He kissed me
Passionately
Then asked me
To leave

Only wanted
A taste
Said he wasn’t
Hungry

He kissed me
Passionately
Then asked me
To leave

Only wanted
A taste
Said he wasn’t
Hungry

He fought cancer all alone and won the battle, at the tender age of twenty-one. He never knew who his real father was, and refused to bond with the string of husbands he watched his mother marry and divorce. He did a five year stint in Leavenworth Penitentiary, for a crime that he swears he did not commit; and vehemently denied the atrocities his mother claimed happened to him there.

His demons were dark, blacker than my own, and yet I had glimpsed the light inside of him and believed my love could save him. But no matter what I did for him, or how much I supported and loved him, in truth he was never happy.

Always on the move, never slowing down; unable to reach that place of stillness, where all was right and everything calm; that plateau of normalcy I so desperately sought; as if something incessantly gnawed at him from the inside, attempting to break out. And so he self-medicated, with illegal drugs, while my vice of choice was still just caffeine and nicotine.

I supported his habit for the simple fact that when he reached that altered state of consciousness, he seemed genuinely happy and somewhat at peace; but of course his drug-induced euphoria never lasted and if there wasn’t an alternative when one drug ran out, there was sure to be hell to pay.

I followed him to the ends of the earth and back, but wherever we landed it was always the same; determined in his quest for peace, believing he might just have found it, until he looked around and found himself there; reflected in the mirror, starting the madness all over again.

I left him, after a tumultuous decade of heartache and pain; worn to nothingness, afraid of my own shadow; having lost complete sight of myself, somewhere along that darkened path. I would have continued on, probably forever, had I not come to the realization that I loved my self, more than I loved him, and that I had underestimated the power of his demons, at the price of my own sanity.

Time passed, spent apart, as I picked up the pieces of my shattered existence; attempting to reassemble myself, with worn shards left of my soul, no longer fitting as they should and a few missing altogether. But I forged the pieces that remained and over the years ritually polished away the corrosive patina, until I was able to bask in the warmth of my own light.

For a time he remained on the outskirts, afraid to let go completely, for I was the only one he had, in his whole god-forsaken world; and for a time I kept him at arm’s length, just so he knew that in spite of everything, I still did care. And then he showed himself one night at my door…

The storm was raging, hurricane warnings and gale-force winds whipped at my little cottage by the sea; a sanctuary I created all my own, darkened that night, more by his presence than the actual storm. I could see the desperation in his eyes as he begged me to let him in, and like a fool I stepped aside and allowed entrance.

He threw an arm around my neck and kissed me on the cheek, as his pack fell off his shoulder and landed with a loud thud on the floor. He bent down and started rummaging through, searching for something only he knew; then coming up with a leather box in his hands; thrusting it in mine, instructing that I hide it.

“What is this,” I demanded to know, he looked up from his crouching position with a pistol in his hand, stuck it in the back of his pants as he rose to face me and told me there was no time to explain, “Just trust me,” he said.

His appearance shocked me, when finally I looked at him fully; haggard and worn, as if he’d just staggered in from the threshold of death’s door. It had been seven years with no contact and my mind whirled with the possibilities of where exactly he’d been, obviously up to no good.

“I can’t stay. I’ve got to get out of here, but I’ll call you in a few days and tell you where to meet me.” I looked at him dumbfounded, until someone began pounding on my front door. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me hard on the mouth then vanished through the patio doors, as the front came crashing in.

Large men dressed in black, brandishing guns stormed into the room; too many to count, as one walked up to me and snatched the box from my hands, demanding to know where the little son-of-a-bitch was hiding. I buried my head in my hands and started to cry, unable to believe this was actually happening. The big brute of a man led me to the sofa as the others disappeared into the back of the house, searching, but coming up empty handed.

The brute was rambling about the seriousness of the situation without giving any details. All I heard were a few choice words, as the pounding in my head raged to the storms proportions. “He couldn’t have gotten far,” I heard one of them say, as another dumped his pack and its contents scatted across my floor. And that’s when I saw it; the pewter frame with my picture still in it; the one he’d taken when we first met; carried with him, as if a prize possession or talisman.

Several of the men left, while three remained and made themselves comfortable in my home. After a few hours when it was clear I wasn’t going to try to escape, they agreed to let me lie down in my bed; but only after they removed the phone from my room and instructed me not to close the door.

I went to my room and sat on the edge of my bed, trembling from the cold that now chilled my very soul. I yelled out and asked if I might please have a shower, and after a moment’s hesitation they finally agreed. Numbly, I made my way across the room and entered my bath; the smell of lavender assaulting my senses. I breathed deep and exhaled slowly, as I pulled back the curtain to turn on the water; and there he was, crouched in my tub with a finger to his lips, telling me Shhhh.

