Global Warming

The sun is not as terribly hot as it should be on a late May afternoon in central Georgia. If I didn't know better, I might side with some Republicans denying global warming and man's effects on it, but I do know better, and that makes all the difference. And making all the difference is why she stands in front of me now, leaning against the car, her eyes reflecting the high sun, even through the glasses, and her lips, often pursed closed into a slightly off-kilter line, open ever so slightly, either an invitation or a warning, depending upon which of us moves first.

"I love you so much."

She says it with the greatest of conviction. I let her finish before covering her mouth with mine. Her body, pressed between mine and the car, has nowhere to go, but she pushes it against me even harder as he tongue enters my mouth, touching my cheeks, teeth, tongue, dancing feverishly within my head. Her fingers grasp my hand, and my fingers interlock with hers; there is no escaping, but there was never going to be. This is simple. This is right. This is the way the world was supposed to work.

I open my eyes to look at her face, so close, and I catch her eyes open. We smile as we kiss, our light laughter breaking the motion, and causing just brief breaks in body contact. Her nipples are hard. I know, because I feel them as they press back against my chest. Our wanting has never been in question. Our needing has never been in question. Our love is no longer in question, nor has it been in a long, long time.

The kiss continues. These kisses have gone on for hours before, lips on lips, or neck, or ears, or fingers, or other flesh; fingers in hair, on shoulders, across backs, moving, sliding, touching, caressing, exciting, wanting, needing, fed by and feeding each other as body temperature rises, skin flushes, breathing shallows, becoming panting, quick gasping for air between the electricity of contact- and there is always so much contact.

We break that kiss. She leans backward against the car, her eyes bright, her life renewed. I smile at her, and she looks away, unable to bear whatever it is she sees in them.

"You have to stop that."

"What?"

"Looking at me like that."

Our fingers tighten. We love each other, and it is a closeness, a single life that we share.

"I don't want to go."

"I don't want you to go."

"I can't stay."

"I know."

"God, I love you so."

"I love you- have loved you, will always love you."

We kiss again, another minute, five, sixty- does it matter? Does time continue? And we break and I open the door for her. She looks into my eyes as I look at her, knowing every eyelash on each lid, ever crinkle in her lips, every indentation on her hands.

"I'll see you soon."

"I see you all the time," I reply. She smiles. "Drive safe," I say, "both hands on the wheel, or, at least, one hand on the wheel."

"And you take care of yourself. Do what your doctors tell you to do."

We stare at each other, the heat between us more intense than that of the summer sun, but we don't feel it at all. We feel the coolness of contact, of commitment, of tender love. That heat of passion that warms us always never ceases, but it is always tempered by that single touch of a finger, a hand, the stroke of a cheek or an ear. She starts the car and pulls way. I wave to her, then walk to my car.

from "Silver and Blood"

An excerpt from a potential novel I've been working on for a few years.

There was a a stillness about him, a calmness she had never seen in a man before. She traced circles over his chest, spiraling across his chest, the hard skin smooth under her nail. Valmedrin did not move in his sleep, did not make a noise, didn't even breathe. She wasn’t even sure if he could awaken before nightfall. Here in this cave, how would he know when the suns set? The darkness of nightfall is the same as the darkness of the cave, isn’t it? She put the tip of her finger, softly, lightly on his eyelid, tracing the line of his eye. She felt the eye moving underneath the lid in deep dreaming, and she wondered what it was he dreamed. Would he dream of her? Did immortals dream of anything that a mortal could possibly understand? Would it be dreams of bloodlust, of love, lust, of war or pleasure? Would he have nightmares?

She leaned over and placed her head on his chest. His skin was so cold to the touch, but she could feel her warmth spread into it as she moved to lay down beside him. He did not move, nor did she hear any movement of heart or blood under his skin. She frowned a moment, wondering if it was natural to want to hear these things from a lover, but then remembered the touches and the kisses earlier, of how those things felt far more intense than those things she had felt with Jayrd. Surely, the knowledge of this intensity made up for the fact that, if she thought about it hard enough, Valmedrin was undead.

How long she lay there she couldn’t tell. The candles had all burned down hours ago. The pale light of the lichens was enough for her to see by. Even if it had not been there, she would still be able to see the glowing under his eyelids fluctuating as he slept. So she rested, her head on his chest, her ear cupped to his skin, the warmth of her body spreading through his. She smiled at this understanding, that her body was giving something back to him, something he could not have on his own. She was his warmth, his beacon of life, a life that did not run, that did not hate, that did not despise who or what he was. 

She became braver, moving her fingers on his body, over his skin, letting her nails scrape across his form. He did not move, though she noticed the light of his eyes change faster, changing through a broader range of colors, blues and purples and reds, and she scraped across all of his body, feeling the hardness of his skin under her fingertips. Despite the cold of his body, her own body felt warm, hot, burning, and she liked the reactions her touches caused as she brushed lightly at his waist and over the tops of his thighs and across the wrinkled flesh of his partial erection. She paused, daring herself to take it in her hand. Minutes, maybe even hours passed, and her hand hovered, moved back to his stomach, and back down and her indecision heightened and waned with each movement. She was poised, ready to grasp loosely, when Valmedrin moved in his sleep. It caused her to pause, wondering if she had made him move. She withdrew her hand, moving away from him, letting his body return slowly to its original position, his back on the floor of the cave, the rest of him facing the sky. He had told her he always slept like this so that Myshella might have a better chance of watching over him. As she looked at him, she understood why Myshella might indeed enjoy watching over this man, this beautiful man, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, and instantly forgot it, closing her eyes to say a small prayer to her goddess for allowing her to find this man, for allowing him to find her and fall in love. She thought she heard a small voice in her head, some small whispers of comfort, an acknowledgment that all would be well. Aloris found herself smiling at the thought that, perhaps, she and Myshella loved the same man.

