Do you remember that night, back in August? We were at the park, near the river where you always told me the rats were as big as chichuahuas. You told me that so I’d be scared, and find solace in your arms. I believed it for the same reason.
We lay on the old beach towel under the willow in what I had come to believe as ‘our spot.’ The river had that dank, late-summer smell to it and it was too sultry for even the crickets to do more than give half-hearted chirps every now and again. We had a six pack of Budweiser that some older guy had bought for us when you threw in the extra $20–money I’d made babysitting. It was too hot to do more than lay side by side. Even our teenage hormones were dazed by the heat.
That was the night that you first told me about Beth. Even now, the name makes my gut clench.
I remember that you’d been distracted, drinking your beer fast and crunching the cans before pitching them into the heavy water. I felt a similar clench in my stomach. Something was bothering you and I was scared you were going to end things. I had always known you would break up with me, because I’d always known you were too good to be true. But it had only been a year that we’d been together, and I was hoping for more time.
Of course, you didn’t break up with me. Not really.
It would be a good arrangement, you explained. You and Beth would be together at your school, and I could have a boyfriend at my school. Nights, summers, weekends…it would be just you and I.
I remember panic rising in my throat like vomit. I was confused and felt like I would suffocate in the humid air. Wasn’t I enough? I wondered. I had given you absolutely everything. I did everything, anything, you asked of me and you told me that you loved me. I had nothing left to give and yet you wanted more.
I didn’t speak at first. It was like when we’d first started dating, and I couldn’t speak to you in front of other people. I was so awed by your presence and the effect you had on me back then. This time, I was simply speechless. I sipped my beer and pulled a cigarette out of the pack next to me. When I fumbled with my lighter and you took the cigarette from my lips, put it in your own mouth and lit it and then put it back in mine. Wordlessly.
I dragged deep and finally looked into your eyes.
Dangerous territory, those eyes of yours. Dark brown with flecks of yellow near the irises, they acted like a magnet to my soul. It was no lie when I told you that sometimes, looking deep into your eyes, I heard music. You told me you heard the same when you looked at me.
I sighed. Of course I’d do it. Anything for you, up to and including giving you away for five days a week.
I didn’t say it like that though. I didn’t utter a word.
Instead, with the same magic that pulled us together the second we met just over a year ago, I drew you to me–or you drew me to you—who knows how to define that magnetic pull we shared.
Our kiss was slow and hesitant, more like the first kiss than the thousandth. Your question, my answer. Was there much difference between a hello and goodbye? Did it matter?
We made love under the willow that night, and I raked my nails down your back as I came. I wanted to leave my mark on you. This girl–this Beth–she might have you at school, but I had you here. Now.
You shuddered when I broke your skin and I felt you release inside me.
We lay there for quite some time, our breathing slowing, our legs entwined. Eventually you leaned up on your elbows and put your nose to mine. “I love you” you whispered.
That would have been the perfect time for me to give you all the reasons why you shouldn’t play this game. You should choose, me or her. You shouldn’t ask me to give you so much freedom. What boy in my school even compared to you? No one had those eyes, that magnetism that sensuality that called out my own desire.
But of course I stayed silent on all this.
“I love you too” I replied.
Of course I did.
Sweet like sugar and tasting
like the insides of a sour candy after I’ve
sucked all the tartness away.
Holding onto me like warmth
Like the smoke from a fire that I smell
the next morning in my hair.
I feel you breathe
I see what you see thru your eyes as they are
clouded with me.
I hear what you hear and I listen closely to
the words left unsaid, the spaces
between the words are where the real
conversation lies.
I lie with you nightly, hearing the
beat of your heart, the
rustle of your hair as it grows and the
edgy sound of silence as you dream.
We dream together and I can almost reach you
in the dreamtime, the quiet time,
in the spaces between us.
So what if you were, say, dying…the end of the road was visible.
What if you had regrets? What if you had things you wanted to do that you hadn’t done.
Of course you’d try to do them, right?
I mean, within bounds, provided it didn’t hasten the dying.
Everyone has a dying wish, or so I’ve heard.
So what, then, if your last wish…your dying wish… the one thing you’ve always wanted to do…what if that one thing was hurtful to someone else?
Would you do it?
I don’t mean kill someone, or maim or otherwise physically harm someone.
