Mary

Mary wanted to be a superwoman. Well, we were just children when we knew each other so I guess she wanted to be a supergirl. My friend Mary was a beautiful tomboy…with long dark hair and dark sparkling eyes (their light as often guarded and pensive as it was bright and smiling) and smooth tan skin that paid proud testimony to her Mexican heritage…just one of the guys who didn’t seem to realize that she was well into the process of blossoming into a breathtaking woman.

I, of course, had an unspoken crush on her. Nothing, I convinced myself, would come of it…I was a year younger than her, not to mention shy and chubby, and she…she was a coltish goddess…but I luxuriated in the intoxication of “loving” her with the silent passion of the young would-be poet that I was.

My family…my mother, my brother, and I…and Mary’s family…her mother, her stepfather (though, to be honest, I’m not sure they were actually married), her older sisters, and her little brother…lived in a duplex in South-Central Los Angeles (back then a great neighborhood, we were within walking distance of USC, the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, some amazing museums, and a big library.) My family was upstairs, hers was downstairs.

Mary often hung out with us guys…joining us on our “adventures” and actively sharing in our boyish dares. I still vividly remember that day that she took the dare to leap off the roof of the duplex down to the lawn; the roof slanted down and the distance wasn’t that far but it still seemed like a bad idea to me. I shared my misgivings with Mary but she just gave me a jaunty wink and told me not to fret so much.

I remember Mary up on the edge of the roof, hesitating while looking down while the other guys egged her on. And then she jumped and for a painfully long moment time stopped as I watched her plummet to the lawn with gangly grace. Mary hit the ground with a dull thump and then she was still. The guys went still and quiet. I raced to her side as her sister came out of the house to see what was going on. She wasn’t really hurt… she just had the wind knocked out of her. I helped Mary to her feet while her sister screamed at her for doing something so stupid and screamed at us for encouraging her to do it.

Mary, for her part, winked at me and whispered…”told you I could do it”. I just nodded, loving her all the more while, at the same time, wanting to protect her from her impulse to take dares in an effort to be one of the “guys”. Mary’s sister sent her into the house and sent us guys away.

Mary’s family moved out of the duplex and my family moved across town into our own house (a house my mother still lives in all these years later.) Eventually the two families lost touch.

I know, without a doubt, that Mary turned into a beautiful woman. I hope, with all my heart, that Mary found someone who appreciated her…that she had the beautiful babies that, in her rare reflective moments, she admitted to wanting to have and raise and love with all of her expansive heart.

I’m not sure why Mary has come to mind of late…it’s been a long while since I thought of her so vividly…but I hope that she is indeed happy and well and fulfilled wherever life has taken her.

Sleepless

The air was thick and steamy; it clung to Chloe’s naked body like a humid shroud. She hated the heat…she hated the nights so swampy that it was impossible for her to sleep. She even hated, if only idly and without true rancor, the steady drone of Peter’s husky snore. It both amazed and annoyed her that Peter could sleep so easily when she couldn’t sleep at all.

In the languid moonlight, Chloe leaned on one elbow, her breasts glistening in the pale golden glow and her dark hair lying limply behind her, and watched Peter sleeping. Peter was all rough-cut curves and hirsute masculinity from the top of his big head to his soft black beard…from his fireplug neck to his barrel chest…from his hard belly to his casually insolent sex to his thick, sturdy thighs; Chloe adored him still and always…he made her feel tiny and protected and deliriously overwhelmed when he touched her…but she still felt irrationally jealous of his ability to sleep through the sweltering.

She resisted the urge to touch him…to snuggle into that place in his strong embrace that belonged only to her…the heat Peter was radiating was palpable even through the thick air and she didn’t need or want that.

Chloe sighed and sank into her pillow turning away from Peter. Peter stirred and the sound coming from him stopped for a moment…and then he sighed as well, deeply and with satisfaction, and he began to snore again.

Chloe closed her eyes and tried to force herself to quit the hellish waking night for the cooler realms of the dreaming world. It didn’t work. She rolled over and looked at the man again. “How can you sleep when I can’t?’ she asked in a small whisper, a bit accusingly but mostly with admiration and love.

Peter stirred again, his massive arm flopping over in her direction.

Chloe laughed and reached out and touched his hand. She closed her eyes again and, feeling Peter’s steady pulse dancing through her fingerprints, she defied the heat and found her way into the dreaming world at last.

I Thought of You Today

I thought of you today...
and that thought surprised me
in subtle, delightful, bittersweet ways.

I imagine the years have been kind to you…
they could, in my most heartfelt beliefs,
do nothing less.

I imagine that you’re happy…
warmed by seasoned passion…
enveloped in the safe haven of strong, tender arms.

I imagine, somewhat foolishly and wistfully,
that, every once in a blue moon,
you think of me not unkindly,
not without a whisper of a humid smile.

I thought of you today…
and that thought made me smile
happily, ruefully,
oh so tenderly.

150 Words: Letting Go

She bid him to close his eyes; he complied. He trusted her completely.

She touched him, gossamer glances warming his flesh, and the darkness before his eyes morphed, a soft symphony of entrancing color.

“Keep your eyes closed,” she said gently, knowing that his impulse was to open them and look into her own fathomless eyes.

