, and of the overwhelming joy she experienced giving expression to her imagination. Today, although we had the cutest little creature zooming about the house, some of the 'fun' was lacking, and it was all my fault. I was so naive to imagine that we would have a farmhouse full of kids, but I had been totally without a clue as to how that would come about. As I hunched over outside, pulling up red beets in the hot sun, my thoughts dwelled on the horrible ordeal that we had survived, and that nothing, not even Haley's version of the enchantment of sex, nothing was worth paying that price again. I didn't know if Welwick's magic potion was good for one baby or for a dozen. I didn't know what Haley's thoughts were. I only knew that I was never, never ever going to put Haley through that experience again. Because I was so silent on the subject, I really felt on the inside like someone who had told a lie. And now, with the passing days, I had to continue to tell lies simply to avoid admitting that I had told a lie in the first place.
Gradually, my thoughts coalesced around Welwick. Maybe she had the answer. I looked closely at the screen of her morning show, looking for a phone number, but it wasn't there. I went and visited the wizard, and he said that while he was often in contact with Welwick, she was the one who called him, not vice versa. I thought of visiting Mr. Qi's dark casino, but rejected the idea, as it was probably only an accident that I had seen her there. Finally, I was simply forced to wait, to wait for the summer festival. When the day arrived, Haley and I played the same games as we had done two years ago, and my big chance to get away came when she took Cassie to see the clown act with Emily. There was Welwick in her tent, currently without a client, and I approached with a trembling heart. She took my palm, and said, "Ah, now you are a family of three." Without any prompting on her part, I poured out my worries, and my wonder on just what effect her magic potion had on me. She reached in her garments, pulled out the little bottle again, and set it down in front of me. Impulsively, I backed away from it. She gently began to explain, "History often seems to repeat itself, but it never really does. Each time, choices are made, choices made by you. Two drops are only enough magic for one baby. You are free. But when you are ready, come back again."
Ten thousand elephants suddenly jumped from my back. I was free. Haley and I were free. I had a chance to turn back the hands of time and return to experience the raw wonderful joy we felt before she got pregnant. Haley and I would be complete again (with one little addition). As the three of us were walking home, I was bursting with excitement and couldn't wait to tell Haley the whole story. At first, she was silent, and I felt the tiniest bit of air leaking out of my balloon of happiness. And then my balloon blew apart as it was roasted in a volcano of hurt and anger that made the one on Ginger Island look like a popsicle. Haley was hurt. Her cute husband had always shared every secret in his heart with an openness that was like sunshine to her flowers of love. And now he had hidden something behind a cloud? Haley was angry. Why had I cut her out? Why had I talked to Welwick about our love life? There's not the slightest doubt that Haley's far more intuitive than I, that she's super special in that department. Why had I not included her in "our" team of two? I was guilty. Guilty of being stupid. Guilty of being a selfish idiot. Guilty on all counts (cue in the sound of a heavy hammer rapping).
After putting Cassie to bed for the night, I sat alone on our porch and tried to gather my thoughts. In my imagination, dozens of slimes came out of the dark to attack me. Bite, ouch. Bite, ouch. Bite, ouch. "Oh hi, little slime, you want a piece of me. Here's my arm." Chomp! Chomp, chomp, chomp. I could go on in and apologize. Not good enough. Apologies do not mend broken trust. I could cover the room in sunflowers. Haley's too smart for that. She would think that I'm a fake. I am in so much trouble. How can I be so much in love and so stupid at the same time? Gradually, I let my panting breathing slow down. My thoughts slow down. A story comes to mind. A true story. Have you ever had to fart, and instead of smelly air, a little diarrhea comes out? Ack! You run to the bathroom, feeling your wet bottom on the way, and pull down your underwear and look, and sure enough, there's a spot of brown. You go to the sink to try and wash it out, put on fresh underwear, and stick the wet one in the laundry. You don't feel completely recovered until the laundry is done the next day, and your underpants come out fresh and white again. That's me. Here I sit, brown. How does one recover? Imagine a blackboard with chalk writing on it. Take an erasure and clean the board. The past writing no longer exists. Yesterday, I ate a cheese sandwich. It tasted good. But the memory of the taste is completely gone, erased by new writing on the blackboard of life. In the same way, the memory of the farting discomfort will soon also become erased. Memories are strange. In the same way that they can be erased, they can also be repaired, particularly with the most innocent and genuineness of little stores.
Later that night, as Haley's head lay on my shoulder in bed, she listens quietly as I retell the story. She starts to snicker, and says that the same fart disaster has happened to her too. She turns and starts to crawl up a little higher on me and for the first time in two years, we share a kiss that's more than a peck. Within moments, we are touching again, and Haley lets me know in a thousand ways that our blackboard is sparkling clean.
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