But what if something you did..that you did because you have always wanted to do it and it’s literally now or never…what if that something would make someone else sad?
Would you do it, knowing that you wouldn’t have to be around to clean up the mess?
Would you do it, knowing that it was something you’re literally at this point dying to do?
Would you not do it, sacrificing your happiness for that of another?
Would you do it if no-one would ever know?
Then say you found out you weren’t dying, but you’d already done it.
And loved it.
Would you do it again?
I dreamed of a friend that died while I was still in high school. I was my age I am now and he was young…he was about 20 when he died, I was probably 17. I was slow dancing with him in a reality where he was still alive but I knew he would die. I asked him if he loved his life and he said yes. I asked him if he had any inkling of his future and he said “I think I know what you are leading up to and I know it.” I told him he was a fine young man, and that when I was teen, I had a crush on him (true). He smiled and kissed me and said “Just because God gives you one person to love and stay with, it doesn’t mean that you can’t love more than that one person.”
I hugged him and the dream ended.
So today I took my 14 year old daughter to see Twilight. She has read all the books at least 3 times and this is the 3rd time she has seen the movie in as many days.
I tried to be objective. Really I did.
I have a hard time with suspension of disbelief when it comes to movies. Part of that is a defense mechanism I learned as a child–scary movies aren’t too scary if you can spot the cinematographic (is that a word?) inaccuracies. The microphone in the top of the shot, the subtle change in a character’s hair or makeup..little things.
And Twilight wasn’t scary in the least, but as with all movies, I look for the mistakes in order to find a certain level of reality.
So yes, when Bella’s nasal cannula for oxygen was on wrong, I couldn’t help but notice. And when one actor’s pupils were pinpoint, I couldn’t help but begin to worry that yet another young Hollywood star was starting on the long path of narcotic addiction.
But after a while, I was able to sit back, watch the show, and attempt to be objective.
Angst. Longing. Unbearable love that haunts your dreams.
Oh yeah, I can see why all these teenage girls have their Twilight obsessions running full bore.
What teenage girl doesn’t dream of a handsome, strong, protective, loving and tortured boyfriend? Who can carry her to (literal) great heights and who likes to watch her sleep.
Shit, I bet there are a lot of mothers of teenage girls looking for the same thing.
The bad boy who has a heart of gold. (And in this case…eyes of gold as well).
The anticipation for that first kiss…and when it happens, the risk of losing it all…
I get it, I see it.
But what does it bode for our kids? Boys and girls…
Our girls are looking for a James Dean with a heart of gold, and superhuman strength. A boy who loves with his whole heart (”You are my heroin” is a HUGE thing to live up to)
Our boys are going to be expected to live up to that image.
I pity them all. The girls will be disappointed by the boys who don’t live up to their literary and fantasy expectations. And the boys, well, they will be confused. (I can say that. I have a son too)
Where will it end? The next Harry Potter will be out early this coming summer and it will be the same thing. Harry growing up, making his magic spells and looking every bit the man/boy in his oversize glasses. I can hear the teenage hearts fluttering already.
Twilight was good. Not great, but good enough. The effects were good..and I suspect they will be much better in the sequel. The tension was almost palpable..although I am not sure whether it was the on-screen chemistry of the players, or just the buildup of teen hormones and angst surrounding me in the theater.
I won’t dream of Robert Pattinson’s Edward tonight.
Maybe though, I will dream again of my long-ago James Dean. The one who set my own teenage heart atwitter, back in the day.
Ok Twilight Fan-girls. I get it.
The slip of elusive words
the stumble over what should be even ground.
I feel myself tilt with the
question unasked
and my words hit the floor
like the thud of cement.
An echo of silence that
chases me through my dream-corridors
and leaves me ultimately stranded.
Alone,
with nothing to wrap around my freezing shoulders
but the threadbare memory of touch
and a whisper of tears.
How do you put it into words, that loss?
The realization of all that’s gone before is so much more
than what is left to come?
I felt it again last night, that
bittersweet melancholy,
that
slow drip of tears heralding yet another passage.
Time never used to move fast enough but now
now…
now cruel time is racing by.
I used to count in decades,
Now I count in days.
How long until I count in breaths?
*
The glorious days of wonder
have all passed by now.