She touched him, fleetingly, and the color took more vivid aspect. He held his breath as every fiber of his being sparked with energy so sweet it was almost painful.

“I want you to listen to me,” she said, her hand lingering on him. “Will you do that?”

He nodded…his eyes closed, his breath held, his being sparking. “What do you want me to do?” he said, somehow finding voice.

She leaned close, her breath soft and intoxicating against his ear, and sighed. “Let go.”

And, falling willingly into a warm abyss, he did.

Making Renee Cry

When I was 11 I made a girl named Renee cry. It was purposeful thing and, briefly, I took smug satisfaction in the deed. The thing was that I liked Renee…a lot…and she didn’t seem to like me…at all.

At 11 I didn’t know quite what to do with what I would come to learn was an often recurring fact of life so I did the only thing I could think to do…I made Renee cry.

I don’t remember exactly what I said…to be honest I’m not sure that the portrait I have of Renee in my memory is accurate (it very probably is not)…but I remember that it worked.

And for a very short while I felt vindicated.

And then I felt worse…I felt like an utter bastard…and I desperately wanted to apologize…but I didn’t know how.

And so, sadly, I never did.

It should go without saying that Renee avoided me like the plague for the rest of the semester (and then she moved away.)

When I was 14 I deliberately snubbed my best friend Bobby. We were having an argument over an argument that Bobby and my brother Guy had engaged in…I had taken my brother’s part and Bobby and I stopped speaking.

The strange thing was that at the time I liked Bobby…who was like a brother to me (the short white R&B loving brother my mother could never have possibly produced)…a lot more than I liked Guy…who was a pain in the ass most of the time…and Guy was in the wrong in his argument with Bobby…and yet I still took my brother’s part. Family is a strange and paradoxical thing sometimes.

Bobby and I found our way back to each other…brothers again until time, distance, and circumstance pulled us apart once and for all…but I don’t remember ever making an explicit apology for my behavior (or, for that matter, wanting or needing an apology for his contributions to our estrangement.)

Over the years I have delivered slights…real and imagined…to people I care about, to people I loved and respected and cherished.

I like to think that I have gotten much better at making apologies when I am in the wrong.

Though, I know all too well, I am as stubborn as ever when it comes to not making apologies if I don’t think I’m in the wrong. There are those…and they know who they are…who think that I am a willful son of a bitch for this.

And maybe they’re right.

Though, in my heart of hearts, I don’t think so :-)

Namaste, y’all.

A Moment of Grace

Emergency rooms in real life are nothing like they are on television shows. On TV, things are fast paced and injured people are whisked into rooms where harried but dedicated doctors work their magic while shouting out stuff like “stat!”

In real life, emergency rooms are a whole lot of sitting around and waiting. Granted, big city ERs…like the one I found myself in this past Sunday…have lots of people to deal with and they have to prioritize…frankly I just wish that my infected finger had been a high enough priority so that I didn’t have to sit in the waiting room for four hours (A&E was showing a Godfather marathon so I got to watch the end of Part 2 and a large chunk of Part 3) and sit in the examination room for another three hours waiting for a doctor to come take a look at my throbbing, swelling digit and decide that I needed to be admitted.

That said, the waiting room stay was warmed by a precious moment of grace: a little Latina (she couldn’t have been more than 2, there with her family waiting for someone to come out…none of them spoke English) came over and took my finger (it had been bandaged at my first stop at an “urgent care” clinic) and patted it gently and looked up at me with big brown eyes full of precocious wisdom and compassion as if to say “everything will be okay.” Just then the billing department called me in to check my insurance card and when I came out the family was gone.

The finger required surgery and two rest-broken nights in the hospital (the heavily bandaged finger…the middle finger of my left hand…is making it something of an adventure to type…you never realize how much you use something like that until you can’t.

I’m home with powerful antibiotics and enormous gratitude that I can sleep in my own bed…where well-meaning people won’t be waking me up every two hours to check vitals, change IVs, or administer shots…it’s all good.

And the healing...

…I want you to put on your pretty summer dress,
you can wear your Easter bonnet and all the rest,
and I wanna make love to you…yes, yes…
and the healing has begun…

“Silly man,” she said with heartbreaking warmth and urgency, “don’t you dare run away.”

She knew him all too well, he thought. He had come to the door but had been, quiet foolishly he hoped, too afraid of a welcome not fond to actually ring the bell.

Their breakup had been awkward and sudden…not from a lack of love but rather from a fear of where their love was on the verge of taking them. Wounded deeply by love in the past both of them were wary of acknowledging what they were feeling and so came the sabotage.

Once they were apart they knew that they had made a horrible mistake but pride and irrational fear of rejection had kept them apart. The rift between them, willfully and foolishly hewn, seemed beyond healing almost as soon as it opened up.

And then she pushed past the fear and wrote to him. And then he pushed past the fear and called her. And they waltzed…at odd angles and with hopeful, wary steps…an emotional dance with each other that seemed to go on for an agonizing eternity.

He showed up at her door, a small bouquet held fast in his hand, a huge lump in his throat threatening to cut off his breath. He was terrified that the light in her eyes that once kept his soul safe and warm would be dimmed.

