#i HATE this feeling it reminds of the the heart congestion from a year ago and i'm going to start ripping up napkins in stress

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Sick Fic I Didn't Bother To Name

Post canon, Tim comes over to look after Jon while Martin is at work.

cw dizziness, fever, nausea, fainting, mentions of vomit, food mention I guess. Let me know if I should add more warnings, this is just a fluffy little sick fic it might have some light angst I don't really remember.

The thought of moving makes Jon want to cry.  All his muscles hurt.  The worm scars aching like the day they were made.  He’s just going to lie there here until someone makes him move.  

Which will probably be soon, because he’s positive Martin has asked Tim to come over and …water him?  

No, in all seriousness, he can’t exactly recall what Martin told him this morning as he was leaving for work.  Something about not letting him go in to work, no working online, no checking his email, something something Tim?  Not that Jon is feeling well enough to get his computer.  Let alone let it assault his over-sensitive eyes with the harsh light of the screen.  Which is unfortunate, because he thinks Martin probably left him a text about whatever he missed this morning.  

He really hopes Martin thought to email his students.  He’ll try to remember to ask Tim to check.  If Tim’s even coming.  

Christ, he’s not thinking straight.  

He thinks Tim is coming, but if not, he’s got paracetamol, his inhaler, water, a thermos of tea, some saltines, a little cup of applesauce, excedrin, a thermometer (Jon isn’t sure why Martin left him that, there is no way he’s going to use that he just… really really hates thermometers, they mean he’s ill and that meant no school and staying quiet alone and miserable in his room so ill to open a book if he was ill enough for his grandmother to notice, it was less bad when he got to go to the school nurse.  Actually got some medicine sometimes, but they often sent him home too, and then his grandmother was cross that she had to pick him up.  In any case, no thermometer if he has a say in it.), bin, tissues (again Jon isn’t sure why, he’s not particularly congested, but Martin is Martin and is taking care of him even when he’s at work which makes Jon feel warm to his core, not from the fever that he knows he’s running.), lucozade, and his cane.  Everything in easy reach.  

He should probably take some medicine, but even reaching that far feels like too much.  He’s just going to lay here, on top of his blanket pile until the fever chills take him back and he has to burrow under them again.  It’s been the challenge all night to find a comfortable enough temperature to sleep.  A challenge he’s mostly been losing.  Leaving him feeling gritty and heavy and with a headache.  

He just wants to sleep.  Drifting in and out of it with frantic almost laziness.  Rolling heat to biting cold.  He wishes he could get his laptop, willing to bear the brightness if only to get a distraction from his discomfort.  

He’s just managed a trip to and from the loo, when Tim arrives.  Jon’s collapsed back on his blanket nest on the couch when Tim calls out before keys jangle in the lock.  Jon’s too busy trying not to pass out to make out words.  He’s impressed he managed the loo without a surprise nap.  But, he can make no promises that he won’t pass out now.  

He comes to with the inside of Tim’s wrist pressed to his forehead.  With a quiet gasp.  And then a frankly embarrassing sound as he fully absorbs how wonderfully cool Tim’s wrist is.  

“Hey there, bud.  Hate to ask, but did you just pass out from just lying there, because if so, I’m gonna have to be a little worried?”  

Jon tries to focus on Tim.  “No… no got back from the toilet and surprise nap.”  

Tim looks relieved.  

Jon is just relieved that he isn’t alone.  Where he can too easily spiral.  Being alone and miserable leaves it too easy to slip into memories.  Especially with the impressive fever that he’s got to be running, if the agonizing walk from couch to loo and loo to couch is any indication.  His muscles are shaking from fatigue from that pathetically short walk, and he’d had a death grip on his cane and the wall to keep upright.  Christ, he’s really not well.  

Tim makes a big show of wiping his brow and breathing a sigh of relief.  “Hey think you can give me some of the couch?”  

Jon would love to, he nods, but consciousness flutters when he tries to sit up.  Losing his vision to the dizziness again.  Tim catches him against his chest, and gently holds him steady as he slips onto the couch, positioning Jon as best he can.  Jon snuggling against Tim’s hooded jumper.  

He still can’t believe he’s allowed to do this.  A few years ago, Tim didn’t want to be in the same room with him.  But …here he is.  Here when it counts.  (Although Martin would probably tell him that it counted earlier too, that Tim should have been by his side, a thought that he’s been trying to work through in therapy, and Jon is working through in reverse in his own.)  Jon could cry.  Might cry.  Fever’s high enough that he probably will.  

“Got a bit worried when you didn’t answer any texts.  Wanted to see if you needed anything.”  

“‘m sorry.”  Jon really hadn’t thought to check his phone, and even if he had, well not as if he’d been up to reading anything on a tiny bright screen.  Even the thought of doing so makes his head hurt more than it already does.  

“Don’t worry about it.  Have you taken some meds recently?”  

Jon has no idea what time it is, or when Martin left.  Can’t even keep track of how light it is outside with the blinds drawn and his face shoved into Tim.  “Had some before Martin left?”  

Tim’s got an arm around Jon.  He’s rubbing his back.  And there is a tightness in Jon’s chest.  It’s been years.  It’s been years.  It’s been years, and he still can’t believe that Tim is really back and here and cares.  Tim could hold him every moment he can stand touch, and it wouldn’t be enough.  Jon needs.  He needs the attention and care, and just needs his friend in general.  And if he didn’t feel so sick, he could happily live in this moment forever.  If he wasn’t dizzy and feverish and dreadfully queasy.  

Tim’s hand stills, and a shuddery breath escapes Jon with the absence.  

Tim’s heart lurches.  He goes back to rubbing Jon’s back.  He’s pretty sure this is Jon crying and not Jon about to puke.  Jon’s decent at letting him know these sorts of things, or at least is consistent in his physical cues.  “Hey, bud.  Just gonna get you some fever reducers, it’s about time, I think.  Marto texted me when he was leaving.  Sorry about leaving you alone for a bit.  Had to finish up my shift and grab a shower and grab some soup making stuff and some DVDs, in case you wanna watch anything.  But, I’m not going anywhere.  You’re stuck with me.”  

Jon huffs a watery laugh.  Or maybe it’s a sob.  it’s damp, but that’s okay.   

“You just gotta sit up a little.  Wow, Marto really stocked up the coffee table for you, huh.  He loves you a lot.  Also, he worries.”  

Tim tilts Jon slightly more upright, and wipes away the tears, before handing him some medicine and some lucozade.  Martin said Jon had been sick earlier (probably more due to the POTS flaring up, Martin hoped, and Tim also hopes.  Not that a POTS flare up is a good thing, but if he can keep Jon full of salt and keep his feet up, he shouldn’t have any trouble keeping fluids in him, which makes things easier), in any case, the electrolytes are probably a good idea.  

“You thrown up recently?”  

Signs ‘no.’  That’s good.  

“Wanna try some crackers?”  

Jon shrugs.  

“If you’re up to it later, I can make us some soup, ‘kay?”  

Jon nods, looking …faded.  Probably best to get his legs up and him cozy.  

“Mind if I get you in a more comfy position?”  

Jon doesn’t answer, just blinks dizzily, so Tim carefully gets up, and props Jon’s feet up with the decorative pillows that he knows Jon thinks are stupid, and tucks a couple of the blankets around Jon.  Not too many, not wanting Jon’s temperature to climb any higher, but he can’t just watch Jon shiver.  Hurts too much to watch.  

Reminds him of all the times he ignored him.  All the times he hasn’t been there.  And there’ve been many.  He should have been there.  

So he’ll risk a couple blankets, even though Jon is burning away.  Hopefully the fever reducers do their job soon.  He does, however get a damp flannel for Jon’s forehead while he’s up.  

He thinks Jon might be unconscious again, but he won’t worry about that unless he doesn’t come around in a minute or so.  

Jon’s awake again by the time Tim has himself settled back on the couch.  

“How about some TV?  You up for that?”  

Jon just whines.  

“We’ll start some, and if it makes it worse, we’ll turn it off, okay?”  

Jon wiggles a little, getting comfortable.  And Tim chuckles.  

“Okay, bud.  You get some rest, okay?  I’ll make you some soup later, if you’re up for it.  I got ingredients for your favorite.  Or smoothies, if that sounds better.”  

Jon makes a sound of complaint as Tim as started to talk over the intro music.  

Tim chuckles.  “Alright, alright.  Just let me know if you get hungry.  Martin will be home tonight, until then, you’re stuck with me.”  

Jon falls asleep within an episode with Tim gently carding his fingers through his hair.  

[johnkrrasinski]

i dreamt of you all sumer long;

full masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 2,607

Warning: angst with a happy ending :)

Summary: based on the song ‘betty’ by taylor swift except bucky ain’t no cheater.

a/n: i dedicate this one to all my fellow swifties. betty was an instant favourite as soon as i first heard it when folklore came out. it has been begging for me to write a fanfic inspired by it and now it’s finally out and i’m really happy about it. hope you like it. please leave a comment & like :) 

He stood on the doorstep of your house, with a bouquet of pink roses in his hands and a hood over his head. A little tipsy and full of sorry. “You can always turn around," the voice in his head whispered just a few minutes ago when he stopped at a streetlight illuminating his path to the street he had passed a million times before.

But now that he was standing in your front porch light of this cozy little house he had grown to know as if it was his second home before the avalanche this summer was, the feeling was finally sinking in.

“Have you seen Bucky?”

“No, I thought he was with you.”

“Well, he was but then Steve asked me to dance and he just… disappeared.”

“Maybe he went to the bathroom?”

“Yeah, I’ll just try to call him again. Thanks, Nat.”

You searched for him in the halls and within the classrooms but there was no sign of him. You knew that Bucky hated the crowds and he always tried to avoid them. But Bucky knew how much this dance meant to you and how long you had been looking forward to this night. You put on your best dress and makeup for him tonight and you wanted to sway to your favourite song with him. He promised that he would try to make this night an incredible one for you. He seemed to have forgotten that promise because he wasn’t even answering your calls or texts to let you know where he was hiding.

You went to the boys’ locker room and what you saw was a bullet right in the centre of your heart. Bucky had his lips on a classmate of yours’ with his back pressed against the locker.

“Bucky…?”

He drew this moment out in his head after weeks of yearning for the way your lips tasted when you used to kiss in his car and downtown bars. And the pattern of your braids that adorned the view of you under the sunset, and the star-shaped traces of his fingers around your scars.

The only thing he wanted to do was make it up to you.

Bucky was a deer caught in headlights when he heard your meek voice calling out his name. He was too stunned by the act she had just caught him off guard with. He was on his way to somewhere less congested to calm himself down because the crowds always evoked the anxiety in him and Steve had asked her to dance when her favourite song was playing from the far side of the gym when he heard the sound of cries from the locker room. He couldn’t help but approach the sound, he really should’ve kept walking instead of interfering. He saw her sitting on the bench in her dress with a tissue in her hand and sobbed.

“Hey, you okay?”

“James… What are you doing here?” She looked up with her swollen eyes.

“I was on my way to the library but I heard someone was crying so I had to check it out.” He scratched the back of his head. “Maybe I should’ve given you some space instead…”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you, James.” She smiled. “Wanna sit?”

“…Yeah, sure.” He doubtfully accepted the offer. “What happened?”

“Kevin broke up with me over the phone while I was on my way to the dance and he came with Cecilia.”

“Jeez, what a dickhead.”

“Yeah, I knew he and Cecil had been fooling around behind my back for months but he always told me that I was being crazy and that I have to trust him more, and I always believed him until tonight he showed me what a jackass he actually is.”

“Hey, he doesn’t deserve you. You should be with someone who loves you and treats you better.” Bucky was never one to give good advice or comfort to his friends but his mama raised him to be a gentleman and to treat a girl like a queen. She always reminded him that if he ever broke a girl’s heart, she would beat his ass.

She smiled, “thanks, James. You’re really sweet.”

He nodded, “well, I should go. Y/N might be looking for me.”

“…Right, you are with Y/N.” For a moment there, she forgot that he and you were the school’s favourite couple.  

“Yeah, so, you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me.”

He got up and started walking toward the exit when he heard her call his name. “James…”

He turned around to see her on her feet already when she threw herself into him and startled him by pressing her lips onto his and pushed him onto the locker as it rattled with the pressure of his body against it. He was too dumbfounded to get her off of him when he heard your voice, “Bucky…?”

He could hear the music emanating from within the house as another of his classmate passed by, bumping his shoulder to get through the entrance. Another one of your stupid friends, he used to say, and you used to chide at him for that. But now he felt like he was the biggest idiot. "You got this, don't be a fucking coward." He braced himself.

So he showed up uninvited and his eyes scanned every corner of the room, seeking for that one face that haunted his dreams all summer long. Will you have me? will you love me? Will you kiss me? The lingering questions loomed over his head like a heavy cloud. What if you told him to go fuck myself instead? If you kissed me, will it patch you broken wings? He was only seventeen, he didn’t know anything but he knew that he missed you.

You greeted each one of your friends who came to your birthday party. You were grateful for another year and your friends whom you consider your second family. You were the type of person who was friends with everyone even though you only considered Natasha as and Wanda as your best friends, your most trusted confidants, they were the ones who stitched you back together after you caught Bucky cheating… Or at least that’s what you thought.  

So you invented the whole school to your party and almost everyone came. The jocks, the popular girls, the nerds, even some of your seniors were there too. Your house was packed with high school kids dancing, drinking and laughing… But there was something missing.

He should’ve been there with you. He should’ve been the one standing right beside you when your schoolmates were singing happy birthday to you. He should’ve been there to kiss you and hold you after the party was over and everyone had gone home. But he wasn’t. Because you thought you knew someone and you thought someone loved you but sometimes you’re just enough for them and they would go looking for excitement in somewhere else.

“Y/N! Wait a minute, would you listen to me?!”

“I’ve heard enough. Most importantly… I’ve seen enough.”

“No, you don’t understand, she kissed me! She was crying and, and, I was trying to comfort her and we talked and the next thing I knew she kissed me!” He frantically explained through his ragged breaths.

“But did you stop her?”

He was silent. What the hell was he supposed to say? He couldn’t stop her because he didn’t have it in him to reject a vulnerable woman? That’s how his mama raised him right? To treat every girl with respect and to take care of a girl especially when she’s emotional. Why is being seventeen so confusing?

“I was… I was trying to but-”

“I’ve heard enough of your bullshit, James.” Oh no, you called his first name. Oh man, he had truly fucked up.

“I- I would never cheat on you, y/n! You really think I could do such a thing to you?”

“Not anymore.” You glared at him with all conviction in your heart and your classmates gathered around to watch the quarrel as your heart was bisecting.

“Well, I guess then this is it.” He didn’t mean it. He wished he had fought a little harder for you. To make you stay and hearken. But he gave up too easily. He has always been a lover than a fighter after all, but how he wished he had turned himself into the other one at that moment.  

You chatted with Natasha and Wanda in your living room and you giggled at another witty joke Natasha had just said. Natasha and Wanda always had a way of making you giggle even when your mood was contrasting the expressions on your face. The conversation faded into the background as your mind drifted to Bucky’s face. And that’s when you saw him…

Bucky’s breath hitched when he saw you for the first time after all these weeks. He swore he had prepared every word he was going to say to you and how he was going to act when- if You agreed to talk to him. But it was always easier said than done.

He couldn’t decipher the look on your face when your eyes met. Was it longing? Was it contempt? Was it disbelief? You were always difficult to read. God, he wished he was a mind reader sometimes.

Kids started murmuring things from one another because the entire school loved you and Bucky and everyone started talking when you two ended things and that he was caught ‘cheating.’ And now everyone’s jaws dropped when they thought you and Bucky were truly over and that he was the last person that would be invited to your party.

Bucky stopped in his tracks and if the earth could open up and swallow him so he wouldn’t have to deal with his annoying schoolmates and your fury, that wouldn’t be the worst scenario right now. But he was here and he might’ve had been a fool and a recreant once but he was going to fix it now. He can’t keep running away when things get the slightest bit inconvenient.

So he dragged his feet towards you with the bouquet of flowers still in his hands and once he was close enough to you, he sheepishly spoke, “hi.”

“You’ve got some balls to show up here.” You gritted through your teeth.

He gulped, “I wanted to talk… And to wish you, happy birthday.” He handed you the flowers and also a piece of his heart, hoping that you would take him back.

You accepted it. They were lovely but could a bouquet of flowers really mend the wounds he had inflicted? “What do you want, Bucky?”

“Just a few minutes to explain… everything. After this, if you never wanna see me or talk to me ever again, I’ll leave you alone.”

Was it really what you wanted? Curse your heart for always knowing better. But your stubborn head always had its hands on the wheel, so, forever can spare a minute… right? “Okay, let’s talk in the garden.”

Your garden, the place where you and Bucky used to make out when your parents weren’t home and laid under the broad daylight. Was it wise to lead him here? You shushed the whispers of your heart. Memories came swirling through like a hurricane, banging on your door, begging for you to open up and let him back in.

“Go ahead.”

“Okay, I’m just gonna make this quick but um…” He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head. Something he always did when he was nervous or didn’t know what to say. He looked down and spoke, “y/n, I am so sorry for what I did to you at the dance. I know I should’ve- God I should’ve stopped her and should’ve stayed with you. I should’ve kept my promise to try harder for you but I didn’t. And I know I’m a fucking idiot but… I’ve missed you. So badly. And I wish I could turn back the time and fixed it but all I can do now is apologize.” Your tears were threatening to fall at the sincerity of his words. You never wanted this. You wished Bucky had known better but to love is to lose your mind and you were at fault for this mess too.

“I understand if you don’t wanna see me around or deal with me again, I came here knowing you’d never take me back because you told me once that cheating was your dealbreaker and what I did was just as shitty but, if this is the last time you’ll ever talk to me, I had to get it out of my chest. That’s all.” He sighed, the gloom in his heart wasn’t withering away but at least the weight in his heard was lighter now that he had come clean.  “I’m gonna go now, you should go back to your friends, they are waiting.” He inched his face closer to you to kiss you on the cheek and you were too mesmerized by the blue in his eyes to shun away.

“Goodbye, y/n. And once again, happy birthday.” He turned around to leave, going for the exit door of your garden so he didn’t have to walk past through the crowds and deal with prying questions about their… whatever they are now or what truly happened at the dance. He had made peace with you and that’s all that mattered to him.

He was a few steps away from her when he heard her voice calling his name, “Bucky, wait…”

He stopped and turned to your direction only to catch you narrowing the gap and jumped on him. He was quick to catch her as they used to after a few days of not seeing each other and they both had missed each other terribly. She pressed her lips on top of his and circled her arms around his neck to hold onto him. Because who was she kidding? She had missed him so badly too. She dreamt of him calling her to apologize or to show up at her party but never once did she admit it. And now, her heart was back in her arms and she didn’t want to let him go ever again.

Their kiss with filled of longing as their lips moved like a perfect symphony. One of his hands moved to her face to hold her even closer because everything he desired was coming true and he was desperate to make it stay a reality. Your hands grabbed his hair as your tongues tangled, dancing in sync. You pulled away when the need for air was overwhelming, “I forgive you.” You smiled as your foreheads were pressed together.

He too smiled at that, “does this mean you will take me back?”

You nodded, “it does.” Bucky grinned wider, the bliss in his face was palpable. Oh, how good it felt to see him smile again. Bucky could say the same.

He kissed you once more with his hand cupping your cheek and when he pulled away, he gazed into your beautiful eyes and confessed, “I love you. So much. I never stopped loving you.”

“I love you too.” You meant it with every bit of your heart.

He put you on the ground and you were still intertwined with each other, too in love and too elated to pay attention to the curious peeks and snooping ears. “Let’s go back inside, yeah? It’s cold here. And you should be there with me.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be anyway.”

[lovemesomesurveys]

[yourheaventonight]

What color is your couch? They’re gray.

How do you normally wear your hair? It’s always up in a messy bun.

Alcohol = the ultimate truth serum. Yes or no? Some people tend to get too talkative and comfortable and say things they probably wouldn’t normally. 

Are you a righty or a lefty? I’m a righty.

Do you own a pair of handcuffs? No.

Do flying bugs creep you out? Ew, yes. ALL bugs creep me out, but flying definitely doesn’t help cause they can fly right at me. lsflsfjldkfj

Can a girl love sex without being a whore? ...Yes. Loving sex doesn’t make you a whore. I think a lot of people love sex. I’m not going to judge people’s sex lives. Also, I just don’t use those type of terms. 

