quintessence. (22 page)

He stopped working and looked up at Hannah and Smee. They gave each other a smile, and he went back to work.

“So, what about Karl, then?” Hannah asked. “Does he give you a click?” She laughed a light laugh, looking down at her son and kissing his forehead.

“Yes,” I said without depth. “Yes, he does. But, that isn’t why I feel this joy right now. Sure, he’s part of it, but he isn’t the sole reason. I’ve come here on my own, by this reminder of who I am and Karl is the welcome addition to it all.”

I didn’t need to say more. I didn’t need to go on about how amazing he was. I didn’t have to convince them because it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how wonderful all his qualities were. I didn’t have to provide facts and measures to base his wholeness on as if I needed to convince them.

He just was.

And, I just was.

I parked outside the Böhme and took the stairs up to the second floor. I walked in to see Wynn’s photos displayed on the walls. It was the first time he had prints made for a showing. In the past, I heard that he preferred to keep them to himself. I suppose every artist goes through that stage—the stage of believing the work was more worthy than the masses to view. I’ve been there, we’ve all been there. It’s kind of the idea of why bother—why put it out there if no one will get it?

But it’s done for those few people that will get it. It’s done to connect with another human being through creating something bigger than ourselves. Something is made and when it is viewed by another person, it gives life to it. That’s why it is done and why it must be shared. That’s why I do it.

I was happy to see Wynn sharing his work.

“Karl—it’s good to see you,” Pike said as he rounded the corner and found me looking at a photograph of Hannah nursing Smee in a field of flowers.

“Hey, Pike. Wynn’s work is perfect,” I said, moving on to the next photo.

“What have you been up to?” Pike asked, as he adjusted his bowler hat. His long braids stuck out of the bottom of it and he played with his beard.

“Not much, just passing the days while I have some time off. It’s still too cold to get back out and do some jobs,” I said.

“Yeah, I hear ya. It’s been a bear this year already. How’s Maggie doing?” he asked. “I’ve been thinking about that girl.”

“She’s doing okay. She had her spinal tap the other day. I imagine she’s doing okay now. She’s okay.”

“You just said “She’s okay” three times. Are you okay?” he asked with a smile.

Pike had become one of my closest friends over the last couple years. I was close with the guys, but Pike was something different. There had been several nights of just he and I hanging out, talking  and contemplating the universe.

That wasn’t something you talked to just anyone about.

“I’m teetering on sanity, but who isn’t? I mean, I’m trying to rationalize this need to be with her. I barely know her. I met her last year and I couldn’t stand her. Then I realized, she’s just a human being like me. I realized that my perception of her was wrong and I didn’t allow the layers she had built up to cloud my view of her. I wanted to know the real her, at the root. I think I’ve seen that. But who knows—maybe that’s just another perception. Can we really know anyone?”

“That’s quite the question isn’t it?” Pike asked. He crossed his arms and leaned into the wall next to a portrait of Smee sleeping. “We each have parts we will never share with others. It’s ours and ours alone. But, that doesn’t mean we can’t love someone and the parts we see. And they then love the parts we share. That’s what unconditional love is, I think. It’s when you love someone regardless of the parts you don’t see or understand. You just love ‘em.”

“That’s just it,” I said. “I don’t care about the other parts. Every part of her, the flaws and all—I love. She’s amazing in her flaws.”

“Well, then why are you here talking to me then? Why aren’t you hanging out with her? Why do you have that vacant sound to your voice as if you’ve lost her?”

“Because I don’t think I ever
had
her
to
lose, and that hurts the most. No, scratch that. I don’t want to possess her and think of her as mine, as being something lost, as if she were some piece of precious metal I picked up at the pawn shop. No, she’s more than that. I will be happy to be part of her life no matter what.”

“Well, then back to my other question—why aren’t you with her?”

“I don’t really know.” I laughed.

“Maybe that’s something you need to figure out. How are your dreams?” he asked with a serious expression.