In slow motion, she returned to stroking his skin, moving across his face, playing with his long, silver hair, twirling the wispy strands floating free from the leather thong that held the most of it back behind his head. It was fine hair, thin, but strong, like wire, and she could feel it cutting into her skin as she tugged on it. She did not flinch, but reveled in the sensations. Her entire body seemed poised, on edge, as if something had caused all of her nerve endings to shoot harder and faster as air and stone hit it. She had to smile more, knowing that it was Valmedrin who had caused this intensifying of her senses.

For minutes or hours, she didn’t know which, she barely breathed, sustained by the close presence of Valmedrin. She kept her eyes closed and spent the time learning his body with her fingers, the curves of his face and shoulders, the stone hardness of his skin, the way the hair of his chest twisted around her fingers, and the weight of him as she slid an arm under his head. He awoke with her staring into his eyes.

“Make love to me again.”

Her words were an order, despite the calm and excited tone. It was not one he wanted to resist or deny.

“Good evening, Aloris. Have you had a good day?”

“I have spent it next to you, you lovely man. And I am now needing you to make love to me. I feel I will die if you do not.”

She climbed on top of him, giving him no choice even if he had chosen to resist. He wrapped his arms around her as her body slid around him, pushing against him slowly, feeling him fill her, careful not to hurt herself too much too early in the love play. She rocked against him as he pushed upward and she smiled. She felt his mouth with her finger and he opened his lips, licking the underside of her finger with his tongue. She let him pull her finger into his mouth and took the opportunity to run her finger across his teeth. She felt them, his perfect teeth, nothing unhuman about them. There was certainly nothing unhuman about the love she felt from him.

Valmedrin did not question as Aloris’ finger slid across his teeth. He had the discipline to keep his vampyric incisors withdrawn, away from her skin. He sucked on her finger, tasting the water that had formed on her skin in the damp cave. He held a thought in his head to take her to a spring’s pool sometime tonight, to let her swim, to bathe, to cleanse, to frolic.

Aloris held him close, enjoyed having his arms around her, but wanted more, wanted to feel him on top of her. She pressed close to him, slowing her movements until she was still on top of him. Carefully, keeping her body on him, keeping him inside her, she rolled to her left, pulling him to his side, then on top of her. He moved smoothly, his hands pressed against the cave floor as her arms circled him, locking behind his shoulders, threaded between his body and his arms. She pressed her fingernails into his skin, hoping he could feel her. He smiled in response.

His movements at first were slow and careful, following her breathing, letting her blood set the rhythm. As her heart beat faster, so did he, pushing further, deeper, feeling her fingernails in his flesh. He moved faster over time, letting her body keep up. Aloris breathed in fits and starts and in ragged time with his movements. Her breathing was short and fast as she whispered to him.

“Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

And Valmedrin didn’t. He continued to push against her, feeling her fingertips pressing into the muscles of his shoulders, her body pushing up against his own with every thrust. He increased the rhythm as she squeezed harder, slowed as her fingers relaxed. It was a game of follow the leader played in a close space, the lead impossible to follow, neither knowing if it was the other, or if they led each other. Aloris opened her eyes as she pressed her hips upward, watching several wayward silver hairs floating over her as Valmedrin pushed deeply and withdrew. She could not help herself as she watched his face, his eyes closed, though she could see a thin line of blue light glow leaking from the edge of eyelids. She moved one hand to the back of his head and pulled his lips to her own, controlling the kiss even as he controlled the lusts and love moving through the rest of her body. This kiss was hers, as selfish an act as can be shared between two people. She pulled on his lip, sucked hard on his tongue, promising so much even as her legs moved to wrap around his waist, allowing him even to push deeper. At the depths of one thrust, he stopped, holding deep within her, his back arched to press as closely as he could. She gasped as he filled her, her eyes and mouth open in the purest ecstasy, and wanting more, wanting this feeling to last forever.

The glow from Valmedrin’s eyes grew, still blue, cycling through the deepest of blues to the palest greys. It illuminated Aloris’ face and torso, giving the top of her breasts the strangest colorless hue, darkening the top of her areolae, the rest hidden, pressed against his chest. He could feel the tips of her nipples hardening even more under him.

And then he was moving again, and she was breathing again, and the pleasure filled them both even more, reaching the point of overflowing, but never flowing over, contained within their bodies, seemingly more than they could hold, but, together, capable of holding the flood and more. Aloris stretched, reaching backward, pressing her palms against the wall of the cave, feeling the stone push into the flesh of her hands, her whole body now so sensitive to every touch, even the touch of the rock sending flashes of pleasure to punctuate the rhythms of Valmedrin in and out of her. She pressed harder and felt Valmedrin increase his pace, pushing her even further into the throes of her desire. She felt herself pushing closer and closer to an edge she had never felt before, a building, a crescendo into something far more than sex, more than the love she felt. Suddenly, wave after wave fell through her and she felt the pressure, that which had been building, felt it all rush out of her to envelope that one point of contact between her and Valmedrin. She screamed in her rapture, her mouth open, gaping, gasping for air even as she pleaded in her guttural screaming for more, for more of whatever it was that Valmedrin was giving her. She smiled as he obliged, and he felt the same rushing, something he did not expect, but his mind was too filled with wanting to please her for him to notice more than her. He pushed and pressed and felt her lifting under him.

