Capricorn Season - Jimmy Page

Chapter 17

I sat on the couch in the early morning while Jimmy cooked. The living room smelled like breakfast and spring, a mix of sausage in the pan and sweet wet air from the open windows. A breeze blew through every once in a while to rustle my book pages or tousle the curtains.

Lucy pooled in my lap and purred. She had been clingy the last few days, sticking to my side ever since Jimmy returned home. I think him being back was an upsetting change of pace. It's not that she didn't like him, she just wasn't used to him coming and going as he so often did.

Today I was scraping up the last bits of Walking by Henry David Thoreau. It wasn't a grating read like some of the other pieces of the same type but it was riddled with a familiar entitlement. The gist of the lecture was Thoreau's frustration with modern society and industrialization, of course, but with a terrible ting of toxicity. He wanted to leave modernity behind not for enlightenment, but for gain. He wanted to preserve his whiteness and reject a changing, more open-minded society.

Thoreau was also a terrible hypocrite. He said he loved nature but wanted to whack it all down to make pencils in the factory he owned.

I was disgruntled but pressed on anyway. I was determined to finish the laborious speech. I didn't like to leave things like that incomplete. It was better to see it through than let it rest unfinished.

But I was bored. The whole book was him pissing and moaning! I wished for a less whiney author. I sighed and set my book aside, opting instead to give Lucy a good pet. I was so comforted by her warm body and soft fur. Petting her made all of life's little annoyances slip away, just like a good kiss from Jimmy or even just his presence. I suppose that was love.

He called to me, just moments later, and informed me that breakfast was prepared. I was already back to the grindstone, reading the last bits of the lecture. Robert recommended I read it and I would never again trust his literary advice. I hated every second of this work.

Before I could finish my paragraph he was bringing our plates into the living room. His black and white apron was tied around his neck and waist. He scurried back into the kitchen as soon as the plates hit the tabletop.

He came back with a flower, a pink and white carnation. It was fragrant as he handed it to me, even more so when I pressed it to my nose. The seasons were changing, the grass coming back, and the flower buds popping open. The world was alive and breathing, finally awakened by the sun rolling around to this side of the globe.

"Thank you so much, I love it." I smiled up at him. I took the view of him in, admiring the softness of his skin. He was fresh, just like the flowers and trees outside of our windows. His trip had given rise to him, too.

"I'm glad," he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my lips. It was hot, sweet honey on my lips. I couldn't get enough. He was leaning over me and I put my hands on his body, feeling his frame through his sweater.

"Thank you for that," I grinned like a goofball.

"Of course." He leaned forward once more and kissed me, another spark of sun against his rosebud lips.

Lucy must've been sick of her lack of attention because she climbed into my lap, interrupting our affection with a screeching chatter. We separated with a giggle. I appreciated the gift and he took a seat next to me.

We ate our breakfast slowly and quietly. Today there were no noises to bother us: no radio, phone calls, or guests. Today, the other bother was the malignant understanding that his time here was short. He was due to leave today.

His leaving was a shadow, an apparition that loomed around us as we sat together. The silence was thick and uncomfortable when I thought about him leaving, but sweet and recessed when I focused only on his apparent beauty. The finality of it all made him far more breathtaking. I was happy to admire him but I wished I could hold onto him longer.