The dreams and secret mysteries
Are uncovered and exposed for the poseurs they are.
The greatest truth is the truth untold,
the biggest lie is that its fun to grow up.
Wrinkles start slowly now around my eyes while
my daughter’s flesh is firm and unlined.
As it should be.
But I once was her.
As I move out of mother and into my crone years,
I grasp feebly at the last strings of youth.
Old love poems and memories
Serve now not only as reminders of what I once was
But also serve to bring on the bitter tears…
salt trails down my slowly wrinkling cheeks
and memories of better times that would be far less hurtful
if they could only be
forgotten.
I still vividly remember the last time I saw him.
We were standing down by the river, at the little dock where we’d spent most of the summer. It was late August and the sun was still high, but there was a chill in the air where it brushed my neck. Or maybe it was just the words he spoke that gave me goosebumps.
“You know I have to leave soon, right?” He said, looking into my eyes.
I felt his hands, large and warm on my shoulders. His breath smelled of clove cigarettes and the stolen beer we’d shared.
“Yeah,” I said, willing the tears to stay back. I didn’t want to ruin what felt like an important moment.
He sighed, and looked off behind my right shoulder. I looked at my feet, red toenail polish chipped and worn.
“It was a good summer,” he said, almost absently.
This time, it was I who sighed. He drew me against him and I lay my cheek on his chest. His heart beat steady and I timed my breathing to his. Closing my eyes, I inhaled the scent of him. Warm and salty. My arms wrapped around his waist.
I didn’t ever want the moment to end, but at some point, he pulled away. I looked up into his eyes.
I wanted to say something profound. I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me…his friendship, his support. I wanted him to know how important he was to me, and how my feelings had evolved and changed over the last few weeks.
Oh how I wanted to kiss him.
But instead, I just smiled at him. “Any more beer left?” I asked, reaching compulsively for the safety of ‘just friends.’ I wanted to shout from the dock and out across the water how much I felt for him, how deeply I needed him….but yet, I didn’t want to risk losing him. His friendship was what he offered and I accepted. To ask for more would have been greedy.
We sat on the dock and watched the sun set, sharing a beer and talking of the inconsequentials.
Before long the mosquitoes came out and the frogs began their nightly chanting. “I should get going,” he said, standing up and offering me his hand. “Nice day today. I’m glad we came out here.”
I tried so hard not to read into his words. It had been a nice day. I wouldn’t let myself ruin it by getting serious and emotional. Later, I would cry myself to sleep with longing for him. Now, however, I would be the friend-buddy-pal that had become my role in this lopsided relationship.
He walked me to my car. We held hands as we navigated the trail back up from the dock. Did he feel the shock and thrill that I did when our hands met? He walked a little ahead of me and I studied his shoulders as he moved, the muscles just beneath the skin of his back. I wanted to touch them, to rub my palms across the flat of his back and rake my nails down his spine. I wondered what his skin tasted like.
Instead, I got my carkeys out of my front pocket and hit the automatic unlock button on the remote. “Here we are,” I said. “Got any plans for tomorrow?” I asked, praying I sounded casual. Maybe I’d tell him tomorrow.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe.”
I shrugged. “Ok then, maybe I’ll talk to you then.”
I got in my car and started it up. “Drive careful,” he said.
“I always do,” I replied.
I saw him from my rearview window. He had turned and was looking back over across the river. Eventually he got smaller in the distance until I couldn’t distinguish him anymore.
I drove home slowly, the windows down to let in the damp August air.
Tomorrow, I promised myself. I would tell him tomorrow once and for all how I felt about him.
“Let it go,” he whispered against my mouth.
“I can’t,” I said, pulling back. “What if its an emergency?”
I rolled over and reached the phone on the bedside table. “Hello?” I said, figuring I sounded pretty out of breath.
He rolled in close behind me, leaving a trail of tickly kisses across my ear and down my neck. I stifled a giggle. “Hello?” I said again. I was distracted by the feel of his lips as they worked their way down my spine in soft, butterfly kisses, but I heard enough to find that it was the front desk, concerned because I hadn’t answered the door when my bottle of wine was delivered. I hadn’t even heard the knock I thought to myself, swatting him away as his kisses ran lower and lower.
I quickly told the conceirge that I had changed my mind and no need for room service tonight.
