WRITING

rise & bury

Rise & Bury

The day finally came for him to meet my Mom.  How we met was the discussion we’d had prior to his arrival. Mom was busy selling agent orange to neighbors when he rang the doorbell.  I was in the dining room feeding my babies, all nine of them neatly lined around the table in their high chairs.  It should be noted that none of them looked like me, in fact, one was a rocker chick in the making, with spiked black and white hair and a tattoo of a goldfish over her left eye.

As soon as I opened the door every physical sense seemed attuned to his face, eyes and lips.  I wanted to drop everything I was doing to kiss him, but I smiled instead and waved him toward the dining room so we could talk before my mother returned, and so he could ‘meet’ my children.  As he waited I ran to the kitchen to prepare him something to eat, and on the menu that night was split pea soup and popsicles.  After I served him I continued feeding the babies, and he stared without speaking as I wondered what to say.  It had been a long time and in every imagining he was always silent in my presence.

“Mom will be here any minute,” I smiled.  “Are you ready?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered returning my smile.  “I’d like us to take a walk after dinner.  There’s something I’d like to bury with you in the ground,” he said seriously.

“Oh, of course, of course,” I stammered while turning red.  It was hard to look at him without melting inside and without acting on the urge to touch.

Mom arrived ten minutes later with a group of neighbors and headed straight to her bedroom, where the agent orange would be tested.  I knocked on the door to ask her to come out and meet my best friend.  Looking at me strangely she followed me to the dining room while asking, “How can you have a best friend I’ve never met?”.

“It’s a long story, but basically I met him at that diet supplement store downtown a few years ago, and we’ve just sort of developed a friendship since then,” I explained. I knew Mom wouldn’t question me more than that.  The things I kept to myself and revealed years later always took her by surprise, but I was grateful she’d always respected my privacy, and hoped this wouldn’t be any different. 

After they met a sense of relief washed over me.  It felt like I’d checked something major off of an invisible checklist.  Kids, check. Mom, check. Next, burial.  In my head I laughed, wondering about the order of things, and deciding it didn’t matter as long as he was there.

After dinner and during our walk a neighbor outside called us over.  Her daughter had been having back problems and she wanted to know if I wouldn’t mind giving her a quick massage.  I looked at him to see how he felt about it, and he nodded, so we went inside and found her laying on the hallway floor.  She was partially paralyzed, so he helped me pick her up, place her in bed and remove her clothes.  I always kept massage oil at their home for those kind of requests so I pulled it out and got in the bed on my knees behind her to gently knead her upper and lower back.  He sat in a chair next to the bed watching me, frozen in what I knew was want.  It was an odd situation, and unexpectedly sensual and erotic.

Our eyes were locked as I massaged her to sleep, me feeling like I was massaging him, and waiting for a break in my touch for him to respond with his.  The tension was too much and he pulled me from the bed to the floor where the closeness of our passion could no longer be contained without expression.

Afterward we buried words, pain, and the idea of turning back time. He put a spell on me, and every night and day we make love in the most random places.

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