Would you ever be in a long-distance relationship? I don’t know.

Do lemons sound appealing to you at the moment? I like lemon flavored desserts, but I don’t eat actual lemons.

What size bed do you have? A full.

When was the last time you brushed your teeth? Yesterday. Before you judge, it’s only 6:36AM so I haven’t done so yet today.

Can you sleep in total darkness? Nooo. I have to sleep with my TV on for some light and sound.

What piercings do you have? Just my earlobes.

Any tattoos? Nope.

Is your glass half empty or half full? My glass is broken.

Are frogs cute or gross? The slimy thing isn’t so cute.

Do you ever wish you were born in a different century? No.

Which country's culture interests you most? Things from all different kinds of cultures interest me. <<<

What kind of guys/girls do you go for? None for the past few years...  I forget what it feels like to be crushing or have an interest in someone in that way. It feels like forever ago since I’ve last felt that.

Do you regret something you have no real control over? Yes.

Do you enjoy writing? I used to.

What do you have as your screen saver? My screen just goes black after like 15 minutes. 

Do you have a webcam? It’s built into my MacBook. I’ve never used it, though.

Do you still have your tonsils? Yes.

Aren't beetles fucking grody? Ugh, what’s with the bug questions in the past two surveys I’ve done. ALL BUGS ARE GROSS AND CREEPY.

How do you feel about Oprah? I’ve never been obsessed like a lot of people seemed/seem to be.

^ What the fuck kind of name is Oprah anyway? It reminds me of okra. Don’t gotta attack her name.

Would you ever pierce your tongue twice? Like, one right next to the other? I wouldn’t pierce it at all.

Do you like bonfires? Yes. I’ve always wanted to have one on the beach.

What makes your skin crawl? BUGS.

What's your favorite flower? I don’t really have one.

Look up Community Property by Steel Panther. Listen to the whole song. No.

Share your thoughts here. --

Have you ever dyed your hair an unnatural color? I’ve been dyeing it red the past few years. 

What's for dinner? I’m not sure, yet. 

Have you ever had someone draw a picture of you before? I’ve had those caricature drawings done before.

What confuses you most? Life.

Do you like monkeys? Sure. 

Does anything on your body hurt at the moment? Of course.

Have you ever been called a bad influence? Not that I know of.

What book are you reading right now? Cold Highway by Mary Stone.

Any bands you would like to recommend to me? Hmm.

What makes you laugh? My doggo.

What time is it? 6:47AM.

Doesn't intentionally bad grammar annoy you? Yes.

What type of person can you not stand? Arrogant, cocky, close-minded, very opinionated and judgmental people.

Care to share what song is stuck in your head? There isn’t one, currently.

What languages can you speak? Just English fluently, but I know some Spanish.

Pirates are better than ninjas. Fact or fiction? I’m gonna go with pirates cause it reminds of Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland, one of my favorite rides.

There is always a bit of truth behind every 'j/k', yes? Not always, but sometimes I do think that. Especially if it’s said more than once.

What do you get complimented on most often? Nothing.

What's the weirdest compliment you've ever received? Someone apparently thought I had polio because I’m in a wheelchair and told me that I looked pretty for someone with polio. Uh...

Who/what was the last person/thing to make you blush? I don’t recall.

What kind of muffins do you like? Banana (without the nut), blueberry, cinnamon streusel, lemon poppyseed, chocolate chip, birthday cake. Dang, I want a muffin now.

Do you like warm or cold weather more? Cold, hands down.

Don't you hate it when sites go under maintenance and you cant get access? If it’s something I need access to at that moment, like typically that tends to happen with websites I pay my bills on. 

What form(s) of art do you enjoy most? Literature, film, music.

Piercings are sexy. Truth or lie? I’m not into them.

Have you ever worn a French maid costume? No.

Have you ever had couscous? I don’t know what that is.

Do you like listening to yourself talk? Ew, no.

When was the last time you were congested? Hm. It’s been awhile.

Do you wear eyeliner? When I actually wear makeup, yes, but I haven’t worn any makeup in like 4 years.

Do you show everyone your tongue when something turns it another color? No, I don’t feel the need to do that.

Who is the greatest writer alive, in your opinion? There’s countless great writers. How about the greatest painter? There’s countless great painters. I may not have a favorite myself, but I can acknowledge that there’s a lot of beautiful art pieces out there.

The greatest musician? There’s countless great musicians. 

The greatest poet? There’s countless great poets. I don’t read poetry, but again I can acknowledge there’s a lot of great poets out there.

Have any good scar stories you want to share? I don’t consider any of them “good.”

Are you pierced anywhere below the waist? No, I’m not.

Facebook games: Fun or brain-frying? I don’t play any.

Do you dance well? Not at all.

Are you into anyone at the moment? No.

Do you touch yourself at night? No.

What body parts can you 'crack'? My knuckles, wrists, arms, neck.

What color do you wear most often? Black.

What about the opposite sex drives you crazy? (The good kinda crazy.) It’s been so long since I’ve been interested in someone or felt that way.

What candle/incense flavors do you enjoy most? (Yes I said flavors. :P) Autumnal scents from Bath & Body Works and patchouli. 

Do you complain a lot? In surveys and on Twitter, but I keep to myself a lot in person. I could complain a lot to those around me if I wanted to, but I don’t because I don’t want to be a burden, annoying, or bring them down. I’ve known people who constantly complained and it gets to be a lot real quick. It’s draining. So,  I just suffer in silence, ha.

What do you do when you're mad? Shutdown and cry.

Have you ever thought you could 'save' someone? No. 

Do you have any 'special' talents? *Wiggles eyebrows* Nope.

Yankee makes the best candles. Yes or no? Kinda overpriced.

What do you do when you can't sleep? I have a nightly routine that consists of scrolling through Tumblr, doing surveys, and listening to ASMR for that reason.

Have you ever liked someone you barely knew? Little crushes, yeah.

When was the last time you felt like a creeper? I don’t feel like a creeper.

Who seems to have taken up permanent residence in your thoughts? Not a who, but certain things.

Black & Milds: yay or nay? I don’t smoke.

Is smoking a turn-on for you? No.

Do you get excited or scared when you see a thunderstorm brewing? I love ‘em. We don’t get them often here, though.

Speaking of brew, when's the last time you had a beer? Almost 10 years ago. If I’m talkin’ brew I’m talking coffee.

What sub-genre of metal do you enjoy most? I don’t listen to metal.

Do you need to shave? No.

How do you feel about Obama? This question has come up in a lot of the surveys I’ve done lately.

Do you own any bandanas? Nope.

What's your favorite gangster movie? I don’t watch any.

Who/what makes your heart race? Anxiety.

How do you think I should end this survey? You just did.

[team-science-mega-nerds]

Fictober Prompt #20: “You could talk about it, you know?”

Fandom: Supergirl:

Pairing: AgentCorp (Alex x Lena)

Warnings: None

When Alex gets the call, she starts packing immediately. She calls Kara on the way to the airport and texts Eliza, but no matter what they say, she’s going. Research is something that Alex can do mindlessly. It requires focus, yes, but when she’s in the zone, nothing else matters. Alex also likes trying new things. Her ex had called her adventurous in the bedroom but old reliable in real life and Alex hated her so much for it, that she took a contract position in Metropolis for six months. Alex was tired of being that person. Predictable. She wanted something more. 

And then, there’s what happened four months ago. But that? Alex never talks about. 

These days, Alex goes with the flow and if that means being one of seventy-five researchers boarding a ship from Norway and embarking on a year-long arctic expedition, then so be it. She knows the training itself will be difficult. This isn’t just about research, it’s about mental and physical stability and Alex has to dig deep to remain consistent and convince everyone that she’s prepared. 

When they actually embark, Alex has a backpack filled with letters written from Kara. Most of them are supportive, plenty are questioning, but Alex’s replies have always been good. Positive. She’s ready. She can’t deal with real-life right now. 

The actual expedition begins with a bang. Champagne in the main cafeteria and some kind of stew that looks like it would weigh Alex down. Alex lingers around a few other researchers, who she’d call friends at this point, and pokes around at some bread. “I’m more of a whiskey girl myself,” Someone says a few tables over. Alex pokes her head up, recognizing the voice almost immediately. Lena Luthor. A brilliant mind, a no-bullshit attitude, Alex had been warned at least a dozen times to stay away from her. She bought herself onto this ship, Derek had muttered to Alex when they’d received their wetsuits and gear. 

Alex was used to men undermining her, so she took his words with a grain of salt, but she had to wonder. Almost everyone had made their research intentions clear by now, but Lena was still a mystery. Alex discards her plate and approaches Lena. Alex unzips her jacket and flashes the flask she has in her double-layered jacket. “Wanna take a walk?” 

“Absolutely,” Lena says, eagerly following Alex. 

A walk was maybe pushing it, but avoiding the congestion of the mess hall, Lena and Alex find an empty lab with a small lounge area. Lena sits on the couch first but Alex holds out her hand. “I’m Alex.”

“Yeah, I know and I suspect you know who I am.” Lena grabs the flask out of Alex’s pocket without hesitation. “Saw you on the range, pretty impressive.”

“Army.”

“I figured.” Alex didn’t know that anyone had been paying attention to her, let alone someone as well known as Lena. Alex believes that Lena’s intentions must be something greater. This isn’t just about publicity. The amount of training involved alone would make most people quit on day one. Lena had struggled with some of the tactical elements. She was terrible with her shotgun and not very good at getting into her harness during their helicopter drills. But Lena was persistent and Alex could see it in her eyes, even as they traded a flask filled with whiskey back and forth. “You’re studying polar bear movement and health?”

“Yep.” Alex kicks back and sinks into the couch. “You must be on the small scale climate change team.”

“Team?” 

“You guys are like the cool kids. We’re the dweebs,” Alex smiles. “You’re doing the 2-1-2 rotation?”

“Yeah, you too, right?” Alex nods. “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” Alex doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing but she decides that she won’t ignore this friendship in favor of isolating herself.  

In her first week on the ship, Alex manages to finally come up with a proper thesis. She’s prepared to write a paper on this when the mission is over but she’s a bit rusty. Alex treks on, learning everything she can from her fellow researchers, while they’re still in the lull before things start picking up. While Alex is just wrapping up her Skype session with Kara, she hears frustrated muttering from the room across the hall. Lena’s room to be exact. 

“Luthor, you need help?” Alex yells. 

“Fucking shit!” Lena grumbles. “Yeah, can you come here for a sec?” Alex blows a kiss to Kara before signing out and heading over to Lena’s room. This is only the third time Alex has been in here but it’s just as clean as it was on that very first day. Lena is sitting on the ground with a mess of wires and her computer next to her. “This system is from like the 80s.”

“You’re not so smart after all,” Alex jokes as she shoos Lena aside and gets to work setting up the equipment. Lena lounges on her bed and watches Alex. 

“So, that was your sister, right?” 

“Hm?”

“That you were just talking to.” Alex glances up for a second. Usually, Lena is very casual but something about this conversation seems to be leading somewhere different. 

“Yeah. Kara.” 

“Because I wondered…” Alex’s heart starts to race. Alex can’t meet Lena’s eyes. She doesn’t want anyone wondering anything about her. She took this journey to get away from hard questions not to run right into them. “About the ring.”

“What ring?” 

“The one that’s missing from your finger.” Alex looks down at her hand and the tan line that’s sitting vacant on her ring finger. “Anyway...I’ll stop being observant if you want me to.”

“Please. It’s not something I really want to get into.” Lena respects her wishes. They continue their nightly drinking sessions which turn into rowdy card games and once - only once - Alex looks into Lena’s eyes for longer than necessary. It’s all fine. Alex calls Kara that night and she sits in her locked room, cuddling a pillow and listening to Kara talk endlessly about her day. 

“Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Alex mutters. 

“I would get on a plane and find you if you needed it.”

“You can’t. Literally, it’d be impossible.”

“Sisters do impossible things all the time.” Kara smiles. “You’re out there trying to save the world, aren’t you?” Kara’s video feed keeps freezing and it drives Alex crazy. So crazy that she kicks a hole through the screen. She didn’t know that being around this many people would feel like loneliness. The same feeling that she’d been trying to drown out for four months slowly began to creep up on her. 

All this and her stupid pride nearly get her killed the next day. As she’s laying there with her life flashing before her eyes, she considers how fitting it is that she will probably freeze to death out there. Alex is saved because she always is. The med bay is frenzied, everyone checking in on her and no one acknowledging the fact that Alex had been reckless. It takes a while for Alex to regain feeling in her body and then, suddenly, all the emotions come flooding in. Lena picks that exact moment to come into the room. “Was that a fucking cry for help or something?” Alex notices that Lena’s eyes are red like she’d been crying. 

“Fuck off-.”

“You were reckless out there. You need to do better.”

“Thanks. That’s helpful.”

“What do you want me to say?” Lena asks as she shrugs out of her jacket and practically throws it into a chair. “You know you’re brooding might be cool where you’re from but if it’s going to put you in danger like that, then you seriously need to talk to someone.”

“It was a mistake.” 

“You can’t make mistakes like that not when people care-.” Lena closes her eyes. “The polar bears need you.” Alex breaks into a fit of laughter that quickly morphs into something unexplainable. Tears. Lena holds her through it all which makes Alex feel different. 

Renewed. 

After Alex has pushed around her dinner and listened to Lena explain everything she’s read in their daily news debrief, things between them get very quiet. Alex expects a question because Lena is the kind of person who needs to know everything. Instead, Lena offers Alex a middle ground. “I’m going to ask you something now.” Lena props her head up with her elbows pressed against Alex’s hospital bed. “Are you married?”

“No.”

“Divorced?”

“No.” Lena looks confused so Alex adds, “I was though. Married, I mean.” 

“You could talk about it, you know?” Lena motions to the empty room. “It’s just us. All the secrets travel out in that ice-cold tundra and...they disappear.”

“She’d dead, Lena.” Alex sits up and wonders why it feels okay to finally talk about her. “She died four months before we started training. Which, everyone told me...screamed and yelled at me, don’t go out there, you’re just upset. ‘Just upset’”.” Alex scoffs. “If they understood the fucking insanity of life without...her.” For once, Alex isn’t coddled, she’s allowed to feel everything. It doesn’t come as a surprise that Lena is the one who lets her. “If I didn’t do this if I didn’t take this risk...I couldn’t have made it back home. Too many reminders.”

“Grief is a nuisance,” Lena remarks. “If only it was all good times on the HMS Discovery.” There’s something that signals clarity in Lena’s voice. Alex doesn’t feel talked down to but understood. It’s taken her a while to find someone who understands the impermanence of life. It makes sense if Alex takes a step back and thinks about it. Lena studies climate change. They're both constantly thinking about how the world is folding in on itself more and more every day. This idea and this moment become the cornerstone of their friendship. 

Four months and two stops into the expedition and Alex and Lena find themselves pulling an all-nighter in the lab. Alex is used to this kind of work, Lena slugs through it. “Hey, I read a conspiracy theory about you today.”

“Really? Was it good? Am I an alien yet, I’ve always wanted to be called an alien.” Alex finishes a measurement and yanks off her gloves. 

“No, actually, someone apparently thinks that you’re not even on this expedition but actually in Italy with...get this: your rugby-playing boyfriend.” Lena seems to find it significantly less funny than Alex does. 

“That’s the best they can come up with?” Lena rolls her eyes. “The idea that I’m straight is the most offensive part of that, by the way.” 

“Aren’t rugby players kinda...jocky?”

“You’re just jealous 'cause you’re a giant nerd.” Lena whacks Alex’s stomach with the back of her hand. “A nerd with abs, very dynamic.” 

Two hours later, they have their first kiss. It’s an accident. Lena’s lips brushing against Alex’s neck as they pull apart from a hug. The second kiss comes at full force. It’s Alex who initiates it and as she’s pulling Lena into her room, it’s Alex that pushes her away. “I can’t. Sorry, it’s not…” Alex covers her face with her hands. She groans and turns away. “This is wrong. It’s...it’s me, I don’t know what I’m doing.” If Lena had said something like neither do I, they might’ve continued kissing. But she doesn’t and as quickly as it began, their unfiltered romance surrounded by nature that is facing destruction head-on ends.

Lena does apologize. It comes a week later. Lena stands at Alex’s door wringing her hands. “Sorry about what happened. Kissing you. I shouldn’t have taken advantage, you’re grieving.”

“You didn’t. I kissed you,” Alex reminds her. 

Alex gets an unprompted Skype call and when she sees Kara’s name she answers immediately. Kara looks at the camera all nervous and apologetic. “Sorry,” she mutters before pushing her webcam to the side and revealing Eliza.

“Alex, finally, I haven’t talked to you in weeks. How are you doing?” It feels like an I told you so waiting to happen. Suddenly, Lena’s in the room holding a deck of cards. Eliza’s eyes soften for some reason.

“Hey, sorry, just wondering if you wanted to play?” Lena asks.

“Oh-.”

“Go on, Alex, play with your friend,” Eliza insists. “We love you, dear. Kara and I are proud.” It’s the first time that Eliza sounds like she actually accepts Alex’s choice. Alex waves goodbye to Eliza and Kara before shutting off her computer and turning to Lena. 

“Your mom’s kinda a babe,” Lena says immediately breaking the tension. 

“Please, never say anything like that ever again.”

The third time they kiss, it’s after Lena has completely destroyed Alex in UNO. Alex suspects she’d rigged the game and when she goes to ask, Lena is busy putting her hair up in a ponytail. “You look nice,” Alex says pretending it’s the first time she’s noticed but it’s not. Lena’s smile is almost mischievous.

“I know. It’s the outfit that does the trick. I just love the sound of my synthetic pants.” Lena moves her legs against each other making the wosh wosh sound they hear every day as researchers milled about the hallway. “And I’m sure the bags under my eyes just add to the allure.”

“Totally.”

“Your flirting is weak sauce, Danvers. Bring it or get to the back of the line. I’ve got rugby admirers and conspiracy theorists galore.”

“I just want to kiss you.”

“Really? For real this time?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” They kiss and soon fall into Alex’s tiny bed together. As they’re scrambling to take their clothes off, Lena pulls the blanket over their bodies. “It’s fucking freezing.” She mouths against Alex’s collar. “I guess that’s what we signed up for.” Alex isn’t certain she had a plan coming into this but being around Lena somehow gave her permission to heal. She wasn’t certain what the world would throw her way next but she had another six months on an arctic expedition to figure it out.

[cayranwilde]

A Burn Worse Than Whiskey

CHAPTER 5 

When Aziraphale opened his eyes for the first time for any substantial amount of time, it was mid-day. How long he had been under, he did not know. He recalled that at one point it had been night, but whether it was last night, or two nights ago, or numerous days prior, Aziraphale was unsure. That is what unconsciousness did to you. It left you foggy, unaware, and vulnerable - sensations the angel didn’t care for at all. Aziraphale was the first to admit that he had grown soft over the years, but he had never ever been helpless, let alone incapable. On the contrary, a Principality was anything but.

Nevertheless, for the first time in well, ever, Aziraphale felt just how inconveniently vulnerable he was. He hated it.

Shifting his head against the pillow, Aziraphale opened his mouth, parched from a lack of frequent usage. The best way he could explain it was how the mouth and tongue tasted after a hangover. He was thankful there was no unpleasant aftertaste, but for the life of him he couldn’t make his mouth salivate in order to provide relief. He then made the mistake of swallowing air. Immediately, pain erupted in his throat - a tortuous and unrelenting pain. Had he been standing, it would have brought him to his knees.

Aziraphale gasped and made a noise that could only be described as a compulsory whine, and while the rest of his body felt uncharacteristically heavy, he managed to bring an instinctual hand up to his throat. He vaguely understood that in his current physical state he could not provide himself with the healing relief he so desperately needed, but he tried anyway. Tears leaked from his eyes, cascading down his temples and into his hairline.

Dear God, have mercy. Please, please have mercy. Like a broken record, it repeated over and over in Aziraphale’s head, watery blue eyes staring up at the ceiling, begging and pleading for her to listen - for anyone to listen.

She didn’t answer (not that he expected her to), but hands were suddenly on him. They moved to pull his hand away from his throat while simultaneously stroking his forehead and hair. The hands were everywhere, moving to both protect and comfort him. The pain didn’t subside, but he found some emotional relief in the touches - even more so when amber eyes met his.