Together, in an outpouring of love and lust and desire, of pleasure and searing release, they climaxed together, Aloris for the first time knowing her full self with this man, Valmedrin knowing without doubt that Aloris was his, and he was hers, and that undead or not, his love for this young woman had been blessed by Sharmayn looking down from her starry repose.

Wooo! and Moments!

Hey! Look! Up there! In thte URL line! My new favicon is there! The blue "i5" is the short version of this blog's name... Incarnation 5. Because it is.

All people have moments in their lives when everything makes sense, when everything is just right. Sometimes, we're lucky enough to get a lot f those moments all at once, and those moments stretch into minutes, or hours, or years. It doesn't really matter how far they stretch; what matters is that those moments happen at all! Maybe the moments contain a series of instances started with another person whose simple touch can excite, calm, invigorate, bring alive all that you are. Maybe it's a look from across the room, across the road, across the table, across the world via telepresence. Of whatever that instant, that moment, consists, you know it, and you know that, no matter what, that moment, that instant, that look, that touch, that shared experience cannot ever be taken away, and that it erases all those empty moments before, those moments when those glances, brushes, voices weren't there... all brushed away in a heartbeat, a flick of a finger, a breath.

Moments. The age might kill us, but the m omens give us life, and that's why I am alive.

Other Stuff from the "Cafe Anarchy"

http://www.chaos-enterprises.com/cafeanarchy/hscott/misc/index.html

Wedding Day (from 24 Jun 2004)

Elizabeth looked at her reflection in the mirror. Even she had to admit that she was incredibly beautiful today, and it wasn’t just the hair and the professional make-up. She was beautiful because of the man in the room on the other side of the church. She was beautiful because of the way he looked at her, stared at her, lost  himself in her eyes. She smiled knowing how he would look this evening in his tuxedo, that suit he had picked out several years ago at Lenox- the mandarin collar and the black and silver button cover, or would he dare wear that skull cover he got from Alchemy Gothic? No, he would not. And he would be gorgeous, his ponytail pulled back tight, hanging behind him, swaying slightly as he breathed. So she looked at herself again, knowing she had to be as perfect for him as he was going to be for her.

She was dressed in white- it was his decision; he wanted her in white, as pure as he knew she was. She often smirked at that remark, still knowing her past so much better than he did. But she was such a much better person since she began to see herself through his eyes, she even felt the purity he saw in her. It was appropriate, almost necessary. The white dress was light and breathed well. A good thing, too. It was scorchingly hot outside. But, south Georgia was always hot in late July. Inside, the air conditioner was trying hard to keep up with the heat, and doing a fairly good job. The timing was also his idea, though. Early evening, 20 July, a day midway between their birthdays, set in the evening to give the wedding guests the chance to run to the beach in the morning and early afternoon- what good was coming to the island if you didn't get a chance to get to the beach? And that was just like him, thinking of others even as he helped plan something as selfish as his own wedding.

God, she loved him. She looked down the chiffon sleeve, down her arm to her hand, to the ring on her finger. Again, another personal design of his. The square-cut diamond was set low, the way she liked it, and was surrounded on the four sides by their four birthstones, his, hers, and those of her two children. The platinum of the ring shone brightly white in the light and she was glad that she had changed her preference to plaitinum from gold before she had met him again. The clarity of the platinum paired nicely with the white of her gown, even the white of the baby’s breath among the roses. And the roses! Dozens of them! One dozen for each year he had been in love with her, even those years when they had been apart due to circumstances of prior relationships. Red roses in abundance, but other colors interspersed, amazingly well-coordinated. Although he had planned them, she had been there to have them arranged. Some things were meant to have a woman’s touch, and the wedding flowers were some of those.

Her bridesmaids were behind her, dressing, getting make-up settled and preparing to look as beautiful as they could. She was so happy to have them here, not because she needed the support- her resolve and calm in her decision had been evident for the past six months, if you did not count those months they had dated prior to that time. She was happy to have them here because they were her friends and had accepted him as their friend. They liked him. And she liked his groomsmen. An important thing for each to like the other’s friends, to be able to get along with the people the other likes.

At that moment, her reverie was interrupted by the approach of a young man in a summer suit, pulling on the knot of his tie restlessly.

“Mommy? Can we go back to the beach?”

She smiled broadly and took Johnny in her arms.

“No, dear. Not yet. Do you have the rings?”

He smiled broadly and nodded briskly and excitedly. He put his hand in the pocket of his jacket and pulled the two platinum bands from its shallow depths.

“He told me if I lost them, he’d send the boogie man after me. Can he really do that?”

Elizabeth laughed.

“Maybe he is the boogie man!”

The boy smiled.

“No, he’s not! He’s nice!”

“How do you know he’s not the boogie man?”

