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Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Liquid Love...

Sometimes Biker Dude comes across as a bit of a tough guy. Well, okay, maybe that's stretching it... a little.

But he really can be a hard riding, chase-you-down maniac out there on a bicycle. Out there on the road, or on the trails, he's pure confidence. He's not afraid of anyone. And if he happens to come across someone he can't catch, he at least gives them a run for their money, and if they get away, oh well. No big deal. It just makes Biker Dude work harder at improving.


But in the social world, without the physical challenge of a race, he's actually rather quiet. You would never know he has a split personality. He loves gardening and growing vegetables, he loves writing and reading, and he never used to, but now he does, have a soft spot for cats.

Another huge weakness Biker Dude has, and which nobody that rides with him, or against him, ever sees or has a clue to its existence, is that he's a sucker for romance.

Last Sunday, Biker Dude's girlfriend left for a four month trip to Spain.

All the way up to her trip, which was in the planning stages for almost a year now, he had been all for it. As soon as she brought up her thoughts that he might not be okay with it, he told her right out, "I don't have a problem with it. I want you to go. Don't worry about me, I'll be okay."

And he was. He even helped her with researching the books she needed, finding articles and reference about what she was going to teach, and he even converted much of the material she needed into Nook format so she wouldn't have to carry so many books with her.

All the way up to the week before she left, he was perfectly calm.

At book club, one of the women, knowing that the time for his girlfriend to leave was approaching, asked him, "Are you going to be okay?" "Are you going to visit her?" "What will you do".

He told them all that he would be fine. That he couldn't visit her and that he thought this was the best thing in the world for his girlfriend. He pointed out to them how radiant she was these last several months. How excited and alive she was and so looking forward to this possibly once in a lifetime chance.

The whole last last week before she left, she cooked. And cooked. She made sure she used up everything in her basement freezer and in the kitchen refrigerator and she made Biker Dude take all of it home with him. Every day that week, he came over to see her. They played cards, they went for walks, they watched T.V., and they cooked.

They went to a cookout at some friends' house and while there, a few came up to Biker Dude and asked the same question others had asked before. "Are you going to be okay?"

He'd nod. "Yeah."

Then one night, two days before she was to leave, his girlfriend was hugging him as he was leaving.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked, her face buried into his neck and shoulder.

"Mmmmm hmmmm..." he said. "There just won't be any cuteness around here for a while."

He felt her shake her head.

"But there will be the cat. He'll be cute."

He felt her nodding.

"But nobody's as cute as you."

She shook her head again.

Two days later, he took her to the airport, and when he got home, he walked in the living room, sat down, and looked at the cat, who looked up at him.

"She's gone."

The cat just looked at him some more. He picked up the cat and held it close.


It had seemed to take so long to happen, but here it was. The date had finally come. Her trip was just starting and she'd be away for four months.

He turned on the computer and stared at the email page like he had done five and a half years ago when they first started writing to each other every day ten times a day. Back then, he couldn't wait to see her again. He couldn't wait to read what she might write. He'd hit the refresh button every minute.

He felt that same way now. Except that now, there was no way she could write. She was on a flight across the Atlantic. And when she got to where she was going, the seven hour difference would make real time conversation a challenge.

He paced the house only to find himself at the refrigerator over and over. Staring at all the food she had sent home with him. He picked up a gallon container of chicken tortilla soup she had made. He remembered all the time it had taken her to make it and how radiant she was the whole time. He recalled how she didn't bother to measure every ingredient but just put in what she knew would make it perfect. And then how she had scoured the kitchen for enough Tupperware bins to fit all the food into. And then how she reminded him persistently until he took everything home.

He realized food and cooking were her love language. Whether she was conscious of it or not, this was her way of giving him a part of herself to sustain him when she was physically over 4000 miles away.

He popped open the soup bin and poured a bowl of it and put it in the microwave. When it dinged, he took the soup out, sat down with the cat, and as he breathed in the sweet aroma rising from the bowl, it was like his girlfriend was right there.

This magical soup. Never the same way twice. No wonder she didn't bother with measuring carefully. She didn't have to. All her recipes were sprinkled, doused, no... drenched liberally with the only ingredient that mattered and that no recipe book, no pantry, and no spice cabinet could provide...
only her...

Love.

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