Daydream Believer

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Chapter 4

            We were sitting in the kitchen.  We both had the day off.  The dog was lying on the floor, too tired to want to play, but desperately wanted to play.  She was probably remembering all those years gone by, running around the house, causing havoc wherever she went, destroying everything, and us, her masters, chasing after her, laughing and shouting all the while.  She would make anything turn into a tug of war, probably because she won every time.

            On the kitchen table was a whole stack of papers.  All of them official.  All of them needing attention.  All of them requiring attention from us that we just didn’t want to give.  Tax papers, insurance, stock notifications, bills, the works.  We had put it off until the last minute, as we do every year, and we were now suffering the consequences of our actions.

            “It’s your turn to do the dishes,” he said.

            “What?  No it’s not.  I did them yesterday.”

            Clearly we were both looking for any excuse to not have to do this any longer.

            “No, I did them yesterday AND the day before.  YOU said that you were too tired yesterday to do them, so I did them instead.”

            “I don’t remember saying that.”

            “You did.”

            “Are you sure?  I think you’re just trying to trick me into doing the dishes again.”

            “Do them.”

            “Okay.”

            There weren’t a whole lot of dishes to do.  We must have been very desperate to put this off as long as possible, possibly even longer.  Towards the end, I ended up getting a tiny bit of water on my shirt.  Clearly this was a sign.

            “I’m going upstairs to change,” I said.

            “Uh huh,” he replied.

            He was playing on his phone.

            I walked upstairs.  I thought about what we had discussed earlier.  Did we really need to plant a tree in the backyard?  Of course not, but did we really want to plant a tree in the backyard?  A big tree, too.  Not a dinky little shrub.  Was this a luxury we could afford?  I mean, yes, it was.  That’s why we were discussing it in the first place.  But would we have enough emergency money left afterwards, and would we really appreciate the tree after the first week or so?  I mean, we had lived here for several years now, so I don’t think we had any plans on moving anytime soon, but still.

            Was it time to repaint the outside walls of the house?  Should we suck it up and do it ourselves or hire someone out?  The asphalt on the driveway could use a new coat, but then again, it could always use a new coat.  That tree out front needed its dead branches clipped.  The lawn mower needed gas.  Was it time to take the cars in for a checkup?  When was the last time I went to the dentist?  Went to the doctor’s?  Was Pogo all caught up with her shots?  Did we make enough money to stay within the same income bracket as last year?  How much money can we afford to put away into our retirement plan?

            I walked into our bedroom and took off my shirt, threw it into the dirty clothes basket, and walked to my dresser.  Magically, he was behind me, kissing my shoulders.

            “Heh, aren’t those forms due in a few days?” I asked.

            “Well, we already missed the mailman today, so we have allllllllll day to finish those,” he replied.

            “And it’ll take you allllllll day to work your mathematical magic on them while I watch Mike & Molly reruns.”

            He pushed me onto our bed.

            “Just admit you got water on yourself just as an excuse to get shirtless for me.”

            I looked up at him and grinned.  No, I hadn’t, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.  And besides, he was wearing my favorite getup.  Despite the both of us being in our 40s now, he had somehow managed to retain his youth and looked like he was merely in his early 30s.  He had that five o’clock shadow going on, his hair was an absolute mess, I’m pretty sure his stained Coney Island t-shirt was from the dirty laundry basket, his…MY sweatpants that he was wearing…well, okay, there wasn’t anything particularly special about them, but the fact that he was wearing them was still a turn on somehow.

            He climbed onto the bed, on top of me.  We locked lips again, and his hands made their way from my waist upwards.  And then Pogo trotted into the room, panting madly.  It seemed she was convinced that it was play time and she was the center star.

            “Pogo, go!” he said, waving his hand to shoo her away.

            She whined a little and then let out a bark.  Then she smiled again.  Then she pounced in place, as if anticipating a sudden chase around the house, the yard, the neighborhood, perhaps the world.  He and I both grinned.  Sexy times would have to wait for a later date.  Even if we threw her out and closed the door, she would just claw at the door and whine until we let her in, and it was incredibly hard to try and be intimate with one another when you’re constantly hearing whining and barking coming from the other side of the door and also wondering if you’re going to have to replace that door sometime soon because all the scratch marks have finally taken their toll.

           He got up off the bed and Pogo’s response was to leap back up her feet and bolt downstairs.

           “Come on.  You can at least chase her around the backyard without your shirt on,” he said.

           I chuckled.

           “Admit it.  You tampered with the sink so that I would get water on my shirt so that I would have to take my shirt off, and you colluded with Pogo so that you would try to convince me to spend more time shirtless in front of you by means of playing with her,” I replied.

           “I will not confirm this suspicion of yours.”

           His smile said otherwise.  I got out of bed and went downstairs with him.

            “Maybe you should take your shirt off when we get outside, just in case Pogo tries to jump on you and gets mud all over it,” I suggested.

            “But the ground’s too dry for mud.  At most, I’d get some dried dirt on…”

            “And your pants, too.  You just washed them.  We don’t have the money to do a load of laundry every time you get a speck of dirt on them.”

            I could tell he was trying to keep a straight face, and was quickly losing that battle.

            “And, y’know, maybe your underwear, too…”

            He cracked and laughed.  I noticed the wrinkles around his eyes, made from years of me attempting to get him to break down into fits of laughter.  I’d say it was a success overall.

            “Get out there and play with the damn dog,” he said, pointing at Pogo, who was already at the sliding glass door and alternating between looking at us slowly come down the stairs and the infinite expanse that was our tiny backyard.  He also started to pull off his shirt, to which I couldn’t help but to smile at.  “That’s all you’re getting,” he said.

            I slid open the door and Pogo bolted out.

            “We do need to check with the vet that she has all her necessary shots,” I said.

            “Yeah.”

            “And that may cost us the tree.”

            “I know.  Pogo!  Get the rope!  Go get the rope!  Get it!  Go on!  Get it!”

            Pogo ran for her favorite knotted rope toy like her life depended on it.

            “We’ll be fine,” he said.

            “I know,” I said, looking back at him.

            I know.  We’ll be fine.  As long as we got each-