I hung up the phone and rolled back over.
We were facing each other now, close enough to breathe each others’ breath.
He reached out and twirled some of my hair around his fingers. “I almost can’t believe this is happening,” he said. “After all this time.”
“20 years is a long time,” I agreed, touching his face, running my fingers along the side of his nose, the slope of his jaw. “I am so glad that we found each other.” I frowned. “I do feel bad about Julie though. I feel like I ruined things.”
He sighed and rolled over on his back, pulling me along with him so I was laying with my head on his chest. I felt my heart attune with the beat of his. “Julie and I were having problems way before you came into the picture,” he said. “You just helped me clarify it.”
“But its not fair that she gets hurt.”
He laughed sardonically. “I don’t think you should worry about that. Julie always has someone to take care of her. Remember my cousin Jim, from the party tonight?” I nodded and he continued. “Who do you think was keeping Julie company when we were in the bathroom together?”
My eyes widened. “Really?” I said.
“Really. I’ve known about them for a few months now, but I think it’s gone on longer than that.”
“Why didn’t you end things earlier then?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. When you and i were getting reacquainted these last few months, I was just so excited to be talking with you, I didn’t want anything to bring me down, least of all a scene with Julie. She’s the one who actually ended things with me a couple weeks ago.”
“Did she find my emails?” I said, tracing circles in his chest hair.
“I don’t know. She may have. She never told me if she did.”
He sighed and I didn’t speak. What was there for me to say?
We lay there for a little while, and I may have even started to drowse. Time seemed to stand still when we were together like this, snug in our coccoon of sheets and blankets.
I must have dozed off because the next thing I became aware of was the feel of his hands, up and down my back. Somehow I’d turned onto my stomach and I woke to the thrill of goosebumps as he ran his fingertips up and down my back and sides. I inhaled shakily and heard him laugh. “The princess awakes,” he said, continuing the mesmerizing flutter of fingertips on my back. I began to feel the melting feeling again.
“That feels so good,” I told him. “Don’t stop.”
He leaned over on top of me, so his mouth was close to my ear. “Don’t worry,” he said, his breath tickling my ear. “I’ve only just begun.”
He smiled at me and pushed the robe off my shoulders. It fell into the tub and splashed the backs of my calves with small warm droplets. I continued to look into his eyes as he rubbed his hands up and down my sides. “You have to believe me,” he said softly. “I love you so much. I thought you knew that.”
It was true that the emails between us–which had started as friendly notes between old friends–had gotten progressively more intimate. And come on, who was I kidding? I’d flown 500 miles to see him.
I opened my mouth to say something or another, and before I could speak he was pressing his lips to mine. I felt a surge, a jolt of electricity as our lips met, and then the warm slide into desire began. I staggered in his arms and he held me tighter.
Wordlessly, he helped me step into the tub and I stood in the calf-deep water. He found the washcloth on the side of the sink and poured my rose-scented bath gel onto it. Breathing deeply, he began to massage me with the warm soapy cloth. I closed my eyes, giving into the experience. He rubbed my neck in small circular strokes, and drew a long path up and down my back. It was almost hypnotic. I sighed when he stroked the backs of my thighs. Next he rinsed me with handsful of water, pouring it gently over my shoulders so it ran down my back, my breasts, my legs.
With a sly smile, he handed me a towel and I wrapped up in it and stepped out the tub. He led me by the hand to the bed. Turning back the covers, he motioned for me to get in.
As I slid under the covers, he began to quickly undress. I was still damp and getting chilly with the air conditioning on. That soon changed however, as he slid in next to me. His skin was hot and I could feel myself begin to melt all over again. He lay on his side and looked at me.
“I am so glad that we are here right now,” he said softly, grasping my hand.
I smiled. “Me too,” I whispered. My body was practically vibrating with desire. He leaned over and began to gently kiss my mouth, his lips warm and soft. I sighed into his mouth.
I felt a sudden bolt of electricity shoot thru the both of us and at the same time he pulled me toward him, his mouth now more demanding, his kisses more urgent. I met them with my own demands.
I pressed myself to him, skin to skin. He kissed my neck, my shoulders.
The room was spinning and I felt myself begin to let go, to loose myself in the sweet sensation of him.
That was when the phone rang.
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