“Mine are fine—how are yours?” I asked with a grin.

“Fine? Really?” he asked.

“They are as bearable as they can be. They are still there, but they are manageable.”

“Yeah, that’s about how I feel too.”

Pike had fought in Vietnam and the same dreams I had haunted him as well. They were different, but they both still tormented us.

“I’ve been working out some ideas on new paintings and boxes,” I said.

Pike tilted his head with a smile.

“Yeah, I have one that has to do with Margaret, an actual painting, not just a box.” Pike lifted his eyebrow in question. “Yeah, I know—crazy isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s crazy as much as it’s a step in a new direction.” He smiled.

“I think you’re right,” I said.

__________

I took my seat at my work bench and stared at the box I had begun last month. I wanted to tell everyone, Margaret in particular, that this box wasn’t what it looked like. This box held a fear I never wanted to share with anyone.

I lifted the lid.

This box was part of my truth. It didn’t define me as Margaret’s disease didn’t define her, but it was my truth none the less.

It wasn’t me in that box. But it was me at one time. It was the me that had been afraid to be the me of now. I didn’t think it possible to be sure of myself, to let go of the past and to let go of the pain I once carried. To embrace the future was the most fearful step I had to take. This box represented the me that scared me.

The enemy was me. The enemy was the me that thought there was some kind of difference between myself and others—a separation. I thought I was alone in this world and I longed for it. I longed to be away from everyone and everything, hoping the voices and the anger I held inside me could be contained. I hadn’t wanted to lash out at anyone and hurt others—so I was alone. But even more so—I hadn’t wanted to let them in. It was safe and comfortable living in the quiet recess of my mind.

I was alone then.

I’m not alone now.

I needed to let go of my fear and I had to put it into this box. With every stroke of my brush, I became more relaxed. Whatever would happen, everything else would be okay.

That was a difficult thing to understand. The fear of death and the future came from my fear of others making it without me. I couldn’t carry that burden forever. No one could. I had to paint and get it out. They would be okay.

I reached the top of the hill and paused before walking up the stairs to his door. His little house was beautiful, just as he was. Karl had a reason for everything he did and it wasn’t a shallow one. Every action he thought out. He knew who he was in every moment, every decision—he was present for it.

I was present now. I was here for him, because I wanted to be here with him. Finishing the tattoo yesterday was the step in my direction, but this is where I needed to be to step toward him.

I climbed his three steps and pressed my hands on either side of my face against his window. I watched him. He nodded his head to music as he tapped his foot on the floor. I felt like a voyeur as I took him in. His stocking cap was off and his hair was chaotic even in the bun he had pulled up at the back of his head.

His back was to the door, and I knocked as I opened it.

“Karl?” I asked, and he didn’t turn around. I stepped closer and tried not to sneak up on him or scare him as his music played loud enough I could hear it through his ear buds.

He jumped when he saw me and pulled his arm back in reaction, as if he were on guard, waiting for someone to attack. When he saw me, his eyes relaxed into his smile.

“Maggie? What are you doing here?” he asked loudly, and I saw his reaction to me embarrassed him. 

I pulled my lip in on a smile. “I’m here to see what you’re doing. I haven’t spoken to you in a few days and to be honest, I missed you.”

I pulled one of the ear buds from his ear and put it up to my own. I wasn’t familiar with the music, but the woman’s voice was haunting.

“Work was off because of the weather, so I just hung out around here, and I painted yesterday.”

“What did you paint?” I asked as I sat on my knees in front of him and his dark eyes met mine. His beard was even longer than the last time I saw it. How could a beard grow that much in just a few days?

I put my hands on his knees and pushed myself up until my face was across from his.