She had felt his presence before he was actually on her porch. As he drew near to the house she put on the dress…the flowing blue one that he had secretly bought after she had fallen in love with it but had demurred given its cost…and tried to still the thundering of her heart.

“I wasn’t going to run away,” he lied. He looked up and felt himself drowning in her beautiful eyes…and he rejoiced at that. And he rejoiced in the light that he found in those eyes…undimmed, it warmed and made safe his very being.

He stepped forward. She stepped forward. They folded into each other and…tentatively at first and then ardently…their lips came together.

She pulled back and touched his face. “We’re going to be okay now,” she said with assurance as sure as it was it quiet.

He nodded and pulled her close again. “Yes,” he said closing his eyes and thrilling to the fragrance of her hair, the sweet warmth of her breasts, the tender strength of her hand around his neck, “yes, we will.”

She nuzzled against his chest. She listened to the thunder of his heart which was echoing, almost beat for beat, the pounding of her own heart. She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the comfort of his arms around her.

They stood there in the doorway, their hearts pounding, their love conquering their fears and then they stepped in. She took the flowers and he smiled at how lovely she looked in the dress and they stepped inside and closed the door behind them. And the healing…and the healing had begun.

“And the Healing has Begun”
words and music by Van Morrison
©1979 Essential Music, BMI

Me and Bob and Jesse and Rosemary

So it was me and Bob (Dylan) sitting in the backseat of a big old jet black Lincoln while a pale blonde guy named Jesse was sitting in the front passenger seat smoking a big cigar and shouting into a cell phone and a buxom Mexican-Irish woman named Rosemary was behind the wheel pushing 65 down a winding road circling a steep mountain.

Rosemary negotiated each curve with a calm aplomb that belied that fact that each screeching turn could be our last while Jesse smoked and shouted and Bob was lying back with his eyes closed humming the tune to a song he was writing in his head.

Me, I occasionally broke the fourth wall of the experience and realized that it was all a very vivid dream and, in those fleeting moments of lucidity, I wondered what exactly Darryl had put in those brownies.

Rosemary, who laughed every time we took an especially sharp turn but who was otherwise quiet, kept a steady hand on the wheel; she was dressed all in black…black t-shirt, black jeans, black leather cap…something I prayed wasn’t some kind of omen.

Bob looked over at me and mumbled something; I couldn’t make out a single word he said. He fixed me with a laser-hot stare as he waited for me to reply. I shrugged and said “Yeah?” Bob smiled and punched me in the arm and then he closed his eyes and started to hum again.

Jesse cursed and threw the phone out of the window as we took an especially sharp curve with apparently only two wheels on the road and Rosemary laughed. Bob hummed and Jesse smoked and Rosemary gunned the big old jet black Lincoln down the seemingly endless mountain road laughing around every perilous curve and me, I was surprisingly calm throughout it all.

And then I woke up.

“Okay,” I said as I reluctantly acclimated myself to the morning light sneaking in through the window shades, “that was interesting.”

I made a mental to note to ask Darryl about those brownies the next time I saw him.

150 Words: Choices

We haven’t heard from you lately, is something wrong?

I presumed that you didn’t want to hear from me.

Why? Because of the other day? Look, we just didn’t want to upset her…

I got that. You made a choice and I have to respect that.

It’s not like that…we didn’t make a choice.

Yes you did. You made a choice where no one was asking you to make a choice but that’s cool.

That’s not fair.

Maybe not…but there it is. Anyway, like I said, it’s cool…I understand.

It doesn’t mean that we don’t love you too.

Okay.

Now you’re upset.

Really, I’m not. Choices are made and we live with them. That’s life. It’s all good.

Things were hectic and there was so much to do…

Yeah, again, that’s life. It’s cool.

Are we good?

Sure…it’s always important to know where we stand.

Love you.

Love you too.

15 Years, 16 Days

15 years, 16 days…in the grand tapestry of most lives that’s a significant part of the journey towards the light and whatever lies beyond. It’s a long time…a decade and a half of life, love, experience, dreams, music, magic, heartbreak, passion, peace…and a seeming blink of an eye when it’s gone.

15 years, 16 days…a slice of my lifetime, a slice of your lifetime, and, for some, the sum total of a lifetime.

Autumn was a sweetheart…a funny, fuzzy red bear of a dog (mostly Chow but with the gregarious personality of a gentle German Shepherd) who never met anyone she didn’t like (with the possible exception of Mr. Gambino, the hyperactive tuxedoed cat who, much to his chagrin, could never get as close to Autumn as Bart, the laidback surfer dude cat of the house, did with casual ease)…she liked to take long walks (and did so until her failing joints made it impossible) and to have her head rubbed….she liked to smile and have her belly rubbed…she liked to kiss babies and anyone else who stayed still long enough for her to happily lick them…she liked to bark like she was the ferocious guard dog in the world and then greet anyone who came into the house with curious brown eyes and a big wagging tail.

One day in December she spent a perfect day in the company of friends and family, happily giving and getting attention between naps and meals and time spent wandering her backyard…and the next day all that she was suddenly left…her eyes were open but the light of recognition was gone.

