The Renaissance Chick

Monday, October 5, 2009

Just Me And My Hero...

It was unbelievably bright. The autumn moon was as full as the belly of the deer feeding from the lowest branches. Stars were on full duty…twinkling on demand and flashing her orbs of stellar proportions.

The highway was lonesome…as always. Driving for an hour upon hour without meeting oncoming headlights was not unusual. Driving without headlights was a local art. Roll down the windows, turn off the lights and roll through the totally quiet night…just you, your car and the dessert mountains bathed in blue moonlight.

This particular night, My Hero and I were alone on the road which resembled a white satin ribbon running through the mountains of blue velvet. Just the two of us slipping down that ribbon road in the moonlight.

Headlights coming up fast behind us ended our solitude.

With lights back on, we continue our peaceful path on our joy ride through the night. We rejoice as the fast approaching car begins to pass us. Soon we will be alone on our road again.

As the car pulls beside us, the car slows down to travel beside us. Two males from the other vehicle wave in that country, down home, familiar way. One of the passengers pantomimes a request for us to roll down our window. They probably need instructions as many tourists do. No one wants to get lost on these deserted roads.

As soon as our window comes down, a hand emerges from the passenger window of the car beside us. In the hand is a revolver pointed right at us with a less than friendly request to pull over.

Without ever taking his foot off the gas, My Hero thrilled me as he automatically, effortlessly pulled out his intimidating .44 Caliber Magnum and pointed it directly at the opposing revolver which suddenly looked like the dainty handgun of a woman. My Hero said “Fuck off” in that country, down home, familiar way as he kept driving at a steady, consistent speed.

The offending car sped off into the darkness with both men turning to check that we were not following.

We turned off the headlights, breathed in the mountain air and continued our pilgrimage on that white ribbon through the blue moonlight...

just me and My Hero.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Woman...Protector OF The Night

The top of the mountain was brightly illuminated by moonlight. Coyotes yelped and javelina pigs snorted in the sagebrush outside the glass doors. The dessert sky was filled with an awe inspiring display of stars , planets and reflections of ourselves. The inhabitants of the isolated countryside had long been asleep with curtains flapping from the night breezes.

I lay very still and listened. Sleep would not light upon my eyelids. Ears straining, I would sit up in bed, hoping to hear it, but instead would hear crickets, locusts and deer feeding in the moonlight.

Minutes grew to hours and restlessness bloated to anxiety. Dreadful thoughts were flitting around my head like the moths beating upon the porch lights. Just as sweat was forming under my hairline, I would hear it…the low rumble in the distance. The sound was steady and sure and grew closer and closer until headlights broke the top of the mountain and truck tires crunched on gravel.

He was home.

He would tiptoe into my room, thinking I was asleep, lean over and kiss me and say “Night, Mom.”

“Night, Evan. I’m glad you are home. I’m glad you are safe.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you, Mom.”

“Thanks for waking me. Will I see you in the morning?”

“Yeah, Mom. I will be here.”

The forest was dark with pine trees overcrowding hardwood trees. Not even the brightest moon could break through the dark of the land. It was hot and humid and fog hung like a blanket in the air. East Texas night skies are only lighted by the blinking lights of the commuter jets flying overhead. The air was heavy, still and ominous. The inhabitants of the rural outskirts of Houston had long been asleep with air conditioners turned on high.

I lay very still and listened. Sleep would not light upon my eyelids. I needed to hear the familiar sound, but instead heard only timber wolves howling and tree frogs croaking in the distance.

Minutes grew to hours and restlessness bloated to anxiety. Dreadful thoughts were hanging to my mind like the padded toes of lizards hanging onto the window screens. Just as sweat was forming under my hairline, I would hear it…the key in the door and the sound of heavy footsteps on the suspended wooden staircase.

He was home.

He would tiptoe into my room, thinking I was asleep, lean over and kiss me and say, “Night, Mom.”

“Night, Eric. I’m glad you are home. I’m glad you are safe.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you, Mom.”

“Thanks for waking me up. Will I see you in the morning?”