“You wouldn’t marry the boogie man, Mommy.”

The answer was simple and truthful and she wondered how long she would be able to wait before telling him and his sister about her first husband, their father. But now was not the time to think of such things. She looked in the mirror to see her sister approaching.

“Time for the veil, Sis. You look incredible!”

“I do?”

“You know it, too. I am so happy for you... for finding him again, for keeping him.”

“I’m not so certain I had a lot of choice in the matter. Then again,I’m not so certain I wanted a choice. I do love him so very much.”

They hugged and she brought the veil down over her face, hiding the angelic visage behind the fine mesh.

“You’re pretty, Mommy!”

“Thank you, son. Now, get up front and spend some time with him. He’ll need you to walk with him to the altar, to keep him from falling down.”

She kissed her son on the forehead as he turned to go, smiling broadly, running excitedly back to the front of the church.

She turned to her bridesmaids.

“Let’s go. I want to get this over with so I can get out of this dress.”

“And get him out of that tux?”

“Sis, you are so bad!”

All the girls laughed. No girlish giggling here. All of them knew how much she loved that man, had loved him for so long. They had heard the stories hundreds of times. They were glad the happy ending had finally come.

At the other side of the church, Ron came up to me slowly, smiling broadly. He looked quite handsome in his tuxedo, Irish red hair carefully combed, two glasses in his hand, both of them filled with Booker Noe on ice.

“Nervous?”

Ron always had a way of getting to the point. Sometimes the wrong point, but that’s why he was my best man- he could get to the point. Eventually. He handed one glass to me and I took it almost guiltily. I swallowed nearly all of the drink in one swallow. The alcohol felt good in my throat.

“No. Not nervous, and you know that. How often have we talked about this? For how many years?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Better finish that drink before the Rev comes in here. He might not appreciate good bourbon the way I do.”

Ron nodded and looked around pensively.

“Where’s Ash?”

“Ash’ll be here- had to get the tux.”

Trae was shocked momentarily. “Ash is wearing a tux?”

I smiled. It was a stretch. None of us had ever seen Ash in a suit.

“Yes. A tux. Same as ours.”

Brannon’s eyes lit up. “Are the twins going to fit?”

I laughed. “I hope so. I would hate for Keith to get angry at me at my wedding.”

Ron smiled and stepped out into the courtyard to smoke another cigarette. He didn't want to admit that he was more nervous than I was. That was OK, though. He was here. Brannon and Trae were here, too, my two “sons” if I’d had any. They looked sharp in their tuxedos. All of us did. Four James Bonds geared up for an evening of baccarat and daring do! Of course, this particular daring do was a series of “I dos” that had been a long time coming.

I put the button cover on the exposed top button between the two collars of the mandarin jacket.

“What do you think, Ron?”

Ron stuck his head back in and Brannon and Trae turned to look. The two of them laughed; Ron almost choked.

“You are not wearing that! I have the strictest instructions from Elizabeth...”

I smiled and removed the skull and replaced it with the more subtle but still incredibly meaningful eight-arrowed silver-and-onyx button cover.

“Better?”

“Much better. Most guests won’t even know what it is.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I know. Not sure any of them will recognize it.”

Ash walked in, the tux looking fantastic. I went in for a hug.

“You look great, Ashlyn. I see the twins fit.” The running joke of naming her breast implants “the twins” had gone on for years. I think she started it, too.

“Thanks, hun. You don’t look so bad yourself for the perfect man who is going to get married to his perfect woman in 15 minutes or so.”

“Eh. I am almost perfect.”

“You are perfect, and you know it. How many times have you been told that by how many people? Including me?”

“All right. I’ll buy into it for now. But just for now. I reserve the right to go back on it after the reception.”

Ron, Ash, and I laughed together. Trae and Brannon came over to stand with us for a few more minutes. They spent quite a bit of time congratulating me on all the details. I kept denying all of them, describing in detail how Elizabeth had had final word and changed a lot- all for the better. But then, she was Elizabeth. She knew what she was doing when it came to weddings, especially her own.

God, she was so beautiful. I paused, thinking of her, and the conversation around me disappeared. Not just faded, but, for me, ended instantly and I heard her voice in my ear, repeating last night those words she had said so many years before and so many times since, “How do you bewitch me so?” I smiled.

“Because you want me to; because you have always wanted me to.”

“What?”

I looked up to see the four of them looking at me oddly. I had spoken out loud.

“You were talking to her again, weren’t you?” Ron and Ash spoke together and looked at each other. They always knew, and they laughed. They had spoken to me numerous times, trying to convince me that it was some kind of telepathy, but I could never get Elizabeth to admit to it.

“Yep.”

Ron looked at one of his watches. “Well, you better hurry... it’s that time.”

Together, all five of us came together in the center of the Sunday school classroom, shirts and pants strewn here and there, formal wear bags thrown over seat backs. We hugged shoulders and swayed in what would have appeared to others as a drunken stupor, but to us was a sign of our friendship. As we broke, Johnny ran in, running into my legs and beating playfully against me.”

“You ready, sport?”

“Yep! Mommy looks really pretty, too!”

“You still have the rings?”

He took a step backward, a big step for him. “Are you the boogie man?”

“No, I am not the boogie man.”

He smiled and came back to me, hugging my leg then looking up to me. “I have the rings.”

