Heaven can Wait - Creative writing

Every once in a while I try my hand at fiction writing. I thought I would post it here. Maybe someone enjoys it. If you would rather not see this here, just let me know. Maybe we can create a creative writing group? I just don't know how to ;)
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I remember the day you told me about the alarm clock. Your neighbor must have been mad as hell about that dent. I’m with you on that thought, though. Can the damned manufactures not create a more humane way to rouse us from our sleep?

My eyes are still gritty with sleep. One doesn't want to focus properly until I wipe the crud away and stumble to the bathroom. Gaaarrr, 25 minutes to get ready. Brush my teeth. A 3 minute shave. Piping hot shower to wash the night away. Have I told you how much I love the feel of your body pressed against my back while you wash my hair?

The percolator beeps just as I get out of the shower. Life starts making a bit more sense as the coffee hits my bloodstream and my body catches up with its open eyes. No time for breakfast today.

The bleary eyed travelers avoid all eye contact on the subway, as usual. Not that I actually mind. I’d much rather focus my attention on you. The faint whiff of your hair conditioner takes me back to the islands. Blissful days spent under emerald palms and sugar coated beaches. I wonder how Jack is doing. How you taught him to eat off your plate so quickly I will never know.

We part ways at the station, and already I’m impatient for the day to be done. Every moment we’re apart feels like a lifetime. Somehow, though, we seem to manage every day.

My table is swamped when I arrive and the workload so brutal that its lunch time before I realize it. Only the efficiency of my assistant and the constant supply of coffee she carts in, gets me through the day. I lean back in my chair to rest for a second.

Your picture in the silver frame catches my eye. The one we took by the market square in the little mountain village. Even though it’s a bit out of focus, it is still one of my favorites. The old saying about the eyes being windows to the soul must be true. Though you look so serious , I see the laughter in those eyes.

Only when my assistant comes to ask if I need anything else before she goes do I realize the day is over. Briefcase in hand I hurry outside, eager to see you again. I turn the corner to the station and have to stop for a second. You never fail to take my breath away. How come, there is so much ugliness in the world when we have this? If others could have this for just a second, the world would become paradise for all.

We have to hurry if we don’t want to be late. Even though I would much rather stay at home tonight, we promised to meet them at the gala. The one advantage of going out though: I get to watch you prepare. You have your back to me as I lay on the bed, but I can see your reflection in the mirror. Sometimes I wonder if women realize the power they have over men. Just the simple act of applying make up, so natural to you, like drawing breath, fills us with awe and wonder. Silky smooth lingerie. The midnight blue dress you bought last year. I feel as I did many years ago before my birthday or Christmas.

As expected, the conversation is dull, the people boring, and the wine too young. I’m content to let them carry the conversation. With you next to me, your hand resting lightly on my thigh, I don’t really care much where we are. When Carl starts looking serious, you smile at him and squeeze my hand. He doesn’t look happy but you always seem to know how to keep him at bay. One more little thing I love about you.

The shrill ringing of the phone jerks me awake. I grab for it reflexively, hoping it didn’t wake you.

“John, its Carl.”
“For God’s sake man, do you know what time it is?”
“It's a quarter past midnight. I have to talk to you. I’m worried about you my friend.”
“Carl, can this not wait until tomorrow?”
“It has been two and a half years, John. You have to let go. She’s gone. You have to carry on with your life.”

It feels as if a bucket of ice has been dumped on me. My body starts shivering as if racked by arctic chills. Sound retreats to a far off place as I curl into a ball, the phone cradled in my hands.

“John? John? Can you hear me? Are you still there?”
“You’re wrong,Carl. She will never leave me” I said, as I softly placed the phone on its cradle and pulled the blanket over us.