Thought Bubble # 6

We were on the summit of my favourite mountain.

 

I was half-asleep.

 

My head was on your chest, cradled by your heart and kept safe by your strong arms. The rest of me, however, was somewhere else — far enough from both of us, but close enough to come back and take refuge in you if it wanted to.

 

That was when I heard a rustle from somewhere north of me, walking towards you.

 

“You together?” the voice inquired.

 

Your right hand’s fingers did not stop their motion of smoothing the tangles in my hair (an action that always soothed me) when you said, with some kind of smug finality, “Yup. Just today.”

 

(I know you probably felt it the same way I did, but your heart started beating like tribal drums in a forest when you said that, and hearing your heart do it made me realize you really, really did like me. The same way I liked you.)

 

“A mountaineering couple. That’s cu-”

 

“Oh, no. I’m not a mountaineer. Only she is. I’m deathly afraid of heights.” (You had that tendency to cut people off sometimes.) “Sorry.” (For not letting the voice finish the question, I hope.)

 

I quietly chuckle at this assertion, but affirm it to be true. I was still pretending to be asleep.

 

Silence.

 

“Then why this mountain? I mean, if it were okay to ask, why a mountain at all?” I could hear the emphasis on the article as the voice inquired, almost disbelievingly, disguised convincingly as gnawing curiosity.

 

“Because it’s her favourite. She’s climbed this more times than I’ve seen her do anything else…” he gently lifted his head up and I could feel his eyes burning through the mess that is my hair, “and because every time she’s here, she’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her in.”

 

Ha! Little did he know that I’m happiest when I’m with him.

 

“Because,” now he lifted up strands of my hair, apparently he wasn’t done speaking yet, “despite the fact that I’m not the biggest fan of the outdoors, I like to be with her. That makes everything worthwhile.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“Yeah, and I guess that’s when you realize you really like someone. When you try to love the things they love. Like,” his hand stilled for a moment, as though it was contemplating on something, “when she suggests we do something completely outlandish, like skin dive or go bungee jumping or spontaneously go on a trip to Cambodia,” he resumes raking through my hair, “my first instinct is to always look at her incredulously. Like she’d just suggested we skin a kid alive. But then I’ll do it. At first I’d always say it’s because I just wanted to please her, but then it became more than just that. Off the top of my head I have three reasons, but I probably have unspoken ones. More of them.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Well, because I really, really like seeing her in her most beautiful.” Stop. Rake. “Because since I plan to spend the rest of my life with her, I’d want to start as early as possible.” Stop. Rake. “Because 20 years from now, if she’s going to tell everyone her cheesy adventures, I’d want to be part of the stories, too.” Stop. Rake.

 

Stop.

 

A thousand heartbeats.

 

Rake.

 

“Hey.”

 

I stirred, knowing his voice was directed to me and not to the voice he was just talking to. “I know you’re up.”

 

I look up, pretending I just awoke, “Yeah?”

 

He leaned back on the grass, and as I watch the fading silhouette of another couple walk away from us (the source of the voice, maybe?), he places his right arm behind his head and chuckles, “Just so you know, I would have said the same things even if you weren’t awake. Even if you weren’t here.”

 

It wasn’t so much the overwhelming sense of love that covered me, but the feeling of security.

 

I smiled.

 

“I know,” I said.

 

“Good.” You smiled.

 

“Good.”

 

And then I fell into proper sleep this time. The one I only reserve for the mountains.