PIT 2/18: Day Two
Points In Time
Chicago, Illinois
6/19/09
3:14 AM
Sleep throughout the night was lovely.
We lay, somehow touching one-another throughout the night as though if not touching, the dream of being in bed together, the dream of sleeping together would vanish and Barbara would be in bed with her husband or her private room… and me, alone.
At times it might have been no more then her toes on my calf, or my hand on her shoulder, and at times she would cuddle against my backside, or me hers and yet, as though by the merest of touch we were reassuring each other that we were here, together, the touch was, at least for me, so subliminal that, although aware of being touched, and touching, I had remained within a pleasant sphere sensual slumber.
Morning : 5:12 AM
I love the morning. All is quiet giving me time to think.
Almost all of my creative writing was done in the morning. Then later in the day I would go back and clean it and refine it– but my mental, along with my physical energy is highest in the morning.
What I want to do is to lay in bed just looking at her. What I want to do is have my mental camera clicking so for all the days, weeks, months and years that I will not be with her, is to look at Barbara, to see Barbara so the picture of her would always be there, in my mind.
Not wanting to wake her, so quietly leaving our bed, going to the bathroom, I closed the door.
Standing before the toilet, then brushing my teeth, the thought, I love you! kept repeating and repeating in my mind: I love you....I love you!”
Taking my pills, I considered taking another little blue pill but the effects were supposed to last for thirty-six hours and I had taken two yesterday. Besides, being my age, and not revitalizing as I had when younger, I kind of thought that I’d rather save ‘it’ for tonight so, I thought, If she wants to, let’s see what happens.
I like to shave in the shower and I like the feel of a shaving brush on my face so, using an old porcelain covered tin cup as my shaving cup I – in actuality my shaving soap is the small ends of soap that become too small to wash or shower with. Having this same face all these years, other than keeping my sideburns straight, I do not need a mirror to shave.
Since dinner last night I’ve fought the thought down, though I’ve tried to dwell on ‘here’, of ‘now’, I cannot help but think that in thirty-two hours Barbara and I will have to say goodbye. ‘Goodbye’ forever.
Standing with hot water streaming over me, I was overtaken by a deep sense of depression.
5:40 AM
“Mmmm. Come back, baby...” she muttered, moving her fingers in a ‘come on’ motion… as she fell asleep.
The light blanket had slipped off her shoulder and looking at a sleep creased breast I helped it along as I slipped back into bed.
Feeling the motion, her arm draping over my hip, snuggling against me, cuddling against me with her head beneath my chin… “Mmmm, you’re cool.”
Bringing her sleep-warmed body closely against my shower cooled body, feeling the softness of her breasts and the length of her body against mine, my face now in her hair, my hand over her hip holding a soft cheek.
This is all I want for whatever time we have together; to be close to this woman.
“Mmmm...” wiggling her chubby, beautiful behind...
Sex not a thought at this moment,. “You feel so good.”
Moving her hand from my shoulder, placing it beneath the blanket and, covering it completely, her hand closed over my shriveled penis. Then, a few seconds later...
“Oh, that’s sooo cute!”
Moving my head back so as to see her face. “What’s ‘so cute’?”
When a man and woman are happy together and able to judge their good humor,, in time a part of their repartee will turn to good natured bantering. However, when a lifetime must be lived in three days, the good natured bantering might show up a bit sooner then ‘in time’.
“What’s so cute?”
Apparently this being one of those, ‘a bit sooner’ then ‘in time’ things.
Judging my sense of humor. “Your teeny weenie.”
Accurately judging my sense of humor: “ My teeny weenie’, huh!” Playfully pushing Barbara onto her back, I attempted to kiss her, but...
Covering her mouth. “Oh, baby, let me brush my teeth first!”
“No!” I said, attempting to slip my mouth beneath her hand. “I want to kiss you!” I said in an authoritative voice, “ ‘now’!”
“No, I’m too stinky.”
“Okay,I agree, ‘you’re stinky’!”
“What do you mean ‘I’m stinky’?”
Barbara’s hands off her mouth, I kissed her lightly on the lips. “Yeah, you really are stinky!”
“And you’re really a teeny weenie!”
Kissing me on the nose, rolling over me, I watched the movement of her backside as she went into the bathroom.
Hearing tinkling, and a few seconds later...
“What time’s it?”