Crowley. Blessed, blessed Crowley.

Had the circumstances been different, Aziraphale would have commented on the unruliness of the demon’s hair, as well as the dark circles under his eyes; eyes that held a number of emotions. Concern, fear, and hope beng three that the angel recognized. He couldn’t recall ever seeing Crowley like this before. It was disturbing to say the least, but there was very little he could do to ease the demon’s concerns and bubbling panic. Aziraphale tried to say the demon’s name; however, the festering pain in his throat kept him from making any sound other than another agonizing cry.

“Zira, shhhh, don’t try to talk, okay? I’m here. I’m here. ANATHEMA!” Crowley called for the witch over his shoulder, hands still moving to placate his friend. “Anathema! Help would be nice right about now!”

The vial of holy water that they had been forcing Aziraphale to drink while he had been unconscious sat on the bedside table, half empty. Crowley didn’t dare touch it, at least not without Anathema there to help maneuver the angel. She always seemed to do the holding while he did the pouring - it was the safest option. A drop or two would only cause his skin to sizzle and burn with the possibility of a few heat blisters, but a small splash could take his hand off, or worse. Over the past few days Crowley had thought more than once that he deserved such cruel and unusual punishment - he was the reason Aziraphale was suffering, after all. But, he ultimately decided against it. He’d be no help to the angel if he was missing a hand, or if he became a messy, melted puddle of demonic goo.

No, Crowley thought as he continued to stroke the angel’s forehead, Aziraphale needed him now. He’d wallow in self-pity later. Maybe he’d scream at his plants. If he unloaded his self-hatred and grief onto them, then they’d be absolutely ravishing, he was sure of it. He’d not see a brown spot for months.

The swift click of boots alerted Crowley to Anathema’s presence, her long black hair billowing past her shoulders as she rushed into the bedroom. She felt the demon’s eyes on her as she positioned herself on the other side of the bed, and without saying a word she knelt on the sheets and hoisted Aziraphale up as gently as she possibly could. The angel shook in her arms, his hands trembling as he feebly grasped at her arm for support. As elated as she was to see him awake, Aziraphale struggled against the raw pain, desperate for relief. At least while he slept, the pain was dulled. She considered it a small blessing, though she doubted that the demon, who was currently fumbling with the bottle of holy water felt the same.

“Hey Aziraphale,” she cooed, smiling down at those desperate, blue eyes. “We’re going to help you, I promise. Relief is coming here shortly…” she looked back over at Crowley and nodded. She was ready.

“Open your mouth for us, can you dear? You need to drink, it’ll help,” Anathema urged him reassuringly as Crowley tipped the bottle against Aziraphale’s dry lips. Seconds after the first few drops touched the angel’s tongue, he began drinking hungrily. He gulped earnestly, relishing the cooling effect the holy water had on his blistered throat. He could feel it work against the columns of his larynx, sizzling like raindrops on asphalt, as well as ease the uncomfortable churning in his inflamed stomach. Oh God, it felt good.

“Easy now, angel. Easy,” Crowley said, pulling the bottle away before Aziraphale downed the entire thing. Aziraphale’s lips followed like a leech to blood, hungry and desperate for more.

“You’ve gotta’ pace yourself Zira, we need to make this bottle last.”  Neither he nor Anathema knew how many more times poor Newt would be able to get away with stealing holy water. He wasn’t the stealthiest of humans. Though, Crowley supposed Newt could find a different Catholic Church to swipe from, even if their options were limited in Tadfield.

“Does that feel better?” Crowley smiled down at the angel, his heart fluttering in earnest when Aziraphale’s head jerked in a nod. The angel’s breathing had regulated again, and the lines that stretched across his forehead softened as he went boneless. He was spent.

Anathema brought him back against the bed and tucked the comforter around the angel’s body. By the flutter of his eyes, she could tell Aziraphale’s consciousness was waning again.

“I have some things that I think will help,” she said, pushing herself off the bed. She left the room but came back only moments later with a few items - items that caused Crowley’s eyebrows to rise inquisitively.

“And these items are…?” the demon was skeptical.

“A humidifier,” she replied, plugging the bulb shaped device into the wall. Steam began rising from the small opening at the top - the water bubbling rhythmically as the apparatus came to life. “It keeps the air in the room moist. I think it will help his throat. It always helped me growing up when I had a sore throat or congestion, and since he’s...you’re,” she paused, addressing Aziraphale directly, “unable to consistently drink at the moment, it should help ease the pain in your throat.”

The angel didn’t have the strength nor the ability to speak, but his lips curved in a soft smile despite the heaviness in his eyes. It was all the “thanks” he could muster at the moment.

Anathema could have lost herself in that minuscule flutter of a smile. It was a small reminder that Aziraphale was still present - that he was still alive. She’d count it as a blessing. She doubted that she, nor Crowley judging by the pleased look in demon’s eyes, would ever take the angel’s smiles for granted, not when Death had been looming by her door just a few days before.

The witch cleared her throat, not letting her thoughts get ahead of her. “I also brought this,” she pulled out a few stems of dried herbs from her house coat.

“It’s lavender and mint. Both provide a comforting scent. I thought it might help you rest better.” She tied them to the bed posts and said a few words under her breath - so soft that neither Crowley nor Aziraphale could make out what she was saying. A prayer perhaps, or a healing spell. Crowley assumed the latter.

Rubbing her hands together as if banishing any lingering water, sweat, or grit from them, Anathema rocked on her heels and huffed.

“Right, well, I am going to go put the kettle on. If you’re feeling up to it later, would you like to try some tea?” Blue eyes, hazy from pain and fever watched her as she leaned against the door frame. He nodded again, blinking sluggishly. Tea sounded heavenly. He longed for something to wash away the aftertaste of smoke from his tongue.

“Great,” she said, patting the frame of the door as she pushed away from it. “You try to get some more rest. I’ll be back with some tea later.”

Crowley watched her leave before he turned his attention to Aziraphale. “You know, I’m starting to see why you like her so much…still warming up to the boyfriend though.”

The angel’s eyes met his and Crowley released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He reached out and clutched one of Aziraphale’s hands, threading their fingers together. Although the angel’s hands were limp to some degree, the demon relished in the warmth of them. He relished in the warmth that was Aziraphale - wholly and completely Aziraphale. The cold didn’t suit the angel. Death and hell wasn’t for someone as pure as good as him.

Crowley had always thought it, but Aziraphale was the best of them all - angel and demon alike. He was sure of it.

Aziraphale seemed to sense the emotions building up and threatening to crack the demon in two, and he gently squeezed Crowley’s hand, offering him a tired but genuine smile. Even if he couldn’t provide anything more to his distraught counterpart, he released a wave of love - a sensation that expanded from the touch of their hands all the way up the demon’s arm to encompass him. The small but effective detachment of love given to Crowley caused Aziraphale to succumb to the fatigue that plagued his body, and he released a long sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got you.” Aziraphale vaguely heard Crowley whisper, the demon’s warm breath tickling his ear. “Go on and sleep, I’ll be here.”

Aziraphale didn’t doubt that Crowley would stay. In fact, he’d almost guarantee it. He was thankful for the demon’s steady company. Crowley made him feel safe. Crowley felt like home. He closed his eyes to sleep again, vaguely aware of an equally tired body laying against his, pressing himself close and enclosing him in a gentle embrace.

_______________________________________________________________________

It was raining. Rivlets of water trickled down the paned windows, the soft patter of raindrops beating against the roof. Aziraphale came to rather suddenly, almost as if he had been startled from a dream. He looked around the room, first observing that the demon (who he was certain had slept beside him through the night), was now standing and looking out the window, a flash of lightning illuminating his sharp features. His hair - a stark contrast to the dulled colors of the room seemed to be styled again, no longer disheveled by stress and sweat. The glasses were back too, hiding amber eyes behind black lenses - eyes Aziraphale had always found to be beautiful.

The angel licked his lips and attempted another swallow, pleased to find that while the pain was still there, it was far more tolerable. He could work with this.

“Cr...Crowley?” He managed to croak out, his voice hoarse from disuse. Talking was uncomfortable, but the angel couldn’t stand another second of silence on his part. Crowley immediately turned to face him and sunk down in the chair next to the bed, capturing Aziraphale’s right hand in his.

“Hey angel, how are you feeling?” Crowley removed his glasses, tucking them in the front pocket of his leather jacket. Aziraphale smiled at the sight of them, storm blue and amber fixating on each other.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck, but better than before,” he replied, shifting against the sheets. He suddenly noticed he wasn’t wearing his usual clothes. Instead, he was clad in tartan pajama bottoms and a rather large long-sleeved shirt that was a few sizes too big. He must have looked as confused as he felt, because Crowley immediately felt the need to explain.

“I changed your clothes, I hope you don’t mind. Well...I miracled them. I didn’t, you know…” the demon motioned towards Aziraphale, a hint of red kissing his cheeks. Aziraphale understood.

“Ah, yes, well,” he cleared his throat, wincing in discomfort, hand briefly gripping the demon’s. “I appreciate the gesture, dear.”

“Of course, of course,” Crowley nodded, brow creasing in concern. He squeezed back, providing the angel with the anchor he needed. Aziraphale had been in worse shape in the days prior, but nevertheless, the demon did not like seeing him like this. He’d do anything to ease his suffering. If only he could reverse time rather than stop it…

Almost as if a thought came to mind, Crowley brought a hand up and snapped, a steaming cup of tea appearing on the side table next to the bottle of holy water. Despite the feeble protests of the angel, Crowley delicately picked up the bottle of holy water and poured a small amount into the cup. He placed the bottle down just as gently as he had grabbed it and used his index finger as a spoon, although said finger never touched the tea. The liquid swirled in the direction his finger revolved, mixing the contents evenly.

“Crowley, you shouldn’t be meddling with that,” Aziraphale chided with unease. “Anathema could have done that. There was no need to put yourself in harms way for a spot of tea.” The demon merely shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it, angel. I’ve been careful.” Crowley said, momentarily ignoring the tea to lean over the angel. “Here, I’ll help you sit up.”

With Aziraphale’s arms around his neck, he helped pull the angel into a sitting position and both fluffed and stacked the pillows behind his back. He then carefully lowered him back down on the bed. The angel’s head spun at the change in position, the blood rushing from his head down his body. Having been horizontal for a number of days, sitting up was a new challenge, though it was one he could handle.

Crowley made sure Aziraphale was steady before he let him go, and offered him the cup of tea. Aziraphale mumbled a soft word of thanks and took a sip, the warm liquid sliding down his throat. He hummed pleasantly, eyes closing to savor not only the taste, but the relief it provided him.

“Anathema added honey and lemon to the tea. She said it would help soothe your throat, and the holy water, well, that is a given.”

“Well, it tastes marvelous,” Aziraphale replied, his voice sounding somewhat better than it had moments ago. Crowley observed that he looked relatively better too. It was amazing how quick the holy water worked inside the angel’s system. He knew it would take a number of days, maybe even weeks for him to heal completely, but he was thankful for the healthy flush on the angel’s cheeks - a color that chased away the dampened grey that reminded him so much of sickness and death.  

A beat of silence passed between them. Crowley watched Aziraphale drink the contents of the mug, amber eyes taking in every inch of the angel from the tip of his white-blonde curls to the curve in the bed where his toes were. He stared as if he was taking a mental picture, eyes hungry to observe every wrinkle and inch of skin. How close he had been to losing him. How. Fucking. Close. Crowley felt his heart clench at the very thought, no, memory and breathed in deeply. It was a steadying breath.

“Zira?” Crowley waited until the angel looked over at him. “Are you...are you okay? Are you going to be okay?” His voice was uncharacteristically soft - timid even. Aziraphale’s gaze softened, and he placed the mug down on the table, his hands shaking slightly.

“Yes, dear. I’m okay...I’m going to be okay. I suppose I should thank you.”

“Don’t.” Crowley shook his head, eyes hard.

“But my dear…”

“Aziraphale, please, don’t thank me. Just don’t.” The demon’s head bowed, and he hid his face behind his hands. His fingers snaked through his auburn hair, placing pressure on his scalp in exasperation.

“Why not?” Aziraphale’s head tilted, and he reached out to place a comforting hand on the top of Crowley’s head. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t helped me.”

“Stop it, angel! Are you daft?” Crowley growled, flinching away from Aziraphale’s touch. He stood up with such force that his chair toppled over, and he paced back to the window.

“You could’ve died because of me! You were so close, Aziraphale, so close.” He turned sharply, eyes desperate and wild. “It would’ve been my fault - mine! So don’t you dare thank me!”

Crowley looked like a cornered animal, pacing back and forth with his tail tucked and scales bristling. The sclera of his eyes were masked by gold, and the slits were dilated. The demon looked feral, and he kept himself as far from the angel as he could, nearly pressing his back against the wall. It unnerved Aziraphale to see him like this. He was certain that if he tried to reach out, the demon would show his teeth. Never in their 6000+ years of life together had he ever seen Crowley so unravelled - so vulnerable. And to think it was because of him. Crowley was punishing himself, unjustly so, and it broke Aziraphale’s heart.

“Crowley, love,” he pleaded, hand still hovering in the air where Crowley’s head had been moments before. “Listen to me.”

“ No. Don’t angel, I swear…”

“Crowley, stop this. Listen to me right now.” Aziraphale wasn’t asking - he was demanding. The angel’s tone made the demon visibly flinch. Injured or not, he was still a force to be reckoned with, and a Principality of God’s Heavenly Host. The other angels may not acknowledge him as such, but he had not been stripped of his rank or title. Not yet.

He held his chin a little higher. “This was not your fault. It was an accident, alright? Nothing more. I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me intentionally - I know that. You’d bite off your own hand before you’d let anything happen to me, dear.” Aziraphale let himself chuckle, blue eyes staring at the back of the demon’s head fondly.

“You’ve done nothing but protect me since the dawn of time, my love. I know you. Crowley, I know you. Please don’t do this to yourself.” The angel sounded desperate, his voice (despite the hoarseness) imploring the demon to understand. If Crowley could only see himself through the angel’s eyes, he’d never question himself again.

Crowley didn’t turn to look at him though. He continued to stare out the window, body rigid and shoulders shaking from suppressed sobs. He was heartbroken - a creature mourning a soul he hadn’t lost. All the while that same soul sat in the bed nearest him breathing and whole, reaching out and urging Crowley to look at him.  If the demon just looked at him, maybe he’d understand - maybe he’d see. There was absolutely nothing to forgive.

With a resolute sigh, Aziraphale lifted the bedsheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His hands were firm against the mattress, and once his bare feet touched the cold floor he pushed up, grunting in exertion. He immediately broke into a cold sweat, his body weak and feeble from disuse, and the angel’s knees buckled as soon as he took his first step.

“Azira...angel! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Crowley lunged forward, arms wrapping around Aziraphale’s torso before his knees hit the floor. Aziraphale clung to him, breathing heavily while Crowley maneuvered him back to the bed.

“You’re in no shape to be moving around yet, Aziraphale! What were you thinking?” The demon sounded angry, though his hurried movements were riddled with worry. He tucked the angel back under the sheets and fluffed the pillows, carefully arranging Aziraphale’s head against them. He tended to Aziraphale like a perturbed mother, mindful of every blonde curl. It was no wonder that Warlock had loved him best.

Though, as Crowley began to pull away, Aziraphale grasped his wrist to keep the demon close.

“No, don’t go,” Aziraphale said, ignoring the soft protests of his demon counterpart.

“If you won’t listen willingly, I’ll make you listen, you insufferable twat.” Aziraphale’s other hand rose, cupping the side of Crowley’s face, his thumb stroking his cheekbone. The demon’s skin was smooth save for the prickle of stubble. Aziraphale smiled inwardly. He had always loved how imperfectly human Crowley aspired to be.

He gently guided the demon to look at him - amber eyes were watery and threatening to spill over.

“What happened was not your fault. It was not.” Crowley tried to look away, but Aziraphale’s grasp was firm.

“It was an accident, love. I could have just as easily been hit by a car or shot, and while yes, you may want to keep your liquid hellfire stash to yourself, it was my own stupidity that failed to notice the difference. Your bloody mug was a different color, after all - you know how I pride myself in attention to detail.” And the angel did. His bookshop, although seemingly in disarray was actually rather organized. Aziraphale knew where every single book was stored, and he kept each and every one in tip-top condition. He meticulously treated everything he owned with the same manner of detail, and noticed things others failed to acknowledge. Some would call it a gift - Aziraphale just considered it a notable character trait. Résumé worthy, perhaps.

“You can’t continue to punish yourself for this, Crowley. You can’t, do you hear me?” Aziraphale was adimate, willing the demon to understand. He held fast to Crowley’s chin, blue eyes searching gold. Their breath mingled as their faces remained only inches apart. Crowley was the first to break eye contact and looked downwards, lips quivering.

Aziraphale felt himself deflate. The demon was stubborn. Crowley had always been stubborn, but this was an issue that Aziraphale couldn’t let Crowley continue to punish himself for. Crowley had enough insecurities and personal trauma that he had dealt with over the centuries - all issues Aziraphale had tried to address (unsuccessfully so), but Aziraphale wouldn’t let him add this to the list.

With one hand still cupping the demon’s cheek, Aziraphale brought his other hand up and raked his fingers through tawny hair, eyes still carefully exploring Crowley’s features. He paused if just for a second before he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against Crowley’s. This kiss was chaste; dry, cracked lips slowly moving against the demon’s tentatively. Crowley made a muffled noise of surprise, eyes wide in shock, but he didn’t pull away. Rather, tears began to spill down his cheeks and he took a shuddering breath.

Aziraphale’s lips pecked softly at his, working their way up Crowley’s jaw and cheeks, tasting salt and cinnamon. He kissed his eyelids reverently, shushing him and stroking over his tan skin with careful hands.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley moaned, a sob causing his chest to stutter. The angel responded with another kiss, silencing him as their lips met once again. This time, Crowley responded.

Slender arms encompassed Aziraphale, urgently pulling him closer. Their chests touched, lips moving hungrily against each other, bodies arching and compliant. The demon was surprisingly gentle, fingers cradling the back of Aziraphale’s head, holding him impossibly close. He held him like an object that could shatter at any moment - something that was to be treasured and handled with care. Though Aziraphale, as sick as he was, was anything but breakable.

“Angel,” Crowley murmured, reluctantly pulling away. His breath was warm against the angel’s lips. “This doesn’t change anything. This doesn’t erase what happened, what I did. You should hate me.”

Aziraphale only smiled, hands stroking Crowley’s face.

“I could never hate you, dear. Never. How could I hate someone I love?”

Love? Aziraphale loved him? The demon’s mouth fell agape, heart pounding.

“But…”

“No buts, Crowley. Do you love me?”

“You know I do, angel. Always have.” There was no hesitation.

Aziraphale shrugged, radiantly beaming up at his demon. “Then that is that. I’ve questioned myself for far too long. We both have. The past is the past, Crowley. What happened yesterday or five thousand years ago does not shape the days ahead. We have time, so much time , my dear. I will not spend a second of it watching you hate yourself for things that no longer matter.”

Crowley shuddered, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s. He breathed in and out, absorbing the warmth that was Aziraphale. The angel loved him. Really, truly loved him. He could feel it. Why, Crowley did not know, but here they were, tangled in each other’s arms, noses touching and breath mingling. To be this close was astonishing.

Crowley did not know what to say. He knew to fight Aziraphale on this - to try and prove his guilt and unworthiness - would be futile. The angel would not be swayed otherwise. All he saw when he stared down at Aziraphale was admiration and love staring back up at him. So Crowley did all he could think to do. He kissed him, long and hard.

Unlike the first kiss, lips and teeth clashied, six thousand years of pent up affection unhinging through desperate touches and moans. Nothing about this kiss was graceful, and Crowley moved to straddle Aziraphale, hands cradling and stroking him in a fury of ravenous motions. He had forgotten himself, and was completely enraptured by the celestial below him - so much so that he almost didn’t notice Aziraphale wince.

“Oh God, oh, sorry!” Crowley jerked back quickly, eyes scanning Aziraphale for any visible injuries. It had become a habit. “I’m so sorry!”

“Say you’re sorry again and I’ll punch you.” Aziraphale smirked, though he rubbed at his throat again. Damn blisters.

