Page 40 of Tiger's Voyage
I often reached out to touch Ren’s arm or his shoulder but then pulled back, knowing it would hurt him. He insisted touching his clothing didn’t hurt; he just felt the pressing need to escape, and he said he was getting used to the feeling. But still, our relationship felt very limited.
I wasn’t exactly sure what he wasfeelingorthinking. It seemed as if he was making a great effort to spend time with me despite the side effects. We didn’t talk about our feelings again, but he seemed determined to get closer, tobecloser to me. He tried all sorts of things to find the trigger that would turn on his memory, and started leaving me flowers and poems through the day, much as he did in Oregon. It wasalmostenough.
I didn’t give the festival another thought until Ren found me writing on the veranda one early afternoon.
“I brought your dress for the festival.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said distractedly. “Would you mind leaving it on the bed? I’ll put it away later.”
“Put it away? The festival is tonight, Kells. And what on earth are you writing?”
“What? How did a week go by so quickly?” I clutched my book to my chest as Ren tried to peek over my shoulder. “If you must know, Mr. Nosy, I’m writing a poem.”
He grinned. “I didn’t know you wrote other than in your journal. May I take a look?”
“I’m still working on some of the words. It’s not as good as yours. You’ll laugh.”
Ren sat down across from me. “Kelsey, I won’t. Please? What’s it about?”
“Love.” I sighed. “You’re going to sit here and pester me until I show you, aren’t you?”
“Probably. I’m dying of curiosity.”
“Alright, fine. But it’s my first one, so be nice.”
Ren bowed his head. “Of course,strimani. I am always the perfect gentleman.”
I smirked at him but handed it over and sat biting my nails while he read through it once quietly. Then he read it out loud.
Love Is about Grooming
Love is about grooming
It starts …
Sweet smelling lotion is smoothed over rough skin
Cologne is splashed on freshly shaved cheeks
Shiny faces, starched shirts, short skirts
Colored lips, cheeks, and hair
We glisten
We are plucked, plumed, perfumed, and powdered
We buy flowers, chocolates, candles, and jewels
It’s not real
Real love is drab, rough, stubbly
It’s mothers changing diapers
It’s toenail trimming, nose wiping, morning breath
Trade in your high heels for tennis shoes and house slippers