My heart pounded as if it would explode from my chest, each beat echoing in my ears, at the thought of us both ending up dead, at the hands of the madmen camped out in my living room. I wanted to ask how he’d gotten back here, what the hell was going on, but he pulled me to him and hugged me close; his wet clothes dampening my own, the smell of his clean wet hair a familiar scent that threatened to transport me back, but there was no time; no time for thinking at all, as he thrust the pistol in my hand that was wedged between both our chests.

His breath in my ear was warm and smelled sweet, as he whispered, “Please just do this one last thing for me,” taking my wrist and turning it slightly, so that the barrel of the gun was pointed directly at his heart. Our eyes locked and held for what seemed an eternity, “If you ever loved me, then please just release me.” My body tremble, as a plethora of emotion consumed me, and I shook my head no, in quick little jerks; trying desperately to grasp just one of the countless thoughts that raced through my mind.

“If you don’t do it, they will; and I’d much rather die at your hand, knowing it was a final act of love, than die in vain from an act of revenge.” The tears spilled over that had welled in my eyes and burned hot as they ran down my face. “I can’t,” I whispered. “I won’t.”

He grasped my hand that held the gun, while his other stroked the back of my head with urgency. “Don’t you see, it’s all I’ve ever wanted; to be free of these demons; but if I do it myself, I’ll forever be damned; if they do it, I’ll never be able to leave this place; but if you do it, if you take this life from me, you’ll set me free. I’ll be a peace; finally.”

“Oh, God,” I cried; as my head fell back and I closed my eyes to the heavens above. I felt his lips warm upon my neck and heard him whisper, “I love you,” at the exact moment I felt his finger press gently down on mine. The shot rang out and deadened all my senses, as he slowly slipped away from me and down into the tub; the gun resting on his chest, covered in his crimson blood.

I heard myself screaming, “NO!” as I frantically fought to recount that final second. I could still feel the warmth of his touch on my hand, still smell his hair and breath, but could not decipher if I, he, or we, had pulled the trigger and set him free. They suddenly surrounded me and filled the room, as one of them lifted and carry me away. I struggled and fought, not wanting to leave his side; my last memory of that moment was their black shadows reflecting in the glass of the mirror.

I woke three days later in my own bed, hooked up to an IV. The moment I stirred, a nurse in a starched white uniform and cap came into the room and without a word unhooked the IV, slapped a band-aid on my arm, gathered all remnants of her station then turned and left the room. I called out to her, demanding an explanation, but by the time I got my legs under me she was already out the front door, getting into a silver and black Rolls limo.

I stood there under the portico and watched until the car was completely out of sight, then turned and walked back inside. Everything was in its proper place, as if nothing had ever happened; but for my ex-husbands pack, sitting in the middle of my living room floor. I immediately ran through the house, into the bathroom and threw back the shower curtain; to find a perfectly polished porcelain tub; empty of all traces.

I went back to the living room and fell to the floor beside the pack. I sat staring at it for a long time, before I found the courage to look inside. I unzipped it slowly and saw the leather box on top of his things. I reached inside and retrieved it with trembling hands and slowly opened the lid, only to find the pewter frame that held my picture, nestled inside. I pulled it out and looked at my own image, as seen through his eyes; my own eyes filled with love and a trace of mischief, smiling happily at him the moment he’d snapped the picture, capturing that look forever, carrying it with him all the way to deaths door.

I put the picture back in the box and stuffed it in the pack, then drug it to my room and buried it in the back of my closet, where it remained for years, untouched; until I moved from that seaside cottage, no longer a sanctuary, but rather an unmarked tomb. I still have the pack in my possession, though it has never again been opened; as some memories are better left untouched, some mysteries better left unsolved, just as some dark deeds are better left unspoken.

© Copyright 2010 by Jill Terry. All Rights Reserved.

We were at the Renaissance festival in Washington Gardens; a beautiful southern park which sits along the banks of the Intracoastal Waterway. A place where you could lay your blanket and picnic under the canopy of ancient oaks, as pods of dolphins breech the surface and play in the blue green waters just a few feet away; an enchanted place to say the least. He’d taken me there when we were dating, and we’d returned each year for the past thirteen.

I left him alone for a short span of time, as I made my way to the water’s edge, to capture the moment in photos. Upon my return I noticed a woman sitting on our blanket beside him. I stopped for moment, observing them from afar; their conversation lively, their body language a little too familiar; the feeling in my belly an unwelcome one.