“We shouldn’t have gotten so carried away, I suppose,” Crowley said, still perched on Aziraphale’s lap. The angel patted the sheets beside him and Crowley flopped down on the bed by his side with a petulant huff. Now that he could have Aziraphale, he had to wait. God was somewhere probably laughing.

Aziraphale smiled apologetically at him and threaded their fingers together, shuffling so that he rested his head on Crowley’s chest. Crowley opened his arm to the angel, and kissed the top of the blonde curls that tickled his chin as Aziraphale settled comfortably against him. He inhaled the demon’s scent through his nose, and exhaled contently. They may not be able to do all that they wanted to at this very moment, but they could still be with each other.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Aziraphale hummed, eyes fluttering tiredly. “We have...what was that word you pronounced so enthusiastically? Oh yes! Eternnnniiiitttttyyyyyyy to enjoy each other’s company.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Crowley said sarcastically, though an amused smirk teased his lips. “Very funny.”

“But true,” Aziraphale added with a yawn.

“Yeah yeah yeah, just go to sleep, angel.” Crowley said, voice laced with affection. He stroked Aziraphale’s shoulder rhythmically, watching Aziraphale’s chest rise and fall as sleep took him and placed a soft kiss to the angel’s crown.

“Cheeky bastard...” he muttered, finally allowing himself to rest.

[CHAPTER 1] [CHAPTER 2] [CHAPTER 3] [CHAPTER 4] [CHAPTER 5]

[chronically-ill-dandy]

Help me get help? I'm a lil stuck

This is kind of a soft request because I don't want anyone to feel pressured. I'll set up a ko-fi eventually.

My health hasn't improved at all, this year. I know that's been my excuse for not writing. Working 12+ hour days & not being able to do anything creative in my nearly non-existent free time.

*I got a scary kidney diagnosis (final stage renal failure)

*heart diagnosis was already hard enough ten years ago (congestive heart failure)

*ended up hospitalized twice in one month

*nobody knows why I'm throwing up so much (usually once a day. No pattern to help figure out why.)

*my mom... ugh. I started, this year, to try and get her to be more respectful of my time. I knew my energy was tanking & I was working far above my limit. She's spent the past year keeping me from napping and waking me up screaming if I try to sleep in. Considering fatigue is a symptom of both my illnesses, this behavior is more than annoying. It's torture and likely made me sicker.

*mom's cancer has gotten worse. That's right. We threw all our resources into fighting it and it's popping up in other places. ...Can't pretend I'm not scared.

*my stepdad had bypass surgery

*now my stepdad is having complications from bypass surgery

*my brain & memory are shot. Brain fog is real and every one I know would rather be mad than ask if I need help understanding them or reminders. (Sorry I say "huh" constantly.)

*I can't do -anything- without nausea & a dizzy spell creeping up on me

*Food and I are just not meeting halfway. I'm constantly hungry and when I eat I know I'm going to get nauseated and throw it up, at some point

*I have lost weight from being sick. I'm weak & have no muscles. Standing up too long makes me wobbly.

I hate that I have to call myself out in order to arrange my thoughts, but I seriously don't talk to most people 1on1 now because I know my confusion is annoying.

I've not been able to focus on art or writing after work for months and I've recently left my job to keep from getting fired.

So... I guess that brings me to the good things:

*A friend in another state is offering me free lodging so I can get some rest & try to heal. I just need enough money to move (which includes new tires for my car)

Please contribute if you can to my moving & phone fund. So, far, I think I've got an okay handle on medical bills. The hospital has put most of those on hold until I get benefits (if I get benefits.)

*My local friends have been sweethearts. I am depending on them for a lot.

*I no longer have jobs. I'm too tired and slow for them. ...but I have time to start writing again. Any contributions you make toward keeping me online (phone bill) will get more posts published

https://www.paypal.me/robincf/20

[fluffyllamas-23]

Happy birthday @emeraldthread! I hope you have a wonderful day, which you very much deserve :)

Chason is below the cut

In all the time that Mason and Chase have been together, Chase has never seen him as stressed out as he is right now.

It’s all stemming from his first year in Culinary school, which Chase hadn’t thought would be too stressful, especially given how much Mason loves cooking, and how talented he was before going to school for it.

This reminds Chase of when he was getting his masters, and though their roles are reversed, this situation feels incredibly familiar.  

“Come to bed,” Chase mumbles tiredly, walking out into the kitchen. It’s four in the morning, and Mason is standing at the counter, half-asleep, stirring something in a mixing bowl and muttering to himself.

“No, gotta figure this out.”

“Honey, come on,” Chase says, “it’s so late, you need to sleep, you have class and work in a few hours.”

“I-”

“-I know you’re stressed about school, but your finals aren’t for another month.”

“I know, but I have to figure out this recipe.”

“You can figure it out later, you need to sleep,” Chase says gently, putting his hands on Mason’s shoulders.  

“I’m exhausted.”

“I know.”

“I can’t do this,” Mason whimpers, voice breaking, “I should just quit...become a culinary school drop out.”

“Mason,” Chase says firmly, “you aren’t dropping out.”

“But-”

“-I know you’re tired. I know. You’re exhausted and stressed, but you’re already more than halfway through the program.  You’ve worked too long and too hard and suffered too many injuries to quit now,” Chase says.  

He’s lost count of the number of times that Mason has come homw with a cut or burn, or how many times he’s called him from the emergency room becaus he’s getting stitches and just wanted to warn him before he gets home.

Mason chokes on a sob, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, as he slumps into Chase.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Chase soothes, tightening his arms around Mason, “you’re okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Mason sniffles, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. He hates this. Even business school wasn’t as stressful as this, and it was hard. He feels like he’s just barely holding his head above water, like he’s going to lose it at the drop of a hat.

*

The next couple of weeks pass in nearly the same way - Mason is up until three, four, sometimes even five every morning, trying to figure out this fuckin recipe and memorize all of the terms he needs to know for the written portion of the exam.

He’s stressed out of his mind, and now to top it all off, he’s starting to come down with something that feels like it’s about to become really miserable really fast.

He just has to make it through another day and a half, and then he can rest and de-stress. He’s been hunched over his textbooks, pouring over them for hours, trying desperately to remember all of the information that he’s been shoving into his brain the last couple of days.

“Here,” Chase says upon walking through the front door.  He sets down a starbucks cup next to him, and then kisses the top of his head.  

“What is it?” Mason rasps, picking it up with shaky hands.

Chase leans over his shoulder, peering down at the textbooks, “tea.  Your throat sounds like it’s a wreck.”

“You’re the best,” he mumbles, popping the lid off.  

“How’s the studying going? You up for a nap yet?”

“What time is it?” He asks, rubbing his eyes.  

“Seven thirty.”

“Don’t you have work?”

“Nope,” he chirps, “I’m taking today and tomorrow off to help you study.”

“Chase, no,” he groans, “go to work, I’m fine.”

“Honey, you took so many days off to help me when I was getting my masters,” he frowns, “you’re two minutes away from an emotional and mental breakdown, and you’re definitely getting sick.”

Mason sips at the tea, sighing in relief as the hot liquid soothes the raw, aching feeling in his throat.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Alright, you’ve been up for...how long now?”

“Uh...s...jus’like...twenty eight hours.”

Chase inhales sharply, putting a hand between his shoulder blades, “let’s go.  You need to sleep.”

Mason nods, the movement jerky and uncoordinated as he struggles to his feet. Chase follows close behind him, worried he’ll drop at any moment.

*

The kitchen is too hot.  Mason is pretty convinced that it’s a thousand degrees, and that he’s actually in hell - not his last final for the semester.

He tugs at the collar of his shirt.  His mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, and what’s probably a fever is making his vision come in flashes.  His brain has pretty much shut off - he’s going on autopilot now, relying only on muscle memory.  

Except, he’s not paying attention well enough, because - “Mason! You’re burning the dough!”

“Shit!” He hisses sharply after a delayed few moments before he stumbles to the oven, legs shaking as he struggles to stay upright.  

“Come on, Mason,” Professor Leighton snaps, “this is the least difficult part of your entire dish.”

“I’mb sorry,” he whimpers, tears springing to his eyes.

He pulls the bread out of the oven, nearly dropping it because his hands are shaking too hard to get a good grip on it.  He drops the baking sheet onto the counter, and it lands with a clatter, and Mason sinks to the ground, as black spots clouding his vision.  

“Mason?” His professor asks.  Her voice sounds muffled and far away, like she’s underwater, and Mason puts his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut as his head throbs, and the ringing in his ears intensifies.

“I don’t...um...I can’t...I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...sorry...I...jus’need...needaminute,” he slurs.  

His entire body is throbbing from the fatigue and the fever.  His head throbs with a sharp spike of pain behind his eyes, and he’s so desperate to lay down, that he doesn’t care if he’s lying on the floor in front of the professor who seems to have had it out for him the entire semester.  

“Mason,” Professor Leighton repeats, crouching in front of him, “who can I call for you?”

“I...no...jus’needa minute...m’fine,” he says weakly.

*

“Mason,” someone says gently.  There’s a cool hand on his forehead, and then cheek, and then the back of his neck.  “Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes.  You can do it, you’re alright, look at me.”

Mason forces his eyes open.  His head is throbbing and pulsating, and he aches something awful.  

Chase’s face comes into view, slightly blurry, because everything is slightly blurry.  

“Chase?”

“Yeah, hi.  It’s me, I’m here.  How are you feeling?”

“Um...bad? I can’t...wha’ppened?”

“You passed out.”

“My final,” he groans weakly.  

“Your final can be postponed,” Professor Leighton supplies from her spot next to Chase.

“...huh?”

“Email me when you’re feeling better and we can arrange for it to be taken.”

“You hate me though,” he mumbles.

“No I don’t,” she frowns, “you’re one of my best students, that’s the only reason I’m so hard on you.”

“You...um...you don’t?”

“Not at all,” she says gently, patting his shoulder “now go rest up and feel better.”

“Can you stand, or are you dizzy?” Chase asks.

“M’dizzy...wanna to go home.”

“Okay,” he says gently.  

*

“Okay, what do you need?”

They had gotten home fifteen minutes ago, and even though Mason had told Chase to just put him on the couch, Chase made him walk the extra ten feet to their bed.  Now, he was shivering beneath their duvet, and looking at Chase in complete misery.

“Tend years of sleep,” Mason sniffles, rubbing his face on the blanket, “and also and axe to the head.”

He looks completely drained - pale and tired, with dark smudges that almost resemble bruises beneath his eyes. A flush of color is painted across his cheeks, and his eyes are bloodshot and glassy and unfocused from the fever.  He looks miserable, and Chase hates it.

The congestion had hit him hard about twenty minutes ago, and all he wants to do is sleep. Except, it’s hard to sleep when you can’t breathe.

“Has the NyQuil done anything?”

“Ndo,” he sniffles, ducking his face in the blankets to sneeze again.  

“Well...it’s only been ten minutes.”

“Chase,” Mason groans, squeezing his eyes shut, “I feel awful...snff...hih’ihtsch! Ihtsch! Tsch! Snff!”

Chase cups his burning cheek, “bless you.  Yeah, I gathered that when your professor called and said you passed out.  Nearly gave me a heart attack, by the way.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.  Are you dizzy again?”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbles, sniffling again.

“Do you want to watch a movie or just try and sleep?”

“Sleep,” he mumbles, looking at Chase with large, tragic eyes, “will you cuddle with mbe?”

“Absolutely,” he says softly, getting into the bed next to him.  

Mason sniffles, cuddling up next to him, “thank you for combi’gg to get mbe.”

“Of course I was going to come get you,” he frowns, “did you think I would make you drive home after you passed out?”

“Ndo...but thank you.”

Chase kisses the top of his head, “you don’t have to thank me. You’ve done the same for me before...I’m just sorry you’re so sick.”

He shrugs, coughing into Chase’s chest, “sorry...s’finde, it happends.”

“Don’t you dare apologize, Mase.”

“I coughed on you.”

“You have a one hundred and three degree fever.  You passed out, you haven’t slept in weeks, you can cough on me as much as you want.”

“Okay.”

“You sound tired...you feeling tired? Obviously you are, but...more tired?”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbles, eyelids drooping.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” Chase says, rubbing his back.  

“Love you,” Mason slurs.

“I love you, too.”

[ericvanwesenbeeck]

In Memory of Matt Wilson ~ December 2003, RIP in Newmarket, ON

I thought I'd share an essay I wrote a while back about an old friend. I guess writing this was a way of dealing with the grief of a lost friend, who left us way too early in life...

A while ago, I was invited to a surprise birthday party for Jim’s mother. Jim O is an old high school friend whom I still keep in touch with. In fact, we were neighbours for a few years when our kids where just young and even now we live in the same town. A mutual friend of ours, Matt, planned to come up to Barrie for the weekend to join the Saturday evening festivities. Matt lived in Bradford where he worked at his dream job as a high school English/Drama teacher. We saw Matt a few times a year when he would come to Barrie to visit friends and I looked forward to seeing him again, soon.

He first came to our house for dinner with me, my wife, Chris and our three kids. As always, Matt brought his old guitar with him and entertained the kids (okay, all of us) with a few of the hundreds of songs he had filed away in that jukebox brain of his. Afterwards, we headed off, guitar in hand, to Jim’s parents’ house for the party. On the way, Matt and I chewed the fat, toasting our common interest in music and pop culture, savouring the latest gossip of our many mutual old high school friend and digesting hearty servings of what life had recently dished up for the two of us. Matt had just broken up with his latest girlfriend and, although he hid it well, I could tell he was heartbroken. Matt had had a few serious relationships but unfortunately for him, none had worked out in the long term. I figured the evening’s party may be a convenient distraction for Matt on what may have otherwise been a cold, lonely November Saturday night.

We had great time at this Irish birthday party and a happy surprise it was for Jim’s mother! Her friends and relatives from Ireland, New York City and next door joined in to celebrate. The Irish beer and whiskey flowed and it wasn’t long before the atmosphere in the rec-room had transformed to that of an Irish pub with card games, darts, billiards, laughter and song. Ah yes, song. One of Jim’s aunts sang a few haunting Irish folk songs that mesmerized the gathering. Of course, Matt had brought in his guitar and it wasn’t long before he had many of us singing along as he pounded out the chords on his trusty Gibson six-string. As he wound down his “set”, Matt called me over to help him sing the next song, “I’m One” by the Who. Going back over twenty years to grade eleven, the love of music was something that closely bonded Matt and me. The only difference was that he could play and sing it – I could most definitely NOT. Consequently, I awkwardly stumbled through the verses and then enthusiastically helped Matt belt out the chorus in my tone-deaf voice. We had a great time.

Later that evening, as the revelry wound down, Matt drove me back home. Before leaving to crash for the night at Jim’s house, Matt stood in my driveway with me and we chatted for a long time. Matt was usually up-beat and lighthearted and rarely exposed his darker corners but that night he was particularly reflective and nostalgic and it seemed, just a little melancholy. Chronic health problems had caused him several setbacks in life, back as far as I could remember. He divulged to me a drug habit that he had only recently wrestled into control. He lamented that yet another relationship had failed. He felt that he was missing out on a certain part of life as he watched his friends get married and raise families of their own. Matt loved kids and I think he longed to be a father. I felt bad for Matt and tried to comfort him with my words. I reminded him of all the kids at school who loved him – he was an extremely popular teacher because of his gift for connecting with the students with whom he was so involved. I reminded him of all his siblings and the many nieces and nephews who looked up to “Uncle Matt”. I (regretfully) suppressed an urge to reach out and give him a hug. It was getting late, so Matt, feeling a little comforted, hopped in the car and drove across town to Jim’s house.

As Matt drove away and I made my way to bed, the tune “I’m One” kept playing in my head. I hadn’t listened to that album in years and Matt’s rendition of it had rekindled the flame I carried for this old “favorite band”. The next day, I pulled my “Quadrophenia” CD out of the dusty archives and threw it in my car for future listening.

Two weeks later, on a Monday morning while at work, I got a call from Jim. Jim somberly announced to me that our friend Matt had passed away. I sat in silence, stunned. Jim explained that Matt had gone to the hospital by himself on the weekend, not feeling well. He must have been feeling awful because with all his past health problems Matt had spend too much time in hospitals and now hated going there. He wouldn’t go unless he really wasn’t well. He passed away two nights later with congestive heart failure. Just like that, Matt was gone. I was shaken and had to leave work to clear my head. I got in the car and drove to the lakeshore and stared silently out onto the foreboding gray waters. I thought about Matt. About the conversation we had only two weeks ago. About the years we had spent together in school. About the music, friends, parties, camaraderie and life we had shared. I remembered him singing recently at the party. I loaded the CD I had left in the car and listened to “I’m One”. I listened to the track again and again. Suddenly, the lyrics spoke to me with such clarity. Matt had sung them so passionately and now I knew why. This angst ridden song of a misfit trying so hard to fit in somewhere and be “someone”, reflected perfectly what Matt was feeling. Matt felt he was only “one” and he wanted so badly to be more than that…

It’s seems to me, that Matt never realized that he had, in fact, become more than that. There were over 400 people at his visitation, funeral and interment. Standing room only. Many were students, who felt like they had lost a big brother. Through his classroom enthusiasm and antics, his passionate dramatic creations and his rousing participation in floor hockey, Matt had so closely touched so many students. Matt was awarded, posthumously, an award for teaching excellence. A student achievement award was created and named in his honour.

I won’t easily forget Matt. I visit his grave occasionally and take a few moments to recognize all the good things in my life, even if, at that moment, things may seem kind of bleak. I remind myself to enjoy each day to the fullest because each one is precious and a chance to leave a positive impression on those I meet. In the end, we are all just “one” and that’s really not so bad, is it?

___________________________

I'm One - the Who     http://youtu.be/YtAdsBnYeeI

[purplesurveys]

674

Do you listen to music while you fill out surveys? I have moods where I can and moods where I can’t. But when I do listen to music while taking surveys, I can only ever listen to lo-fi tracks because they’re super chill and great as background sound. Right now is one of the times I have them on.

In the past week, what song have you listened to the most often? I think I’ve mostly been stressed about updates on the virus, so I actually haven’t been listening to any music all week. This is the first time I’ve sat down and let myself listen to my go-to lo-fi playlist.

What was the last thing you shared with someone else? I shared some of my dinner with my dog, if that counts.

While playing video games, do you prefer being first or second player? Second, because I definitely don’t know how to play most video games all that well haha. I’d rather be the second player just cluelessly/aimlessly following around.

What is the most difficult word for you to pronounce? I cannot pronounce ‘bureaucracy’ for the life of me. ‘Mirror’ can also be a bitch but because i watch too much American media, my Filipino ass just goes right ahead and says it as ‘mirr.’

What did you have to do for the last homework you were assigned? The last homework I turned in before the lockdown happened was the weekly article I had to submit for my business reporting class. I gotta say, as a mostly introverted journalism student, I’m SO GLAD there’s been a way out of having to do interviews and produce articles haha. I see you looking out for me for once, universe.

You’ve planned a roadtrip. Where are you going, and who’s coming too? Tagaytay. It’s always a good destination for a chill roadtrip that’s not too far, doesn’t require a full tank of gas, and not too much of a hassle. I’m bringing my college clique with me – JM, Luisa, Jo, Aya, Kate, Kezhia, Blanch – and Gabie, too.

Do you have an overactive imagination? I have little to zero imagination. I mean I guess I like thinking of scenarios, but beyond that me and creativity just don’t mesh well at all.

What was the last important thing that you thought about? That five minutes ago it was time for me to put eye drops on my left eye once again. That eye been working well in the last few weeks, so I had it checked by an opthalmologist, who said there’s most likely a scar somewhere in my eyeball and proceeded to prescribe drops for me.

Generally, do you call people, or wait for them to call you? I would never call people first other than Gabie. Thankfully mostly everyone I know hates calls as well and would never call first, so no one ever calls me either.

On average, how many texts do you send out each day? On a normal day, maybe 50-100 texts? It’s my main mode of communication with my girlfriend, but it also depends on how busy we are during the day.

If a cop pulled you over for speeding, how would you respond? I don’t think speeding is a traffic violation here because 1) the congestion EVERYWHERE is horrible and the traffic is a crawl all day long, and 2) I’ve seen people drive like maniacs on expressways and they never get pulled over for it. On the hypothetical instance that I do get stopped for speeding, I’d obey and apologize for it, and just hope they aren’t rude as fuck.