Maybe it was a stroke…maybe it was old age finally catching up with her (her hearing had been fading for a couple of years and her hind legs had been growing weaker over the same period)…I don’t know. And I don’t care. The veterinarian offered slim options, none of which would lead to her coming back…none of which would lead to her living the peaceful, pain-free, proud life she once knew. In the end the decision was mine and…reluctantly…I made.

The doctor told me it was the right decision only after I made it but, unsurprisingly, that didn’t make it feel any better (even as it was about to happen, I was stroking her head and fighting the urge to stop it.)

Autumn lived for 15 years, 16 days…she lived for a grand and cherished lifetime…and, thankfully, she lives still in the hearts of those of us who loved her and there her bright spirit will linger for all the rest of our days.

The Old Man in the Coffee Aisle

I noticed the humming first. It was a soft, beguiling, masculine sound that was warm and welcoming; it effortlessly cut through the vapid drone of the emotionless music coming from the supermarket’s sound system.

As I came around the corner I saw him…a little old man with silvery white hair and twinkling gray eyes shining from behind thick, horn-rimmed glasses. The little old man…he couldn’t have been more than 5’2 tall…was staring intently at the very top row of cans and bags of coffee while patiently humming his lovely little song.

He glanced up at me…I was a foot taller than he…and smiled. “Can you spare a moment, son?” he asked after he stopped humming. “It appears that the good folks who run this establishment have conspired to keep an old man with arthritis from easily obtaining his favorite coffee,” he said with a bright smile in his voice, “and I was wondering if you would help me out.”

“Sure,” I said, pushing my shopping cart to the side so that other shoppers who might come down the aisle could get by, “I’d be happy to. What do you need?”

“There’s a good fellow.” The old man patted my arm and then pointed up to rows of blue cans on the top shelf. “The Maxwell House dark roast,” he said.

“Ah,” I smiled as reached up and retrieved a can, “like your coffee strong, huh?”

The old man chuckled as he accepted the can and put it in his own cart. “That’s the only way to drink coffee, lad,” he replied. “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem, sir,” I said getting back behind my cart and moving down the aisle. “Have a good day.”

“I shall, young man,” he said, pushing his own cart slowly towards the dairy cases at the other end of the aisle, “you do the same.”

He began to hum again, a melody at once familiar and so very hard to place; I smiled again and went on to gather the rest of my groceries with that song echoing sweetly in my head from that point through the rest of my day.

Resolutions

I resolve to appreciate more sunsets and rainbows, more clear starry nights and big golden moons; I resolve to indulge in more tender hugs, more soft kisses, and all of the everyday magic around me..

I resolve to smile more and talk more and to be more patient with my fellow beings than I am sometimes. I resolve to be on the look out for far more silver linings and far fewer dark clouds.

I resolve to sing more, to fret less, to dream more, to worry less; I resolve to dance when the mood strikes and cry when the occasion warrants; I resolve to cherish every kindness and to do my best to let go of any slights (real or imagined.)

I resolve to dance more…in the sunshine, in the moonlight, in rainshowers, whenever music takes hold of me and bids me to do so; I resolve to write more, to learn more, to know more, to be more.

I resolve to not let the incessant media coverage of preening and/or self-destructive narcissists bother me as much as it has in the past (though, I reserve the right to wonder why the vapid lives of people like Britney Spears and Paris Hilton merit so much media attention.)

I resolve to give more and expect less…life often works out this way in any case and so going with this particular flow can only make the path that much easier to negotiate.

I resolve to hang onto memories but to live firmly in the now. I resolve to respect the past but to look forward to whatever the future brings.

I resolve to believe in magic, and laughter, and love…I resolve to be the best me I can be, a little better me than I was yesterday, a less better me than I will be tomorrow.

I resolve to...Be.

Namaste, y’all.

150 Words: Breathe

“What are you doing?” she asked. She knew that it would take a moment for him to reply so she waited patiently.

The night stretched out towards infinity, the lazy gold moon nestled in the starry tapestry.

He smiled softly looking up from the blanket on the lawn. “I’m looking at the sky.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s there.”

It was her turn to smile; she should have expected that answer. “Okay. Can I watch too?”

He patted the ground next to him. “The more the merrier.”

She snuggled down next to him and looked up. “Now what do we do?”

He took her hand and held it. “Lay back and relax.”

She did so, engaged by the sparkling distant stars.

“Lay back…relax…and breathe.”

She breathed and the world slipped away and the universe enveloped her. “Wow.”

He smiled again. “Yeah.” Silently they watched the stars together for a good long while.

a merry little Christmas

We rush about to and fro, spending money we don’t have to prove love and friendship that should be known unspoken… but it’s all right.

We hear holiday music unto the point where Nat Cole singing about roasting chestnuts or Bing Crosby dreaming of snow is burned into our consciousnesses against our collective will…but it’s all right.

We dream of Yuletides long gone and fret that those days were better than the nowadays…we string our lights and trim our trees and stand on line at the Post Office while wondering why we’re doing all of it…but it’s all right.

We stop to sing…we stop to share faith, love, peace, and laughter…we pause to bask in the warmth of fireplaces and in the joyful company of friends and other loved ones…we exchange whimsical cards and brightly wrapped gift offerings…we remember, for a soft eternal moment, that the season is filled with light and music and golden magic when we let it be. And it is, wondrously, all right…

…have yourself a merry little Christmas,
make the Yuletide gay,
from now on our troubles will be far away…

Peace, joy, love, light, and laughter to you one and all.