We all smiled and I leaned over to pick Johnny up to carry him to the doorway into the sanctuary. We met the preachers there- all three of them: Reverend Jackson who was helping to give the bride away, Elizabeth’s father, Reverend Jim, and my father, Bill. All three of them gaped at Ash in her tux, but then relaxed, knowing that Elizabeth and I had approved and that, therefore, it must be good. We all exchanged congratulatory compliments on how good we all looked. Both Jim and Bill were smiling. I was glad to see them getting along. Reverend Jackson was there to take Jim’s place on the altar until Jim and his wife could give Elizabeth away. It was all much less complicated than it sounds.

The organ began to play our cue. Reverend Jackson went in first, followed by Jim, then Bill, then Brannon, Trae, Ron, Ash, and then me with Johnny on my shoulder. That was the way he had wanted it. He was all smiles as we walked in, laughing as I bounced him once before turning the corner to the altar. His grandmother in the front row was shocked at first, but I saw her smile back and, wonder! she winked at me and nodded her approval, even as she held Elizabeth’s young daughter, Courtnay. I smiled back and knelt down to put Johhny on the floor as I ascended the steps to stand next to Ron. Jim walked to the pew and sat next to his wife. They both looked wonderful. My  mother sat in the pew opposite, her mother and aunt with her. My sister was there, too, sitting nervously, turning back to look at the doors to the back, waiting for her daughter to come through, leading Elizabeth’s party.

Looking down the aisle, I couldn't help but be amazed at the mix of people, most of whom both of us knew. To be honest, there was no division between bride’s side and groom’s side. We were having a wedding, not a family feud. We were all friends, or friends of friends. But the doors were closed at the end in preparation for the Trumpet Voluntary. And after those opening refrains, the doors would open and she would be there, a vision of Heaven, closer to Heaven than I certainly deserved.

And it happened just like that. The first peals of trumpet signaled the opening of the doors and there she was, face hidden behind that veil, the dress holding onto her as much as she held onto the bouquet. First in was my niece, “Squidley,” throwing rose petals across the aisle, stopping to stand at the first step, looking first at her mother, my sister, then me. I smiled and mouthed a thank you to her and she smiled back, a big, wide smile, showing her missing tooth where one of the boys from school had socked her during a soccer game earlier that week. It made me laugh and shake my head. Then came the bridesmaids, one by one, her sister last of the three. And then Elizabeth, proud, perfect in her dress, perfect for me.  She walked slowly, but not painfully so, down the aisle, not that Frankenstein walk that is all too common in traditional weddings, her eyes bright even beneath the veil. She was so wonderfully beautiful! I worked hard to keep my mouth from dropping open- it would not be good to have pictures of the groom drooling among the film and digital images. She walked along, stepping on the petals, but not crushing them. She smiled to both sides of the room, happy to see friends and relatives, most of whom were still radiating from their afternoon at the beach.

As she approached the front pew, her mother passed Courtnay to Elizabeth’s other sister and she and Reverend Jim stood and walked with her to the altar. Reverend Jackson and my father looked at them then to Elizabeth, then to me. I turned a quarter turn to face her.

“Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family,” Reverend Jackson began, “we are gathered here today to witness the joining together of Howard and Elizabeth in the bonds of holy matrimony. Who is giving away the bride?”

Reverend Jim and Elizabeth’s mother both smiled. Their eyes glistened as they spoke together, “We do.”

Reverend Jackson then came forward to return Elizabeth’s mother to the front pew. Jim took Elizabeth’s hands and held them; my father took mine. My father’s hands are huge compared to mine and I felt small again, childlike. He gripped them steadily and waited. Jim took Elizabeth’s right hand and held it to me. Bill took my left hand and moved it to Elizabeth’s right. I grasped her fingers and both fathers smiled proudly. I could feel her shaking. I know she felt me doing the same, but my pulse was strong, and my fingers closed on hers, offering support even as they drew the same from her.

Reverend Jackson came forward from his seat with Barbara to stand next to Elizabeth; Ash moved from her position next to Brannon to come stand beside me. It was funny to see both of them so close in their tuxedoes, but Elizabeth and I both smiled. Reverend Jackson began his advocasy.

“Howard, and his dear friends who have gathered here, I do not have much to say, but what I say is honest and truly spoken from the heart. Over the last few months, as Elizabeth prepared for this day, in our discussions together, she has been able to talk about nothing else but you and her unbelieveable providence to have you standing beside her now, and she speaks even more about the forever parts. Your love is something she has always treasured and hoped to share. When the two of you met again after that time apart, her feelings for you, and herself and her friends and family, grew. She became more Elizabeth, more pure in her feelings and hopes and dreams. She became hopeful again, for the first time in a long time. She became truly happy. Howard, thank you- from her to me to you.”

“Thank you, Reverend.” I spoke slowly, wanting to hide the onrush of emotion that I felt so that I would not cry openly in front of these people before Ash had spoken.

Ash reached up and squeezed my shoulder as she stuck her head around mine to look at Elizabeth. Ash’s hair, which had grown so long since she moved to Delaware, swung freely, loose, and it was good to see her smiling as she spoke.

