Start of New Year and all the new resolutions to be made. I felt pretty confident this year I would at least try becoming a saint. Saying no to things was easy but always knew when the prospect would come down to facing the inevitable I wouldn't be able to simply nod my head.
After being dry for 12 days, spending evenings on glass of milk with bournvita, I was very much on my way to achieve the impossible - but fortune like always had other plans. Generally on weekends I keep all kind of communication mediums on silent mode. Sunday, already night approaching I gave a call to one of my college buddies. Letting the phone ring for couple of minutes I jovially was bout to put the phone down when I heard a familiar tone on the other end - "Dude! New place opened in town, wanna check it out"
I replied speaking as earnestly as possible, no....hmmm..."all right we would just drive to that place, if the environs good maybe peek inside and just check it out."
How wrong I was about to prove myself…
After parking the bike a safe distance from the place, on Church Street we headed to the new place "Hard Rock, Cafe". Always a diehard fan for rock music and coffee I thought my friend for a brief moment has changed. Even the groups of foreigners standing outside or the couple of bouncers made me re-think what this place might be. I opened the door and was greeted to a whole new world, a Mecca of classical hard rock. Pics, guitars and outfits worn by the singing greats adorned the walls.
The place too crowded even for words to spill over. The booking stopped at 25 and people still waiting in throngs to enter. We made our way through the crowds to the bar counter.
Just behind where we were sitting, there was a group comprising of a baldy with 7 girls in tow; while he was flirting with one who looked the eldest the others in the group had a hard time sitting straight. Finally one did take offence and in a pissed sense went to the loo to chill off. Not into following her I too had an urge to go, by the time I had 3 beers.
Standing peacefully and taking a leak my eyes were drawn to the loo on the opposite end, what I saw confused me to the point, "was I drunk!"...the female I just saw outside standing in front of the mirror combing her hair without a piece of clothing above her waist. I needed fresh air to get those thoughts out, thinking it might be a hallucination I stepped outside to the patio; followed by one of the guys, "Did you see that, unbelievable those were huge!"
I had touched liquor after nearly a week, choices in my head both to forget what I have seen and head back inside or get to know the topless girl a little better. Any warm blooded 'dick' would have made this choice; I made my way back to the loo a little uncertain. I was awe stuck on her boldness to stand in her magnificent sense at the door. She wrote her number on a tissue, wet the back of it with her tongue, turned around and stuck it on the mirror. Looking back at me she said, "If u have the guts"
I was dumbstruck, bewildered more likely shaky hands and a face going redder by the minute, I was clearly caught off guard. I closed my eyes thought for the moment, a hundred scenarios racing through my head and if pushed through lust I stepped inside. Female perfume hanging all around me, any whiff at that time could have brought me back to reality, where I was. Still in that dreamy vigor I stretched my arm got the tissue and stepped back. I really wanted to look around but thought against it, cause it would be no fact that the moment we went to the bar everybody would be talking bout me.
Putting the note in my back pocket I headed to the bar and ordered a whiskey. Gulping it down in one go before he could add ice, clearly the bartender understood something was amiss; then he saw the lady walk by and give me a wink. My head hurting with what I had just done I ordered another one and then another. After 4 such shots I was relatively back in my spirits. I did not approach her the entire evening or the day. Guess one time in my life I had been caught with my pants down...
But the evening was not through. Thoroughly drunk and still skeptic about why I didn't talk to the female earlier I was bout to lose face when 2 females walked across to the bar and in a pretty feminine low voice asked for the bartender. With the loud music and the crowd cheering it was pretty obvious she was not heard.
Standing close I said, “excuse me mam, but you got to be a little louder"
She tried a hopeless effort once again.
Finally I asked for the bartender pointing the fellow to her, a quick thank you were passed around. Knowing she would be off too and not missing the beat I asked her to sit and what followed was a loose talk.
The close of the place fast approaching, she asked me whether I knew how to drive. After getting drunk to this point I could have easily have said no but her beauty and soft touch prompted me to take my chances. Driving a merc to KML was not an easy task, a small portion of my brain still trying to comprehend what to tell to a cop if he does stop me?
Rest a mere formality of dropping her to her place followed by a steamy session. Morning was no victory to be won. She looked gorgeous lying next to me. I was wondering how to tell her, when she spoke on her own to take the last night as just a fling. She said it is to be understood that no relationship is to be made and whatever happened was just a primal instinct that went haywire.
