The Orb, Monica Gillespie [bookreader TXT] 📗

while we would love to have you. I don’t think it would be good for you to be alone right away, perhaps you could ease into it. You can stay some with me, then Mary, each of us, and only stay at home a couple of nights here and there until you are comfortable.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” is all she says before rolling over to find sleep and Granddaddy in her dreams.

I walk into the kitchen, pour another glass of wine and grab the pack of cigarettes out of my purse. I know I will welcome this occasional habit I have tonight. Entering the front room of the old farmhouse I hear voices talking over one another on the porch, voices that have serenaded my spirit all night, with the exception of one.

“Hey, Loni. How are you holding up?” Christian greets me with a warm smile. He is relaxed in the porch swing, with his arms spanning the length of the arm and the back, a bottle of water resting between his legs. I notice his keys bulging from his pocket and feel as though the clock has turned back to the day we were sixteen. He always had a miniature set of nail clippers on his key ring. Are they there in his pocket or has that obsession lapsed with adulthood?

The porch is reminiscent of so many nights we spent there. James has even turned the radio on in his car to provide a soundtrack to the conversation. The only difference is the lines in our faces, the thinning of our hair and the years that have passed between us and apart. And Dori. Her need to be accepted by us all and adored by Christian isn’t there in her stance, her actions, her eyes. She seems to possess what I do not, the ability to let the past be just a vacant memory. I envy that.

“Loni, you kinda look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Dori interrupts my thoughts.

“I, uh, just wasn’t expecting you, Christian. I guess I was shocked to see you.”

His smile takes on that possessive, yet charming nature as he speaks. That exact look made me loose all sense of reason from the time I was 7 years old. Am I strong enough to resist its power now? Only the passing of this night will tell.

“Well, James and I talked at the funeral home and he told me you were keeping Grandma company tonight. It just seemed too perfect of an opportunity for us to hang out.”

“Does anyone even remember the last time we were all together?,” questions James.

“You know I do, I remember everything. The last time was our Christmas party the Christmas after graduation. Although I didn’t stay long, Joseph was uncomfortable. And, of course, the time before that was at the beach.”

With my prompt, they jump into their vivid memories of the days of the orb that I had broken free from. I partly listen, but mostly gaze at the stars with hopes that their sparkle will calm the feelings that are welling up inside me. On more than one occasion Christian and I exchange lingering, knowing glances across a beam of light from the street lamp. I can still read those glances, can still feel the energy between us. Without saying a word, we both know that we will not end the night with everyone else.

As my mind registers what is happening and what is to come, the darker side of it all is also present. If our minds were a book, if the thoughts could be viewed through the abstracts of black and white photography or from the fluid art of words, what one will see in my gallery and in Christian’s is very different.

My fairytale never got its happy ending and his one fantasy has never been fulfilled. If I walk along the creek bed with him after we say goodnight to the others, will I find deep conversation, lingering embraces and exploration of each others bodies? That would be my happy ending, to receive the warmth and affection from him that I had always craved and sought.

But as much as I don’t want to believe it, I also know his fantasy will be complete, his desire relinquished if Dori is there too. His ultimate fantasy is to experience me and Dori together. To drink in the passion we both possess, the love for him. As a man who loves everything about a woman and who is always intrigued by our depth, this would make him whole.

I will never let that happen. I say a silent prayer of gratitude that I have grown enough to honor this boundary.

Dori is the first one to glance at her watch and point out that it is three in the morning, breaking up our reverie.

“Christian, are you staying at a hotel, or do you need to stay here with us?,” I question, always the life sized guardian angel of our group.

Damn, there is that smile. “I’m not 16 anymore, I can actually afford a hotel room! A nice one, too. I’m staying at the Embassy. Looking forward to that breakfast in the morning, well in a few hours.”

“You’re right, I guess tonight was so much like old times that I did forget how old we all were!”

We begin circling with hugs and I throw out my arms to bring everyone into the circling embrace we shared at the funeral home. We tremble into each others shoulders as the tears come. We are crying for the sorrow of our mistakes, tears of thanksgiving that we have each other, the energy of this house, grief for Grandma and Granddaddy, and joy that we have gotten to spend this night as one after so many years apart.

