He was sure they were lucky, he and Janet, with the way they’d loved each other, so long. Their bodies changed, their lives changed, but there was still the touch, the magic, even if it was worn down, ground smooth, wrinkly, older magic.
Too often, at times like those, as Matt would let his mind wander off to the memory of the two of them both young, the pleasant dreaming state would run aground, suddenly, with the jarring regret of their honeymoon.
He sorely wished he could redo that honeymoon. As he got older he’d occasionally let his mind wander back, with a certain luxurious relish, to remembering Janet as she was when they were first married. She was 22, with a deer-like figure, thin, graceful, a personality led by wide eyes full of excitement. She was so young, so beautiful, that just to touch her … that memory of then would occasionally power his thoughts now. It wasn’t deep regret about getting older, exactly, but a vague longing … if he could have just a few hours, maybe just once in a while, with a time machine. He’d love that.
He hated that honeymoon memory. It wasn’t that his parents ended up in the same place he and Janet were; it was that he acknowledged them, and let them into his mind when he should have been thinking of nothing but her. What an idiot he was, he’d tell himself. And he’d shudder at how young he’d been there, immature. And hope that Janet never remembered. He was always afraid to tell her how much he regretted that, because she had a way of accepting an apology with a fresh jolt of anger over the offense. The memory made him feel coarse, brutishly childlike, a kid in an oversized shirt who’d just said the wrong thing to a class full of other kids, and teacher, laughing at him.
Sprippets 