We had a quick fire morning session after which one of her friends dropped me home....
Thinking bout it did make me write this stuff...
When something like this happens even if it is a one night stand it does leave impressions on your body that is just too hard to forget ;-)
Monday, January 14, 2008
Friday, May 4, 2007
Story...
The little boy sat at his computer desk staring at the screen. He had his cola on one side, his unfinished candy bar on the other, and sat waiting for the inspiration to hit. Having just finished one story he wondered what the next one would be about. For some reason he never knew what was going to come from his fingers till he started typing. As always, when he finished a story, he felt a wave of depression roll over his. The same questions, "Was it good enough? Would anyone like it?" rolled through him until his world centered on them.
The only way he was able to get out of the rut was to force his self to start writing again. Once a new story started, the joy of writing would take over and he would feel as if he were flying. Taking a sip of his coffee he heard the voice that he knew would come, "You know they don't understand." Not looking up he pretended to not hear the voice. It was a game they had played many times before. "No one understands." The voice prodded his as if picking an old wound that would not heal.
"No one understands." He agreed not looking up. "They never do, not even the other writers." Savoring the remaining bar, he looked at the cigarette in the ash try gulping down the receding traces of its smoky flavor and the rush as the nicotine hit his system. Taking another sip of his coke, "can we just say we played the rest of the game and skip it today?" He paused and then added, "I am not up to it anymore."
The voice replied in a childlike voice, "Wadda matter? Liddle writer in the downy dumps?"
The boy looked up to the heavens as if speaking to the gods, "Why is it, everyone gets a helpful muse, while I get one with a twisted sense of humor?" He quickly adds, "Don't answer that." After a while he asks, "Why? Why am I cursed so?"
He could almost feel the gentle touch of a hand stroking his hair as the voice answered, "It is the curse that goes along with your writing abilities. To write you have to put your heart and soul into every word. Nothing held back, no reserve to keep safe; you have to lay your soul open for the words to flow."
Closing his eyes he felt the tears fall, "I'm just so tired. Tired of getting hurt, tired of the hate, the scorn, you're not good enough mindset." He rested his head on his crossed arms in front of the keyboard, "Why can't I just write and be like others. It's not fair damn it."
He could not feel the hand stroking his back but knew it would be there if his muse were real, "Life is not fair, you know that. I wish. . . I wish I could take the pain away. I wish I could make your life where you could write without opening up. But, I can not. We both know that."
Looking up he said, "Ohh I know some will not like, some will not understand and that will make them hate it, while few will enjoy the story." Shaking his head sadly he looked at his hands and said softly, "I just wished they understood."
"I know you do and perhaps one day they will. But, be that as it may, it will not change anything," the voice replied sadly. The voice paused, "No matter what you say or do people will love or hate your work. No one and I mean no one ever has written a story that everyone loved." The voice sighed, "The only way past this is to start writing again." There was a long pause and he thought that the muse had left his to his cup of woe once more. But no it was not to be, "let me help you."
Without any control on his part the boy started typing. It had been over 10 years since the story broke about two brothers making an artificial person that once activated and assimilated into society was indictable from normal humans. Once it was found out that an AP could be made to pass through the world without anyone realizing, they soon flooded the market. It reached the point where you would never know if you were talking to an artificial or flesh and blood human. It is in this world that our story starts.
The voice said, "There, that should help you."
He sat there looking at the words on the screen and in his mind's eye the story unfolded. With a slight smile on his face he started typing, the depression lifting as his spirit once more soared. A few minutes later he said softly, "Thank you" and could almost hear his conscience reply, "Your welcome."
The only way he was able to get out of the rut was to force his self to start writing again. Once a new story started, the joy of writing would take over and he would feel as if he were flying. Taking a sip of his coffee he heard the voice that he knew would come, "You know they don't understand." Not looking up he pretended to not hear the voice. It was a game they had played many times before. "No one understands." The voice prodded his as if picking an old wound that would not heal.
"No one understands." He agreed not looking up. "They never do, not even the other writers." Savoring the remaining bar, he looked at the cigarette in the ash try gulping down the receding traces of its smoky flavor and the rush as the nicotine hit his system. Taking another sip of his coke, "can we just say we played the rest of the game and skip it today?" He paused and then added, "I am not up to it anymore."
The voice replied in a childlike voice, "Wadda matter? Liddle writer in the downy dumps?"