“Yeah, Mom. I will be here.”

The bedroom is not a quiet place. Our bedroom is filled with sounds of the television set with the power button set to eternal. Sounds of rushing wind are replaced with whistles and sudden bursts of belching from the machine which keep his lungs filled with air all night. The motor on the adjustable beds purr as we toss and turn and try to find comfort.

I lay very still and listen. Sleep will not light upon my eyelids. I strain my eyes and ears searching for the signs I need to witness. But all I hear are the television talking heads and the whir of the overhead ceiling fan.

Minutes seem an eternity. At my age, I am not patient with waiting. I reach across and lay my hand upon his chest. There it is! My hand rises and falls gently with each shallow breath.

He is home.

He takes my hand, opens his eyes, leans over and kisses me and says, “I love you.”

“Night, baby. I’m glad you are okay. I’m glad you are safe.”

“I’m sorry I keep you awake, Malisa.”

“I’m happy to be awake. Will I see you in the morning?”

He closes his eyes, reaches out until his fingers rest lightly upon my thigh.

“Yeah, I damn well better be here.”

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Fear...

The skies have grown dark,
and the low rumbling of thunder begins.
I snuggle down deeper in my bed
with a smile on my face.

She runs from window to window,
the panic running through her veins.
I can hear her pace.
I can tell by the sound of her footsteps
that she will try to involve me in her watch.

She is at the bedroom door.
She doesn’t bother to knock.
It is an emergency in her racing mind.
“You need to get up. There’s a storm”

I can’t contribute to her sickness anymore.
I spent 20 years walking the floorboards with her.
Me being by her side was to be a comfort for her,
but all it did was fan the flames…
gave credence to her sickness.

“Get up,“ she repeats with fear rising in her throat.
“Why, Mom? Why do you want me to get up?” I answer in my calmest voice.
She speaks as the expert….as the only voice of reason,
“There’s a cloud! What if its bad? We need to watch it!”
I remind her that we don’t watch clouds here,
This is not West Texas with open vistas to watch the approaching nightly entertainment.

“Then how do we know when to go to the storm cellar?”
She is angry that her logic is not working in this foreign environment.
I remind her that there is no storm shelter to be found in this part of the country.
I give her a hug, tell her to go back to bed.
I remind her to quit worrying about something she can’t control.
That is a foreign concept to her.

I return to my bed and snuggle under the covers.
My smile returns as the thunder rattles the windows.
I am comforted by the sounds of the storms.
I relax and thank God for helping me overcome the illness she passed down.
As I drift off to a peaceful sleep, I realize that there is no pacing outside my door.
She is getting better.

Monday, September 28, 2009

I Was Seduced

She is such a fickle bitch.

And, of course, she must always have her way. She is “one of those” who can never share decisions or opinions. It is “her way or the highway“!

I knew better than to trust her. I have been burned before. But she sucked me back in last week. She was so tempting and I was hungry for what she had to offer. We started hanging out together again.

She has this strange ability to make me want to leave the comfort of my surroundings and my house and explore the world again. She makes me restless. My head tells me that she is dangerous and not to be trusted, but my heart tells me to give in and trust her.

Last week, I found myself sitting in the rocking chair on my porch doing nothing but dreaming. I was making lists in my head of all the things I wanted to do with her. I imagined us doing creative projects in my yard, riding bicycles together through the neighborhood, going on road trips to explore the countryside and traveling to far away places.

She plays on my emotions. She makes me miss the “old me“…you know…the me that was fun, adventurous, and full of life. She draws me out of my shell with requests to join her.

Let’s face it. She seduced me. I fell for her…again. When will I ever learn?

So now I am back in my house with my memories of her. Sad. Missing our week together. It was a wonderful week. She made me feel cool. She made me comfortable. In one short week, she reminded me that life is for living.

But it is over.

I knew she would do this to me. I FALL for it every year!

I am once again locked in my house. I am grieving in the comfort of my air-conditioned bedroom. Will I ever see her again? Will she return to save me?

AUTUMN, are you coming back?

Mother Nature is such a fickle bitch.