J. A. Napper

He held her hands and gently danced around the living room. Smiling, he held her close and smelled the hint of carrot cake in her hair. Thirty-eight years of marriage, and he still treated her like they were newlyweds on their honeymoon. That was the way he treated his marriage. My grandfather found new ways to prove his love to his bride daily. 

My ten-year-old mind was not able to fathom that type of love. I never experienced how a man should treat a woman until I observed my grandfather’s love for my grandmother. His love for her was more substantial than a tsunami, taller than Mount Everest, and more profound than the Mariana Trench. It was the most accurate form of love between a husband and wife.

“Papaw, do you love Mammaw that much?” 

My Papaw gazed at my grandmother with deep blue eyes. “Son, you have no idea how much she means to me.” His chest seemed to rise and fall faster by the second. “Every time I look at her, it’s like I see her for the first time.” 

Love like this was elusive at my home. Sure, my dad loved my mother, but he did not show his love as Papaw demonstrated. As a ten-year-old, the first eight years of my life were full of violence, so I didn’t know true love.  

I remember my mind swirled with doubt. “How do you know you love Mamaw so much?” 

“Come here,” my grandfather said as he pointed to the couch. “Sit down. Let me tell you something.” 

I scurried to the couch and jumped on its plush cushions. My eyes gleamed, and my cheeks tensed from the massive smile across my face. My grandfather told me a story—or, I thought he told me a story. 

He patted my knee and smiled. “Son, you should always understand that your love for one woman is supposed to last forever.” 

I shrugged. “What do you mean?” 

“When you finally settle on a woman, and ya’ll decide to make a go at marriage, make sure she’s your one and only.” 

I didn’t truly understand him. My small decade on this planet was full of G.I. Joes, Hot Wheels, and Thunder Cats—I couldn’t care less about girls! A girl would turn her nose into the air at my mud-caked fingernails and feet that smelled like rotten onions. I was ten—girls bored me. I barely handled my sister, and I didn’t want any more girls in my life. 

I’m not lucky enough to be a one-marriage man. However, I am blessed enough to have married the woman of my dreams. My dream girl developed when I watched The Karate Kid Part II. Daniel LaRusso fell in love with Kumiko—I fell in love with Kumiko. I used to pretend I was Daniel-San as he danced with his Asian girlfriend in the candlelight. I wanted an Asian girlfriend from that point forward. 

I never pursued my dream girl; instead, I settled. I did love my ex-wife, but true love never developed. Multiple military deployments built a canyon between us, so love never perfected its Evel Knievel jump over that canyon. Instead, it crashed into a dusty heap of trash, leaving massive holes in my heart.  

I swore marriage away. I didn’t want anything to do with it anymore. It hurt. However, love found me again. I discovered my Kumiko. I became Daniel LaRusso from The Karate Kid Part II. There she stood in the hallway of the military school where I was an instructor. Her black hair shined under the fluorescent lights. Her tanned skin and dark eyes beckoned to me. They reminded me of a summer’s thunderstorm. Lightning shot through my heart—I instantly fell in love. 

***

Michelle isn’t Japanese. She is from Malaysia, but she is my Kumiko. I feel faint every time our eyes meet. Her smell reminds me of the sweet ocean breeze, and her touch erupts my heart’s volcano. 

My grandfather’s words pierce my ears like a knife. “Son, love her like she’s the last woman on earth.” 

She is the only woman in this galaxy who holds my attention. Michelle completes me. I’ll dance with her until my dying day, just like my Papaw loved my grandmother until his last breath gently passed over his lips.