Happy Christmas,
Michael

150 Words: Showtime

This is always the hard part, she thought, as she watched her husband sleeping soundly. He was, she knew, ready for that special night of nights but first he had to get up.

She nudged him and he grunted. “It’s time, sweetheart,” she said.

He grunted again and she shook him harder. “It’s time, big guy,” she insisted, “time to rise and shine.”

“Don’t wanna,” the old man slurred, “tell ‘em to go without me.”

The old woman chuckled affectionately. “They can’t do that…there’s no magic without you. So get up, it’s showtime!”

The old man sighed and rolled over. He sighed and then, with surprising grace for a man of his girth, he rolled out of bed. “Tell me why I do this every year?”

“It’s for the children, Nick,” the old woman said handing him a steaming mug of coffee.

“Right…the children…ho…ho…ho…”

“That’s the spirit, dear,” she smiled.

Acknowledging the Sunrise (on Christmas Morning)

Katie sat patiently at the top of the carpeted stairs…more patiently than she, all of 8 years old with the incumbent restlessness that typified that age, would at almost any other time. The house was still and cool and dark and Katie, bundled in her favorite robe, was waiting. Her parents and her brother were sleeping in their rooms but she was wide awake and waiting…waiting for the sunrise and waiting for the sunrise to be acknowledged.

It was Christmas morning and on that day, more than any other day, Katie wanted and needed to witness the sunrise and she wanted and needed to hear it acknowledged.

Through the windows below Katie could see tendrils of warm light stealing surely from the eastern horizon and she smiled expectantly. In the great room below the staircase, the tall tree, festooned with delicate bulbs and ribbons and strings of popcorn and surrounded at its base with a wealth of brightly wrapped treasures soon to be exchanged and gratefully accepted, seemed to be waiting as well.

Katie heard a door open down the hall but she didn’t look around.

“What are you doing, squirt?” her brother Scott, 8 years her senior and ever her most stalwart protector after getting over the shock of no longer being their parents’ only child back when he was Katie’s age, said while unsuccessfully stifling a yawn.

Katie waved her hand to quiet him. “Waiting,” she whispered.

Scott, ever accepting of his little sister’s whimsies, chuckled through yet another yawn, and sat down next to Katie at the top of the stairs. “Waiting for what?” he asked.

“It’s coming, just hold on,” she replied.

They sat in expectant silence until the clock in the entryway below struck 6 and, in the same instant, the bells began to sing throughout the town. On this day, more than any other day, they sang from every church, acknowledging the sunrise, acknowledging another glorious Christmas morning…they sang, a wondrous cacophony resonating through the still winter’s air, and Katie smiled guilelessly.

Katie leaned into her brother and Scott put his arm around her as the bells softly faded. “That’s what I was waiting for,” she whispered.

Scott smiled. “You’re an odd duck, Katie girl,” he said affectionately.

Katie, knowing how much Scott loved her, took no offense. “Merry Christmas, big brother,” she said leaning up to kiss Scott’s cheek.

Scott hefted Katie onto his shoulder and stood up. “Merry Christmas, baby sister,” he said as he carried her, giggling, down the stairs.

150 Words: The Only Two People in the Room

Joseph and Helen met at a dance when they were 17…he was stoic and yet romantic, she was demure and yet passionate…and they spent the evening waltzing…he was earnest but awkward, she was graceful and patient…as if they were the only people in the room.

They courted for a year and were engaged for a year and then they married. 57 years later, they still sometimes felt like the only two people in the room…but not when surrounded by their family.

Their family…children and grandchildren…gathered from near and far in their welcoming home for Christmas and Joseph and Helen gave thanks for all of the blessings in their life.

And every Christmas Eve…after their family had settled down to sleep…Joseph and Helen…stoic and romantic, earnest and awkward, demure and passionate, graceful and patient…waltzed by the light of the Christmas tree, still and always the only two people in the room.

Snowfall (Part 2 of 2)

(Part 1 of this story is here)

Two days before Christmas, Carole awoke to find the skies still gray and the ground a carpet of perfect white. It was not at all what she had hoped for but it was, she had to admit to herself, exactly what she had expected.

After breakfast, she sat at the kitchen table and made calls to her family…her Dad, her Grandfather, her sister-in-law Melissa Joshua, her sister Kim, her brother Tom, her Aunt Janey, and her cousin April. It seemed to be snowing everywhere they were and yet none of them seemed to be the least bit worried about it.

“Your mother and I wouldn’t miss this for the world, princess,” her father said. He’d called her “princess” since she was 3 and he had no intention of stopping. Carole always pretended that she didn’t like it but her father knew better. Carole loved that he knew better. “Your mother wanted to make sure you got the Granny Smith apples,” he added. “You know she only makes pies with Granny Smith apples.”

Carole’s mother had insisted on baking the pies for Christmas dinner dismissing as “nonsense” Carole’s offer to just buy some pies. “I got the right apples, Dad,” she said, “Mom would never let me here the end of it if I got that wrong.”

