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Love Isn’t Silly

Bill Tope

    “You’re silly, Willy,” said Mrs. Thurber, spreading a fresh white sheet across her King size bed. She said it pointedly, but with affection. Willy Tubs had been her secret lover for the past six months and she wasn’t yet ready to let him go.
    “Why is love silly?” asked Willy, moving clear of the billowing fabric.
    “I just don’t think you’re old enough to understand what love really is,” she reiterated for the umpteenth time. “I mean,” she went on, “love is about more than just....” she left the sentence hanging.
    “Sex?” supplied Willy with an innocent nonchalance. Mrs. Thurber blushed, nodded her head. “Yes,” she said, “sex.”
    “But,” sid Willy, “It’s so uch fun.’...” and Mrs. Thurber interrupted.
    “Certainly it’s enjoyable,” she conceded, afraid he was missing the point. “But one day sex will be behind you and then what will you have? That’s the meaning of love, Willy, when you just have each other.” She felt as though this would seem far fetched to her young lover, who was still seventeen, whereas she had just turned sixty.
    “But, I want to marry you, Mrs. Thurber,” insisted Willy with feeling.
    “But we don’t know each other well enough yet. Our relationship hasn’t progressed to the point of making a life long commitment. I mean, Willy, you still call me ‘Mrs. ‘Thurber’!”
    “I can call you Lucille,” offered Willy. “With your permission, of course.” His mother had always taught him not to be too forward with his elders. He had to be careful here.
    Mrs. Thurber sighed. “That would be a good start,” she said. She bent to tuck the corners of the sheet under the mattress. Willy did the same with the corners on his side of the bed. “You can even call me ‘Lucy’ if you wish,” she said. Now it was Willy’s turn to blush. He hadn’t dared get that personal, He only nodded.
    “Why do you want to get married, Willy?”
    “So we can live together,” he replied.
    “But why, are you having trouble at home?”
    “That’s not it,” he insisted. She furrowed her brow questioningly.
    “Then why would you want to live with me?” Willy gave her a look that said “Duh!” and spread his hand over the bed. “But sex doesn’t last forever, I told you that. When my late husband was in his mid-fifties we stopped having sex entirely,” she remembered. “And by the time you reach that age, I’ll be....”
    “Ninety-eight,” said Willy, who was always quick at math.
    “That’s correct, Willy, and then where will we be if our relationship isn’t deeper, more profound?” Willy sighed. He was all argued out. Casually he glanced at his Terminators wrist watch, gasped.
    “Gosh, Mrs. Thurb...Lucille....Lucy! I’ve got to get going. I haven’t even mowed your lawn yet and you know how my Mom gets when I’m late getting home.”
    Hurriedly dressing, Willy halted at the foot of her bed and regarded the beautiful Mrs. Thurber, clad now in a chiffon robe. Approaching her deliberately, he reached for her hand, kissed it softly.
    “Till the next time, Lucille,” he murmured. Mrs; Thurber flushed and sighed sadly as he turned to go. As he passed through the door, she called wistfully after him, “And don’t forget to trim.”

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