“Elizabeth, I have held my tongue for a really long time. You are now going to hear about every moment I had to endure around Howard after he spoke to you or saw you or had a letter or e-mail from you. It was a delight each time to see my friend smiling in a state of passionate delirium, lost in a misty euphoria that always made him giddy. He told me once about how you held his soul, and it was clear and obvious everytime he had made contact with his soul once again. You complete him, more than any of us could do, more than all of us could do. How many times have I heard, “Did I tell you Elizabeth called today?” So many times... in the same evening! How many songs have I heard him sing and watched him think of you as he stood there in the light? Something neither you nor the rest of us need confirmation of- Howard loves you more fully, more wonderfully than I have ever known any man to love a woman. And that is saying a lot.”

With that, Ash turned to Kieth sitting with my family and smiled.

“I love you, Keith.”

Keith blushed and waved back to Ash. “I love you, too, dear.”

Ash bounced once in giddy joy, then leaned in to kiss me briefly on the cheek. She turned back to Elizabeth and smiled again.

“OK, Elizabeth. Now you get to keep him.”

Both Reverend Jackson and Ash moved backward to their positions at the head of the steps. Jim came forward again and began to be a little more traditional.

Jim began “Marriage is more than just the bringing together of two people, more than just the love between them, for, woven into the fabric of this ceremony is the Holy Spirit of the One God, and it is through Him that the three of them, God the Father, husband and wife, live out the remaining days bound together. For the man will leave his parents and cleave to his wife. And the wife will cleave to her husband and together they will worship. Now, Howard,” he turned to me and for a moment, I saw his face grow stern, then he flashed that smile of his and I knew all was well. “Do you promise to look after my daughter, to love her and cherish her and honor her, through sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, despite age and hardship, till Death do the two of you part?”

“I do, sir.”

“Do you promise to care for her children, my grandchildren, to keep them safe, to hold them precious to you as if they were your own?”

“I do, sir.”

“And do you promise to bring her home safely when you travel together and promise to bring yourself home safely when you are apart?”

“I do.”

He looked into my eyes, smiled, and nodded.

My father turned to Elizabeth and looked at her. I think there were tears in his eyes, though I’ve never been completely sure.

“Elizabeth, do you promise to take care of my son, to love him and honor him and cherish him in your thoughts and soul, through sickness and health, for richer or for poorer, even when he gets old and mean-spirited, till Death do the two of you part?”

“I do, sir.”

“And do you promise to keep him from overworking and burning out too quickly?”

She smiled. “I do, sir.”

“OK.”

Bill smiled and looked back to Jim who turned and looked for his grandson.

“Johnny, may I have the rings?”

He came up to his grandfather quite solemnly and I had to kick his heels to get him to smile, but he did. He reached into his pocket and pulled the two rings and held them out for Jim. Jim took them and smiled at the boy. My dad leaned over and patted him on the head and then stood again.  Then Johnny did something unexpected. He looked up to his grandfather and whispered something. Jim had to go lower to let him whisper again, then laughed.

“My grandson has just asked me to tell everyone that Howard is not the boogie man.”

Everyone chuckled. Johnny stood there for a moment, then ran to Ron who lifted him up so he could see his mother.

Jim continued. He did not talk to the audience now, as some preachers might, but he spoke to us, certainly loudly and clearly enough for the gathered many to hear, but it was to us.

“The ring is an outward and visible sign of the promises that the two of you will make to each other tonight, witnessed by these gathered here and by God watching from his seat above. It is a circle, perfect in unity and oneness, forged of purest metal, never tarnishing, never growing old, polished and new forever, like the love between the two of you. Wear these rings, not for yourselves, but to show others what love should be, and what it can be, and what it is between the two of you.”

He held the rings up, reading the inscription from inside each- “From my  heart to yours, from Howard’s soul to Elizabeth’s,” and “From my heart to yours, from Elizabeth’s soul to Howard’s.”

“The exchange of these rings is the exchange of lives and hearts and souls and minds, each to the other. If there be anyone here who feels these two should not be wed, now is the time to speak, or forever hold your peace.”

He paused. The pause was the most frightening. I thought maybe someone had stood up, or that maybe he would not continue. It lasted forever, and I felt Elizabeth’s hand trembling in mine, feeling the same. I saw Ash from the corner of my eye glaring at the people, daring someone to speak up. Then Jim turned back to us. And I interupted.

“Reverend, Bill. There are people missing from this marriage. I need for them to be here.”

Elizabeth turned to me, almost in shock. Nothing should have gone wrong now. But I knew what I was doing, and this was not wrong.

I turned to face the gathering of friends and family, still holding onto Elizabeth’s hand.

“This marriage is more than just Elizabeth and me. There is a third entity with us, represented here by The Reverend and my father, but also in the hearts and beliefs of most of us gathered here. There is a deity with us, a part of this union that makes the whole so much larger than the sum of its parts. But there is even more than that. As I marry Elizabeth, I also marry her family, becoming a part of something even larger than what the two of us have together. I need for your mother to join your father, Elizabeth, here. And my mother, too, needs to join my dad. And we need your daughter here, too; please bring her, Barbara.”

People were not shocked, though they wondered what I was doing. Elizabeth was following my thoughts, though I could not tell what hers were, her eyes hidden behind that veil. I continued, looking at my parents.

