For the millionth time they were arguing about something stupid. He, like always, was “right”. She had to move the Great Wall of China before he admitted he made a mistake. “Well? Apologise!” she nagged. “Say it!” When he murmured “I was wrong” she saw a prospect for reconciliation and jumped to hug him. A lens fell off.
“You and your brutal hugs,” he grumbled. They were crawling on all fours, searching every string of wool on the thick white carpet.
“It doesn’t have wings, it’s somewhere in the room. Trust me, we’ll find it”. I only hugged you!” How many hundreds of dollars will her victory cost now?
“Hug? That was a clumsy limb attack, you’re good at those.”
He was right about that. Every muscle in her body wanted to break through his bricks, punch at his arrogance, kill it with hugs. His momentary weakness allowed her yet another attempt to penetrate the crack through which she could still recognise him. She had an epiphany: she wanted this to happen. Shatter his armour – glasses. Disturbing glasses. Stylish, expensive glasses. When not on his eyes, they were hanging on a string dangling over his chest. They occupied a space that belonged to her. What with all these fancy glasses if he couldn’t see her.
“We’ll never find it on this bloody rug,” he muttered.
The carpet again. She remembered the day she brought it home with shiny eyes. “Why the hell did you buy this hairy farce?” She didn’t reply. If he couldn’t see her, she wouldn’t hear him.
The phone rang. She couldn’t leave him to search alone, she must be the one finding, not him! She let it ring, then panicked and rushed to answer.
“Oh. hi… no… we’re just having fun on the floor, looking for a lens that dropped off Mark’s glasses. Crazy, it simply disappeared off the face of the earth… It’s somewhere on the carpet, but hiding so well! Can I call you later?”
She tiptoed her way back to the carpet and ducked again in front of him. They went on quietly for a few minutes, moving almost simultaneously. She felt his breath on her back, his energy field like a roaring waterfall splashing into her blood. When did he change to become her Iceland? So cold, so distant, so desired? For a moment she imagined he might reach for her waist from behind, turn her over, kiss her eyelashes, bite her neck, lay her back on the carpet, stroke her breasts. She would surrender like a tern gliding in swirling winds. They would roll and roll and laugh madly at the sound of cracking glass they might finally hear underneath their sweaty bodies.
“There, found it,” he raised up, stretching his tall body in front of her. She looked as he fitted the lens back into the frame then hobbled to his office, frowning after the grueling affair, leaving her crouched on the glass-less rug with nothing to look for.