A Matter of Love in da Bronx (44 page)

I didn't think I'd write tonight. I wanted to leave something to do with you for tomorrow. But, I couldn't sleep. Try as I might. I think only of you. For you. About you. With you. You, you, you. Just Mary. -Mary Dolorosso, why aren't you in my arms where you should be? I ask all the time. I want you so badly I can almost feel you right next to me. I wish so hard for your kiss I can taste your sweetness. ...and other thoughts. It's not a world for sleeping. Nor dreaming, too preciously perishable and disappointing an experience compared to the reality of you. So, I turned on the light, and find I prefer to be this way with you.

Think with me, as I consider these people in my life:

My folks. How easily I can excuse, explain and understand their motives. I can just as easily do the same for myself. How in this case does one assert values that don't sail as a weathervane? Just the acknowledgement that one day I must make a choice is difficult enough, what can I expect of the doing itself.

Sol. My comprehension and appreciation of the finer things in life comes from this man. I would like to think I shall be courageous when I confront him should I need to make a choice. I can't take him for granted as good a friend as he is. That wouldn't be fair. It's possible he may consider me an ingrate or a disappointment for not doing for myself, though whichever I would love him no less. He may not return for at least another two weeks.

Lou. As if I didn't know he was going to see Louisa! And he knows I know he knows I see through his bravura. Ah! True Love is like an eruption in the volcano of one's soul. Uncontainable. Lou is me, I am he.

Lincoln Jackson. You've never met him, but should you; you might find it easy to recognize in him the greatest extension of humanity's most noble values. He would tell you his life has been a daily disaster, and I would add not unmet with gallantry and honor

Sam Scopia. That's me. I would tell you a lot about him, if I could recognize him. Strange! I think of myself and immediately you come before me! My heart is racing! Pounding away like a triphammer! I can feel your touch still...Oh! Sweet promise of heavenly glitter. Your hand, there, caressing my tenderest emotions. God! Mary mine! Don't stop! Let these intermingling sensations send sparks through our soul. When? How soon? Will we have another moment! Your leaving comes like a death to me. I am much too sensitive to the fragile, fleeting instances that penetrate past the worth of soul; and, just as in those totalities when uncompromising beauty blossoms in any number of ways, but, say, by words--a poem, a passage, a prayer perhaps; or, say, by music--a theme, a piece; this is when, emotions inflamed, my spiritual essence is captivated, enthralled beyond bounds, seeks relief. Tears run from my eyes. I sob. I call out. I approach collapse. For mortals, especially this humble man, such ecstasy is priceless contraband because it leaves only the melt of a shell. Cojoin to this the magnificence of your beauty, and there remains an only faded memory of an exquisite, inexplicable felicitation, a return from a sacred inner space to which admittance is only by true love. How quickly the intensity diminishes. By design, of course. The jewel of life deserves special attention. Constantly. That's why you're before me always. Why I'm unable to capture totally the ardor of your kiss. I must be with you! Always! We must together make this beauty that changes us from earthbound mortals to inspired illustriousness. In itself, it's greater than the forces that contain the illustriousness of birth. I don't want to tease myself any longer by thinking of the feeling that comes over me when I think of you, when I think of what happens when we're together. Oh! Lord! I'm in Paradise now! What happens when we... Lord! Those three dots! What shorthand! Hieroglyphics for the High Mass of Love! I can't think about it any more. I'm left in too weakened a condition. My darling, how I want you in my arms. From there I needn't ask any other thing, not kiss me! Kiss me! Hold me! Hold me! Because my thoughts will be yours; your thoughts mine; and we'll give and take; and indulge this firestorm of love. It can't be soon enough, but if I don't find a pause in this perpetually unrequited desire I shall become a useless, driveling, cataleptic wasteyard of despair. So, may I ask? Will you come in my dreams? Ah! But I can dream, can't I? And why should one be different than another?

Can it be daylight already? I shall go forth and hang upside down by one ankle all day, all night, and all the next day to prove I'm just an ordinary man with an extraordinary love. Then, when I see you, there will be reports of a person leaving earth as a shooting star. I can barely hold the pen. Come. Release me, dearest. End for me this agony of desire. I perish with every thought of the sweet of your kiss. I collapse with every thought of the sensation of your touch.

Oh! Mary! Love me! Love me! Love me! Do!