I approached slowly, and as if he felt my presence upon them, looked up and briefly met my eyes. She was mid-conversation, enthusiastically laughing and jovially pushing her body into his. I approached and politely said, “Excuse me, but I believe this seat is already taken.”

Her head shot around quickly, my words obviously startling her. Her eyes met mine and held them, filled with defiance and challenge, as if I should dare interrupt whatever was happening between them. I turned my gaze toward my husband, who had averted my eyes and was now looking toward the ground; a cowards stance, in every sense.

I took a deep breath as I drank her in completely; noting her age, far more advance than mine, the black leather vest and matching boots. Her jewelry was cheap and distasteful, hair poorly dyed, straight and stringy; her make-up outdated and haphazardly applied. A tawdry tramp if ever I’d seen one. And still she did not flinch. In fact, she leaned into him further; her hand wrapped around his forearm, offering support or protection, I couldn’t be certain; but refusing to relinquish her man nonetheless.

And in that moment, I was sickened and saddened; knowing full well that all was over. Not angry that he had met a woman with whom he connected on every level, but saddened and unable to believe that after the years we had spent that it should come to a close in deafening silence. I thought perhaps by now, he knew me well enough to know that my mind and heart are open and receptive to not only change, but the staunch belief that life is too precious to waste.

I walked to the edge of the blanket, slipped on my sandals, picked up my bag; and though my words were mounting into what would surely be an unpleasant eruption, I fought them with every ounce of my being and left them in silence.

My heart threatened to explode from my chest, my hands trembled and my legs were unsteady, but I squared my shoulders and held my head high, as I made my way toward the path; an unfamiliar path whose direction I hadn’t a clue, but vowed to follow even in this darkest hour.

I made it to the opposite end of the park then was forced to stop and steady myself against a tree. I took a deep breath, fighting back the tears; then suddenly I heard his voice, calling out to me from the distance, and before I knew it, his arms were embracing me…

“Baby, you slept through the alarm,” he whispered into my ear, as he nuzzled his face in my neck, pressing his warm, naked flesh against mine.

She stood in the doorway of the veranda, the moon shining through the branches, casting eerie shadows over the lawn. She watched as he pulled out of the circular drive, his taillights disappearing into the night; remembering his last words, wondering if she’d ever see him again, knowing full well she didn’t want to live without him, not certain at this point if she even could.

The music and laughter from the house full of guests below wafted up on the breeze and assaulted her; when all she wanted was to be alone. She was torn between two worlds; the one it seemed she had always known, was safe, comfortable and accustomed to; and the one unknown, where she dared to tread.

She hadn’t meant for it to happen, didn’t even know such a thing was possible; but there she was, center of the circle, completely in love with two different men. And though the last thing she wanted was for anyone to be hurt, the pain she now felt she was certain would kill her.

Dante hadn’t flinched when he walked in and found her in Alexander’s arms; her back against the wall, Alex’s hand under her dress exposing her bare naked thigh, as they stole a forbidden kiss at the party she was hosting, where Alexander was an invited guest. Dante spoke not a word, but the look in his eyes revealed all she needed to know. He loved her completely, unconditionally, and if she chose to stay and end this now, she was certain he would do everything within his power to make certain she never regretted it. That’s just the kind of husband he was.

Alexander had demanded a choice. He was not willing to share her any longer. He loved her and wanted to make a life with her. He begged her to leave with him right then and there, was furious and hurt when she hesitated in her response. He told her he was leaving for home on a morning flight to Tuscany; where there would be a ticket for her waiting at the gate, should she choose to join him.

She was a fool to believe it could continue as it was; her having the best of both worlds. In her heart she knew it would one day come to this, but still she was not prepared to make a choice, to give either one of them up. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

She kicked off her heels and stripped out of her dress, leaving it where it fell on the floor. Thunder crashed outside as she made her way to the closet, the wind whipping the lace curtains of the veranda doors, causing her to shiver as it licked at her naked flesh.

She stepped inside and turned on the light, pulling on a pair of jeans, a sweater and her favorite leather boots. She took off her wedding rings and the crucifix Alex had given her and placed them on the bedside table. She stopped when she reached the door, turned back and looked at the room one last time, before she made her way down the servant’s stairs and out into the garage.

Lightening streaked across the sky, illuminating the treetops, as she put the Jag in reverse and pulled out of the garage. She put the windows down then pushed the overhead button and the sunroof fell back into place, exposing the night sky that was dotted with black clouds; the moon disappearing then coming back into view.

She drove for miles on those winding country roads, ones she knew so well she could maneuver with her eyes closed; something she did often, to ease her worried mind, but did absolutely nothing for her on this particular night.