“Goodnight. I’ll see ya’ll tomorrow at the funeral.” And just like that Christian walks across the driveway and gets into his car. I don’t wait to watch him pull away and I don’t turn back. If I allow myself to do any of those things, the tears I will shed will be of heartache…for what was, what is, and what will never be.

I empty the bottle of Riesling into my glass and settle into Granddaddy’s recliner. His smell is still present on the fabric and it embraces me. Oddly, a strong element of his smell is that of hairspray. Gran was always on him about his unruly hair and kept him well stocked in Aqua Net. To my left is the very couch he laid upon when Dori and I were 5 and 7 years old, when he would let us brush his hair, even put curlers in until he was sound asleep and oblivious to our masterpiece.

Chuckling to myself I hear a tap at the window and am so startled I spill the wine into my lap. Once my heart resumes its normal pace, I realize I don’t need to get up to know who’s waiting, lingering, longing on the other side.

Christian leans against the ancient oil tank, it’s belly once the source of comforting heat. He is holding flowers that he undoubtedly “borrowed” from the cemetery down the street. I nod for him to meet me at the back door.

“Were you just tapping on windows and hoping for the best, or did you truly mean to find me

?”

“Loni, that’s not fair.”

“Why isn’t it Christian? You have never, in all that’s been said and done, told me that I have a greater place in your heart than Dori. Even now you talk of your sexual fantasies involving the two of us. You still say all the right things to me to try and get that next blow job. You still don’t care about me, at least not the way I care about you. It’s hopeless. What do you want? You want to go down to the creek bed and have me straddle you on the bench? Well, tell me something… what would happen after you came inside of me after it’s taken me 15 years to rid my body and my soul of your poison? Would you hold me until the sun came up? Would you tell me your fears and dreams as I have told you mine? What?”

While I feel all of this, I don’t know where the strength to face this reality with him is coming from. Or maybe I do, my grandfather was the strongest man I knew.

Christian hangs his head and drops the flowers to his side.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say. Everything you said is true. For our whole lives, I’ve taken advantage of you. I knew what I was doing was wrong from the moment we first kissed. It’s not that I don’t care about you. Oh God, I do! When I say that you have always been like my sister and best friend, I mean that. I was always so proud of you and how smart and talented you were, it was hard for me not to brag when your name came up back then. I still have that pride. When I see your pictures, your art, your accomplishments displayed on Facebook, I want to shout ‘That’s my girl – the smartest woman I know. Isn’t she great?!’ It’s just, my love isn’t the same as yours.”

I slide to the ground, no longer trusting that the Earth will hold steady beneath my feet. Isn’t this the conversation, or at least the dialogue, I have been seeking, to know the truth? There is a lump of pain in my throat. But I am surprised to realize what I am feeling is closer to relief than anything else. When I finally open my eyes and lift my head Christian’s hand is outstretched before me. He pulls me up and into his arms. My tears flow onto his shirt, my nose runs and my shoulders heave under the weight of his arms. Christian Blake is stroking my hair, rubbing my back and whispering into my ear “I do love you, buddy. Please know that.” I cry for a long time before he slides his hand into mine and leads me down to the creek bed.

“Hang tight. I’ll be right back.” He returns with two blankets, a radio and thermos of coffee.

“I see you had a plan.”

“Let’s not talk about that. No more seduction. Ever.”

“Deal.”

He spreads the blankets and lays back, extending his arm for me to rest in the crook. We gaze up at the sky and imagine ourselves weaving through the maze of the sky.

“Tell me about your life, Christian. I think I can listen now.”

Until we succumb to sleep we tell stories, not of our past, but uplifting stories about who we are today. When I wake late the next morning, the humid heat sticks to my skin, Christian is beside me. He has held me all night. It’s all I ever wanted.

Now I know what else I want.

My marriage has always made me feel closer to my grandparents. Somehow I have always felt mine and Joseph’s marriage mirrors their long lasting love. Perhaps it is because I know the road was not always smooth for them either. But it is also because Granddaddy always showed a favoritism for Joseph, loved him as his own. With them