Walking to the bathroom, “Five-fifty-five.” And again standing at the open door, watching the reflection of Barbara’s jiggling breasts in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. No sooner did she spit the foam into the sink, no sooner did she rinse her mouth than my mouth was onto her mouth.
“Hey, honey...” poking her on the thigh “...see, “it ain’t no ‘teeny weenie’ anymore.”
Reaching down, “Yeah,” holding me, “I see... Wanna hop in the shower with me?”
“I just took a shower.”
“So,” she said friendly/sternly, “what’s your point?”
7:12 AM
Looking at the waitress in the ‘Allerton Hotel Coffee Shop’, “Orange juice...” Barbara said “...eggs over easy, sausage and whole wheat toast.”
“Yes, ma’am... You, sir?”
“I’ll have eggs over medium, sausage, hash-browns crispy, a toasted bagel, please, and coffee.”
Waiting until the waitress left, “You nervous?” I asked.
“Yes, sure! I told you I was really shy!”
As though loath to be further than within a hands reach, sitting closely side by side in the booth, squeezing her thigh. “Yesterday at the airport...” I said, teasing her, “...that kiss you gave a perfect stranger.”
“You weren’t a perfect stranger.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t know that when you planted that big fat juicy kiss on what may have been a perfect stranger.”
“I saw pictures of you, remember?”
“Yeah, sure! And then this morning,”
“...I want you to know, Mitchie, I’ve ‘never’ done that before, not even close to it! Not even with my husband.”
“I know, honey.” lifting her hand, I kissed it.
“I’ll never forget last night and this morning, Mitchie.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Quiet a moment, remembering the promise I made to myself not to allow myself to think of tomorrow. Forcing my mind elsewhere... “Uh, so what are you going to recite?”
“You’ll see.”
“When are we supposed to be there?”
“It starts at nine, but they want us there at least a half hour earlier so we can find our group.”
“Who are you going to introduce me as?”
“Who would you like me to introduce you as?”
My hand still on her thigh, squeezing it lightly, “Your husband.” I said softly.
“Oh, Mitchie...” tears coming to her eyes “...I only wish.”
9:05 AM
The convention hall of the Allerton hotel moderately crowded…
“Welcome, ladies and gentleman.” Standing upon the stage, the moderator said, “This competition; our second annual internet poetry competition is, first; to hear the thoughts and writings of all of our wonderful, previously commercially unpublished poets, then to offer the prize of publishing, in a hard back edition, the writings of the winner of this year’s competition, along with the guaranteed placement in at least one major book marketing chain.”
After searching the large room for a few minutes we found the ‘TheWritersPlace.net’ representative, along with the other two semi-contestants, one male and one female.
Feeling proud as hell, but receiving fishy eyed stares when Barbara said, “I’d like you to meet my husband, Mitchell.”
Screw ‘em, I thought, if they think I’m her father!
After shaking hands around, wishing the other contestants, as they did Barbara, a half-hearted, “Good luck.” as the room was set for “stadium seating”, we drifted away to find chairs among total strangers.
“The rules are simple.” The moderator went on. “Names will be called in no particular order, but rather at random. When called, you are to come forward and recite up to three of your writings. Total time, though, is not to exceed seven minutes, and you will be timed!
Also, once you recite, we’d like you ‘stay put’ because we do not want the last of you speaking to an empty hall, because it just isn’t fair.
There will be a number of breaks throughout the day and we’ll have an hour for lunch then we’ll begin tomorrow morning at eight-thirty to hear whomever hadn’t recited today.
There will be a panel of three judges, including myself that are not affiliated with any of the participating Web sites, and you will be judged not only for the words written, but also the presentation of those words.
The winner will be announced tomorrow and we should have all of you heading back to your homes by no later than noon.
One other thing: the winner ‘must’ be present or the award will be given the runner-up.”
Sitting for hours, clapping weakly for the endless jumble of words, the meaning in many... most cases of which I could not even imagine. Clapping a bit harder for what was comical, or risqué or what was presented with a bit of theatrical technique. Then there was all that transcendental crap that I don’t think even the author knew what the hell he or she was talking about, and every now and then I would receive a gentle nudge when I dozed off and my head dropped onto my chest.
But my thoughts, actually, during these seemingly unending, boring hours were constantly of Barbara and of me and, why was she here with me?
Why me, a man that’s old enough to be her father.
Why would two seemingly intelligent people allow themselves to be placed in a situation that – we both knew – can only end in total heartbreak?
