Happy Birthday, Dave
Sep. 21st, 2005 01:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rohansonThe driftwood is warm under my fingers as I smooth the edges of the marks left by the small carving tool. It knows what it wants to be, just needs a little help to get there …
I found it one Sunday, weeks ago, as me and Dave walked along the beach. We’d been talking about things, stuff, nothing in particular, spending time together, making each other laugh and smile as Ise ran in and out of the sea, when we came across a line of debris left by the last high tide. Ise snuffled her way through it, grasping a frayed length of blue nylon rope between her teeth, growling to herself as she pulled it free of the rest, dislodging a piece of driftwood in the process.
The slender curve of it drew me and I picked it up as Dave played tug of war with her. Just over two feet long, it was wide at one end, tapering to a soft point at the other, the grain clearly visible. There was something about it …
I carried it back to the cabin, keeping it out of Ise’s reach. As I laid it in the truck before we went inside, Dave asked me why I wanted it, why that piece out of all the others that had littered the beach.
“It feels right.” I’d shrugged with a puzzled smile, not really knowing why, but knowing that it had a purpose, and that I’d figure it out eventually. He touched my face, fingers ghosting round my jaw and all thoughts of driftwood were driven from my mind, replaced by desire. His hand had slipped into mine and I followed willingly as he tugged me towards the door …
The driftwood stood on my workbench for weeks. Every now and then I’d pick it up, run my hands over it, sure that I almost knew what it was for, almost …
On a damp spring evening I arrived home knowing that Dave wouldn’t be around until after ten, and stopped on my way past the workshop to drop some sketches onto the bench. As I glanced round the room, my eyes skimmed over the driftwood, and I finally saw in it what it was meant to be. I sat down, hands reaching out for my tools, and began to work …
I was still there when he heard Dave’s car approaching hours later, not realising how long I’d worked on it, not realising how hungry I was until I was distracted. Closing the door behind me, I smiled as Dave locked the car door, moving to greet him with a kiss before hurrying him into the warehouse so I could go in search of food.
I worked on it every chance I got until two nights ago, and then it was done. The sleek, smooth body of a dolphin bursting from the rough foaming surface of the sea, pushing itself skyward. What it was meant to be. And as soon as I knew that, I knew who it was for. I just hope he likes it …
I carefully wrap it in a dozen layers of tissue paper before lying it in a dark blue satin box and tying it up with a black ribbon and adding a small card with a simple message.
Happy Birthday Dave.
Love you forever, for always.
Paris.
Leaving the box on the table beside an opened bottle of Shiraz and two glasses, I guess I’ve just got time to dash upstairs to shower and change before he arrives. Leather jeans, bare feet and that dark blue silk shirt he likes so much, I think.
Ten minutes later, I hear the door open as I reach the bottom of the stairs, dragging my fingers through still drying hair. He smiles at me as I greet him with a lopsided grin.
“Happy birthday, babe.”
I found it one Sunday, weeks ago, as me and Dave walked along the beach. We’d been talking about things, stuff, nothing in particular, spending time together, making each other laugh and smile as Ise ran in and out of the sea, when we came across a line of debris left by the last high tide. Ise snuffled her way through it, grasping a frayed length of blue nylon rope between her teeth, growling to herself as she pulled it free of the rest, dislodging a piece of driftwood in the process.
The slender curve of it drew me and I picked it up as Dave played tug of war with her. Just over two feet long, it was wide at one end, tapering to a soft point at the other, the grain clearly visible. There was something about it …
I carried it back to the cabin, keeping it out of Ise’s reach. As I laid it in the truck before we went inside, Dave asked me why I wanted it, why that piece out of all the others that had littered the beach.
“It feels right.” I’d shrugged with a puzzled smile, not really knowing why, but knowing that it had a purpose, and that I’d figure it out eventually. He touched my face, fingers ghosting round my jaw and all thoughts of driftwood were driven from my mind, replaced by desire. His hand had slipped into mine and I followed willingly as he tugged me towards the door …
The driftwood stood on my workbench for weeks. Every now and then I’d pick it up, run my hands over it, sure that I almost knew what it was for, almost …
On a damp spring evening I arrived home knowing that Dave wouldn’t be around until after ten, and stopped on my way past the workshop to drop some sketches onto the bench. As I glanced round the room, my eyes skimmed over the driftwood, and I finally saw in it what it was meant to be. I sat down, hands reaching out for my tools, and began to work …
I was still there when he heard Dave’s car approaching hours later, not realising how long I’d worked on it, not realising how hungry I was until I was distracted. Closing the door behind me, I smiled as Dave locked the car door, moving to greet him with a kiss before hurrying him into the warehouse so I could go in search of food.
I worked on it every chance I got until two nights ago, and then it was done. The sleek, smooth body of a dolphin bursting from the rough foaming surface of the sea, pushing itself skyward. What it was meant to be. And as soon as I knew that, I knew who it was for. I just hope he likes it …
I carefully wrap it in a dozen layers of tissue paper before lying it in a dark blue satin box and tying it up with a black ribbon and adding a small card with a simple message.
Happy Birthday Dave.
Love you forever, for always.
Paris.
Leaving the box on the table beside an opened bottle of Shiraz and two glasses, I guess I’ve just got time to dash upstairs to shower and change before he arrives. Leather jeans, bare feet and that dark blue silk shirt he likes so much, I think.
Ten minutes later, I hear the door open as I reach the bottom of the stairs, dragging my fingers through still drying hair. He smiles at me as I greet him with a lopsided grin.
“Happy birthday, babe.”