Forever for always,

Sam

THEY DEVOTIONALLY DEVOURED the sight of each other. It was the following evening at the 174th Street subway station where they had agreed to meet when Mary telephoned Sam that afternoon. From the moment he spotted her moving through the blast of commuters, and she caught sight of him waiting just outside the imposing barricade of exit turnstiles, their eyes locked hungrily on one another. Her quickened steps, pacing her pulsing heart, took her impatiently past slowpokes, around obstacles, through the compactum. Finally, by the time outstretched hands were one, Sam and Mary had reached an effusive emotional verge. Immediately, he led her to the thin, cachetic seclusion of a telephone cubby. He turned, hard, close to her. Touching her shoulder, barely, it was enough to guide her to him.

They kissed.

The gentleness belied the furious blue-smoke passion roiling in their veins.

The heat of her lips sparked through his body.

--Marymary, I can't believe this! Now the kiss came hard, heavy upon her mouth, the sensation of it causing his breath to catch, his heart to fibrillate, his pulse to skip erratically. He had thought of this moment for so many vacant and extended hours its reality was nearly indistinguishable with the phantasy. Immediately the tastes of her flooded through him like a gulp of potent grappa. Every muscle in him strained to take in more of her. Madness! He could never have enough! He felt her squeeze his hand and crush it to her breast just as her tongue stroked his lips. In two throbs his penis became fully and painfully ironcast. Mind untethered from body.

With the touch of him, the world as she knew it no longer existed. There was a swirling, billowing, cloudy, transportation through strange sensations. Nervousness. An excitement. A nervous excitement that gripped her tightly. For a moment she thought she was unable to breathe which was surpassed by the gurge inside warming her vagina, swelling labia causing her to paroxysmally thrust her hips hard, rapidly, rhythmically into him. She felt the wetness flood her, damp her panties. The heat blazing up her legs licking her nipples, searing her throat. She wanted to focus on their kiss, but the whirlpool of emotions scattered her senses so wildly she caught only fragmented instances her tongue gliding past his lips, the cool grayness that came through her half-opened eyes, the rigidness settling in both breasts, the spasm of the muscles in her buttocks, the strain of her body against his; then there was the loss of time and only the sensation of being an explosion and feeling herself fly as a spray of water crashing a wall. For just a few moments a distant blackness sprang to envelop her, and she would've fainted had she not fought back by focusing on the hardness pushing into the softness above her vee. The desire was to grab it; grip it tightly; jam it to the inside of her; fuse it to her flesh; take its spasm and make them one.

--Sam, my darling, I could cry I'm so happy to see you!

--Oh! Marymarymary...

--Iloveyou!

--IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou...!

--I thought the day would never go bye...

--Kissmekissme...Hmmmmmmmm....

--Your kisses are the sweetness of heaven. I can't get enough.

-Neither can Sam. We can't stay here.

-No.

-Where shall we go?

-Wherever we can make love.

-Sam...

Their lips hung lightly apart as they kissed rapidly several times in succession, each time one urging to hold the meet the other slipping apart teasingly.

-Darling, death must be softer than this.

-If the Spanish Inquisition knew of this, it would've been over in a week. What torture!

-Can't we go someplace where we can be alone? Abruptly Sam moved apart from her, his hands falling to his sides. He shook his head. Darling, Sam, what is it? What did I say? I just expressed what you must want, what you must feel, too. Your dejection is mine. But tell me the cause so I may share it the better. Tell me, Sweet.

-God! Did I do that to you? I'd rather cut off my right arm than cause you the slightest discomfort. Mary, I love you so much. I must tell you the truth. I feel so badly because of how I find myself. Of course we should be alone. But, I'm sad when I think of what I have to offer. At least if I were a poet I could offer that we rush off to the park where we could lay on pine needles, hear the rush of the stream, see the covering sky. Like little boys hiding away to jack each other off. Or, should it be a motel where the sheets are allowed to cool barely. Can you understand I would find any place on earth inadequate?

-Our love may have been created in Paradise, my Dear, but the reality is let's take the best the Bronx has to offer us, whatever that is. Besides, we've got less than three hours, much too short a time to both search and to do what we'd like. A private, special place. A place where we can--you know. It will have to wait until Friday. Agreed? Both hands went up to his neck to pull him closer to her until the sparks from his lips caused her heart to burst into flames. My God! Do I love you!

-Oh! No more! No more! I shall become an ecstatic emotional melt on this very spot. God! How can we stay apart? Too much, too much. May I say you're so disgustingly sensible. You inspire me to madness. Do you really expect me ...us...to wait?

-What do you want?

-My darling, I want to feel my ardor slip into your treasure. As big as I am, I want to hear you moan, and cry out to take more of me. I want my sensibilities to be battered and smashed against clambering sensations that drive us wilder and wilder to physical, emotional, sexual ecstasies. I want orgasms that come like death. What is it you thought my desire was for you?