“Mom. Dad. You know what I feel for this woman, what I have felt for her since falling in love with her in Eighth Grade. You know the beatings of my heart almost as well as I do. As my family, soon to be entwined with hers, you must accept this union as much, even moreso, perhaps, than I do. I know you’ve not much choice in the matter- if you choose not to, she and I will still marry, but your blessing and participation here proves there is so much more at work here than just the love of the two of us.”

I looked at Elizabeth and saw her eyes sparkling as water spread across them She squeezed my hand and turned to Ron, signalling for Johnny to join her mother. Ron put the boy down and pushed him to her. He ran, almost unsteadily, but gaining momentum on the way the way children do when they get excited. I was shocked when he stopped at me and hugged my leg.

“Are you married yet?”

I laughed. So did most of us there in front of this church.

“Not yet. I need you to stand with your grandmother for a little. Will you?”

“Yeah.”

So he walked solemnly to his grandmother and took her free hand while her other arm was full of Courtnay. I turned to them as Jim joined his wife, now understanding my thoughts and wishes for this marriage between, not just two individuals, but two whole families. I started, but Elizabeth interupteed me.

“Mama, Daddy. I’m not giving you a choice, either. You know what I feel for this wonderful, lovely man. He has been at my side, despite various distances, for nearly three decades, ready to celebrate my victories, ready to console me in my defeats. It took a long time for me to realize this, but you know how true my feelings for him are. I ask that you accept him and his family into ours.”

Her mother was crying. I had always known her to be feeling and emotional. She smiled. Jim smiled. That meant the world to me. Together both sets of parents looked up at each other and, as if on cue, despite no rehersal or prior knowledge, they all four nodded and said, “We do.”

I knelt down to Johnny.

“OK, Johnny, now it’s your turn. I am about to marry your mother, and then I will be your father. And your sister’s father. I’ll be there to hold you, to pick you up and lift you into the sky, to give you helicopter and airplane rides...”

He giggled. He always enjoyed being spun off the ground in those slow circles I made, or being lifted off the ground, his stomach on my feet as Ilay on the ground, lifting him into the sky, his arms spread wide, flying.

“Do you think you and your sister will want to have me around that much?”

“It’ll be fun!”

And then he did it. He jumped at me, hugged my neck and said, “I love you, Howard. Marry my mom.”

The people in the church had to laugh at that, and I don’t think there were any dry eyes. I looked up to Elizabeth as she smiled. I looked up to Jim and Barbara as they smiled and my parents as they smiled.

“OK.” I stood up and resumed my stance next to Elizabeth. “Let’s do this. Bill? Jim? We now return to our regularly scheduled wedding.”

Jim looked at my dad and they returned to center. Jim took another look at one of the rings to make sure he had the correct one to give to me.

“Howard, take this ring and repeat after me. Elizabeth, with this ring, I marry you. It is a symbol of my love and devotion to you which I give freely and willingly. Please accept it.”

She breathed, a sigh of contentment I knew well.

“I accept your ring, Howard, and will wear it always.”

I then placed the ring on her finger and released her hand so she might do the same for me.

My father took the ring from Jim and gave it to Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth, please take this ring and repeat after me. Howard, with this ring, I marry you. It is a symbol of my love and devotion to you which I give freely and willingly. Please accept it.”

I smiled to her as she spoke and responded, “I accept your ring, Elizabeth, and will wear it always.”

I then knelt on one knee, allowing her to put the ring on my finger, then held her hand and kissed her ring, keeping her fingers to my lips momentarily before standing, but not releasing.

Jim turned to my father and shook his hand, “Thank you, Bill.” He then turned to us.

“Howard and Elizabeth, you are married. Howard, you may kiss the bride.”

I did. I lifted the veil to see her fully for the first time that day. I looked into her eyes first- a mistake, as those pools always captured me, always held me. I did not get to see anything else. We kissed. And it was endless, eternal, a moment forever frozen, mostly because of the hundreds of film and digital cameras flashing at that moment, but also because it was this kiss that we had practiced so many years before, so many times, and so wonderfully often, flavored first with wine cooler, then White Zinfindel, then Chateu St. Michel reisling, then chardonay, then sweet iced tea all those many times, different flavors, but the same kiss, the same love, the same brilliance. For us, it was an eternity, and it was blissfully wonderful. For everyone else, it was but a moment. We broke the kiss and looked into each other’s eyes. We mouthed the words together, “I love you.”

Jim and Bill turned to the gathering and said in unison:

“Friends! May we present Howard and Elizabeth, husband and wife!”

The grandmothers, mine and Elizabeth’s, in the front row were both in tears. My sister, Squidley running to stand at her side, smiled and gave me the thumbs-up, typical of her. And Elizabeth and I came down the aisle together first, leading the procession out the doors, and I took her in my arms again once beyond the threshold of the church, kissing her in front of God and everybody outside, the drivers of the cars smiling as they drove past us, though they did not know us, the seagulls wheeling above seeming to caw their approval, and the rest of the wedding party joining in a circle around us to keep the remainder of our embrace private, the playful tease of fingers playfully entwining, the press of lips on lips and bodies together.

The reception would last till the wee hours. We woud dance our dance, slow and carefully practiced, each movement choreographed over the last month during dance class. The lights would be turned down, the mirrored ball above us the only source of illumination, hit by two spots, blue and white, causing spinning stars to splash across the floor and walls. Neither of us would notice. Stars were always as close as each other’s eyes- those artificial dots, spinning around us as our heads spun, would be only poor imitations. We would kiss thorughout the dance, hidden by the darkness and the movements of the music. And we would reconfirm our love over and over, as we had done over and over.

