The touch of our separate excitements

I draped the pillowcase over my head, opened my mouth and tried to eat the smell of him dreaming.

We spent the afternoon ambling around Buxton Heath. My desire to go was two-fold: I felt nature calling, and I wanted to be with him in a world he feels himself in. We hear a horse neigh, and he squeezes my hand to reassure me of its distance.

I like the plant he tells me is heather. I bend down to smell it and ask if it should smell. He says he doesn’t know, though I suspect he does. 

I say I like the green and the leaves of a plant. He says the rhododendron is a non-native invasive species, and the hairs on my neck stand up.

What does it matter that they’re not native? He says non-native means someone brought them here and, as if anticipating my next question, offers that invasive means they take all the nutrients from native plants, making it hard for them to survive. They are good at what they do.

This leads to a conversation about rats as the perfect animal, and Sophie Strand’s admiration of the stubborn pigweed. Maybe rats are beautiful, too.

While cooking, a spider descends from the corner of the noise machine above the stove, and I ask him to help it find a more appropriate home. He says the spider is having fun; I say I’d like it to be having fun outside. He cradles it and ushers it to safety. His softness with things I would kill arouses me.

I busy myself the morning after: polish the dresser, dust the stack of books I’ve promised to read and can’t because they serve a higher purpose as a bedside table. I strip the bed, and there he is—the scent of his sweat, a perfume of my longing. I drape a pillowcase over my head, open my mouth and try to eat the smell of him dreaming.

When I pull our nest from the washer, ocean salt and bergamot send me into a frenzy. Despairing, I search for my phone.

I washed you away. Will you come re-fragrance my bed, please?

Of course, he replied. I’d love to.

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“The touch of our separate excitements” is from Mary Oliver’s essay, “Habits, Differences, and the Light That Abides”, which is featured in Long Life.

[T]he differences and the maverick uprisings are part of the richness of life. If you are too much like myself, what shall I learn of you, or you of me? I bring home sassafras leaves and M. looks and admires. She tells me how it feels to float in the air above the town and the harbor, and my world is sweetened by her description of those blue miles. The touch of our separate excitements is another of the gifts of our life together.”