The boy looked up to the heavens as if speaking to the gods, "Why is it, everyone gets a helpful muse, while I get one with a twisted sense of humor?" He quickly adds, "Don't answer that." After a while he asks, "Why? Why am I cursed so?"
He could almost feel the gentle touch of a hand stroking his hair as the voice answered, "It is the curse that goes along with your writing abilities. To write you have to put your heart and soul into every word. Nothing held back, no reserve to keep safe; you have to lay your soul open for the words to flow."
Closing his eyes he felt the tears fall, "I'm just so tired. Tired of getting hurt, tired of the hate, the scorn, you're not good enough mindset." He rested his head on his crossed arms in front of the keyboard, "Why can't I just write and be like others. It's not fair damn it."
He could not feel the hand stroking his back but knew it would be there if his muse were real, "Life is not fair, you know that. I wish. . . I wish I could take the pain away. I wish I could make your life where you could write without opening up. But, I can not. We both know that."
Looking up he said, "Ohh I know some will not like, some will not understand and that will make them hate it, while few will enjoy the story." Shaking his head sadly he looked at his hands and said softly, "I just wished they understood."
"I know you do and perhaps one day they will. But, be that as it may, it will not change anything," the voice replied sadly. The voice paused, "No matter what you say or do people will love or hate your work. No one and I mean no one ever has written a story that everyone loved." The voice sighed, "The only way past this is to start writing again." There was a long pause and he thought that the muse had left his to his cup of woe once more. But no it was not to be, "let me help you."
Without any control on his part the boy started typing. It had been over 10 years since the story broke about two brothers making an artificial person that once activated and assimilated into society was indictable from normal humans. Once it was found out that an AP could be made to pass through the world without anyone realizing, they soon flooded the market. It reached the point where you would never know if you were talking to an artificial or flesh and blood human. It is in this world that our story starts.
The voice said, "There, that should help you."
He sat there looking at the words on the screen and in his mind's eye the story unfolded. With a slight smile on his face he started typing, the depression lifting as his spirit once more soared. A few minutes later he said softly, "Thank you" and could almost hear his conscience reply, "Your welcome."
Thursday, May 3, 2007
...Love transcends my Psyche...
Sitting by the hospital bed, he held her hand lightly and read to her quietly. All her life she had been an avid reader of the classic tales of Greek/Roman mythology, losing herself in the yarns of larger than life humans, gods, and the other beings no matter how many times she had read them. Ancient wise men had wove tales intending to show a moral that the being on the receiving end of the tale could use and apply to their own life no matter how different the circumstances may be from the characters portrayed. While she read many different genres of writing, she always slid back to reading those heroic epics.
From time to time nurses and other hospital staff would come into the room to do what they needed, explaining to him what they were doing then exiting quietly. Once they were alone again he would resume, his well-modulated voice, one that seemed to have the characteristics of an actor who had spent their lifetime perfecting their craft, would fill the quiet room with a soft, gentle timber. Yes, he understood that there was no way of knowing if she could hear him or not, the doctors had explained that to him early on, but even if there was just a tiny chance she could he wanted to make sure that she knew he was there. It was unrealistic for him to think he could be there all the time with her, he knew he couldn't his life marched on like it or not and there were such things and work and bills to pay, but he spent all the time he could with her. When he couldn't be there, he left some of her favorite music and the staff played it quietly.
In the times he was with her, that was every evening until 10 pm; he would read or just talk with her. It wasn't anything enormous or thought provoking, just telling her what went on during his day or current events. Unlike so many people who were in a similar situation, he had no problems touching her. Yes, she was in a coma and didn't respond but she was still his wife, the woman he loved more than life itself. The majority of the time he was in the room with her he held her hand or was touching her in some way. It was his hope that she would feel that and know he was with her. In fact, that was one of the first things he asked about after the accident. As with the query about hearing him they said they didn't know but there was a chance she could. Clinging to that chance, he made sure he did, knowing with the part of himself that would always be connected with her that somehow, some way she knew.
To say that he had an unconventional childhood would be an understatement. Often times he had heard his parents described as the last of the flower children, something he learned later on was a very apt description. Unlike so many of their generation who had put away the beads and ideals then became the powerbrokers they stuck to many of the ideals that the movement had been founded on. Yes, they had moved into the 'normal' world and taken jobs like everyone else but they had not left behind the ideals and causes they had felt so strongly about. Staunch environmentalists, they had both been on the forefront of the movement to push for 'green' technology. As much as they could, they grew their own food and recycled. Long before there was much of a push for it, he and his sister had been home-schooled. When his mother had become pregnant with him, she quit teaching at the local university to devote her time to raising him. It was from that commitment that the home schooling came from.
