He awakes at two a.m., looks across
the bed and sees his wife’s profile in
the shadow of the nightlight. He hears
her soft breathing. When he returns
from the bathroom, she has turned on
her side facing the wall.

When he awakes at five-thirty a.m., he
glances at this wife. She faces him,
swallows, sighs deeply and turns to
lie on her back.

At seven-fifteen a.m., the dog gets up,
shakes himself awake, rattling his tags.
The man gets up, dresses, calls to the
dog, glances back at his wife’s outline
under the sheet, the curve from her legs
over her hips up to her neck.

He closes the door and takes the dog
out. They come back in, the dog jump-
ing and romping at the thought of his
breakfast. The dog runs up the stairs
and goes to the kitchen cupboard door
behind which is his dog food. The
dog’s tail slaps the wall.

The man puts the dog food in the
dog’s bowl; the dog sits drooling
waiting for the man to say “Okay.”
The man does; the dog eats ravenous-
ly; the man makes a pot of coffee
knowing the wonderful aroma of the
recently ground beans will waft down
the stairs, creep under the door
and float up to his wife’s nose.
He smiles and sits at the computer
to check his e-mail.

Soon she will ascend the stairs and
pour herself a cup of coffee asking
him if he would like a cup. He will
nod affirmatively, smile and tell her
how beautiful she is. She will smile
back, walk over and kiss him on
the cheek.

It isn’t Hollywood; they don’t
gaze lovingly in each other’s
eyes and speak tender words of
love and passion up close and
personal in bed in the morning.
They wait until the coffee is
brewed; they kiss on the cheek
before heading to their bath-
rooms to floss, brush and gargle.
Then they meet again in the kit-
chen, whisper words of love,
giggle and kiss long and loving-
ly on the mouth. It’s called
love in the real world.