Sweet Caroline

When the alarm goes off at 6am and I turn over to look at Gilbert, he is already awake and staring at me with a big smile on his face.

“You ready?” he asks.

“How long have you been awake?” I counter.

“Since 4,” he responds casually.

“Since 4? Are you going to be ok to drive?” I ask.

“Are you kidding? I’m so ready. Let’s get some coffee and get this show on the road,” he says gleefully, practically jumping out of bed.

I stay curled up like a fetus, watching him bounce to the dresser, opening up drawers and singing We Like to Party.

“And everybody’s jumping, and everybody’s singing, come on and dododo,” he sings.

“That’s not how the song goes,” I say, like the grump I am.

“Whatever,” he responds and keeps singing.

“Ok,” he says, “I’m getting in the shower and by the time I get out, you’re going to be ready, right?”

I say nothing.

He steps toward me, raising his hands and turning them into claws.

I pull the blanket over my body and cover my face.

Gilbert likes to pretend he’s Jim Carrey sometimes and will do the claw bit from LiarLiar.

If you’re unfamiliar, it’s when Jim Carrey pretends his hand is a claw completely disconnected from his body, and he uses the claw to tickle his son.

It’s cute. In the movie.

It’s not so cute when my 40-year-old husband uses it to get me out of bed.

“Come on Caroline,” he whispers, “If you don’t get up in five seconds, you know what’s going to happen.”

“Gilbert, honey,” I say under the blankets, “I will get ready In. My. Own. Time. Put the stupid claw away.”

I can hear him pause where he is.

Have I offended him, I wonder. I start to pull back the blankets a little so I can gauge his reaction when all of a sudden his body is on mine and the claw is attacking my armpits.

I squeal and convulse, my laughter coming in gasps.

“Let’s go Caroline,” he growls as he continues to attack me.

“Fine!” I screech, grabbing his hands and trying to stop them from further tormenting me.

He kisses my forehead and rolls off me.

“I don’t understand you,” I groan, “We are on vacation.”

“So?” he asks.

“Why do we need to go so early? We can take our time you know,” I say glaring at him, still lying in bed.

“Caroline,” he says slowly, as if I’m a child that cannot comprehend logic, “The sooner we leave, the sooner our vacation can really begin. You want to sleep away our time together?”

We are always together, I think, we wake up together and go to sleep together, we live our lives together. Can’t I have a little more time to sleep on my days off?!

I think all of this, but don’t say it out loud.

It would make for a bad trip if I said what I was really thinking.

Gilbert glances my way, raising his hand and starting to form it into the claw again, so I jump out of bed.

He smiles, “Good girl.”

“Get in the shower,” I say, throwing my slippers at him.

He laughs and begins to hum Sweet Caroline as he prances off to the bathroom.

I stare after him, wondering even after ten years of marriage, how I let myself fall in love with a morning person.

An hour later we are on the road, sipping Pete’s coffee and I’m finally starting to feel like a human being. 

As much as I hated having to get up at the crack of dawn, there’s something about driving along the coast that makes it feel as if the vacation has really begun. We are on our way to a pleasurable destination that has nothing to do with anything except each other.

I don’t say it out loud, but it makes me realize why Gilbert wanted to leave so early.

“Isn’t this nice?” Gilbert says, “Aren’t you glad we left when we did?”

I glance at his smiling face and marvel at his ability to sometimes read my mind.

But of course, I will not give him the satisfaction.

“I could’ve used a few more hours of sleep,” I say, taking a sip of my latte.

“You love this,” he says, putting his hand on my thigh, “Look at that ocean! You love the ocean.”

“I do,” I say, “But I would have loved it just as much with a decent rest.”

Gilbert scowls at me and I can’t help but chortle.

“I’m joking my love,” I say putting my hand over his.

“Yea, whatever,” he says, his demeanor that of a sullen child.

His face immediately lights up and I look at the road to figure out why.

There’s a rest stop coming up on the next exit that apparently has a magnificent view of the ocean and the mountains.

A perfect profile picture, Gilbert likes to say.

“Shall we?” he asks, already merging into the exit lane.

I nod, but inwardly I’m groaning.

I didn’t put on any make up this morning because Gilbert was so anxious to get going.

I’m basically wearing my pajamas because I wanted to be cozy rather than stylish, but I didn’t anticipate stopping along the way to do a photo op.

“How about I just take photos of you?” I ask, as we pull into the rest stop.

Gilbert looks at me as if I just asked to punch him in the face.

“Seriously?” he asks aghast, “Look at that view, Caroline! That has couple pics written all over it.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he gets out of the car and immediately opens the trunk to grab his camera and tripod.

I sigh and stay in the car for a few moments, watching him set up the tripod so that it gets a perfect view of the ocean and the mountains and the trees alongside of us.

He opens my door and raises his eyebrows at me, “Coming, wife?”

“Gilbert,” I say patiently, “I don’t feel like taking a photo. But I will take photos of you. OK?’

“Caroline-

“Gilbert, I’m not wearing any makeup and I’m wearing my pajamas,” I snap.

“So?” he says, “Caroline, these are pictures are for us. They’re memories.”

“That you’re going to post on social media, right?” I ask.

“Not if you don’t want me to do,” he says.

“Hah,” I say, “This coming from the man who loves to post pictures of my nostrils.”

“Fine,” he says turning away from me, “Just take a picture of me then.”

He starts to take down the tripod and I immediately feel guilty.

“Gilbert, ok, let’s just take the picture,” I say.

“No,” he says putting the tripod back in the trunk, “You’re right. I do like to post. So just take the picture of me. We’ll take one together when you’re more comfortable.”

I look at him, trying to search his face to see how much damage I’ve caused, but he won’t look at me.

He walks to the railing overlooking the hillside and then turns toward me.

“Got your phone?” he asks, his tone flat and I know that he’s had it with my snotty attitude.

Instead of answering, I go to the car and take out the tripod.

“Caroline,” I hear him say from behind me.

“Stop it, Gilbert,” I say, “We’re taking this photo.”

He’s quiet as I set up the tripod and camera again.

I put on the timer and walk toward him.

I put my hands in my hair and ruffle it, messing it up even more than it was and look at Gilbert.

“Well?” I ask, “How do I look?”

His frown turns into a smirk as he says, “Beautiful. As usual, my sweet Caroline. And I won't post it. It'll be just for us."

We kiss as the camera takes the photo.

I open my eyes and turn my head towards the alarm.

I watch it as it continues to hum the melody of Sweet Caroline.

I stare at the ceiling.

I look towards his side of the bed.

The side that has been empty for three years now.

I pull his pillow to me, breathing deeply as if his scent is still there.

The alarm is still going as I curl myself deeper into his side of the bed.

I reach over to his nightstand and grab the picture that’s framed there.

I stare at us both and I can feel his lips on mine and the way the ocean breeze whipped my hair around.

“Thanks for guilting me into taking the picture,” I whisper.

I allow myself to stay in the dream for a few more minutes before I finally put the picture back on the nightstand, unwrap myself from his pillow, and turn off the alarm.

It is 6am and today would have been our 13th anniversary and I promised him that I’d get up early.

That I’d enjoy the road.

That I’d take pictures along the way.

And it is time to get going.