Terms of Endearment

It was a very long time ago that I first noticed how he never uses names.  Only in formal occasions has he used them, and at those times, the words rolled off his tongue uncomfortably.  I didn't know if he noticed, if he was consciously aware of this, but I have attuned myself to him.  I try to notice everything.

The thought of him not using titles, names, or any terms of endearment has me thinking.  Surely he must?  Doesn't everybody do it?  I myself use terms of endearment often.  Everybody I know has been called "hun" by me.  He has several pet names. "Dear." "Love." "Handsome."  And of course there are ones that nobody hears but him.  In my own heart I call him mine, though I've never voiced this to him.  Much as I struggle with it, I am bound and determined to respect his need to take things slowly.  At least on the outside.  My heart is years ahead of time already...

When I say that he doesn't use titles or names, I mean regularly.  Every once in a while he does.  He said my name this week.  His soft whisper voicing my name sent thrills of love through me.  I will always remember our conversation for the way it ended.

"What do you think of pet names?  And I mean pet names like 'Sweetheart,' and 'Baby.' Not 'Rufus' or 'Spot.'"

He'd laughed at that.  He always laughs at my little similies.  Sometimes I come up with ridiculous ones just to hear that laugh.  Those moments when he sounds carefree and young.  :)  Knowing I brought him a moment just by being silly makes me want to be silly that much more often.

As happens so often, he has no real opinion on my utterly random question.  He asks, instead, why you would give an animal the nickname "Rufus."  I affect indignation at this.

"Rufus is a great name for a dog!  And a dog is a pet.  Therefore, it is a pet name."  I stick my tongue out at him, even though I know he can't see me over the phone.  For a brief moment, I wonder if he knows exactly what I'm doing.  His low chuckle makes me certain.

"Ah huh. Sure."  He emphasizes the last word, as he always does.  How many patterns he has!  So many times I am able to predict his response before he gives it.  I smile a small, private smile as I think of how that confounds him.  He is not used to being predictable.  I don't think that he is to anybody but me.  Hm...I wonder if it is bad of me to be glad that I'm the only one?  It's not that I don't want him to be known and loved by the people in his life.  It's that I don't want any competition.  The one edge that I have over the other women he might meet is that I know him so well.  Well, that and the fact that I know I love him like no one else in the world will ever be able to.

We move on to other topics, keeping the conversation light and happy.  I wonder that he can't hear the jubilance in my voice every time I talk with him.  Jubilance and utter frustration.  When I hear his voice, every single fiber of my being wants to be next to him.  I miss him so fiercely, especially at night.  I think of him alone in his bed, me alone in mind, and I grit my teeth at the insanity of it.  Why shouldn't we be next to each other at this moment?  A small voice at the back of my mind tries to remind me that we will be in just two short weeks, but the voice is drowned out by the thought of those two weeks.  Damn time and its absolute insistance that it keep us apart, then race by when we finally are together.  What have I done that time has chosen to be such a thief in my life?

I realize that my half of the conversation is dragging with me lost in my thoughts like this.  I force myself back to the present with one final fleeting desire:  I want him to call me "Honey."