Has anyone ever questioned your sanity? I have questioned it MANY, many times in the past, mostly when I was in my early teens and still battling with a lot of anger, depression, and a lot of other emotions like I’m guessing most teens do.

How many people do you depend on? As much as I’m not the closest with my parents I do depend on them for basically everything. For now.

How many people do you think depend on you? I dunno if there’s anyone that does. I rather they don’t - I’m pretty unstable.

What is the worst color combination? I’d imagine red and purple to look so jarring.

Have you ever injured yourself walking around in the dark? I don’t think so.

When you get a papercut, how do you react? I thankfully haven’t gotten one in a while, but in the past I’ve usually never noticed the moment it happens, and I only ever find out when the pain hits like a few hours later. That said, I don’t really have a choice but to sigh and grit my teeth through the pain for the next few days.

Can you type without looking down at the keyboard? Yes. The only time I do is when I have to use the keys that aren’t letters, like |, }, and $.

At what age did you develop an interest in the opposite [or same] sex? Opposite sex: Probably literally never. I did attend soirees in high school and got invited to a senior ball – but these were only because I did what I thought a high school girl was supposed to do. I was never genuinely interested in boys. Same sex: I’d say Grade 6, when I had a feeling that I had a crush on Andi.

Are you or members of your family religious? It’s safe to say my entire family – both sides – is devoutly Catholic. They share Bible verses, go to Church, say a prayer before meals, all that crap. I am definitely not. I’ve seen so many people use the religion stuff to justify their being an asshole/hypocrite/both, so it was very for me to let all the bullshit facade go from a young age.

What is your opinion on religions other than your own? They’re valid, especially if it helps one become a better person. Don’t use it to strip others of their human rights, though.

What’s so scary about clowns, anyway? The make-up makes them humans that do not look like humans, and that has always been unsettling for us I think.

When was the last time you acted like someone you’re not? I don’t really do this; I like wearing my heart on my sleeve.

Have you ever wished that something bad would happen to someone else? LMAO yep from time to time.

When was the last time that you cleaned your room? My room is generally clean. My mom likes keeping the entire house tidy, so I just help her out and do my part for her mild OCD.

How many hats do you own/wear? I have one sun hat but it was an impulse buy. I’ve never worn it out because IT’S JUST SO BIG AND FLOPPY and I hate wearing stuff that’s flamboyant enough to give me attention.

What was the last thing that you printed? The aforementioned business news article I had to submit.

Did the last song you listened to hold any special meaning? I love the song, it’s profound and beautifully written but it’s also a particularly sad one, and it’s not one of the songs I’d want to be attached to because that would just make me sad all the time. The song was Hayley Williams’ Leave It Alone.

Are you experiencing problems within a current relationship? No, not at all.

When you’re upset, who do you turn to? Depends on the problem. For most crises I’d turn to Gabie, but sometimes I’d talk to Angela, and sometimes I’d keep to myself. Does winter weather depress you? I’ve never experienced winter. I always say that I have a feeling I’d like it because I like being cold and hot chocolate and wearing socks and feeling fuzzy, but now that I think about it, given how miserable Christmas already makes me, I feel like winter may probably just be the worst thing ever for me.

Who was the last person that you called? Gab, just before she fell asleep a few hours ago.

What product was being advertised on the last commercial you saw? A website for online shopping. It played before a YouTube video.

Do you ever wonder who sings the catchy commercial jingles? I don’t care for them, tbh. When you think about your last relationship, what song comes to mind? I Forget Where We Were by Ben Howard reminds me of my first stint with Gab. Six years ago when we first got together, she introduced the song to me and was being emotional to me about it, and I remember feeling unsettled right off the bat with her sharing such a somber song. I never really got over that feeling and to this day I still listen to it only when I’m sad.

Are there any lyrics to describe your current crush/relationship? Maybe if I wanted to think about it, but I don’t care to right now. <– Same <- Also same. I hate survey questions that make me think of lyrics on the spot.

Who in your life makes you the most uncomfortable? [continued from like a day and a half ago, lmao] My mom has comments and criticisms for everyone and everything, so I always find myself getting anxious around her.

Do you ever receive comments on your weight? That’s literally the greeting of choice in Filipino culture. No one here ever says “hi!” they all just remark how fat or thin you got from the last time they saw you.

Is there anything that you do just to make other people happy? There isn’t any one thing that I do. I’ve realized the people around me have different needs for them to be happy, so if I’m able to and if I’m mentally stable myself, I do those things for them.

When you need a temporary escape, what do you do? Open Tumblr and take a survey or two. If I don’t feel like it, I go on YouTube and watch Friends recaps.

What was the last lie that you believed in? If I believed in it I wouldn’t know it was a lie, if that makes sense.

How long did your last feelings of heartbreak last? I stopped actively mourning for Nacho (i.e. crying randomly while in school, listening daily to the playlist I curated to deal with his passing) around two months after he passed, but I would be lying if I said the heartbreak isn’t there anymore. I still think of him every day, and it makes me sad every day.

Is there any sport that you would want to learn to play? Volleyball would be cool to learn.

What band would you most like to meet? Paramore, obviously. Or One Direction, if they still count :((

Do you ever have difficulty opening pill-bottle caps? I mean I’ve never really had to, so I wouldn’t know if I’d find it hard.

Do you gain weight around the holidays? My metabolism’s always been pretty fast so even if I do eat a lot during the holidays, it’s barely noticeable. 

Are you related to anyone famous, or to any historical figure? I’m related to one of the Filipinas who sewed the first Philippine flag; to a historian whose works are now widely used in history courses; and the diplomat who represented the Philippines in the signing of the Treaty of Paris. As a kid I often thought my love for history was rather odd (because no other kid seemed to like it), but now I have a reason to think it has always run in my blood. Today I’m related to a political clan in my maternal grandfather’s home province, but I wouldn’t use ‘famous’ as the word for them.

If it was an option, would you take a trip into outer space? Oh yeah absolutely. I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid.

What was the last thing that you wrote down [with a pen/pencil]? I practiced my high school’s penmanship, both because I really do practice it from time to time so I don’t end up being rusty, and because Andrew is dating Leigh, a friend from high school, in the weirdest crossover episode ever, and he is currently invested into learning our script hahaha.

Has anyone told you that you have a nice smile? Sure.

Are you uncomfortable with being photographed? Yeah ugh I hate it, especially when I have to be photographed or posed all by myself.

How vivid are your memories? Very vivid. I have a number of memories from every age, most of which I can remember pretty much as clear as day, from where I was down to the conversations that took place.

What’s the earliest you’ve woken up in the past week? Like 7:30 AM.

How many people have you talked to today? I’m too lazy to count so I’ll just name them: my mom, dad, sister, Gabie, JM, Apple, Hannah, Rick, Reiven, Ed, Kate, Laurice, and Abby. I’m also in Messenger group chats for each class I’m part of this sem, and all day we’ve been talking about how we’ll move forward now that my school has suspended online classes as well, so long story short I’ve talked to a buuuunch of people.

What was the last reason behind why you went to the hospital? Haven’t been in one since I was admitted myself a decade ago for a low platelet count, which we nearly thought was dengue.

When journaling, are you honest when documenting your feelings? Yes, I get super honest in this blog because this is the only place where I can be that way, and that’s why I’m super hesitant to open this up to anyone.

If you have a journal, do you ever worry others might find it? Gab asks me about it every now and then and it innately makes me anxious haha. Outside of her, I don’t think anyone in my circle would ever check for surveys on Tumblr.

When you go camping, do you sleep in a tent or an RV? I’ve never camped before but I think an RV would be convenient.

What’s one ridiculous thing that you do? Before I eat fried chicken, I will always peel off the breading/skin first so I can save it for last. I don’t like the actual meat, so I’ll only eat some of it and give the rest to my dog. My mom has since called the chicken skin portion my ‘finale,’ so I eventually adopted the term as well haha.

Do you feel that you must wear make up to be attractive? No dude. I never wear makeup and I’ve always felt confident, looks-wise.

What was the last thing [other than the keyboard] that you touched? My phone, just now. 

Ever done anything dangerous while driving with someone else in the car? I’ve texted and taken calls whether I’m alone or driving with someone. If I’m running late I’ll also comb my hair with one hand. I’ve done sexual stuff while I was driving also hahahgdjshgfsf but there’s no need to get into that.

Name someone you wish you could be closer with? The newly-inducted members of our org, and the newest applicants as well! Everybody seems like cool people, and it sucks that the virus has prevented us from getting together.

Have you ever played the license plate game on long car-trips? Sure, but we also have other games to entertain us because car trip games can get boring pretty fast.

Are you a secretive person, or are you open with your thoughts? I have secrets but I’m very open about them if they happen to be raised. Like with me, all you have to do is ask haha.

What is the worst question that someone could ask you? Those dumb ones on surveys that ask if I’d rather kill my mom or best friend lol.

Do you talk to your pets? Every single time I see him.

Do you have a least favorite day of the year? Either Christmas or New Year’s Eve. The loneliness is something I wouldn’t wish on anybody.

What traits do you look for in a potential BF/GF? I’m demisexual, so I never really compiled a list of traits.

Would you date someone that had a different religion from you? Only if they didn’t let it get in the way of my atheism. You do you, but don’t drag me to your thanksgivings, rituals, holy texts, etc.

Right now, what’s in your bookbag/backpack? I honestly have no idea. I haven’t looked inside for so long HAHAHA

What’s unique about your city or town? We have an elevated part that we call ‘higher [city name]’ because it’s the part of the city that’s on a mountain and a base that we, understandably, call ‘lower [city name]’. I live in the lower area, which is busier and nearer to the metro. I don’t know of any other city in the Philippines where one half is situated higher and another lower.

If you could say something to the world, what would you say? Don’t panic, don’t hoard basic necessities, and don’t be fucking racist.

[licensedlesbian]

1-102

Damn... alright1. Think of the last person who said I love you, do you think they meant it?- it was probably my grandma or grandpa and yes they did2. Would you date an 18-year-old at the age you are now?- mmm under very certain circumstances. If they were a senior in high school I think that would be okay, but if they were a freshman in college I’d be pretty cautious about it and probably wouldn’t go for it //3. When’s the last time you were aggravated and happy at the same time?- done!4. Would you ever smile at a stranger?- yea, cute ones 😉5. Is there someone mad because you’re dating/talking to the person you are?- I have no love life and the only person mad about that is me 6. Have you heard a song that reminds you of someone today?- I don’t think so7. What exactly are you wearing right now?- I’m literally wearing what I wore in the last selfies I posted lol8. How often do you listen to music?- everyday. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t and I usually do it for 6 hours a day on average 9. Do you wear jeans or sweats more?- jeans!10. Do you think your life will change dramatically before 2013?-... this is a little outdated and I can say these past 4 years have been a very dramatic change lmao 11. Are you a social or an antisocial person?- I’m super social!! I love people and being around them!12. Have you ever kissed someone whose name begins with the letter ‘A’?- I don’t think so13. What about ‘R’?- yep. She was kind of a bitch :/14. Can you drive a stick shift?- no but I think it would be really cool to learn!15. Do you care if people talk badly about you?- I try not to bc some people are just shitty, but sometimes you can’t help the way you feel :/16. Are you going out of town soon?- nah :/17. When was the last time you cried?- like last week after my math final that I thought I failed... I got a 79 but it took my grade for that class down by two grades :/18. Have you ever told someone you loved them?- yes but I don’t do it often :/19. If you could change your eye color, would you?- I think I would like for my eyes to be like a warmer or lighter brown but that’s kinda it20. Is there a boy who you would do absolutely everything for?- my best friend Emory, he’s my bitch and I love him 21. Name something you dislike about the day you’re having.- I work at 7 and I’m going to be doing drive thru in negative digit weather :/22. Is it cute when guys kiss you on your forehead?- nope. Disgusting. Revolting. Horrible. Don’t touch me. 23. Are you dating the last person you talked to?- I’m dating no one :/24. What are you sitting on right now?- a booth in a restaurant25. Does anyone regularly (other than family) tell you they love you?- uhhh man my family rarely tells me they love me and no one else sure ever does 26. Have you ever wanted someone you couldn’t have?- have u considered... the trajectory of my entire love life ?27. Who was the last person you talked to before you went to bed last night?- uhh I think it was my pal Shelbey 28. Do you get a lot of colds?- not really but I’m usually always congested because im allergic to the literal air 29. Where is the shirt you are wearing from?- I got it from a show I was doing freshman year. We had to do a dance number and we all got plain black tee shirts 30. Does anyone hate you?- yea probably lmao 31. Do you have any empty alcohol bottles hidden somewhere in your room?- no I don’t drink and I don’t like it :/32. Do you like watching scary movies?- no I’m the biggest scaredy cat like ever33. Do you want your tongue pierced?- I’d pass34. If you had to delete one year of your life completely, which would it be?- probably 2015. That was a really fucking awful year. 35. Did you have a dream last night?- yes and I don’t remember much but it was really weird 36. When was the last time you told someone you loved them?- uhhh I probably told my mom I loved her yesterday bc she bought me sushi lol 37. Do you think you’ll be married in 5 years?- I don’t think so bc I think getting married at 21 would be super early 38. Do you think someone has feelings for you?- no one in real life, maybe someone on here 39. Do you think someone is thinking about you right now?- probably not 40. Did you have a good day yesterday?- yea Christmas was okay until I started having cramps and bloating up and feeling like death 41. Think back 2 months ago; were you in a relationship?- nope 42. In the next 48 hours, will you hang out with a girl?- I mean I work and there will be girls there lol but I don’t have any social plans as of right now 43. Has anyone told you they don’t want to ever lose you?- I don’t think so44. What’s the best part about school?- probably seeing friends!45. Do you have any pictures on your Facebook?- barely. I never really use Facebook. 46. Do you ever pass notes to your friends in school?- I haven’t since the third grade 47. Do you replay things that have happened in your head?- lmaooo yea all the time, welcome to anxiety my friend 48. Were you single over the last summer?- yep49. Is your life anything like it was two years ago?- no. Not at all. It’s changed really dramatically 50. What are you supposed to be doing right now?- nothing! (:51. Do you hate the last guy you had a conversation with?- I mean sometimes, but he’s my best friend and I lov him 52. Are you nice to everyone?- I try to be 53. Have you ever liked someone you didn’t expect to?- yea54. Do you think you can last in a relationship for 6 months and not cheat?- yes of course! I would literally never cheat that’s just a super fucked up thing to do55. Are you good at hiding your feelings?- it depends 56. Do you think you like someone?- ehhhh, kind of have feelings but they’re fading and I’m ready to really like someone again 57. Have you kissed someone whose name starts with a ‘J’?- I don’t think so but it’s kind of hard to remember all the people I’ve kissed as bad as that sounds58. Do you prefer to be friends with girls or boys?- girls! They’re a lot sweeter and they’re very thoughtful59. Has anyone of your friends ever seen you cry?- one of my friends. That’s it. 60. Do you hate anyone?- ohhhh boy, some of my coworkers are grade a assholes61. How’s your heart?- she’s doing her best!62. Is there something that happened in your past that you hate talking about?- many shitty and horrible things have happened to me that I don’t like to talk about because it’s important to move on and forgive because holding grudges and hurting about the things you can’t control will only make you hurt more ):63. Have you ever cried over a guy?- nope64. Who is probably talking a load of crap about you right now?- some of my coworkers lmaoo65. Are your toenails painted pink?- I haven’t painted my nails in forever 66. Will your next kiss be a mistake?- I don’t really regret people I kiss for the most part, hopefully I’ll be going to a New Year’s Eve party and I’ll kiss some cute girl just cause 67. Girls love it when boyfriends cry; correct?- girls love it when they don’t have boyfriends is the correct answer 68. Have your pants ever fallen down in public?- i don’t think so? Maybe as a little kid?? Idk 69. Who was the last person you were on the phone with?- my mom?70. How do you look right now?- I look adorable, I’m serving up looks for real (;71. Do you have someone you can be your complete self around?- probably like one person, my best friend em 72. Can you commit to one person?- yea hopefully, although I don’t have much experience and I’m really bad at not being nervous about everything ever 73. Do you have someone of the opposite sex you can tell everything to?- yep. My best friend 74. Have you ever felt replaced?- haven’t we all?75. Did you wake up cranky?- ehhh that’s debatable 76. Are you a jealous person?- I really can be honestly77. Are relationships ever worth it?- if you don’t have love in your life, you truly have nothing.. and I don’t mean purely romantic, I mean platonic too 78. Anyone you’re giving up on?- yea :/ some people aren’t worth the fight 79. Currently wanting to see anyone?- not particularly 80. Name something you have to do tomorrow?- work ://////81. Last person you cried in front of?- my therapist probably 82. Is there someone you will never forget?- I’m not sure.83. Do you think the person you have feelings for is protective of you?- I wouldn’t say I really have feelings for anyone right now 84. If the person you wish to be with were with you, what would you be doing right now?- probably just talking and hanging out.. I just really lov being with my friends 85. Are you over your past?- for the most part, healing is a long process but I don’t let the past hold me back. 86. Have you ever liked one of your best friends of the opposite sex?- nope 87. Is there anyone you can tell EVERYTHING to?- yes88. If your first true love knocked on your door with apology and presents, would you accept?- I don’t think I’ve romantically ever loved anyone 89. So, the last person you kissed just happens to arrive at your door at 3AM; do you let them in?- yea that’s gonna be a hard no... I kissed this 19 year old lesbian at pride fest and that was the last time I saw her, I still have her snap but that’s it 90. Have you ever liked someone who your friends hated?- I don’t think so91. Will you be in a relationship in 2 months?- that’s gonna be a very likely no 92. Is there anyone you know with the name Michael?- I used to go to school with some kids named Michael93. Have you ever kissed a Matthew?- hell no lmao 94. Were you in a relationship in January? How was it going?- nope!95. Were you happy with the person you liked in March?- mmmm no not really :/96. Don’t tell me lies, is the last person you texted attractive?- my best friend is fucking attractive as hell and I hate him for it bc all the girls like him over me ://97. Who do you have texts from?- no one right now and I hate leaving notifications unattended to so I usually answer pretty quickly 98. If the person you like says they like someone else, what would you say?- go for it99. Have you ever kissed someone older than you?- yes... by 4 years whoops 100. Who’s in your profile picture with you?- just me!101. Ever kissed under fireworks?- nah 102. Has anybody ever given you butterflies?- yes... tragically

[saintkimora]

well i finally found time to type this all up so! here is the story of how last last friday and saturday night went (not the ones from this weekend but the weekend before so like a week and a half ago). it isnt really a nice story but it is significant. first part is tristan then joel then tristan again, the tristan parts are good but the joel part is pretty bad. this is only part 1 btw! sorry @ that one anon a few days ago bc this might make you even more mad lmao

first part: tristan! so on friday i was in the library holding an online eboard meeting for gsa and tristan (the first guy i talked to for a while then hooked up with like 2 years ago and last christmas eve) was apparently studying in nexus which is the building next door to the library. and he sent me a snap (it was clearly the type you send to a lot of people it wasnt like an individual one) of him captioned i hate studying so i sent him one saying i hate planning events bc thats what i was doing. so we snapped back and forth for a while and then the library closed so i was leaving and he was like “come say hi to me in nexus” so i was like ok! 

so i went and sat across the table from him and we talked for like an hour and a half and it was so nice! hes v good to talk to but our conversation dynamic was kinda similar to me and joel’s dynamic so that was interesting. he called me my voice cute at the beginning bc i was like “sorry if i sound weird im a little congested today” and he was like “no you sound like you always do, its cute” so i was like hm so then we talked and caught up and it was very good conversation! then at one point after asking how i was in general he was like “so how are you doing....romantically” and i told him how i was with someone rn but i was kinda having some issues and he was like oh ok and i asked him and he said hes looking but its hard bc people keep ghosting him so i was like aw :/ (but on the inside i was like well thats what you get for ghosting me all those years ago lmao) 

also at one point i told him i go to the gym now so i have a little bit of muscle and he was like “yeah haha sure” and i was NOT about to take that so i was like “i can show you right now if you want” (i was wearing a tank and a zip up hoodie) so i took off one hoodie sleeve revealing my arm and i flexed and he was shook he was like “oh wow you werent kidding, thats actual progress” and i was like ha

after an hour and a half he had to go meet his friends or something so i went home. overall it was super nice! i loved talking to him so later that night i just sent him a nice text thanking him for spending time w me and saying how much i enjoyed it and then he thanked me for keeping him company and said he really enjoyed catching up so that was nice! then later that night things took a turn for the worst.....