-As mine is for you! Oh! Sam! Let's do it! Wherever it might be! Right here, right now! Anyplace! In a cab! On a bench! Wherever! I can't stand it! I want to strip my clothes off of both of us, and do our wild passionate thing! The church! Let's go to the church! On the altar if you wish!

-Arrrrghhh! Son of a bitch!

Women turned, continued walking.

-What, my love? What?

-I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't show my guts, but, with you, it's as if I'm talking to another me. I'm angry, Mary. I'm so angry about so many things. He looked into her eyes. His face filled with a smile, moving slowly to bring his lips to her cheek. He took her hand, leading her out of the station.

What is it, my Love?

He could feel his swollen penis caught tight. The anger I feel comes from a disappointment with myself. It's absolutely stupid that I should find myself in this position, unable to present you with a beautiful and wonderful occasion--the Skyline Suite at Waldorf, champagne, orchids--that kind. Perhaps I'm bitter because I believe I could've had that for you if I had directed my life differently; misplaced loyalty, it is.

--We're together. We have each other. Perhaps we're not as alone as we'd like to be, but there isn't another soul on earth besides you and me. Nothing else matters. Just...just talk to me.

Her words filled him to sparkling buoyancy.

--About what?

--About something important to you, something I can think about besides possessing you.

--I wrote a note to you today. I didn't plan to give it to you, just some scribbling in my diary, about...things. Like... Knowledge. At one time I used to think how wonderful it would be to possess almost all the knowledge in the world. Then, I became more realistic. Half. Just half the world's knowledge would be fine. Finally, I thought it would be great if I be just a little smarter than I am. And wouldn't everyone be satisfied with the same? Nope. I can think of a couple things some people would rather not know. Instinct also makes people shy away from acquiring other types of knowledge. It wasn't too long ago I thought how wonderful a book it might be to alert youngsters about what they are about to head into, meaning life. Then, I began to wonder, if they had an idea of what to expect if that would make for them a better life. I'm not so sure. I think not knowing, and learning how to cope with the rigors of life is what prepares most people for the next onslaught. Filling their lives with aphorisms, truisms might be interesting when they look backwards. But, in the heat of battle--in the doings of daily life--the swinging of the sword is the only vital activity. Very few of us can smile while we're doing it. Somehow we're taught to hide our scars, I guess because to show them not only is supposed to be a sign of weakness, but it is a display of weakness which incites some to fierce anger, near murder. First, because Nature cannot tolerate anything but first-class specimens; second, because it reminds us it can happen to us; third, it's a reflection of our own weakness. And we're not just talking about the business of earning a living, a gruesome fight for some, an effort of supreme desperation for others, a lark for a few; but in the fulfillment of ourselves in every capacity. For instance, our relationship with people, from those that are extremely close to us to those quite remote. We want to be successful, but with any two people it's a matter of wills, and only wills in balance achieve harmony. True lovers share their solitude, I say, and their true joy comes not in having their full will with the other, but in the majestic satisfaction of knowing they have relinquished a part of themselves to achieve those glorious heights known only to a few when the afterburner of the other's ecstasy is as close as a mortal gets to the gods. Ah! To have known of this at sixteen, and not the wait to thirty-six! And in creative expression of whatever manner and nature it may burn within us, from little to large: not just in art or literature; not just in sports, the way we hit a ball; but in things like the right swagger when we walk, or the expressions we use when we talk. We're all the same, all of us; we go into a gyratic frenzy to find a difference, and only the very wise realize not the difference or the uniqueness in all of us, but the degree of ingeniousness--perhaps even ingenuousness--found in each of us. Perhaps it is this discovery of knowledge that peels back the layers of coarseness with which we're born: the more we unload, the higher we rise. I wasn't aware until I was quite startlingly awakened by a criticism that one could be too polite, that it might also not be such a wonderful idea to be too smart. If I had to make a choice, I'd rather err on the side of having the knowledge. It seems what we don't want to know at the time it comes to us, we disregard. I've tried to make sense in my letters to you, but I'd be astonished--aside from the letters themselves--have come to play more than a small part in the performance of your daily life. Sure, I would like to think we can give each other an arsenal with which to meet life's challenges. I'm afraid only life itself can do that no matter how much hope rides the wish. What I'd like to know right now is if you'd like to pick up some Chinese, and come with me to the Casba where I can also indulge in devouring you with my eyes along with the Egg Foo Yung, Shrimp Cantonese and Tea of Ecstasy!