“I did a box and a painting. I needed to shut my mind off. My thoughts run so fast; there is always so much going on in here,” he said as he tapped his fingers on his temple. “It becomes too much and I find it easier to just empty myself of all thought through painting and just zoning out,” he said, lifting my braid from my shoulder and toying with the end. “You are taking up a lot of space in here,” he said touching his temple once more. “I feel guilty for that—because of Toby,” he said, meeting my eyes once more and stopping me from speaking. I wanted to tell him there was no need, but I let him continue for now. “So then, I think about my boxes and new ones I should make. There are still memories that need boxes, but you, Margaret, are someone that makes all those memories seem okay to carry with me. It’s as if I shouldn’t tuck them away, but I can remember them and know that I’m stronger than them.”

I put my hands on his face and brought my lips to his. “Don’t feel guilty, and I understand what you’re saying. I think about you a lot too, particularly in how much I need to be near you. It isn’t a crazy thing, needing someone. We all need someone.”

“I know. But it’s not enough. I can’t have you just need me, Margaret. I’m still a man, you know?” he asked with a slight laugh.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“Well, I think you may have built me up as something more and not allowed me to be the person I am. I know I’m being an ass as I say this, but it’s true. Maybe it’s the memories, but I don’t feel like lying right now. I want you. I want you to want me and I need that. I can’t just be some guy you look to as an asexual savior. That’s not me.”

My jaw dropped along with my heart. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what I think. I know that it was difficult to drive away and leave you with Toby. But I knew it was right. I’ve questioned that the last few days though. I’ve sat here and thought about all that could happen with him. Then I realized it wasn’t my place to feel that possession and jealousy. No one can claim you, let alone me.”

He traced his fingers across my chin. “You’re so beautiful, Margaret.”

He lifted his hand and traced a loose hair back behind my ear until his hand rested at the back of my neck. His thumb rubbed along the tense muscle that lingered where my neck met my back. “Your eyes are like these deep bowls of knowledge. Do you know that? I can’t look at them sometimes because of it. You’re made of more than this, okay? So, don’t let whatever you have going on right now destroy you,” he said.

I gave a soft laugh. “Destroy me? I’m way too tough to be destroyed by this. But you know what felt like it would destroy me?” I asked.

He looked at me with a serious stare. “What?”

“Not hearing from you. That felt like it would destroy me.”

“Didn’t you have fun with Toby?”

I gave a light laugh. “Toby? He left after two days. He had to get back on the road. And yes, we had fun, but that point in our lives is over. It was best for both of us.” I adjusted the ear bud I had put on. “What is this we are listening to?” I asked as an indigenous flute played and the same woman’s voice from the previous song sang over it.

“It’s CocoRosie,” he said matter of fact, as he took the other ear bud out of his ear and put it into my other one.

He held my face between his palms, his thumbs pressing over my ears with light pressure. He smiled and nodded his head as if he could hear the song along with me.

I closed my eyes and let the song play through and my hands danced across the air. It was just that beautiful. I couldn’t sit still to this.

He let go of my face and I let my chin drop and with my eyes still closed I nodded to the music and my body took over.

I leaned back against the bench and observed her in silence.

She danced across my floor without moving. Her being present in this moment was enough to cause a dance in my thoughts and wants. She consumed me with her thoughts on life, with her mind, with her kindness—her beauty. She knew she was free and that freedom was not something to be long forgotten. It’s innate—everyone has it, we just forget it sometimes.

I always knew there was something more than what I saw at the surface of life. Something waited on the edges. Every artist knows that and searches for it. That’s why we create. That’s why anyone creates— to learn and to understand what it is to be human. I had known the surrounding lives, the stories they told me, the smiles they shared, were part of it. But, I didn’t know there could be a specific muse, let alone that it was a person. But watching Margaret, with eyes closed, feeling the music, my chest exploded in a silent rhythm she created. My hands twitched with a need to make something, to capture this moment in a painting, in a photograph, in a song, whatever the hell I could do to create it.

I couldn’t hear the song, but I knew its every note. I’d been listening to it on repeat for the last few hours. They weren’t someone I listened to often, but there was something in this song that reminded me of her.

She seemed so uptight when I first met her. Not uptight in the sense she thought she was better than others, but that she wound herself up so tight she forgot to live.