Looking back, he always smiled when it thought about it. As an adult he knew he had been given a much better and more well-rounded education than anyone who went to public school. While he studied all the same subject others his age did he was able to get a more rounded and better view of things than public schools gave students. Rather than just go through the plain, vanilla basics of a subject they read and learned all sides of the issue. Not only has that, but some subjects they learned 'hands on'. While going through and discussing the Native Americans they spent a week on a 'field trip' to a nearby reservation to learn from that point of view the history. Museums, art galleries, concerts, etc were all part of the education process for them. That part had always stuck with him longer than the words in the books had. When you learned about those things by seeing, touching and being around them you had a better appreciation or understanding of what you needed to know.
While his mothers teaching methods might have been unorthodox, that wasn't all that was different, some of the subject that she taught them about weren't something you would find in a normal school, either public or religious. By the time he was 15 he could not only name most of the main religions in the world, but he could also tell you their basic tenets as well as a brief overview of their history. He learned to respect all of them as well as to understand where they were coming from. However, he was also taught to find his own path in life and that he would know it when he encountered it. Long before the movies and TV shows about it, his parents were Pagans. While it was looked upon as weird and they did encounter many people who were quite nasty about their choice they didn't mind. In their eclectic circle of friends, religion didn't matter. For each of the holidays, both the Paganistic ones as well as others, their house was always full of people from all races, religions, and creeds. Holidays were a time of celebration and celebrate they did. That is how he met his wife.
At a Yule party, the holiday celebrated on the winter solstice, the year he turned 18 he had met Kimber. Like his father, her parents taught at the local university. Her mother was in the Art department and her father in the Mathematics. They had only been with the school for a couple years so he hadn't had a chance to encounter them before. As he stood across the room, listening to several people talking about politics in Africa his eyes met hers and he was lost. Later on she would remember the look on his face and grin, calling it 'twitterpated', the word used in the wonderful cartoon about a deer that is still around to this day. All at once, his body felt as though it had turned into a quivering mass of jelly and his stomach started to do slow back flips.
For as long as he lived, he would remember the way she looked that night. With an alabaster complexion dotted here and there with freckles, she had green eyes that looked as though they came straight from a field of the greenest grass in the Irish countryside. A riot of russet red curls framed her heart-shaped face perfectly, telling the tale of ancestors that came from the emerald isle at some point in time. When she gazed at him, he was lost. Like most men, of all ages, the act of introducing himself to her was about the hardest thing he had ever done. While it tool all the gumption he had to make himself walk across the room and open his mouth, he managed it, without making a fool of himself either.
Later on in life, as he grew older, the one thing he was most grateful for was the fact that he had built up the courage to approach her. Often times he looked upon that very moment as his biggest accomplishment, one he would never top, ever. After they did the usual strained introductions and small talk most couples seemed to do, you know the thing; something that resembles the mating dance of the wild wood duck rather than two reasonably intelligent beings attempting to form a bond of some kind, they started talking about music.
From that topic, that innocent and almost universally acceptable theme that seems to be almost a right of passage for teenagers to use so they can get to know someone who has piqued their interest, they settled in and began something more engrossing. It was during that conversation that both of them felt things click together. It was that feeling one got when you knew you had found someone that was right for you. Soon both of them had tuned out the rest of the world, focusing only on each other. Neither had realized how much time had passed until her parents came to collect her at 2 AM. That night, after he went to bed, he laid there thinking about her, running the conversation they had repeatedly. As the sun slowly began to peek over the horizon, he finally dozed off, smiling, and thinking of her.
All that euphoria hung with him as he slept and lingered on into the next day until he made the decision to tackle the worst teenage angst behind the introduction; the dreaded 'phone call' to ask to see someone again. While the stress and anxiety of the build up towards the act wasn't as bad as the initial introduction it was a close second. Like so many men before him had done he spent a long while stressing over the "should I/shouldn't I" decision then trying to plan what to say. Once he had that end of things under some semblance of control - well, a bit under control anyway, he grabbed the cordless phone and locked himself in his bedroom. After he propped the paper with her number on it up against the lamp on the end table where he could clearly see the number his shaking hands clutched the phone so tightly his knuckles were white.