She was almost to the marsh when the sky opened up and the rain pelted down upon her, but she did nothing to protect herself against it. The bridge over the Intracoastal was just a few miles ahead and so she began to accelerate on the wet, slippery road. She put on her bright lights so as to better see through the rain, but it was only a brief downpour that didn’t last.

She maintained her speed as the sign came into view, warning drivers to slow over the bridge that was just up ahead. She set the cruise control, then reached down and pushed the button at the side of her seat, holding the wheel as it reclined. It wasn’t until she was lying all the way down that she let go of the wheel and in a loving gesture, cradled her arms over her belly, as if to somehow protect the child that grew in her womb from what was to come; a child created from absolute love, whose father she would never be certain. She took a deep breath and gazed up through the roof into the night sky, the moon showing itself to her one last time.

It was a small southern town in the 1950‘s, just like every other, all across these “united” states. They were standing on the corner outside the drugstore; where the sign on the door read, “No Coloreds Allowed.” Threes brothers in their late teens and early twenties, all of them the spitting image of their daddy; and the Tulle sisters, one of which had just agreed to marry the elder brother.

“What I wouldn’t give, to walk in that store and order us up some celebratory soda’s,” Zachariah said with heartfelt enthusiasm; knowing full well that doing so would land him straight in the county jail, or worse. Miss May threw her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the lips. “There’ll be plenty of time to celebrate once we tell our families the news.”

With his heart overflowing with love and his mind in a heightened state of euphoria, Zachariah let out a walloping “WHOO-HOO,” as he picked up his girl and swung her around in his arms. The crowd gathered in line outside the cinema, all turned to watch the spectacle; ever suspicious and wary of the ways of “the coloreds.”

Zachariah set his bride-to-be gently on the ground, then proceeded to pick up his brothers in turn and do the same. Just then an elderly couple exited the drug store, and Zachariah ran up, grabbed the man’s hand and shook it with enthusiasm, announcing that he was the happiest man in the world. The couple recoiled and the woman grabbed her husband by the arm. Zachariah paid no attention to the negative reaction, as there was nothing in the world could bring him down this day.

He leapt for joy, making his way toward the cinema, where he proceeded to shake the hands of everyone gathered in line. His brothers and the Tulle sisters, stood shaking their heads, laughing at his foolishness; delighting in their happiness. Then as if the world suddenly stopped spinning on its axes and began moving in slow motion, the shot rang out and Zachariah slowly fell backward to the ground. His body hit the pavement with a powerful thud, bounced a few inches back off the ground, then landed limp and lifeless.

The next morning the newspaper touted old man Henderson a hero; for single handedly stopping the colored boy, who as witness’ claimed, had lost his mind, gone mad, and began attacking the crowd of innocent bystanders outside the Main Street Cinema.

Forgive my delayed response; not for lack of trying, but it seemed as if each time I sat to pen my reply, something or someone needed my immediate attention. I’m sure you understand and can relate.

You asked if you are allowed to be this happy…not only are you “allowed,” but you deserve such happiness. Everything in life happens for a reason, of that there can be no doubt. Every path we choose, every road we travel, will eventually lead us to the place we are supposed to be. But it is up to us, to have our eyes open and recognize that place when presented to us. It appears you have done just that.

Yes, Ophelia, there will be times when you feel as if the separation will bring about your undoing, but this will only strengthen your bond and aide your determination in bringing to fruition that day when you are no longer forced to leave each others side; a day, I must say, that has been long in coming.

From the beginning…

How clearly I remember; how I longed to experience that love which you found; how many years and miles I had to travel to find it; and the devastation you felt when it abruptly ended. No words or actions could comfort, or take away the pain that assaulted and threatened to consume. But even then, I did not believe it was over; nor did you. Women’s intuition so finely tuned, at such young ages.

Never second-guess your self, Ophelia; and never let it be said that true love does not overcome and conquer all. I’ll await your reply and be with you every step of your journey; whenever you need or want me there.

In peace and love,
Anastasia

It has been so long since we sat and talked. There once was a time; long, long ago, when there was nothing we didn’t share. Two young girls; hearts brimming with hopes, dreams and silly fears, of that which was unknown; much that we only imagined, some truths that even now are difficult to comprehend; but still, here we are; all these years later, reaching out and connecting. Confidences shared, vulnerabilities exposed, trusts forged; and life goes on.

I must confess that I often miss those days of youthful innocence, but treasure the memory of them always. And so it was with abundant respect that I accepted your news of this second chance of which you spoke; with such heartfelt joy that it leapt from the page and struck my own soul.