Then the floor would be opened up, the lights turned on, and the music changing between beach and rock and classical. I was pretty certain we would not last the entire night. We would be gone before midnight to our leased yacht for the first night before flying to England for the first stage of our honeymoon.

It was going to be a wonderful life!

Selfish Again

There's so much that I want. I want my friends to be happy. That does not mean care- or worry-free. Without cares and worries, there would be no real motivation to get things done. I want them to feel the appreciation due them from everyone around them, including me. I want them to experience real joy in what they do and how they live and who they love. I want. A lot. And that makes me terribly selfish.

A Quick Note

I had this thought first thing this morning upon awakening- no matter the time or distance separating us, my life is so much more for having been a part of yours.

The Real First Post

This is actually a repost from elsewhere, but it needs to start off this blog:


There's this girl.


 I mean, there's always a girl. It always starts with a girl.


"She walked into my dingy office like a hot knife through cold turkey, with legs that went all the way up and hair that never stopped. She was murder in heels, and I knew it, but I was going to listen to her, and then I was going to work for her, to try to get her out of whatever trouble she was in."


There's always a girl. Then there's THIS girl, THE girl. And she will eventually ask that really hard question, "Why me?" And, like some Siberian Husky trapped in a hot Georgia summer, you stand there with your tongue hanging out, unable to do anything other than pant in the heat caused by that look in her eyesAnd you'll try to answer- "It was that conversation we had,' or, "It was the way you sat there," or, "I loved the way you smiled at <that other person>."


The truth is that you were compelled and committed in that one single moment when your eyes locked, when it didn't matter who was dating whom, or whether or not Alan Dean Foster knew what he was writing in "Splinter of the Mind's Eye." What mattered is that you lost something in that briefest of instances... eye contact, and then look away in an attempt to save whatever that something is. Look away, look away now! No! She captured it! She has it! And she doesn't even know it, so she can't give it back knowingly... she'll have to be asked.


You don't want to ask. It feels too good having her keep it, even if she doesn't know she has it. Maybe it's safer that way- she can't hurt it, and she can't expose it. That part of you, that incredibly fragile part of you, becomes armored and steeled, and it can never fail as long as she has it. So you go one with life, protected, guarded, maybe even enshrined by this girl, the girl who also goes on, carrying with her that part of you.


Then it happens, that moment when she discovers that she's held that fragile part of you for weeks, months, years, decades... for your entire life, it seems. And then comes that moment when you candid, when you are vulnerable. This is worse than Superman with Kryptonite, worse than Batman with a gun in his mouth. This is who you are in the hands of THAT girl. Everything hinges on her.


And she smiles and kisses you, and that time,those hours of missing her, those days without her, they slip away, a blanket covering you on a warm night, slung off by the body underneath being too hot and needing to breathe, to break out and shine!


Why you? Because I had no choice- you kept me too safe and for too long.


"She walked into my dingy office like a hot knife through cold turkey, with legs that went all the way up and hair that never stopped. She was murder in heels, and I knew it, but I was going to listen to her, and then I was going to work for her, to try to get her out of whatever trouble she was in."


There's always a girl. Then there's THIS girl, THE girl. And she will eventually ask that really hard question, "Why me?" And, like some Siberian Husky trapped in a hot Georgia summer, you stand there with your tongue hanging out, unable to do anything other than pant in the heat caused by that look in her eyesAnd you'll try to answer- "It was that conversation we had,' or, "It was the way you sat there," or, "I loved the way you smiled at <that other person>."


The truth is that you were compelled and committed in that one single moment when your eyes locked, when it didn't matter who was dating whom, or whether or not Alan Dean Foster knew what he was writing in "Splinter of the Mind's Eye." What mattered is that you lost something in that briefest of instances... eye contact, and then look away in an attempt to save whatever that something is. Look away, look away now! No! She captured it! She has it! And she doesn't even know it, so she can't give it back knowingly... she'll have to be asked.


You don't want to ask. It feels too good having her keep it, even if she doesn't know she has it. Maybe it's safer that way- she can't hurt it, and she can't expose it. That part of you, that incredibly fragile part of you, becomes armored and steeled, and it can never fail as long as she has it. So you go one with life, protected, guarded, maybe even enshrined by this girl, the girl who also goes on, carrying with her that part of you.


Then it happens, that moment when she discovers that she's held that fragile part of you for weeks, months, years, decades... for your entire life, it seems. And then comes that moment when you candid, when you are vulnerable. This is worse than Superman with Kryptonite, worse than Batman with a gun in his mouth. This is who you are in the hands of THAT girl. Everything hinges on her.


And she smiles and kisses you, and that time,those hours of missing her, those days without her, they slip away, a blanket covering you on a warm night, slung off by the body underneath being too hot and needing to breathe, to break out and shine!


Why you? Because I had no choice- you kept me too safe and for too long.

The Newest, the Bloggiest

OK, so, a new blog, this one a bit more permanent, but far more commercial, and not as readily useable as my old software, but wifi is becoming so commonplace that i  should be able to get to a router before I melt  from withdrawal.

I'll get busy on the first real post in just a few moments- there are other things that have to be listed elsewhere first.