Am longing to linger on dear…


The trumpets sounded and it went off. The song that is. The one that played in his head over and over again and he smiled tapping his foot on the marble floor sipping champagne from the sweating champagne flute. He drew a long breath and sang along,

Stars shining bright above you,
Night breezes seem to whisper, “I love you”;
Birds singin’ in the sycamore tree;
Dream a little dream of me…

It was their weekly routine. Every Saturday night. The children would come over for the roast dinner. Lamb and mint sauce, his favourite. He would stand beside her in the kitchen just before the children arrive carving up the freshly roasted meat. The children would always arrive at the same time, but they knew their father, a mechanical, well-disciplined man who was a creature of habit, punctuality and familiarity. And him and his little mrs would discuss the children, and the things about them.

Then Reagan would arrive, often slightly earlier so he could watch some television. He would walk straight into the kitchen, kiss his mother on the cheek and slapped his father on the back, hurriedly set the table and then went through to the lounge to watch television and wait for the younger Joe and the older Rhys.

They were always glad that Reagan came back. He was lost for a while, and left in resentment. And during those years when he was lost they only heard about him through Rhys who thankfully kept tabs on her brothers dutifully. But he came back one night, cold, and shaken and his mother took him in and nursed him back to health again. He has moved out since, to a little apartment with no television, and is working two jobs, by day he was a data-entry clerk for the local tax department, and by night a security guard.

So Joe would often arrive and walk straight to the lounge and he would often smile listening to them poke fun at one another, still. Rhys would often come rushing in with some flowers chatting away at her brothers and parents, and of late, she had been bringing Bill, who was learning the inside jokes pretty quickly. They would often talk about how grateful they both are now, of the children. They had gone through much that family, much.

Dinner would be served, lamb with mint sauce, which he would never have on any other day, because he would want to enjoy his favourite dish, with the entire family. And he would dish himself a good cut of that tender juicy lamb, and drown it with mint sauce.

He would have no more than two potatoes, and hardly any carrots and as the children pass the plates around talking, chatting and cracking witty comments about the latest family joke, for weeks Uncle Joe retained the family joke title for his obsession for skinny full chested younglings, he would cut the lamb into bite sized pieces and then put the mint-drowned pieces into his mouth, sucking and chewing while smiling with satisfaction as the sweet and sour mint sauce would tingle his tongue and the tender lamb melt in his mouth. She would watch him, and he knew it, beaming with satisfaction. Her lamb and mint sauce never failed to satisfy.

After dinner had been gobbled down, and Rhys or Joe had done the dishes they would sit around for a while, sipping champagne until the children leave, and then they would put on their Saturday record, listen to Ella and Louis sing, and when the last song came on they would finish the champagne and checked the doors, turned off the lights, and put on their song one more time.

And as the trumpets sounded and the song went off, they would dance a little dance and sing, and go off to bed. When they were in bed, they would hold hands until they both fall fast asleep. And he would dream of her, and think of how thankful he was to have her, and the children.

Say “nighty-night” and kiss me,
Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me;
While I’m alone and blue as can be,
Dream a little dream of me…

He smiled and turned off the lights and waltzed up the stairs singing to bed, and as he closed his eyes, he felt her hand in his again, and he would still be ever so thankful, for her, and the three children. The song would linger in his ears.

Stars fading, but I linger on, dear.
Still craving your kiss, I’m longing to linger till dawn, dear.
Just saying this:

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you.
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you.
But in your dreams whatever they be, dream a little dream of me.

And he fell fast asleep, dreaming of her.