Watching her now, I knew she had reached the point where she unraveled, and as she unraveled the pieces of herself, she put the last stitch in me.

She opened her eyes and crawled on her hands and knees toward me. Her eyes were haunting as she used her knee to push my leg to the side and she sat between them on her knees. She put her hands on my thighs and gave a squeeze of them before she reached her left hand to my head and ran her hand across my ear.

She sat back and smiled at me and continued to dance to the song while moving her upper body. Her eyes closed once again and she let her hands dance in the air around her in the way I became accustomed to. Half the time, I don’t believe she knew she did it. It was as if she couldn’t stop dancing. Her body had to do something any time it felt a song, much in the same way I had the pull to create things through art.

I could see when the song ended and the next started, by watching her movements. Her eyes opened once more, and she danced closer. She held her eyes on mine as she traced her hands up my thighs and moved farther up, but she hesitated. Her eyes didn’t hesitate, but I could feel in her hands she was unsure of how I would react to her.

I would say nothing. She had to do this. Maybe it was my own lack of self-confidence, but I needed to know that she wanted me. I knew what I wanted. I knew what I needed, but I had to know she knew too.

I closed my eyes, and it was as if she took that as her cue.

She put a leg on either side of mine and sat atop me as she continued her dance, moving her hands up my chest and into my hair. One hand wrapped around the back of my head as the other moved to the button of my pants.

She held a forceful grace in her movements that wasn’t comparable to any woman I’d been with.

I didn’t want to take this moment to compare her, but I was still human and when you’re with someone that knows their own body, it flows over into their interaction with you. She wasn’t afraid of herself. Despite what she was going through. Despite this disease or illness, she still wasn’t afraid of herself. She was fearless. I focused on her face and the strength of her eyes. I never had a problem with focusing.

Her breath that passed from her lips every few seconds.

Her inhalations that caused her shoulders to rise.

Light taps of her fingertips along the back of my neck.

All of it was her, and she wrapped herself around me, within me, almost in a spiritual sense. The thoughts in contrast with her movements reminded me to focus harder on not losing myself too soon.

She brought her lips to mine at the same moment she reached her hand into my jeans.

She tightened her grip on the back of my neck as I shifted my shoulders farther up the bench at the contact of her hand grasping onto me. Her lips parted, and she rested her forehead on mine as she let out a moan. I hadn’t even touched her, and she moaned, just from touching me.

It floored me.

I broke our kiss and kissed down her neck as she moved her hand over me in the same rhythm and focus she had on her dancing. My hand reached under her shirt and lifted it to remove it from her. But she wore that sweater of hers and she shook her head when I tried to remove it from the arm she held me with. She let go of the back of my neck to pull her other arm though, but kept the one holding me right where it was. I let out a laugh, and she scowled at me as she pulled her tee shirt over her head and let it hang with the sweater from her arm.

I noticed a tattoo that began on her collar bone and wrapped around her shoulder. I couldn’t take in the detail of it at the moment, because she took over my thoughts.

She was sitting on top of me, unabashed and my eyes closed in frustration at her teasing touch. She moved at a slow pace, but with a purpose that made it more intense. I moved my hips back and sat up straighter against the bench, which brought her closer to my face.

I looked up at her and made sure her eyes were on me and just as I suspected, they were. She hadn’t looked away, and she placed her free hand on my shoulder as I brought mine up to her breasts. My fingers wrapped along either side of her rib cage as my palms lifted each one. She moaned again as she pressed them into my hands, wanting more, but instead I chose not to give her more and traced down her sides and up her back, before pressing the back of her head with a gentle touch to guide her lips back to mine.

She gave a swift bite to my lip before she returned my kiss. “You’re kind of an asshole at this, Karl. I wasn’t expecting that from you,” she said with a laugh.

“You’re kind of taking charge of this, Margaret, and I expected that of you.”

I put my hand on her wrist and pulled her hand from my pants as in one quick motion I moved her to the floor and I hovered above her.