“We’ll be there tomorrow evening with bells on, honey,” he father said, “don’t you worry.” Carole smiled to herself as she realized, once again, how much Jason was like her father in terms of temperament; her dad had survived her tumultuous post-puberty years with an equanimity that had really ticked her off when she was girl but which made her feel lucky and loved in her adult years.

And all of her family members said variations of the same thing when she talked to them. The snow wasn’t weighing on any of her family as they prepared to journey from their far-flung cities and towns to her quiet suburban neighborhood. It was Christmastime, they all said in one way or another, and things would work out just fine. Carole always thought of her family as being more like her and less like Jason but she had to concede that she might be mistaken about that.

Last year, Jim and Melissa had held such a wonderful celebration at their house in Virginia that Carole felt a special urgency to at least make this year equally festive for her family.

“It’s snowing everywhere,” Carole said as Jason came up from the basement with a basketful of freshly washed bed linens. “Fritos in airports, just you watch.”

Jason laughed. “You have a vivid imagination, sweetheart,” he said, heading up the stairs that led from the kitchen to the second floor. “It’s going to be the best Christmas ever.”

“That kind of unbridled optimism is probably a sign of some kind of mental illness, you know?” She called up after him.

It wasn’t the first time she had said something like that to him and it wouldn’t be the last time either. “I’m cool with that,” he called back. He started singing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” at the top of his lungs before she could say anything else.

Carole shook her head and laughed. She stood up and went to the window over the sink. The snow was still falling lazily and she was starting to find it hard to believe that everything was going to be okay. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking that the “best Christmas ever” was going to be attended by just Jason and herself. She did her best to push past the feeling and she went upstairs to help Jason making up the bedrooms.

On the day before Christmas, the snowfall was still coming down intermittently and Carole was wondering what she had done to the universe to deserve having the first family holiday gathering in her house to be called on account of snow. Jason, for his part, kept going as if everything was perfectly in order; he bundled up and went out to shovel the sidewalk and the driveway (and, being Jason, he ended up shoveling the sidewalks and driveways of the neighbors on either side of their house.)

A round robin of cell phone calls let them know that everybody was on the road and in the air, none of them willing to let the weather keep them from gathering together for the holidays. Carole’s mother called from Chicago while they were waiting to make a connecting flight.

“Things are a bit backed up, honey,” Carole’s mother said, “so we’re stuck here for a while.”

Carole’s heart sank.

“But we’ll be there,” her mother added confidently. “A snowy Christmas will be wonderful. The children will love being able to make snowmen and have snowball fights.”

“You’re right, Mom,” Carole said half-heartedly, a bit weary of all of the chipper positive energy coming from everybody. “What’s Daddy doing?”

“He got hungry so he went to snack bar to get some Fritos.”

Carole stifled a laugh and excused herself as quickly as she could.

As the Christmas Eve night began to slip away nobody had arrived.

Carole and Jason, curled up by the crackling fire sipping eggnog, waited in silence.

“Aren’t you going to tell me that everything is going to be okay?” Carole asked, half as a taunt and half as need to be reassured by his optimism.

“Nope,” he said softly.

She was startled by the response. “Why not?”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Because you wouldn’t believe me if I did,” he said softly but not unkindly.

Carole closed her eyes and snuggled into her husband. She did her best to take her mind off the Christmas that might not be. She did her best to take her mind off her family snowed in at airports or truck stops. She did her best to take her mind off her father eating Fritos in the Chicago airport. At some point she drifted off into a dreamless sleep. She remembered half walking at one point and finding herself being carried up the stairs in Jason’s strong arms and being into their bed but then she surrendered to sleep once again.

On Christmas Day, Carole woke up after having slept long and deep. She was still in something of a fog as stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. Jason was already up and out of bed but she didn’t call out to him. Carole showered and before she dressed she decided to re-take the test she’d taken 5 days earlier.

Afterwards she dressed and wandered down towards the stairs that led to the kitchen. She needed to call and find out how her family members were doing and she needed a strong cup of coffee. She smiled as she started down the stairs and caught a whiff of coffee wafting up. She could also smell the aroma of cinnamon rolls…the familiar aroma that greeted her every Christmas morning when she was growing up…Jason must have gotten up to bake them for her.

When Carole walked into the kitchen, there was food out in various states of preparation…the turkey was in the sink, unbaked pies were on the counter, unpeeled potatoes were on another counter next to vegetables, spices, and other things needed to create Christmas dinner. It was only then that it registered on her that there were multiple laughing voices coming from the other room. Before she could move the kitchen swung open.

“Well, good morning, sleepyhead!” A cheery voice said. “It’s about time you got out of that bed.”

Carole shook her head. “Mom? You’re here?”

Carole’s mother wiped her hands on her apron and enveloped her daughter in a big hug. “Of course we’re here, silly,” she said. “Where else would we be?”

Carole returned her mother’s hug still not quite believing she was there. “Eating Fritos in the airport?”

Carole’s mother laughed. “You aren’t completely awake, are you?” She went over to the coffee pot. “Well, some coffee and a cinnamon roll will make your whole world right.”