so at this point it was friday night and joel and i were texting as usual, we were having a nice convo and were making jokes and what not. then after i asked about his day he texted me this “its fine but i just got another fucking email from slut A and im over it” and i was like “slut A......” and he was like “fucking tinamarie” (the girl who always causes trouble for his theatre club that gets him really pissed off even though it really isnt that serious) and i was like “yeah i figured but did you really need to call her that” and he was like “if youre literally gonna criticize every single word i say then im just gonna stop talking” so then i apologized like 3 times but he left me on read and didnt talk to me for the rest of the night

so! the second i read that final text i had like......a panic attack? or something? idk but it was a mess i got soooooooo cold instantly like i put on sweats socks a hoodie and 2 blankets and i was still trembling and my teeth were chattering so hard i couldnt even talk bc it just came out as gibberish and my toes were numb and my heart was beating fast and you know all that good stuff. i texted several hunties but none of them answered so i decided to text tristan! he was v nice and he comforted me and talked me through it which i appreciated. but like getting that text reminded me so much of the texts i would get from caleb so it just made all those feelings come rushing back and it was v overwhelming but i wasnt about to call joel about it bc he was already mad at me and i was scared i was gonna make it worse

about an hour later i sent him a long text saying how sorry i was bc he wanted to vent to me and i shut him down when i shouldve just taken his side and stuff bc i wanted to try to fix the situation. half of it was lies though like i was not sorry for what i did at all bc he should not be calling this tinamarie girl that! he didnt read that text until the next morning but even after he didnt respond. he was def still awake when i sent it though bc i saw him active on fb messenger slightly afterwards. anyways the next day tristan texted me again to check on me and see if i heard from joel which i hadnt by that point but i really appreciated that he went through the effort of doing that! joel and i had plans to go to the mall that day so i texted him around 4pm (this is saturday now) saying i hope his auditions went well and asking if he wouldve still liked to go to the mall w me. he said he wasnt feeling up for it bc hes tired and i was like not up for the mall or not up for me and he was like just the mall, you can come over instead. so i went over and brought him popeyes bc he was hungry and we hung out and watched dragula and talked and it was like a completely normal day so i was a little surprised he didnt bring up the events of last night. so like 3 eps into dragula s1 i asked him if he could pause it so we could talk so he did and this is where things got worse

so i was like “so....how are you feeling about what happened last night?” and he was like “well it was fucking annoying because i wanted to vent to you and you tried to school me, im already socially conscious, i know its wrong but it was the first thing that came to mind at the time” and i was like “well if you are mad at a woman and your first instinct is to call her that then that might be a problem” and he was like “can i be a fucking human?” like ???????????????? the STUPIDEST excuse like that makes no sense! you can be human without saying misogynistic things like.....annoying. he just had soooo many excuses he was like “oh its ok bc i would never actually say that to her face” like...ok great to know that being socially conscious is just a performative thing for you! if you only do it in public but are still problematic in private then like...whats the point

he was also like “it may seem like a small issue that isnt important to you but her emails are actually a huge problem. YOU wouldnt know since your organization isnt as involved, but her actions affect every area of the organization so its stressful to deal with her” like heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeereeeee we go again idk why he always tries to drag my gsa for no reason. i didnt even say he couldnt be stressed or angry with her i just said he shouldnt call her what he did! 

so now for when it got personal. so i told him i was like “i know you were mad and wanted to cool off so i wasnt gonna force you to talk to me, but it wouldve been nice if you just sent me a text like ‘oh perry im mad and dont wanna talk rn, i need some space ill talk to you later’ instead of just ignoring me for the rest of the night” and he was like “well i didnt have time i had too much going on with the organization” and i was like “i mean it takes 10 seconds to send a text” and he was like “well i didnt want to” OH so now the truth comes out! and then he was like “i was already stressed out with the email so then its like ‘oh now i have to deal with perry too’” and like..............that was really hurtful bc literally the main reason i rarely ever bring up any issues i have to him is bc hes already so stressed with everything else and i want to be a source of happiness in his life not another source of stress so im afraid to bring things up bc i dont want to add to his stress and be another thing that he has to “deal with” so like, he literally vocalized the exact reason im afraid to talk to him about these things so its just confirmed my suspicions and now i feel even worse about bringing up any issues i have with him 

i didnt tell him about the panic attack yet but i did say “well i mean im sure you can tell i was upset, since i sent you a long ass apology text an hour after the convo ended. and if it was the other way around and i knew you were upset about something i said i wouldve dropped everything and called you right away to fix the issue” and he said.............. “well im not gonna prioritize you” like.... !!!!!!!!!!!!! ok!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! great! we already knew i was at the bottom of his priority list but at least now he basically admitted it :/ i was just like well ok

that is the end of part 1 bc im splitting up this post lol

[riverdamien]

Peniel: “Where Jacob Wrestled With God and Survived,” Newsletter of Temenos Catholic Worker, June 2020

PENIAL, "Where Jacob Wrestled With God."

Newsletter of Temenos Catholic Worker

June Email 

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

www.temenos.org

Father River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min., D.S.T.

Journal of An Alien Street Priest:

A Tale of Two Matthew's

Acts 1:6-14; Psalm 68:1-10; 32-35; I Peter 4:12-14; 5:6-11 John 17:1-11

Aldergate Day

    On May 24, 1738, in Aldersgate Street, London, during a meeting composed largely of Moravians under the auspices of the Church of England, John Wesley's intellectual conviction was transformed into a personal experience while Luther's preface to the commentary to the Letter of Paul to the Romans was being read. On a June night at Arcadia, a United Methodist Camp in the Ozarks of Missouri , we felt our heart "strangely warmed" and knew Christ was real, as real as we are, and we became friends, and we experienced our call to ministry.

    We remember Aldersgate each year because John Wesley, and his theology has shaped our life and ministry as has Dorothy Day whose theology of the "Mystical Body of Christ", is the heart of our ministry.

"When we pray with Christ…we realize Christ as our Brother. We think of all men as our brothers then, as members of the Mystical Body of Christ. “We are all members, one of another,” and, remembering this, we can never be indifferent to the social miseries and evils of the day. The dogma of the Mystical Body has tremendous social implications."

    I have been sick for over a week, been tested for the virus, and is negative, so as usual this time of year as the weather changes back and forth simply have fever and congested adjusting  to the weather.

    Last night I had a dream that comes at times of transition, that of the Angel of Death, and in this dream she fluttered around and looked me in the face saying: "Your time is near, but not now.", and disappeared.

    This dream, is always a reminder to me, that we are simply dust, and to dust we will return, and that I am nearer than before.

    As I  laid in bed awake, I thought of two people who are symbolic of this ministry, and of whatever one wants to call a "legacy" (we are forgotten  once we die, but our sparks continue through others). It is a tale of two Matthew's.

    The first Matthew entered my life nearly fifteen years ago. He had heard me speak in his class, and the day before Good Friday called  and asked to come and help with our Good Friday Service. So of course, the answer was yes. On Good Friday morning I drove to San Carlos and as he came out of his house there was a large suit case,  and Matt, long haired, in dye tie,  said, "My parents are in Europe, the person staying with me is not here, and so I am spending the weekend with you." I was shocked, barely remembered talking to him, and when I talked to his mom whom I had never met, a lawyer, she said, "Oh cool, Thanks." I thought she was crazy as a loon, and that began with her a friendship that lasted through thick and thin, the closest friend I have ever had. She died last year and I still grieve. I cried this morning looking at her photo. Vicki said she was not a believer, but she is in that Great Cloud of  Witnesses surrounding us, cheering me on. Very present. She expressed more love to people and represented the "the Mystical Body of Christ", more than anyone we have ever known.

    And Matt, oh Matt, for six years as he went through high school we fought, battled, and stuck with each other. The summer I was sick with malaria I stayed with them, and taught him how to drive, and we put up with each other. He asked me once why I cared for him, and I said, "Why not? "He was, and  still is a pain in the ass. Towards the end of his junior year there was an incident that he was involved in, that possibly may have caused his Catholic High School to kick him out and might have damaged his future,  and I took the blame, oh the condemnation and the hell for me that followed, we have never talked about it, but as he nears his graduation from law school this year, that is my reward. He grew up, has a great girl friend, and is going into environmental law.

    Matthew wrote an email several months ago, telling me how much he appreciated and cared about me and how I inspired him on his journey.  Whatever others might believe, that email told me all was worth it.

    The other Matt is nearing 21, and he came into volunteer when he was 14, and kept coming back, and when I was sick two years ago, at 18 he and two of his friends, took care of me. People consider Matt a wild kid, but to me he was just Matt. We have fought many a battle through these years, made a trip to Amsterdam, hated, and loved each other, but last night as I had dinner with him and his mother, I saw how mature in many ways he has become. As I left he hugged me, and said, "I love you," and that to me is the greatest reward one can have. The scars, the wounds are worth it.

    Both these guys have been considered "difficult", "immature," " not going any where," by others, and both have been and are  my brothers. In them, as seen in my street kids is the "mystical body of Christ."

    Both like the thousands of others will fade into my memory as they move on with their lives, marry, have children and careers. And like "Mr. Chips" (Good Bye Mr. Chips) I will sit on the bench and remember them and the others, as I grow old, and fade away.

    Both symbolize our ministry. The jewel in the cross above was given to me by a young guy in the Haight. A tourist offered him a hundred dollars, which was a thousand to him,  he picked it up and gave it to me saying, "you show us so much love, I want you to have it." It symbolizes our ministry.

    My friend Father Louie Vitalie once told someone: "Christianity is one of many views of God, and in its symbolism, one can find hope in life."

    Ultimately all religions are one of many streams from God, but in following Jesus, one can experience the mystical body of Christ in each person we meet. Christ becomes flesh in each of us. ; All religions that teach of love of neighbor are streams of the one God.

    The two Matthew's for me are symbols of the  "Mystical Body of Christ" for in our struggles Christ is present in his love and redemption.

    Jesus calls us to enter into the lives of our fellow brothers and sisters, to take risks, to get our hands dirty, to let them into our lives, even if we are wounded.

    As I read Facebook, and  social media I hear little of the suffering of people on the street, or of others. We are separated from one another. Through the "Mystical Body of Christ," we know that we are one in life, in suffering, and in death.

Deo Gratias! Thanks be to God!"

----------------------------------------------------

---------------------------------------------------------

    Our work continues. We can not give out hot food or any food cooked at home. We give out fruit bars. We are in need of socks and blankets. Thousands are sleeping on the street, afraid, alone, feeling like they are caught in a set of head lights.

    We have visited with individuals with the virus and this virus is not pretty, it is ugly, painful, and really a terrifying illness. So we are asking for donations! No matter how small! We need socks and blankets!

    Thank you for for your support these years! You have no idea of how much it is appreciated and is comforting to know that we are remembered, and your support brings you on to the streets with us in ministry. Thank you! Thank you!

-----------------------------------------------------

"Without a sense of the inherent sacredness of the world—in every tiny bit of life and death—we struggle to see God in our own reality, let alone to respect reality, protect it, or love it." Father Richard Rhor

"For all its presumed innocence, this way of life lived by well-off North Americans is both unjust to those who cannot attain this lifestyle and destructive of the very planet that supports us all. —Sallie McFague "

"We’re the only creature who can decide not to do something we’re capable of doing. That’s our superpower, even if we exercise it too rarely. —Bill McKibben "

“There are three things extremely hard: steel, a diamond, and to know one's self.” -Benjamin Franklin

[wendyimmiller]

A Spring for the Ages; Endurance, Rainfall, Beauty, Raw Nerves, Blind Panic, and Two Cases of the Bends

Yeah, that’s about describes my Spring.  Yours?

It all started with a misguided nod to appear on our Township’s Garden Tour. Did this sometime last Winter.  I’d been drinking. When our garden didn’t appear on the first draft of the flyer, did I take it as a sign? Nope. A smart person would have laid low and slipped out of that commitment like it was a time share they’d been sold, but not me. Being the same impaired idiot who had agreed to the idea in the first place, I reminded the Township.

The best image I could find of my garden in March.

The second prettiest March pic of my garden.

3 of 3 of March photos. Sea of mud. Just enough life emerging to keep one from hijacking a bus.

Our garden had been on the tour several years ago but the intervening years have had their share of drama with the most carefree and joyous parts of our lives and all but the most basic of garden maintenance finding themselves shoved to the side like a road killed raccoon in the path of a snowplow.  But, you know hope springs eternal. It was a new year, a different time, and I told myself, “Hey, this will be fun. And it will motivate you to make some of those improvements you’ve been thinking about.” Yep. That’s what I told myself.

Sloppy selfie.

Of course, it did do that. Just like it almost killed me. For whatever delusional reason, I failed to factor into the decision-making process that my life would remain just the same as it’s always been—a lurching, noisy, rickety, breathlessly busy, confused and confusing, poorly conceived extended round of experimental performance art liberally embellished with unpleasant surprises at inopportune moments. Somehow, I had forgotten that.

Spring comes in increments, and little things sometimes distract you momentarily from the overall ugliness and all the work that must be done.

Meh. Ugh.

And there is nothing like a looming garden tour to sober you right up real fast. First walk-through after you’ve agreed to such a thing and, bam, there you are–clear-eyed, stammering, and horrified, seeing your garden from the viewpoint of carloads of judgmental strangers. Make this walk-through like I did in March–that most hopelessly depressing, mercilessly ugly, butthole-with-a disease month of the year–and it’s the horticultural equivalent to waking up with some person you hooked up with at a dive bar deep into the early morning hours of the previous night. So you do the only things that come to mind. First you drink. Then you cry. Finally, you beseech the Almighty for an asteroid to come screaming out of the sky and smash all your years of bad ideas, lousy plant choices, inexplicable design decisions, ill-advised gardening practices, plastic containers, fake flamingos, and scuzzy gazing balls into tiny burning fragments that all fall on top of your neighbor’s boat.

Well, okay.

And a late night of work rewarded by a decent scene in the fading light.

But you know from long experience that God has a very spotty record of answering your prayers and that your luck isn’t good enough to guide a comet in on its own, so you do the only thing you can: you go outside and garden like hell. Like some nervous dervish all ramped up on speed. Rinse and repeat, you’re doing this from mid-March to May 19th, every night after work until it’s too dark to tell garlic mustard from poison ivy and every weekend from the crack of dawn to long after dark. Dehydrated most of the time, of course. And you have to fit this in and around record rainfall, a pair of weekend trips you’d committed to previously, and a bunch of appointments and presentations that wind up eating 15 weeknights and about six weekend days.

Neither aminal was much help. Martin, The Heart of Darkness, just distracted us with his constant plotting of our doom.

And Zaku, the blind old dog, kept himself busy by walking on every perennial just as it went into bloom.

I won’t go into every gory detail about every dumb mistake, disturbing discovery, and newfound deep disappointment, but I will tell you, as an example, about removing my old nursery hoop house. It had stood for years, looming, rusting, and listing prominently in the background of every otherwise scenic garden view and photograph. It had to go and it did. Big job. Cut my hands repeatedly on unseen metal burs, but, except for having to pull old landscape fabric from under Pompeii-like strata of soil, it fought its demise with a little less resistance than expected.

The old hoop house/ship wreck had earned its place in the next life.

I thought I’d experience an emotional moment at its loss. I’d learned a lot growing plants back there, reared loads and loads of rare and favorite plant material, some of which bought favor and friends when I shared them with gardeners and horticulturists I admired. And, in fact, I was overwhelmed with an emotion when it was gone. Pure euphoria. I had no idea how much I’d come to hate that thing. It’s removal felt better than playing hooky.

Of course, the best time to return to veggie gardening after a 27 year hiatus is in the middle of the rushiest spring rush that ever lived.

But that joy was not long for this world. Not when I was confronted by that big blank weedy place where the hoop house had lived. Not as ugly as it had been, but still ugly enough to give carloads of judgmental garden tour strangers a lot to talk about. So I laid waste to the weeds and built raised beds for vegetables, doing my damnedest to make them look better than almost all of those other raised beds for vegetables I’ve seen. Several trips to Home Depot for wood and hardware, truckloads of soil harrowingly wheel-barrowed along a bumpy and narrow path around the swimming pool, and a last-minute scattering of straw in the paths, and, son of a…, it actually looked just like I’d hoped: not quite as ugly as those other vegetable beds I’ve seen.

More night gardening yields an okay shot with a Pixel II. Great camera. Terrible phone.

After about half a dozen big projects like this and hundreds of little ones, we were about two weeks out from the tour and I started feeling a little better. You might even say confident. Perhaps a bit cocky. May had come, things had greened up, and all the plants I’d forgotten I had were reappearing, covering ground, screening ugliness, and some even went into bloom.

The mossy step project. A slippery slope of grassy mud that spilled down into the backyard was deemed too hazardous for old people, so old railroad ties from the hoop house were re-purposed into stairs. Only the last one was too high, so a mossy step was conceived and somewhat successfully executed, but it was one of many time-consuming ad hoc projects, and proved in the end almost as slippery as the grassy mud.

Heady in this moment, I heard these words leave my mouth, cross through air, and go into my son’s ears, “Hey, why don’t you have your (upcoming) wedding in our garden?” Whoa. I knew my mistake immediately and wanted nothing more than to suck those words right back out of the universe and into my chest, but, alas, they’d been said. And they’d been heard. And Tom seemed excited by the idea.

Despite record rainfall, plant life somehow still emerged itself out of March’s primordial ooze.

He and his fiancee had been planning their June 1st wedding as a guerrilla ceremony, to be held surreptitiously at a small, backwater Cincinnati Park that overlooked the river. This way they could avoid notifying the park district, the associated bureaucracy, and the rental payment. While we all thought looking out for the cops would lend a certain urgent element of adventure to the event, but it also meant parking would be difficult and conditions for our older loved ones could prove life-threatening if the rain didn’t let up and the grass didn’t get cut.

The open little glade that seemed just right for a wedding.

A fawn found in the garden the morning of the wedding was perceived as a sign of fertility.

Long story short, we hosted the wedding, and it’s mind-blowing the vast amount of space that exists between “garden tour worthy” and “wedding ready.” May 19th to June 1st, there I was again, out in the yard, gardening like a mofo. Literally, and I mean literally, 3:15 PM day of the wedding, guests in the yard, and I’m dashing between them, head to foot in filth, trying to get inside for a quick shower in time for the 4:00 PM start.

Mother and son the day before.

But, gotta tell you, weeks of rain and gray skies opened up that afternoon to a glorious blue sky with billowing white clouds that towered like mountains in the sun. And, the wedding was perfect! A sweet, happy, beautiful couple, lovely self-written vows, pretty bridesmaids, and, hell, even the groomsmen looked good enough in their tuxes and all lined up in a row. And the garden? Well, it was far from perfect, but it strutted its stuff knowing it had never ever looked better. It made a splendid backdrop for the wedding and the photos.

The happy bride and her loving father. Laying that runner with filthy hands was the last job I did.

The ceremony,and a hodgepodge of anything I could buy in bloom and stuff into the bed in the foreground. Background held down by big leaf magnolias.

Afterwards, we all adjourned to the Irish Heritage Center for a night of delirious fun and celebration.

Michele and I, partying like people a fraction of our ages and having the time of our lives!

Back home, joyous, exhausted, and plunging straight into illness.

Next day, with all that we could do done, my wife Michele and I both woke up sick as can be. She had a sore throat and congestion. I had full-on aches and pains. No matter the symptoms, I knew we both had the bends because we had decompressed too hard.

Never was any good at container design, but this year I raised my game a little.

Now, still a little buzzed on this meager success, I’m already thinking about signing up for next year’s garden tour. It seems I just have this need for high-stakes, stress, and tales of adventure with happy endings And I’ve never been any good at learning from my mistakes.

In almost 40 years together, I’ve never seen her so beautiful.

A Spring for the Ages; Endurance, Rainfall, Beauty, Raw Nerves, Blind Panic, and Two Cases of the Bends originally appeared on GardenRant on June 18, 2019.

from Gardening https://www.gardenrant.com/2019/06/a-spring-for-the-ages-endurance-rainfall-beauty-raw-nerves-blind-panic-and-two-cases-of-the-bends.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

[turfandlawncare]

A Spring for the Ages; Endurance, Rainfall, Beauty, Raw Nerves, Blind Panic, and Two Cases of the Bends

Yeah, that’s about describes my Spring.  Yours?