After several minutes of engaging the talk button then hanging up, sure he was going to puke or pass out, he slapped himself mentally a few times and said a few practice words to make sure the tone of his voice was right and it wasn't cracking or sounding shaky, he then dialed her number. Sweating and shaking more than a little, palms drenched, he held the phone to his ear, hearing the ringing on the other end. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as each of the rings echoed through the phone and he was sure those tones had a mocking, sarcastic lilt to them, almost as though the technology knew what he was doing and was tormenting him. Just as he was about to hang up, unsure if he would have the courage to call back later or not, she answered, sounding as though she was out of breath.
Sounding like a total idiot in his ears, he reminded her who he was and said hi, quite an accomplishment considered he thought for sure he was going to pass out or just plain drop dead. However, after a few minutes of the usual awkward, tense fumbling conversation once again that magic clicked as it had the night before.
As it turned out, all that self-induced torture and nervousness had been worth it. From that point on, they were inseparable. While neither of them was that experienced with the opposite sex, they had dated enough people to know what felt right and what didn't; and they felt right. Within weeks, the two of them went everywhere together, almost as though they were attached at the hip. He introduced her to the world of skateboarding and hockey, she in turn taught him to be a free spirit and live life for today. Soon he found that he enjoyed her world much more than he did his own. Going to a concert or club with her was different than it was with anyone else. Rather than do the normal thing and have a few drinks or maybe a joint she got 'high' on the atmosphere then went with the flow.
They had met a little more than a month before they graduated from high school. Knowing what was coming that fall, and the work that it entailed, they spent those short months together having fun. Because both sets of parents taught locally that is where they went to school. Before their first semester they were known collectively as Kimber 'N Karver because they were always together. While they were both about the same height, he was 5'11 and she 5'9", they were opposites in so many ways. While her looks spoke of a Celtic past, willowy and thin, his were stamped with the California surfer tag, tousled blonde hair that was streaked from the sun and a bulky, muscular, lean frame that looked bigger than it was. Those green eyes of hers always seemed too sparkled with excitement whereas he brownish ones were a bit more brooding. Opposites yes, but the kind that made things 'work'.
While they had their ups and downs, as most couples do, their love for one another sustained them through the highs and lows. Finally, their senior year he had to spend a semester overseas to get a credit he needed to graduate. That time apart had been hard on both of them; he seemed to take it worse. In a fall that seemed to be days of nothing but gloom and rain in England he missed his Kimber more than he could ever articulate. One night, almost a month to the day before he could head for home, while those he had made friends with were out enjoying the weekend at a nearby pub he sat in his room and poured out everything he felt for her onto paper.
In a tome that ended up 10 pages long, he spelled out just what he felt for her and how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. While he had debated mailing the massive, from-the-soul piece he finally did. For a week he second guessed that decision, wondering what she would make of that almost puppy-like fawning admission of love. Just as he was beginning to think he may have scared her off she called him. Because it was long distance, they hadn't been able to talk long but she reassured him that she felt the same way and loved him with all her heart. That conversation was what sustained him for the time he had remaining before going home.
As she had promised, he met him at the airport, throwing herself in his arms and wrapping herself around him when he walked into the terminal. Holding him close, she cried and held him tightly, telling him how much she missed him. Driving towards home, they stopped on their favorite secluded beach and engaged in a bit of old-fashioned 'necking' as his parents called it. Before long, she was between his knees, pulling his cock out and giving him a blowjob the likes of which he had never had before. Yes, as one would expect, the session was most certainly a 'quickie' but never before had he had that kind of mind-blowing orgasm from oral. Later that night, at home in bed, they had a longer session of love making.
After graduation, they were married then moved across the country to work. For them being together was the important thing, nothing else. They had carved out a life and began to move forward. At some point they began to discuss children and the possibility of having them but that wasn't to be. After a couple years of really trying with no success, they set the thought aside rather than go to a doctor and see if it was medical. Their thought was that if it was meant to be it would happen, if not it wouldn't.
Just as they were discussing the thought of moving again, more opportunities and better pay for something they both would enjoy more, was offered to them and they were hashing it over when the accident happened. As he learned later it was just one of those things, a spot o wet pavement in the wrong place. At first the doctors had been hopeful but as her coma stretched into weeks and the brain function didn't come back as it should that optimism dimmed. After six months in the hospital they had moved her to a hospice that was better suited for long-term patients. It was a bright and cheer place that did what they could for their patients but the realism seemed to be that she probably wouldn't come back. He didn't believe that for a second. Day after day he came and sat with her, talking to her as he always did, helping when it could with her care and just being there. Realistically there didn't seem to be any change in her condition, that he knew, but somewhere in him, he knew he couldn't give up, ever.