Carole wandered over to the door. “Everybody’s here?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” her mother said handing her a steaming mug of coffee. “The snow stopped and the roads cleared. Your father and I got here about 2 AM…Melissa and Jim and the baby were already here and everybody else got here not long after that. Good thing Jason was waiting for us or we might’ve had to wake you up…”

Carole pushed open the door and looked through to the family room. They were all there… her Grandfather, her brother Jim and his wife Melissa and their baby Joshua, her sister Kim and her fiancée Jeff, her Aunt Janey and her Uncle Michael, her cousin April were sipping coffee and nibbling on cinnamon rolls while her father, her brother Tom and his boys, and her Jason were adding the final touches to the Christmas tree. The pile of colorfully wrapped gifts underneath the tree had grown. She glanced out the window and saw that the snowfall had indeed stopped.

Carole’s mother slipped her arm around Carole’s waist and hugged her again. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she said.

Carole leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

Jason looked over and came over to them. He kissed Carole as Carole’s mom went over to join the others. “Merry Christmas, pretty girl,” he said. “And I won’t even say ‘I told you so’.”

Carole elbowed him playfully. “Thanks for that, wise guy.” She looked at Jason feeling like her heart was so full that it would burst. She leaned into him and whispered, “I’m pretty sure we’re pregnant.”

Jason recoiled, his face covered with a quizzical smile and then he leaned over and kissed her. “Cool.”

Carole smiled and leaned into him. “I knew that’s what you say,” she chuckled. She looked over at her family and sighed. “They made it…they all made it…maybe there is a little magic in Christmas…”

Jason hugged her. “Ha!” he teased, “not so cynical after all, are ya?”

Carole elbowed him again. “Shut up.” Just then the rest of her family caught sight of her and gathered around to exchange hugs and kisses and playful taunts with her.

The rest of the morning was blur of gift exchanges amidst bright smiles and waves of appreciative laughter. Carole’s father and Jason and Tom and Tom’s boys went out to play in the fallen snow while Carole, her mother, her brother Jim, and her sister-in-law Melissa set about the serious business of making dinner.

That night at dinner Carole shared the news with the family while Jason beamed proudly. And later, after the excitement of the day had worn off and the weariness of late night travels and waiting had taken Jason and the rest of her family to bed, Carole sat alone by the fireplace sipping cocoa, gently patting her stomach, and smiling wistfully. It had been a wonderful Christmas despite all of her worries.

Carole looked out of the window at the front lawn…at the snow, glistening softly in the amber streetlight, and nodded appreciatively. “Cool,” she said before closing the fireplace doors and going upstairs to join Jason in their bed.

Snowfall (Part 1 of 2)

Three days before Christmas it began to snow. This was a turn of events that did not surprise Carole…watching the first lazy flakes of snow drift towards the ground outside her living room window…because it was the last thing in the world that she needed. Most years Carole would have celebrated the snowfall with acerbic wit but this was not most years.

She was already distracted by something she hadn’t yet shared with her husband and in two days her family…her parents, her Grandfather, her brother Jim and his wife Melissa and their baby Joshua, her sister Kim and her fiancée Jeff, her brother Tom and his boys, her Aunt Janey and her Uncle Michael, her cousin April…are coming to spend Christmas and New Year’s at her house and there was still far too much to do for it to be snowing.

“It’s starting to snow,” she said ruefully. Carole was a bit surprised at how much it bothered her that Christmas at her house might be scuttled because from the time she was 16 she turned a jaundiced eye on the whole commercial idea of Christmas. But, on the other hand, she did love to be with her family seeing as how they were all living away from each other and the holidays were a joy to her for that reason and that reason alone.

Jason, her husband of 5 years, looked up from the paper. “Cool,” he said brightly, “looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas after all.”

Carole sighed softly and shook her head. Sometimes she thought of herself as a cynical optimist…or an optimistic cynic…but mostly she thought of herself as a realist. As someone who knew that the world had a tendency to go askew if we weren’t vigilant. Jason, on the other hand, was unabashed in his view of the world as a basically sunny and benevolent place.

Sometimes Carole found Jason’s seemingly guileless optimism as a source of great comfort and joy…sometimes she wanted to be able to see the world through his eyes. And sometimes it bugged the hell out of her that more things didn’t bug the hell out of him. “It’s not ‘cool’,” she said as evenly as she could. “We still have so many things to do before the family gets here and this is the last thing I need.”

Since their marriage, Carole and Jason spent Thanksgivings with his family and Christmases with hers. The Thanksgiving gathering was always at her in-laws’ house in Vermont but the Christmas gathering moved from home to home each year and this year was the first time that it would be in their home. Carole and Jason had a good life…he was an clinical social worker, she sold real estate…and a beautiful home that big enough for the children they would have when they were ready. Carole was proud of her life and her house and she wanted to make it a wonderful holiday for her family by sharing both with them.

They were both off work until after New Year’s so they had plenty of time to get ready and plenty of time to spend with the family when (or if) they got there. The food for the Christmas feast and the week after was in the refrigerator, freezer, and cupboards. The towering tree was almost completely decorated (Jason suggested that they leave some ornaments off for the children to put on the tree.) Carole had planned things meticulously…but serious snowfall was the one thing that she hadn’t planned for and she hated that all of her plans might fall apart due to the one thing she couldn’t control.