For I too know about second chances, am well versed in affairs of the heart; and can tell you with complete and utter certainty that soul mates and twin flames do, indeed, exist.

Your happiness is such that you spend every waking moment in a state of euphoria; counting the moments until you can be together again. The wait is agony, yet such sweet suffering it is; for you know what awaits you and how far you have traveled to finally meet at this crossroad once more.

There are times when you fight sleep; unable to bear the pain of such missing, during your hours of slumber; and at others, you cannot wait to rest your head, close your eyes with the memory of him fresh in your mind, the scent of him still lingering; recounting every second spent, ever word spoken, every touch and caress; given and felt; knowing full well that you will find him in your dreams.

Ah, yes, how well I know this love you speak of. Having rejoiced and basked in its eternal promise; suffered and sacrificed to attain that which I needed more than my next breath. Knowing full well that should it ever cease to exist, so would life as I had come to know it. The pain, the torment, the agony and the angst; diffused completely by a single embrace.

But I warn you, dearest Ophelia, that second chances are not for the faint of heart. Most will never know the meaning of true love; cannot fathom that somewhere on this earth there is a twin that completes and makes us whole. And so, if a second chance, by fates hand be granted, you must grasp it with every ounce of your being and be mindful to wrap with ties that bind, but never constrict.

There will be those who scoff and scorn; will bring up past mistakes; of yours, his and those you made together, when the ignorance of youth was all you knew and held you under its wicked spell. Know that such negativity is not given out of love, but is born of pure, unadulterated jealousy. Resentful and loathing of you, are they; because you have found and accepted that which they know not the meaning of.

Take heed, Ophelia, when I tell you that there are those who would rather see you suffer as they, than rejoice and share in your happiness. They may not even be consciously aware of their actions; and so it is up to you to proceed with eyes wide open; armed and ready, to battle for that which your heart does know.

I leave you with my blessing and full support. Go now, to the man of your dreams; the keeper of the key, that fits the lock you fastened tightly around your heart. Trust your intuition, your inner voice; make every moment count and live your life with him well.

In light,
Anastasia

I stood for a moment in silence, watching him; still trying to grasp the fact that he was actually there, when he patted the empty spot on the bench next to him and said, “Why don’t you come sit.” Only then, when I took a step toward him, did he look in my direction and smile.

“What are you doing here,” I asked. “What took you so long,” he replied.

I sat beside him; and after a moments hesitation I humbly answered, “I thought he was a sage, sent to help me find my way; turns out he was insane, and I, nothing but a pawn in one of his wicked games.” He shook his head slowly, as if he understood completely. “What exactly was it you were hoping to find?” I shrugged my shoulders, but he wasn’t buying it; still, I didn’t know what to say.

We sat for several minutes, basking in the natural wonders surrounding us; each lost in separate thought, both thinking the same thing.

“It’s easy to see that you’re on the right path; you just need to have a little more faith is all; but I can tell that faith doesn’t come easy for you, does it?” I shook my head, but said nothing. He took my hand and held it in his, “While I can’t guide you in matters of faith, I’ll be happy to help you in mastering your craft.”

“And how will you do that,” I finally asked. “By encouraging when you stumble, flounder and flail, and watching as you flourish, spread your wings and sail. I’ve been here all along, I’m not going anywhere; and if you allow me, I’ll be your confidant and friend…”

I moved a little closer, leaned my head on his shoulder; took a deep breath and let out a slow sigh of relief. “Thank you, Walter,” I whispered in my sleep.

When in the wee hours he came, from his Technicolor world; into the vast unknown, unwittingly into hers. To an island nestled deep, in the Aegean Sea; where all men are naked and women mate with the gods. A miraculous place, where the curvature of the universe was visible from the shore; galaxies unfurled onto one another, time was irrelevant and spirits flew tangible, so as to no longer be illusive.

Though danger lurked deep, in light as well as shadows and as was her nature, she dove headlong without thinking; into a world she didn’t belong, where death was eminent and the coming slow and painful.

She stumbled blind, round that last corner; seeking death or redemption, at that moment it made no difference. A familiar face, his beauty betraying his sin, on 185 horses he roared in like the wind. The dark knight of her days come to save her from harm; those who chased and that of her own; sages and soothsayers and a convoluted self-image.

Shocked to find him there, though she hesitated nary a moment, as he led her by the hand to a safe and secluded place; revealing all that she refused to think and never dared to dream. Heart pounding in sweet trepidation, as he slowly rose above, filling her completely, body and soul; coming inside with an explosion of color, matching then surpassing that which emanated his skin.