Sighing deeply, he rolled his neck to get out a few of the kinks in it. It was approaching 10 PM, almost time to go. Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, he began to read the tale of Eros and Psyche again. As he got to the part of the tale about the three tasks he felt her hand tighten around his, giving it a soft squeeze. Blinking rapidly, he looked over at her but couldn't discern any change in her visage nor had she seemed to have moved at all. Shivering a bit, he decided he had imagined the whole thing, wishful thinking or that it was a dream so he went back to reading. As the tale ended, he felt it again, looking over at her he saw her eyes were open and she was looking at him. Rather than the vacant stare that he had seen from other patients here, she was wholly present and looking at him. Hitting the call button with a shaking finger, he scooted over closer to the bed. Smiling, he kissed her on the forehead. "You with me Kimber?" he asked softly.
Softly, she squeezed his hand again then whispered, "I will never leave, I love you too much."
Blinking back the tears, he smiled and kissed her tenderly, "Love transcends my Psyche."
From time to time nurses and other hospital staff would come into the room to do what they needed, explaining to him what they were doing then exiting quietly. Once they were alone again he would resume, his well-modulated voice, one that seemed to have the characteristics of an actor who had spent their lifetime perfecting their craft, would fill the quiet room with a soft, gentle timber. Yes, he understood that there was no way of knowing if she could hear him or not, the doctors had explained that to him early on, but even if there was just a tiny chance she could he wanted to make sure that she knew he was there. It was unrealistic for him to think he could be there all the time with her, he knew he couldn't his life marched on like it or not and there were such things and work and bills to pay, but he spent all the time he could with her. When he couldn't be there, he left some of her favorite music and the staff played it quietly.
In the times he was with her, that was every evening until 10 pm; he would read or just talk with her. It wasn't anything enormous or thought provoking, just telling her what went on during his day or current events. Unlike so many people who were in a similar situation, he had no problems touching her. Yes, she was in a coma and didn't respond but she was still his wife, the woman he loved more than life itself. The majority of the time he was in the room with her he held her hand or was touching her in some way. It was his hope that she would feel that and know he was with her. In fact, that was one of the first things he asked about after the accident. As with the query about hearing him they said they didn't know but there was a chance she could. Clinging to that chance, he made sure he did, knowing with the part of himself that would always be connected with her that somehow, some way she knew.
To say that he had an unconventional childhood would be an understatement. Often times he had heard his parents described as the last of the flower children, something he learned later on was a very apt description. Unlike so many of their generation who had put away the beads and ideals then became the powerbrokers they stuck to many of the ideals that the movement had been founded on. Yes, they had moved into the 'normal' world and taken jobs like everyone else but they had not left behind the ideals and causes they had felt so strongly about. Staunch environmentalists, they had both been on the forefront of the movement to push for 'green' technology. As much as they could, they grew their own food and recycled. Long before there was much of a push for it, he and his sister had been home-schooled. When his mother had become pregnant with him, she quit teaching at the local university to devote her time to raising him. It was from that commitment that the home schooling came from.
Looking back, he always smiled when it thought about it. As an adult he knew he had been given a much better and more well-rounded education than anyone who went to public school. While he studied all the same subject others his age did he was able to get a more rounded and better view of things than public schools gave students. Rather than just go through the plain, vanilla basics of a subject they read and learned all sides of the issue. Not only has that, but some subjects they learned 'hands on'. While going through and discussing the Native Americans they spent a week on a 'field trip' to a nearby reservation to learn from that point of view the history. Museums, art galleries, concerts, etc were all part of the education process for them. That part had always stuck with him longer than the words in the books had. When you learned about those things by seeing, touching and being around them you had a better appreciation or understanding of what you needed to know.