Jason put aside his paper and walked over behind his wife. “It’s December, Carole,” he said patiently, “snow is a normal thing. And it’s a good thing.” He put his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck. “Don’t fret so much, pretty girl,” he said, “everything will work out fine.”

Carole sighed again even as she nuzzled back into his embrace. Jason could be so maddeningly optimistic and so wonderfully comforting in the same instant. When they met and fell in love in college, none of their friends thought that the two of them had a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving as a couple. Carole was a hard charger, full of almost manic energy and always trying to make things bend to her will in order to make them come out as she needed them to; Jason, on the other hand, was quiet and mellow, moving forward by going with the flow and somehow knowing everything would turn out as it should.

Their first encounter did not especially bode well for their future. They met at a party that Carole had been dragged to by some of her sorority sisters. Carole was not having a good time and she spent most of the party sulking in a corner drinking beer. Jason, who’d come along to the party just because it seemed like a good idea, caught sight of her across the room and settled near her.
“You don’t look like you’re having a good time,” Jason said.

Carole had rolled her eyes. “What was your first clue, Sherlock?”

Jason had ignored the sarcasm. “You’re too pretty to be so sad,” he said. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

Carole rolled her eyes yet again. “I’m not interested, lover boy.”

Jason had smiled. “That’s cool,” he said. “But we will meet again,” he said with a wink, “I have absolutely no doubt about that.”

They did indeed meet again a couple of weeks later at the student café and they talked and talked. And they talked and talked on the phone. And they talked and talked through dinners and walks in the park. And their respective groups of friends wondered what they saw in each other and made predictions that they couldn’t possibly survive as a couple.

But they had survived as a couple. More than survived, they had thrived, folding into each other as if they had always been destined to be together. Jason’s calm had mitigated Carole’s manic tendencies…Carole’s drive had focused Jason’s fuzziness a bit…they were a great team and, more importantly, they were the great loves of each other’s lives. Their families didn’t understand the connection either at first. But when they saw them together and saw how well they complimented each other and then the two of them made perfect sense.

“It’s probably snowing everywhere I don’t need it to snow,” Carole said. “Everybody’s going to get stuck eating Fritos in airports on Christmas Eve and we’re going to be here alone with enough food to feed an army and no army to eat it.”

Jason chuckled warmly and gave his wife a squeeze. “Don’t be so cynical,” he said affectionately. “Everyone will make it here just fine and we’ll all be together and have a wonderful time.”

Despite her doubts, growing as she watched the snow begin to accumulate outside, Carole wanted to believe that he was right. “How can you be so sure?” She asked, though she instantly regretted doing so because she knew the answer was going to be annoyingly sunny.

Jason kissed the top of Carole’s head. “Because it’s Christmastime, sweetheart,” he said with a smile in his voice. He glanced over at the tall, brightly decorated tree in the corner of the expansive family room. “Because it’s Christmastime and there’s magic in the air and turkey ready to be cooked in the refrigerator and it’s our turn to host the holidays for the family and none of that can be denied.” He kissed her once more and then reluctantly let go of her. “I’d better make sure there’s enough dry wood for the fireplace.”

“I don’t believe in magic…Christmas or otherwise,” she said in mock petulance as he turned and walked towards the back of the house.

“That’s okay,” he said, “I believe enough for both of us.” It was not the first time he’d said that and yet she smiled warmly at it just the same.

Carole turned from watching the snow fall to look around. There were indeed things still to do…gifts to be wrapped, rooms to be made up, food to be accounted for…and she resolved, despite her nagging doubts, to keep moving forward as though Jason were absolutely right and everything was going to be just fine.

Carole and Jason bustled about their big house doing the chores that needed doing before their guests arrived. The house was indeed big…a sprawling two-story affair nestled in a quiet suburb…more house than they needed Carole had thought when they found it but they had both fallen in love with it almost at first sight and they had bought it and worked together to make it their home.

“We could have 4 or 5 kids,” Jason had enthused one day, “and all of them would be able to have their own rooms!”

Carole wasn’t sure she wanted 4 or 5 kids…her business was going well and stopping to have babies wasn’t really something she wanted to think about…but, in her secret heart, the idea of a house full of their children was undeniably appealing. She knew that Jason wanted children but she also knew that he wouldn’t press her on the issue so she kept putting off the conversation.

It was a perfect house for children…and a perfect house for hosting a family Christmas. Carole took comfort in that and that, along with Jason’s unwavering optimism about the outcome of the holiday, kept her moving forward even as the snow continued to fall outside.

150 Words: Us

Why are you here?

I missed you. I missed us. I thought maybe we should try to be us again.

I will disappoint you again.

No. No, you won’t.

Yes I will. I won’t mean to but I will. Or you will disappoint me. You won’t mean to but you will.

Why are you so cynical? I know you love me. You know I love you. We should us again.

Part of me wants to be us again too. But it will not turn out well. It never does.

We can make it work. We know where we went wrong and we won’t go there again.

Maybe…but we’ll just go someplace else instead. It’s what we do when we’re us.

So are you saying no?

No…no, I’m not saying no.

So what are you saying?

I’m saying…I’m saying come in outta the rain.

You won’t regret this.

Well, we’ll see…