The Noise of Love

It has been a year or so since he left his sales job and took a chance on making a career of selling his humor.

It has been, and remains quite a long shot of him becoming the first great humorist of the early 21st Century.

But, he feels the need to attempt it now before his humor and satirical flair become adulterated by his age… and his cynicism.

His successes have been occasional. His financial rewards, non-existent.

The money he earns selling potent potables through the week supports his son, but little else.

The one constant in his life is his friend. A woman who enables their day to day life, while far from wealthy or even well off, to be far from uncomfortable.

There is always food on the table, cable TV, and gas in the car. Most importantly, there is always plenty of laughter.

He admires the outer strength that she projects. He protects the incredible vulnerability that lies beneath it.

The two have become one. But, unlike many couples, they have become one without losing their individuality. Both remain distinctly unique. They like it that way.

Her uniqueness recently developed a habit that has both irritated and confounded him.

At night, as he sits at his desk typing what he is certain will be the funniest story that he has ever penned, she makes noise.

With age comes many things, one of which for him has become intolerance for noise…any noise, that violates and suppresses, what he considers, his creative genius.

Lately, when he types he can hear a rustling noise emanating from the bedroom or as closely as the dining room table.

It’s a paper shuffling, corn shucking, amber waves of grain type of rustling. It has been irritating him more than the sound of Bill O’Reilly’s voice.

This past Sunday he caught her in the act of producing this subtle, yet dischordant sound of Satan.

He saw the woman clutching and manipulating his anemic wallet. After the look one gets while trying to solve a trigonometry problem left his face, he asked…

“What are you doing?”

With her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink, and her eyes looking downward she replied…

“What I have been doing for some time. Every time I have ones, I stuff them into your wallet.”

Still perplexed he asked her, “Why?”

She responded, “Because I don’t want you to go to work, and not have money to get something to drink.”

Before going back to typing his next greatest piece of satire, without a word; they stared at each other, and smiled at each other.

He got his answer to this troubling question, but…

While he received his answer, it merely leads to another question that colors his grey matter.

And with another, what he believes to be his next award winning post in the can, he hits the publish button, and asks her…

"Will You Marry Me?"

Cheers!!