It all started with a misguided nod to appear on our Township’s Garden Tour. Did this sometime last Winter.  I’d been drinking. When our garden didn’t appear on the first draft of the flyer, did I take it as a sign? Nope. A smart person would have laid low and slipped out of that commitment like it was a time share they’d been sold, but not me. Being the same impaired idiot who had agreed to the idea in the first place, I reminded the Township.

The best image I could find of my garden in March.

The second prettiest March pic of my garden.

3 of 3 of March photos. Sea of mud. Just enough life emerging to keep one from hijacking a bus.

Our garden had been on the tour several years ago but the intervening years have had their share of drama with the most carefree and joyous parts of our lives and all but the most basic of garden maintenance finding themselves shoved to the side like a road killed raccoon in the path of a snowplow.  But, you know hope springs eternal. It was a new year, a different time, and I told myself, “Hey, this will be fun. And it will motivate you to make some of those improvements you’ve been thinking about.” Yep. That’s what I told myself.

Sloppy selfie.

Of course, it did do that. Just like it almost killed me. For whatever delusional reason, I failed to factor into the decision-making process that my life would remain just the same as it’s always been—a lurching, noisy, rickety, breathlessly busy, confused and confusing, poorly conceived extended round of experimental performance art liberally embellished with unpleasant surprises at inopportune moments. Somehow, I had forgotten that.

Spring comes in increments, and little things sometimes distract you momentarily from the overall ugliness and all the work that must be done.

Meh. Ugh.

And there is nothing like a looming garden tour to sober you right up real fast. First walk-through after you’ve agreed to such a thing and, bam, there you are–clear-eyed, stammering, and horrified, seeing your garden from the viewpoint of carloads of judgmental strangers. Make this walk-through like I did in March–that most hopelessly depressing, mercilessly ugly, butthole-with-a disease month of the year–and it’s the horticultural equivalent to waking up with some person you hooked up with at a dive bar deep into the early morning hours of the previous night. So you do the only things that come to mind. First you drink. Then you cry. Finally, you beseech the Almighty for an asteroid to come screaming out of the sky and smash all your years of bad ideas, lousy plant choices, inexplicable design decisions, ill-advised gardening practices, plastic containers, fake flamingos, and scuzzy gazing balls into tiny burning fragments that all fall on top of your neighbor’s boat.

Well, okay.

And a late night of work rewarded by a decent scene in the fading light.

But you know from long experience that God has a very spotty record of answering your prayers and that your luck isn’t good enough to guide a comet in on its own, so you do the only thing you can: you go outside and garden like hell. Like some nervous dervish all ramped up on speed. Rinse and repeat, you’re doing this from mid-March to May 19th, every night after work until it’s too dark to tell garlic mustard from poison ivy and every weekend from the crack of dawn to long after dark. Dehydrated most of the time, of course. And you have to fit this in and around record rainfall, a pair of weekend trips you’d committed to previously, and a bunch of appointments and presentations that wind up eating 15 weeknights and about six weekend days.

Neither aminal was much help. Martin, The Heart of Darkness, just distracted us with his constant plotting of our doom.

And Zaku, the blind old dog, kept himself busy by walking on every perennial just as it went into bloom.

I won’t go into every gory detail about every dumb mistake, disturbing discovery, and newfound deep disappointment, but I will tell you, as an example, about removing my old nursery hoop house. It had stood for years, looming, rusting, and listing prominently in the background of every otherwise scenic garden view and photograph. It had to go and it did. Big job. Cut my hands repeatedly on unseen metal burs, but, except for having to pull old landscape fabric from under Pompeii-like strata of soil, it fought its demise with a little less resistance than expected.

The old hoop house/ship wreck had earned its place in the next life.

I thought I’d experience an emotional moment at its loss. I’d learned a lot growing plants back there, reared loads and loads of rare and favorite plant material, some of which bought favor and friends when I shared them with gardeners and horticulturists I admired. And, in fact, I was overwhelmed with an emotion when it was gone. Pure euphoria. I had no idea how much I’d come to hate that thing. It’s removal felt better than playing hooky.

Of course, the best time to return to veggie gardening after a 27 year hiatus is in the middle of the rushiest spring rush that ever lived.

But that joy was not long for this world. Not when I was confronted by that big blank weedy place where the hoop house had lived. Not as ugly as it had been, but still ugly enough to give carloads of judgmental garden tour strangers a lot to talk about. So I laid waste to the weeds and built raised beds for vegetables, doing my damnedest to make them look better than almost all of those other raised beds for vegetables I’ve seen. Several trips to Home Depot for wood and hardware, truckloads of soil harrowingly wheel-barrowed along a bumpy and narrow path around the swimming pool, and a last-minute scattering of straw in the paths, and, son of a…, it actually looked just like I’d hoped: not quite as ugly as those other vegetable beds I’ve seen.

More night gardening yields an okay shot with a Pixel II. Great camera. Terrible phone.

After about half a dozen big projects like this and hundreds of little ones, we were about two weeks out from the tour and I started feeling a little better. You might even say confident. Perhaps a bit cocky. May had come, things had greened up, and all the plants I’d forgotten I had were reappearing, covering ground, screening ugliness, and some even went into bloom.

The mossy step project. A slippery slope of grassy mud that spilled down into the backyard was deemed too hazardous for old people, so old railroad ties from the hoop house were re-purposed into stairs. Only the last one was too high, so a mossy step was conceived and somewhat successfully executed, but it was one of many time-consuming ad hoc projects, and proved in the end almost as slippery as the grassy mud.

Heady in this moment, I heard these words leave my mouth, cross through air, and go into my son’s ears, “Hey, why don’t you have your (upcoming) wedding in our garden?” Whoa. I knew my mistake immediately and wanted nothing more than to suck those words right back out of the universe and into my chest, but, alas, they’d been said. And they’d been heard. And Tom seemed excited by the idea.

Despite record rainfall, plant life somehow still emerged itself out of March’s primordial ooze.

He and his fiancee had been planning their June 1st wedding as a guerrilla ceremony, to be held surreptitiously at a small, backwater Cincinnati Park that overlooked the river. This way they could avoid notifying the park district, the associated bureaucracy, and the rental payment. While we all thought looking out for the cops would lend a certain urgent element of adventure to the event, but it also meant parking would be difficult and conditions for our older loved ones could prove life-threatening if the rain didn’t let up and the grass didn’t get cut.

The open little glade that seemed just right for a wedding.

A fawn found in the garden the morning of the wedding was perceived as a sign of fertility.

Long story short, we hosted the wedding, and it’s mind-blowing the vast amount of space that exists between “garden tour worthy” and “wedding ready.” May 19th to June 1st, there I was again, out in the yard, gardening like a mofo. Literally, and I mean literally, 3:15 PM day of the wedding, guests in the yard, and I’m dashing between them, head to foot in filth, trying to get inside for a quick shower in time for the 4:00 PM start.

Mother and son the day before.

But, gotta tell you, weeks of rain and gray skies opened up that afternoon to a glorious blue sky with billowing white clouds that towered like mountains in the sun. And, the wedding was perfect! A sweet, happy, beautiful couple, lovely self-written vows, pretty bridesmaids, and, hell, even the groomsmen looked good enough in their tuxes and all lined up in a row. And the garden? Well, it was far from perfect, but it strutted its stuff knowing it had never ever looked better. It made a splendid backdrop for the wedding and the photos.

The happy bride and her loving father. Laying that runner with filthy hands was the last job I did.

The ceremony,and a hodgepodge of anything I could buy in bloom and stuff into the bed in the foreground. Background held down by big leaf magnolias.

Afterwards, we all adjourned to the Irish Heritage Center for a night of delirious fun and celebration.

Michele and I, partying like people a fraction of our ages and having the time of our lives!

Back home, joyous, exhausted, and plunging straight into illness.

Next day, with all that we could do done, my wife Michele and I both woke up sick as can be. She had a sore throat and congestion. I had full-on aches and pains. No matter the symptoms, I knew we both had the bends because we had decompressed too hard.

Never was any good at container design, but this year I raised my game a little.

Now, still a little buzzed on this meager success, I’m already thinking about signing up for next year’s garden tour. It seems I just have this need for high-stakes, stress, and tales of adventure with happy endings And I’ve never been any good at learning from my mistakes.

In almost 40 years together, I’ve never seen her so beautiful.

        A Spring for the Ages; Endurance, Rainfall, Beauty, Raw Nerves, Blind Panic, and Two Cases of the Bends originally appeared on GardenRant on June 18, 2019.

from GardenRant http://bit.ly/2IQNKOY

[winterwolvesandstarbucks]

The cool breeze blowing through the great outdoors, never felt more refreshing to Bucky as he makes his way down the side-walk of East-Brooklyn. Despite the fact he was far from the solitude of the countryside where the air was cleaner and the outdoors quieter, Bucky felt a semblance of rejuvenation and nostalgia at the feeling of being back home where he was born almost a century ago. The best part—he didn’t come back alone. He feels a tug on his arm where he held a triple-headed leash in his hand. A smile stretches across his lips, ardent and purer than anything he’d felt in so long. The greatest gift ever given to him was giving birth to a litter of three wolf-pups. Aurora, Brennen and Madison. Each of whom where collared by the leash he held that was comfortable for them as well as easy for him to hold. Sipping an iced coffee, he clicks his tongue to gain their attention. “You guys ready to take a stroll?” He beams. Since he regained his human form weeks ago, thoughts of returning to Brooklyn had been at the edge of his mind until he decided he needed to stretch his legs and show his kids where their daddy came from. Their reactions had been mixed from excitement, to nervousness and refusal. His pups had grown up in the past year since their birth, coming into their toddler ages, he wanted to show them more about where their parents came from.

Pointing her tiny muzzle at the myriad of industrial scents that were unrecognizable to her senses, Aurora froze in her wobbling paces as blares of traffic vented from the congested backlit streets haloed by orange glows of streetlamps that caressed light over her silken brunette-cinder fur. The little wolfling squeaked out a feeble yelp, twisting her leash into a knot as she twirled on her paws, feeling unsure of the strange noises coming from every direction, piercing her enhanced hearing. It hurt. She went down low on her pudgy belly, and lifted her paws over her flatted ears, blocking out the deafening crescendo that never ended. “Daddy…” She whined with a girlish sniffle, feeling her twin brother’s chubbier form nudging fussily against her, while little Mattie was reeling back in her unbalanced steps, nuzzling her whiskered nose over Bucky’s tactical boot. “Too much noise…”

A tight smile formed on Bucky’s face, ever remorseful towards his children’s discomfort but his smile was placating at the same time. “I know, sweet heart. New York is a big city, with so many people and animals moving around, there isn’t much room for quiet time, unless we’re at the library,” Bucky sighs, recalling how much serener it was as a kid growing up in the 1920s where loud vehicles were as sparse as the people driving them. So much could change in close to a century. Music blared from the apartment windows, louder engines to faster cars zooming past, and the flocks of civilians moving down the street. The only thing louder was as a Dodgers game, and there was no way Bucky was taking his kids to see one of those in person. “Try not to let it bother you,” he offers her. “It stinks like butt and garbage, daddy.” Brennen shrugged irritably, his nose winkling while he bats his paw into the air as if he were battle some unseen foe that was assaulting his nostrils. The wolfing had been the most vocal about his refusal to leave home and go into the city were trees were few and the humans too many. It was a naked feeling the pup didn’t like, he longed for the cool solitude of their den, than the blistering heat of city streets beneath his paws. “I hate it!” He whines. “Bren, watch your language, pal,” Bucky admonishes to his son gently, despite the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he relished the sweet cool taste of caffeine on his tongue while sipping his Starbucks iced coffee.

Giggling at her twin brother’s irritable protests, Aurora slammed her weight forcibly into the chubbiest of the litter, knocking him off his paws, as their leashes twirled into a knot, while they both were seeking dominance over Bucky’s awareness. Sensing her brother’s devious tactic to wiggle out of his collar, she nipped her puppy fangs into his furred back, growling aggressively. Mattie stooped back like an alarmed kitten between Bucky’s heavy combat boots, squeaking out high pitched whimpers, shuttering into a tiny ball of mahogany fur as the two eldest pups engaging their sidewalk sparring. “No runnin’ this time, Bren…”

“Get off me, I’m not runnin’,” the chubby pup grunts with a tinge of aggression. His domineering instincts to be the best among his pack was a constant trigger that was easily pulled. He and Aurora stumble slightly, their tiny barks drawing the attention of passing civilians who cooed and awed at the adorable display. Bucky remains tight-lipped, though there was an air of exasperation in his bemused expression. Since they arrived in Brooklyn 72 hours ago, Aurora and Brennen were about as aggressive in their fun as a band of Asgardians. Something Steve had pointed out just last night and Bucky couldn’t appreciate till now. “Okay you two, knock it off, or we’re not stopping for iced cream,” Bucky warns, watching expectantly as the twins stumble off of each other and find their proper postures as if someone had hit a reset button. They traded glares with each other before putting up facades of innocence and remorse. Ah the puppy dog eyes, Bucky realized with a dry smirk. “Sorry, daddy. We’ll behave,” Brennen pipes up almost desperately. Despite how much he didn’t like the city, there were a few things he was more than taken by—ice cream being at the top of the list, along with buttered popcorn and stuffed pillows.

Aurora’s temperament alternated to less hostile furball, as she mastered the angelic visage of little sweetheart, really sugar coating it, with a docile wag of her stubby tail and girlish sulk. “S'orry, Daddy, we’ll play nice…” She gazed up at Bucky, watching his eyebrows pinch into a taut furrow under the brim of his Dodger’s baseball cap, the humid breeze flitted his wolfish strands of his heavy, stubbled jaw as he quirked his shapely lips into a jovial smirk, conveying his own playful spirit. Little Mattie snuggled against his boot, whimpering for him to scoop her up.

“I hope so, otherwise, Mattie and I hear are gonna get the whole share, isn’t that right, little darlin?” Bucky coos while lifting the tiny pup into his arms who proceeded to nuzzle his neck and shoulder affectionately before burying herself into the warm and secure crook of his arm. Bucky chuckles before placing a sweet kiss on her head, her scent of vanilla and cinnamon easing his vexation and putting him into a casually fun mood. “What kind of ice cream you want, hm?” he beams down at her with a soft smile.

“Daddy, I wanna, um, the pink icy cream, plwease,” Aurora chirped back demandingly, balancing on her four paws with balletic –wobbling graces, her intense starlit azure eyes gleaming with hunger anew while Mattie snuggled cozily over the cool metallic plates of Bucky’s concealed robotic arm, the electronic pulse soothed down the worming tension in her belly, as she giggled in unison with her older sister. “Girls like the pink stuff, Daddy…”

“I want chocolate, daddy! Can I get my own bowl this time?! Can I?!” Brennen barks up excitedly, his tiny paws already quaking with savory anticipation of the sweet and delicious treat. When he had first discovered it, the wolfing nearly ate an entire bucket by himself. The ice cream headache that followed had been worth the rush coolness and the stuff of fulfillment. Staying in the city was worth it to the wolf pup as long as he had a daily fill of the tasty cold dessert. Bucky chuckled at the excitement of his two twins. He understood Brennen’s addiction to ice-cream. There were times he caught himself drooling at the thought of a bowl of chocolate with peanut-butter moose tracks. “Okay okay, little guys. Just remember not to take too much in at once or you’ll get headaches,” Bucky softly chides as they resume their walk. “I’m sure you remember last time,” he reminds them of the long night the twins spent whining into the night as if they had been robbed of their favorite toy. Neither he nor Steve slept that night.

A fussy squeak followed the maelstrom of playful yips, Mattie twisted her neck around and glared heatedly at her siblings, with her unwavering luminous coffee orbs, they disrupting her contentment. Barring her puppy fangs at Aurora, her mahogany furred bristled irritably as she nuzzled herself deeper into the sleeve that layered over Bucky’s cybertronic arm, resting her tiny muzzle on the area where the chrome plates vibrated a soothing pulse. She wanted to sleep in her Daddy’s cradling arms–nothing compared to his secured warmth, not even ice cream.

“It’s all right, little darlin’,” Bucky whispers to her knowingly, caressing the top of her head soothingly. He knew how much Mattie felt protected and safe in his embrace, as if nothing in the world could harm or even vex her. It had also been a long day, and he knew how much she wanted to be at home, drifting off to a warm and comfortable sleep while secured against the warm expanse of his chest. The thought was soothing to Bucky in itself, and it was also what he most looked forward to each night. “We’ll be home soon enough,” he tells her. In the sky, the afternoon sun had begun to drift towards the western horizon, giving the hint of nightfall soon to come. The family continues down a side-walk, turning a corner that would lead them down a less-busy street and where a local ice-cream parlor stood close-by. Few civilians wandered by from an apartment building. Their scents were a myriad of musky cologne, nicotine, lavender perfume, and leather. Before he had become a mountain direwolf, Bucky’s sense of smell had never been so potent or empowering. While some scents were delightfully mouthwatering, like the smell of hot-dogs being sold by a vendor down the corner. There were other scents that triggered something predatorial within the man-wolf.

Approaching the crowd with caution measured in her paw steps, Aurora felt her nose scrunch up, instincts were steering her away from the shop, and towards a burgundy leafed maple tree rooted on the corner of the crosswalk. Scanning the area, with her glacial azure eyes, her lithe body tugged at the leash, with relentless momentum as she caught the phantom scent of something devious and arrogant within her proximity. Whimpering out a high pitch squeak, she thrust forward, trying to escape from the leash. “Daddy, let go, I smell somethin’,” she urged, arching her weight up until she balanced on her hind paws. “I want it.”

“Rora, settle down,” Bucky reprimands her gently, not releasing his hold on the leash despite her sudden outburst. He roots himself once he feels Brennen begin to act up just as well as his sister, their strength together proving to be a surprising force while Bucky frowns in confusion. In his arm, he feels Mattie tense up but she had remarkably also raised her head to sniff at something unseen. Bucky wondered what was going in, as he notices Brennen raise his own muzzle and sniff aloud too. “Brennen? Rora? What’s wrong?” He asks, looking around warily. He knew that in human form, his sense of smell wasn’t as keen as his kids in their wolfling forms. He sees them staring up at the tree beside him that was as high as two stories. Whatever it was, it seemed to incite the young wolfling who releases a low growl, surprising Bucky. “Up there, daddy. You see him?!” Brennen barks, nearly hopping on his paws as he strains to get closer to the wooden bark. “Hey, ugly! I see you!” Brennen barks. “What are you two talking abo—” Flabbergasted, Bucky looks up…and his incredulous expression darkens into something captivated and primal. The blue of his eyes had become as intense as a storm as they glared, unblinkingly at a furry creature, perched on the branch of the tree high up, squeaking while at the same time wagging his chin at them mockingly. “Get down here, squirrel! You think you’re so tough?! Let’s see!” Brennen barks out, challengingly.

High in his branched perch, the lanky rodent furred in raven-black, flicked his bushy tail, almost daring Bucky to engage. His beady eyes gleamed with sconces of virulent, immortal green as he stared down at the ensorcelled beast machine, who looked so degraded–leashed- from his menacing and lethal visage of tactical garb, he almost squeaked in jest, at the roundness of pudge layered on Bucky’s stubbled cheeks. ‘Oh, what has become of you, dear James Barnes?“ he whispered in a sinister, polished cadence, relishing it in that sadistic pleasure. "Such a waste of mortality, but I can still have some fun with you…” The raven furred squirrel veered his steely gaze at an acorn dangling loosely from a reachable branch, and quickly whipped off, aiming for Bucky’s head.

"Hey!" Bucky was both appalled and incensed as he feels the stunning sensation of a nut clocking against his forehead, followed swiftly by another. "What the—" Another nut clocked against his cheek, some of the ones that missed rained down on the ground, one bouncing off of Brennen's head. Bucky had little time to register the fact that the furry creature was eerily familiar, when rage engulfed him and his pack. "Annoying little…" Bucky bit his tongue to refrain from unleashing a verbal assault in front of his children. He was from Brooklyn after-all, and he had a few choice words to describe the bothersome pest that had drawn his ire. His blood pumped loudly in his ears as the beast within howled to let out and take control. "You're gonna pay for that! No one likes you squirrel!" Brennen continued to bark and rave on his paws, pouncing against the stump of the tree in an effort to climb up and snatch the offending prey.