While his mothers teaching methods might have been unorthodox, that wasn't all that was different, some of the subject that she taught them about weren't something you would find in a normal school, either public or religious. By the time he was 15 he could not only name most of the main religions in the world, but he could also tell you their basic tenets as well as a brief overview of their history. He learned to respect all of them as well as to understand where they were coming from. However, he was also taught to find his own path in life and that he would know it when he encountered it. Long before the movies and TV shows about it, his parents were Pagans. While it was looked upon as weird and they did encounter many people who were quite nasty about their choice they didn't mind. In their eclectic circle of friends, religion didn't matter. For each of the holidays, both the Paganistic ones as well as others, their house was always full of people from all races, religions, and creeds. Holidays were a time of celebration and celebrate they did. That is how he met his wife.
At a Yule party, the holiday celebrated on the winter solstice, the year he turned 18 he had met Kimber. Like his father, her parents taught at the local university. Her mother was in the Art department and her father in the Mathematics. They had only been with the school for a couple years so he hadn't had a chance to encounter them before. As he stood across the room, listening to several people talking about politics in Africa his eyes met hers and he was lost. Later on she would remember the look on his face and grin, calling it 'twitterpated', the word used in the wonderful cartoon about a deer that is still around to this day. All at once, his body felt as though it had turned into a quivering mass of jelly and his stomach started to do slow back flips.
For as long as he lived, he would remember the way she looked that night. With an alabaster complexion dotted here and there with freckles, she had green eyes that looked as though they came straight from a field of the greenest grass in the Irish countryside. A riot of russet red curls framed her heart-shaped face perfectly, telling the tale of ancestors that came from the emerald isle at some point in time. When she gazed at him, he was lost. Like most men, of all ages, the act of introducing himself to her was about the hardest thing he had ever done. While it tool all the gumption he had to make himself walk across the room and open his mouth, he managed it, without making a fool of himself either.
Later on in life, as he grew older, the one thing he was most grateful for was the fact that he had built up the courage to approach her. Often times he looked upon that very moment as his biggest accomplishment, one he would never top, ever. After they did the usual strained introductions and small talk most couples seemed to do, you know the thing; something that resembles the mating dance of the wild wood duck rather than two reasonably intelligent beings attempting to form a bond of some kind, they started talking about music.
From that topic, that innocent and almost universally acceptable theme that seems to be almost a right of passage for teenagers to use so they can get to know someone who has piqued their interest, they settled in and began something more engrossing. It was during that conversation that both of them felt things click together. It was that feeling one got when you knew you had found someone that was right for you. Soon both of them had tuned out the rest of the world, focusing only on each other. Neither had realized how much time had passed until her parents came to collect her at 2 AM. That night, after he went to bed, he laid there thinking about her, running the conversation they had repeatedly. As the sun slowly began to peek over the horizon, he finally dozed off, smiling, and thinking of her.
All that euphoria hung with him as he slept and lingered on into the next day until he made the decision to tackle the worst teenage angst behind the introduction; the dreaded 'phone call' to ask to see someone again. While the stress and anxiety of the build up towards the act wasn't as bad as the initial introduction it was a close second. Like so many men before him had done he spent a long while stressing over the "should I/shouldn't I" decision then trying to plan what to say. Once he had that end of things under some semblance of control - well, a bit under control anyway, he grabbed the cordless phone and locked himself in his bedroom. After he propped the paper with her number on it up against the lamp on the end table where he could clearly see the number his shaking hands clutched the phone so tightly his knuckles were white.
After several minutes of engaging the talk button then hanging up, sure he was going to puke or pass out, he slapped himself mentally a few times and said a few practice words to make sure the tone of his voice was right and it wasn't cracking or sounding shaky, he then dialed her number. Sweating and shaking more than a little, palms drenched, he held the phone to his ear, hearing the ringing on the other end. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as each of the rings echoed through the phone and he was sure those tones had a mocking, sarcastic lilt to them, almost as though the technology knew what he was doing and was tormenting him. Just as he was about to hang up, unsure if he would have the courage to call back later or not, she answered, sounding as though she was out of breath.
Sounding like a total idiot in his ears, he reminded her who he was and said hi, quite an accomplishment considered he thought for sure he was going to pass out or just plain drop dead. However, after a few minutes of the usual awkward, tense fumbling conversation once again that magic clicked as it had the night before.
As it turned out, all that self-induced torture and nervousness had been worth it. From that point on, they were inseparable. While neither of them was that experienced with the opposite sex, they had dated enough people to know what felt right and what didn't; and they felt right. Within weeks, the two of them went everywhere together, almost as though they were attached at the hip. He introduced her to the world of skateboarding and hockey, she in turn taught him to be a free spirit and live life for today. Soon he found that he enjoyed her world much more than he did his own. Going to a concert or club with her was different than it was with anyone else. Rather than do the normal thing and have a few drinks or maybe a joint she got 'high' on the atmosphere then went with the flow.