If Barbara and her husband shared even a thread of commonality: If Barbara and her husband occasionally talked to each other, really talked to each other, and if he were a bit less controlling, would she even be here with me today?
I know my feelings for Barbara are real! I do know that I love Barbara and I do know she loves me and yet, due to her marriage – and she says that ‘Chuck’ is really a good man – and she has an younger sister wit Down’s Syndrome and her mother is too frail to help care for her daughter.
Due to Barbara’s, in my opinion, overwhelming family responsibilities along with the physical distance, to say nothing of our, in my opinion, overwhelming twenty year age difference, I know our love can never be more than here, more than now.
As we all must do what our conscience dictates, she would not, nor would I expect or want Barbara to leave her sister and mother nor her other moral responsibilities
Looking to my right, looking at Barbara in profile...
Sensing my eyes on her, turning her head, “What?” she whispered.
Crooking my forefinger, she brought her ear to my mouth... When I saw her at the airport yesterday, I thought she was attractive, pretty in fact, now...
Whispering in Barbara’s ear, “I think you’re beautiful!”
4:10 PM
About thirty-five minutes from calling it for the day...
“ ‘Barbara Longford’!”
“Oh, God!”
“Barbara, you’re beautiful...” I whispered, kissing her cheek “… go on, baby. You’ll do great!”
Indeed looking beautiful dressed in a youthfully designed, knee length, light tan linen suite, brown blouse and brown and white, two inch heeled shoes, taking my seat again, I watched as she crossed the room to walk the three steps onto the stage.
Nervously attempting to smile, “Good afternoon,” nodding to the audience of her peers.
Now looking at the three judges, “I want to thank you for this opportunity.”
Closing her eyes, collecting herself a moment:
“Can You Hear Me, God?”
Opening her eyes, looking straight forward:
“Good morning, can you hear me, God?
I know you are very busy,
but I was so cold last night and I
want to know if you could send
an ange down to bring me an extra
blanket?”
The modulation of her voice low at first, but now gaining confidence...
“It’s not just for me, I have this
little friend who crawls under my
cover sometimes and he
is so cold too.
I call him Charlie, but
you already knew that
And God, if you know anyone that needs
a little boy, and I’m a good little boy,
please send them to me. I’ve been
waiting so long for a mommy and
a daddy.”
Looking about, I see most of the audience are sitting a bit straighter in their seats watching, and listening to my Barbara.
“I wish that I had a real home and a
real family that would love me. I
promise to always be a good boy
and I’ll eat whatever food they give
me and keep my room clean and
take baths when I have to.”
Looking closely, I see that Barbara’s eyes remain steadily looking outward, towards the audience.
“And God, if you send me a mommy
and a daddy, can you make sure
that they will love Charlie, too? He
is very small, even for a mouse, and
he doesn’t eat very much,
but you already knew that.
Thank you, God. I mean, Amen.”
‘Great’! I thought as...
As though afraid clapping for another contestant might diminish audience appreciation for the recital of their own poetry, now came polite clapping, however...
‘Great’ !I thought as clapping loudly, “Yea, Barb!”
Waiting a few seconds for everything to settle down:
“As both poems are on the longer side,” Barbara said, “I’ll only recite two today.”
Closing her eyes once again...
Opening her eyes...
“ ‘Thirst’.”
Barbara’s eyes on me…
Only on me...
“I crawled into an untidy bed,
and lay still until his breath was
at my back,”
She looked into me...
“a soft tongue cooling
the sunburned skin
on my neck,
my round bottom pushing
closer and closer into the curve
of his body.”
Barbara’ s eyes saw to my soul...
“Spread fingers walked
the length of me,
chilled skin rising in ovation.”
Our eyes unwavering, her tears coming. Hesitating, suppressing a sob...
“His warm hand skimmed
over the curve of my hip
to a waiting well–his fingers
tickled the surface and dipped
long into the warm waters
and he spoke close to my ear
words he had never spoken,
Halting a moment to bring her voice and emotion under control.
“indescribable things
said only between lovers,
and turned my body to his.”
Those about now looking... from her to me. Sensing our love. Feeling the sadness...
“Shhh, not a word”, he said,
and took a cool sip
then plunged
the depths of the well
until all thirst was quenched.”
Our eyes locked. Unashamed, her tears, my tears, our tears ran.
Silence!
Silence...The room silent.
Writers Notation: The poetry found in the last and this ‘semi-fictional’ episode was ‘not’ written by this writer.
Next PIT 2/19: Thereafter