"Oh no you don't Bren," Aurora snarled out aggressively, using effective momentum while lunging at her feisty brother with a graceful pounce. She pinned him underneath her pudgy weight, registering a stubborn "grah" that squeaked out of his scrunching muzzle. She had the pudgiest of the litter locked into submission, as she delivered a victorious giggle, wickedly curving her delicate muzzle into a devious puppy fanged smirk. "Not so tough now, are ya?" she challenged haughtily, setting the predatory gleam of her frosted azure orbs intently on the slender black creature perched above. Unrestrained instincts steered her to engage an immediate advance for a killing strike."That's my kill..."

"Get off, he's mine!" Brennen wiggled and squirmed as he tried to wrestle out of his sister's hold. She was stronger than she looked, and it was a blow to his pride that she took him down so quick and efficiently despite the distraction. While the two wolfings tumbled and swat their paws at each other, Mattie climbed out of Bucky's arm and gracefully leapt to the ground beside her brother and sister. Rather than join their tug of war, she grapples a nut that was thrown tugs it between her teeth like a chew-toy. Exuberance and aggression filled the wolfings, but it was unmatched by the brewing storm growing within their alpha. Bucky's entire focus had settled on the squirrel, his steel-blue eyes burning with anticipation as the creature's own emerald orbs gleamed back at him—mischievous and challenging. A growl erupted from Buckys throat, he was filled with a resurgence of primal instinct that began to manifest into a predatory transformation.

"Yes, do embrace the inner beast, Winter Soldier," Loki whispered in resonant of jeered spite, daringly leveling his insipid beady eyes of silvery emerald on the enchanted Siberian assassin, who to him was measured as a bloated out slug of mortality. He relished the pleasure of evoking the unhinged aggression that he detected surging inside; all it would take is one more acorn to the face, and the menacing spirit of the wolf would become unleashed for the hunt. Flicking his bushy tail with a swift movement on his branch, the Asgardian Trickster chirped loudly, watching Bucky's upper lip curl as longer canine fangs jutted out with a throated seethe. Loki sniggered, just relishing the unfolding of bestial changes seizing Bucky's restraint."Oh, this little game is going to be so much fun to play..."

The coherent thoughts of a grown human had evaporated in a boiling tempest. Bucky's clenched fingers became uncomfortable as sharpened claws extended from his nails. His round ears that tucked away loose strands of dark chestnut had come loose to make way for pointed ends. His eyes once a cool blue had become burning flames of sapphire. The beast within struggled against the assailing control of man, allowing only a portion of his visage to morph into that of a wolf. Bucky's chest rumbled as the vibrations of a growling beast shook his body to the core. A beast that had a famished taste for squirrel. "You're mine, runt!" Bucky snarls, his high-adrenaline and malice fueling his movements as he pounced towards the tree with one violent thrust with his raised claws.

Undaunted by the sheer primordial rage that was pulsating within Bucky, the elusive invader of the Barnes family contentment, instantly felt an intoxicating rush surge within his slender form, Loki quickly vaulted off his branch and hurried down the sidewalk. The amber gleams of haloing streetlights caressed over his raven fur as he gained distance when the beast machine. His little ears perked once he felt thunderous, intimating vibrations of stomping boot steps menacingly tagging his fervent pace. He loved being on the edge of chaos, locked in the crosshairs of mortal restraint against influxes of awakened brutality. He craved for a relentless pursuit, testing the young alpha's limits of unsated bloodlust. Turning his head, Loki watched Bucky charging at him with deadly speed and fierce precision, his broad shoulders arched back and teeth barred."That's it, Barnes, unleash the wolf, let him seize the night."

A beastial roar combined with the dramatic cry of an angry man, bellowed throughout the streets. Once the squirrel had taken off down the street, Bucky had given no other thought than the satisfaction of wrapping his teeth around the furry creature, and wringing its neck. Who did this squirrel think he is to provoke a sleeping beast? Was it that eager to become his next meal? The wolf fumed as he races through incoming traffic, his sharp reflexes allowing him to effortlessly jump over the hoods and elude collision. The bewildered drivers looked on while honking their horns furiously at the display. Bucky didn't stop as he sees the squirrel bounce use increase speed and agility, scurring away like a coward that continued to mock him by wagging its tail at him from a lamp-post. "I'll gut you!!" Bucky roars, lunging for the post only to miss the squirrel by an inch as it chose to evade. The man-wolf was unable to control his momentum as he crashes against a hotdog vendor, over-turning his cart in a sea of devastating shock. "Son of--! My hotdogs!" The furious vendor yelling, trying desperately to preserve his overturned product. His pinched brow becomes bewildered as a trio of pups race past, the fattest of the litter snatching one of the stray wieners from reach and continuing at a brisk pace. "Hey!"

Pulling up to the sidewalk curb, and cautious of the pick-up truck parked behind him, Steve glided Harley’s tires with measured ease, feeling the revving vibrations of the engine lessen as he swiftly jammed the heel of his motorcycle boot against the chrome kickstand before extracting out the ignition fob. The bluish halo glow of the headlight dimmed, as he effortlessly slid his Adonis bulked weight off the bike’s saddle, and set the hawkish intensity of his azure eyes on the convenience store –his destination for stocking up on fruit infused popsicles and ice cream sandwiches for the pups. Being a doting uncle was a mission in itself, there wasn’t a dull moment and he loved every minute of it. As he casually strode towards the store’s door, a crescendo of screeching tires and furious shooting grappled his steeled regard, as Steve instinctively whirled around in a heartbeat, and paced further away from his motorcycle, passively veered a gaze directly at the obstruction of vehicles, taxi cabs and a mess of hot dogs dispersed recklessly along the crosswalk. “Well, how bout that?” he whispered heartily, his full shapely lips quirking up into a boyish smirk;  his unwaveringly vigilant azure irises went alight with mounting befuddlement as he watched a little pudgy canine sitting nonchalantly on a tipped over vendor cart, munching sloppily on a snatched grilled ball park. “Now, there’s somethin’ you don’t see every day in Brooklyn…”

[abzilp]

That night I hated Father. He smelt of cabbage. There was cigarette ash all over his trousers. His untidy moustache was yellower and viler than ever with nicotine, and he took no notice of me. He simply stood there in his ugly armchair, his eyes half closed, brooding on the Lord knows what. I hated him. I hated his moustache. I even hated the smoke that drifted from his mouth and hung in the stale air above his head.

And when my mother came through the door and asked me whether I had seen her spectacles, I hated her, too. I hated the clothes she wore; tasteless and fussy. I hated them deeply. I hated something I had never noticed before; it was the way the heels of her shoes were worn away on their outside edges – not badly but appreciably. It looked mean to me, slatternly, and horribly human. I hated her for being human – like father.

She began to nag me about her glasses and the thread-bare condition of the elbows of my jacket, and suddenly I threw my book down. The room was unbearable. I felt suffocated. I suddenly realized that I must get away. I had lived with these two people for nearly twenty-three years. I had been born in the room immediately overhead. Was this the life for a young man? To spend his evenings watching the smoke drift out of his father’s mouth and stain that decrepit old moustache, year after year – to watch the worn-away edges of my mother’s heels, the dark-brown furniture and the familiar stains on the chocolate-coloured carpet? I would go away; I would shake off the dark, smug mortality of the place. I would forego my birthright. What of my father’s business into which I would step at his death? What of it? To hell with it.

I began to make my way to the door, but at the third step I caught my foot in a ruck of the chocolate-coloured carpet, and in reaching out my hand for support I sent a pink vase flying.

Suddenly I felt very small and very angry. I saw my mother’s mouth opening, and it reminded me of the front door and the front door reminded me of my urge to escape – to where? To where?

I did not wait to find an answer to my own question but, hardly knowing what I was doing, ran from the house.

The accumulated boredom of the last twenty-three years was at my back, and it seemed that I was propelled through the garden gate from its pressure against my shoulder-blades.

The road was wet with rain, black and shiny like oilskin. The reflection of the street-lamps wallowed like yellow jellyfish. A bus was approaching – a bus to Piccadilly, a bus to the never-never land – a bus to death or glory.

I found neither. I found something which haunts me still.

The great bus swayed as it sped. The black street gleamed. Through the window a hundred faces fluttered by as though the leaves of a dark book were being flicked over. And I sat there, with a sixpenny ticket in my hand. What was I doing? Where was I going?

To the centre of the world, I told myself. To Piccadilly Circus, where anything might happen. What did I want to happen?

I wanted life to happen! I wanted adventure; but already I was afraid. I wanted to find a beautiful woman. Bending my elbow I felt for the swelling of my biceps. There wasn’t much to feel. ‘Oh hell,’ I said to myself, ‘Oh damnable hell. This is awful.’

I stared out of the window, and there before me was the Circus. The lights were like a challenge. When the bus had curved its way from Regent Street and into Shaftesbury Avenue I alighted. Here was the jungle all about me, and I was lonely. The wild beasts prowled around me. The wolf packs surged and shuffled. Where was I to go? How wonderful it would have been to have known of some apartment, dimly lighted; of a door that opened to the secret knock, three short ones and one long one – where a strawberry blonde was waiting or perhaps, better still, some wise old lady with a cup of tea, an old lady, august and hallowed and whose heels were not worn down on their outside edges.

But I knew nowhere to go either for glamour or sympathy. Nowhere except the Corner House.

I made my way there. It was less congested than usual. I had only to queue for a few minutes before being allowed into the great eating-palace on the first floor. On, the marble and gold of it all! The waiters coming and going, the band in the distance – how different all this was from an hour ago, when I stared at my father’s moustache.

For some while I could find no table, and it was only when moving down the third of the long corridors between tables that I saw an old man leaving a table for two. The lady who had been sitting opposite him remained where she was. Had she left I would have had no tale to tell. Unsuspectingly I took the place of the old man and in reaching for the menu lifted my head and found myself gazing into the midnight pools of her eyes.

My hand hung poised over the menu. I could not move, for the head in front of me was magnificent. It was big and pale and indescribably proud – and what I would now call a greedy look seemed to me then to be an expression of rich assurance, of majestic beauty.

I knew at once that it was not the strawberry blonde of my callow fancy that I desired for glamour’s sake, nor the comfort of the tea-tray lady – but this glorious creature before me who combined the mystery and exoticism of the former with the latter’s mellow wisdom.

Was this not love at first sight? Why else should my heart have hammered like a foundry? Why should my hand have trembled above the menu? Why should my mouth have gone dry?

Words were quite impossible. It was clear to me that she knew everything that was going on in my breast and in my brain. The look of love which flooded from her eyes all but unhinged me. Taking my hand in hers she returned it to my side of the table where it lay like a dead thing on a plate. Then she passed me the menu. It meant nothing to me. The hors d’ouvres and the sweets were all mixed together in a dance of letters.

What I told the waiter when he came I cannot remember, nor what he brought me. I know that I could not eat it. For an hour we sat there. We spoke with our eyes, with the pulse and stress of our excited breathing – and towards the end of this, our first meeting, with the tips of our fingers that in touching each other in the shadow of the teapot seemed to speak a language richer, subtler, and more vibrant than words.

At last we were asked to go – and as I rose I spoke for the first time. ‘Tomorrow?’ I whispered. ‘Tomorrow?’ She nodded her magnificent head slowly. ‘Same place? Same time?’ She nodded again.

I waited for her to rise, but with a gentle yet authoritative gesture she signalled me away.

It seemed strange, but I knew I must go. I turned at the door and saw her sitting there, very still, very upright. Then I descended to the street and made my way to Shaftesbury Avenue, my head in a whirl of stars, my legs weak and trembling, my heart on fire.

I had not decided to return home but found nevertheless that I was on my way back – back to the chocolate-coloured carpet, to my father in the ugly armchair, to my mother with her worn shoe heels.

When at last I turned the key it was near midnight. My mother had been crying. My father was angry. There were words, threats and entreaties on all sides. At last I got to bed.

The next day seemed endless, but at long last my excited fretting found some relief in action. Soon after tea I boarded the west-bound bus. It was already dark, but I was far too early when I arrived at the Circus.

I wandered restlessly here and there, adjusting my tie at shop windows and filing my nails for the hundredth time.

At last, when waking from a day dream as I sat for the fifth time in Leicester Square, I glanced at my watch and found I was three minutes late for our tryst.

I ran all the way panting with anxiety, but when I arrived at the table on the first floor I found my fear was baseless. She was there, more regal than ever, a monument of womanhood. Her large, pale face relaxed into an expression of such deep pleasure at the sight of me that I almost shouted for joy.

I will not speak of the tenderness of that evening. It was magic. It is enough to say that we determined that our destinies were inextricably joined.

When the time came for us to go I was surprised to find that the procedure of the previous night was once more expected of me. I could in no way make out the reason for it. Again I left her sitting alone at the table by the marble pillar. Again I vanished into the night alone, with those intoxicating words still on my lips. ‘Tomorrow…tomorrow…same time…same place…’

The certainty of my love for her and hers for me was quite intoxicating. I slept little that night and my restlessness on the following day was an agony both for me and my parents.

Before I left that night for our third meeting I crept into my mother’s bedroom, and opening her jewel box I chose a ring from among her few trinkets. God knows it was not worthy to sit upon my loved one’s finger, but it would symbolize our love.

Again she was waiting for me, though on this occasion I arrived a full quarter of an hour before our appointed time. It was as though, when we were together, we were hidden in a veil of love – as though we were alone. We heard nothing else but the sound of our voices; we saw nothing else but one another’s eyes.

She put the ring upon her finger as soon as I had given it to her. Her hand that was holding mine tightened its grip. I was surprised at its power. My whole body trembled. I moved my foot beneath the table to touch hers. I could find it nowhere.

When once more the dreaded moment arrived, I felt her sitting upright, the strong and tender smile of her farewell remaining in my mind like some fantastic sunrise.

For eight days we met thus, and parted thus, and with every meeting we knew more firmly than ever that whatever the difficulties that would result, whatever the forces against us, yet it was now that we must marry, now, while the magic was upon us.

On the eighth evening it was all decided. She knew that for my part it must be a secret wedding. My parents would never countenance so rapid an arrangement. She understood perfectly. For her part she wished a few of her friends to be present at the ceremony.

‘I have a few colleagues,’ she had said. I did not know what she meant, but her instructions as to where we should meet on the following afternoon put the remark out of my mind.

There was a registry office in Cambridge Circus, she told me, on the first floor of a certain building. I was to be there at four o’clock. She would arrange everything.

‘Ah, my love,’ she had murmured, shaking her large head slowly from side to side, ‘how can I wait until then?’ And with a smile unutterably bewitching she gestured for me to go, for the great marmoreal hall was all but empty.

For the eighth time I left her there. I knew that women must have their secrets and must be in no way thwarted in regard to them, and so, once again, I swallowed the question that I so longed to put to her. Why, oh why had I always to leave her there – and why, when I arrived to meet her, was she always there to meet me?

On the following day, after a careful search, I found a gold ring in a box in my father’s dressing-room. Soon after three, having brushed my hair until it shone like sealskin, I set forth with a flower in my buttonhole and suitcase of belongings. It was a beautiful day with no wind and a clear sky.

The bus fled on like a fabulous beast, bearing me with it to a magic land.

But, alas, as we approached Mayfair we were held up more than once for long stretches of time. I began to get restless. By the time the bus had reached Shaftesbury Avenue I had but three minutes in which to reach the office.

It seemed strange that when the sunlight shone in sympathy with my marriage the traffic should choose to frustrate me. I was on the top of the bus and, having been given a very clear description of the building, was able, as we rounded at last into Cambridge Circus, to recognize it at once. When we came alongside my destination the traffic was held up again, and I was offered the perfect opportunity of disembarking immediately beneath the building.

My suitcase was at my feet, and as I stooped to pick it up I glanced at the windows on the first floor – for it was in one of those rooms that I was so soon to become a husband.

I was exactly on a level with the windows in question and commanded an unbroken view of the interior of a first-floor room. It could not have been more than a dozen feet away from where I sat.

I remember that our bus was hooting away, but there was no movement in the traffic ahead. The hooting came to me as through a dream, for I had become lost in another world.

My hand was clenched upon the handle of the suitcase. Through my eyes and into my brain an image was pouring. The image of the first-floor room.

I knew at once that it was in that particular room that I was expected. I cannot tell you why, for during those first few moments I had not seen her.

To the right of the stage (for I had the sensation of being in a theatre) was a table loaded with flowers. Behind the flowers sat a small pinstriped registrar. There were four others in the room, three of whom kept walking to and fro. The fourth, an enormous bearded lady, sat on a chair by the window. As I stared, one of the men bent over to speak to her. He had the longest neck on earth. His starched collar was the length of a walking stick, and his small bony head protruded from its extremity like the skull of a bird. The other two gentlemen who kept crossing and recrossing were very different. One was bald. His face and cranium were blue with the most intricate tattooing. His teeth were gold, and they shone like fire in his mouth. The other was a well-dressed young man and seemed normal enough until, as he came for a moment closer to the window, I saw that instead of a hand the cloven hoof of a goat protruded from the left sleeve.

And then suddenly it all happened. A door of their room must have opened, for all at once all the heads in the room were turned in one direction and a moment later something in white trotted like a dog across the room.

But it was no dog. It was vertical as it ran. I thought at first that it was a mechanical doll, so close was it to the floor. I could not observe its face, but I was amazed to see the long train of satin that was being dragged along the carpet behind it.

It stopped when it reached the flower-laden table, and there was a good deal of smiling and bowing, and then the man with the longest neck in the world placed a high stool in front of the table and, with the help of the young man with the goat foot, lifted the white thing so that it stood upon the high stool. The long satin dress was carefully draped over the stool so that it reached the floor on every side. It seemed as though a tall, dignified woman was standing at the civic altar.

And still I had not seen its face, though I knew what it would be like. A sense of nausea overwhelmed me and I sank back on the seat, hiding my face in my hands.

I cannot remember when the bus began to move. I know that I went on and on and on and that finally I was told that I had reached the terminus. There was nothing for it but to board another bus of the same number and make the return journey. A strange sense of relief had by now begun to blunt the edge of my disappointment. That this bus would take me to the door of the house where I was born gave me a twinge of homesick pleasure. But stronger was my sense of fear. I prayed that there would be no reason for the bus to be held up again in Cambridge Circus.

I had taken one of the downstairs seats, for I had no wish to be on an eye level with someone I had deserted. I had no sense of having wronged her, but she had been deserted nevertheless.

When at last the bus approached the Circus I peered into the half darkness. A street-lamp stood immediately below the registry office. I saw at once that there was no light in the office, and as the bus moved past I turned my eyes to a group beneath the street-lamp. My heart went cold in my breast.

Standing there, ossified as it were into a malignant mass – standing there as though they never intended to move until justice was done – were the five. It was only for a second that I saw them, but every lamplit head is forever with me – the long-necked man with his bird skull head, his eyes glinting like chips of glass; to his right the small bald man, his tattooed scalp thrust forward, the lamplight glinting on the blue markings. To the left of the long-necked man stood the youth, his elegant body relaxed but a snarl on his face that I still sweat to remember. His hands were in his pockets, but I could see the shape of the hoof through the cloth. A little ahead of these three stood the bearded lady, a bulk of evil – and in the shadow that she cast before her I saw in that last fraction of a second, as the bus rolled me past, a big whitish head, very close to the ground.

In the dusk it appeared to be suspended above the kerb like a pale balloon with a red mouth painted upon it – a mouth that, taking a single diabolical curve, was more like the mouth of a wild beast than of a woman.

Long after I had left the group behind me – set, as it were, forever under the lamp, like something made of wax, like something monstrous, long after I had left it I yet saw it all. It filled the bus. They filled my brain. They fill it still.

When at last I arrived home I fell weeping upon my bed. My father and mother had no idea what it was all about, but they did not ask me. They never asked me.

That evening, after supper, I sat there, I remember, six years ago in my own chair on the chocolate-coloured carpet. I remember how I stared with love at the ash on my father’s waistcoat, at his stained moustache, at my mother’s worn-away shoe heels. I stared at it all and I loved it all. I needed it all.

Since then I have never left the house. I know what is best for me.