They had met a little more than a month before they graduated from high school. Knowing what was coming that fall, and the work that it entailed, they spent those short months together having fun. Because both sets of parents taught locally that is where they went to school. Before their first semester they were known collectively as Kimber 'N Karver because they were always together. While they were both about the same height, he was 5'11 and she 5'9", they were opposites in so many ways. While her looks spoke of a Celtic past, willowy and thin, his were stamped with the California surfer tag, tousled blonde hair that was streaked from the sun and a bulky, muscular, lean frame that looked bigger than it was. Those green eyes of hers always seemed too sparkled with excitement whereas he brownish ones were a bit more brooding. Opposites yes, but the kind that made things 'work'.
While they had their ups and downs, as most couples do, their love for one another sustained them through the highs and lows. Finally, their senior year he had to spend a semester overseas to get a credit he needed to graduate. That time apart had been hard on both of them; he seemed to take it worse. In a fall that seemed to be days of nothing but gloom and rain in England he missed his Kimber more than he could ever articulate. One night, almost a month to the day before he could head for home, while those he had made friends with were out enjoying the weekend at a nearby pub he sat in his room and poured out everything he felt for her onto paper.
In a tome that ended up 10 pages long, he spelled out just what he felt for her and how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. While he had debated mailing the massive, from-the-soul piece he finally did. For a week he second guessed that decision, wondering what she would make of that almost puppy-like fawning admission of love. Just as he was beginning to think he may have scared her off she called him. Because it was long distance, they hadn't been able to talk long but she reassured him that she felt the same way and loved him with all her heart. That conversation was what sustained him for the time he had remaining before going home.
As she had promised, he met him at the airport, throwing herself in his arms and wrapping herself around him when he walked into the terminal. Holding him close, she cried and held him tightly, telling him how much she missed him. Driving towards home, they stopped on their favorite secluded beach and engaged in a bit of old-fashioned 'necking' as his parents called it. Before long, she was between his knees, pulling his cock out and giving him a blowjob the likes of which he had never had before. Yes, as one would expect, the session was most certainly a 'quickie' but never before had he had that kind of mind-blowing orgasm from oral. Later that night, at home in bed, they had a longer session of love making.
After graduation, they were married then moved across the country to work. For them being together was the important thing, nothing else. They had carved out a life and began to move forward. At some point they began to discuss children and the possibility of having them but that wasn't to be. After a couple years of really trying with no success, they set the thought aside rather than go to a doctor and see if it was medical. Their thought was that if it was meant to be it would happen, if not it wouldn't.
Just as they were discussing the thought of moving again, more opportunities and better pay for something they both would enjoy more, was offered to them and they were hashing it over when the accident happened. As he learned later it was just one of those things, a spot o wet pavement in the wrong place. At first the doctors had been hopeful but as her coma stretched into weeks and the brain function didn't come back as it should that optimism dimmed. After six months in the hospital they had moved her to a hospice that was better suited for long-term patients. It was a bright and cheer place that did what they could for their patients but the realism seemed to be that she probably wouldn't come back. He didn't believe that for a second. Day after day he came and sat with her, talking to her as he always did, helping when it could with her care and just being there. Realistically there didn't seem to be any change in her condition, that he knew, but somewhere in him, he knew he couldn't give up, ever.
Sighing deeply, he rolled his neck to get out a few of the kinks in it. It was approaching 10 PM, almost time to go. Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, he began to read the tale of Eros and Psyche again. As he got to the part of the tale about the three tasks he felt her hand tighten around his, giving it a soft squeeze. Blinking rapidly, he looked over at her but couldn't discern any change in her visage nor had she seemed to have moved at all. Shivering a bit, he decided he had imagined the whole thing, wishful thinking or that it was a dream so he went back to reading. As the tale ended, he felt it again, looking over at her he saw her eyes were open and she was looking at him. Rather than the vacant stare that he had seen from other patients here, she was wholly present and looking at him. Hitting the call button with a shaking finger, he scooted over closer to the bed. Smiling, he kissed her on the forehead. "You with me Kimber?" he asked softly.
Softly, she squeezed his hand again then whispered, "I will never leave, I love you too much."
Blinking back the tears, he smiled and kissed her tenderly, "Love transcends my Psyche."
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