After a good thirty minute run on the treadmill, I hopped in the shower, and then enjoyed my dinner and a glass of wine. As I rinsed my dishes in the kitchen and refilled my glass, I remembered the CD that Helen had given me as I was leaving earlier today. Curious, I popped it into my Bose home entertainment system and settled back into my favorite rocking chair.
The music was electronicaentirely instrumental (no lyrics). It was slow and ambient, resonating a deep, still sadness and something darkly passionate at the same time. It was a lush recording with a fairly simple set of sounds, never overwhelming. Again, I was incredibly surprised by this new dimension to Gabriels personality. What a loss to this world his death was, what a loss.
Warmed by the wine, I closed my eyes and fell into the sound. A disturbing collage of thoughts and images drifted through my mind to the pulse of the music: Gabriel and Helen happy and in love, Helen cowering in the beanbag chair, her father towering over her, menacing, my ex-husband towering over mefist drawn back preparing to strike another blow, my bloody reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely visible through my own tears, my hand wiping away tears to reveal Helens reflection in the mirror in place of my own, the security light flashing on the keypad beside my front door, alarm blaring in my ears and drowning out Gabriels music. Alarm. Ringing. I started awake and looked around me. I must have fallen asleep. The music was no longer playing, but the ringing persisted. I felt confused. Its not my alarm, I realized, its my phone. My cell phone.
I jumped up, almost knocking my wine glass to the floor, and pulled my phone out of my purse, pausing only a split second to check the name on the caller ID.
Hi, Cam. I said with a yawn.
Cameron Bell was a twenty-three year old graduate student in Psychology at UNC Charlotte. Id met him while attending a lecture on Energy Psychology at Carolinas Medical Center. Our relationship was pretty casualkind of unusual for two highly intuitive Psych majors.
He chuckled, You sound sleepy. Did I wake you?
I looked at the clock above my kitchen door. It was 10:30. I dont knowI must have fallen asleep. I was just sitting here listening to a CD someone gave me today. I guess I got too relaxed and drifted off.
You feel like having a little company?
I smiled. Is this a booty call?
I hope so. I can be there in about ten minutes.
Though I obviously needed to get some sleep, I thought about how good Cameron would feel right now...the warmth of his skin on mine. I told him to come on over.
I poured myself another glass of wine and moved outside to my front porch. The night was very dark, just a few stars in the sky and a sliver of moonlight. There was a gentle breeze rustling through the trees, taking the edge off of the heat of the day. The morning music of bird songs had given way to the night music of cicadas and the occasional owl or Virginia nightingale. I tucked my legs underneath me in the swing and rocked gently back and forth, a strange discomfort stirring inside. Maybe it was just residual tension I had picked up from my visit with the Hudsons, but I wasnt sure. It felt more personal than that, but I wasnt ready to deal with it just yet.
I concentrated on my breathing, the night music, and the pleasantly detached, slightly dizzy feeling the wine gave me. I tried to rest completely in my own skin.
True to his word, Cameron pulled up and parked beside my Jeep in just over ten minutes. He hopped out of his convertible Volkswagen Beetleover the door, James Bond-styleand casually strolled up to the porch. Show off, I thought to myself.
He heard the swing squeak before he saw melooked a little surprised to find me outside waiting for him.
Hey, he moved over to the swing, stopped in front of me, his thumbs hooked on the belt loops of his blue jeans. Moved isnt quite the right word. Its one of the things I enjoy most about Cam, the way he strolls, hips kind of thrust forward, rolling like waves in the ocean, almost undulating with each step. Hes incredibly sexy without even trying.
I didnt say anythingnot a word. My pulse already quickening, I set down the empty wine glass and slipped my hands around his waist, grabbed his back pockets and pulled him close to me. I pulled his polo shirt above his waist and brushed my lips, the tip of my tongue across his stomach in gentle circles. Rock hard abs, this one. A thin layer of salty sweat. Beautiful, beautiful boy/man.
He lifted me out of the swing, but I sat down stubbornly in front of him on the hard wooden porch. Oh, is that how its gonna be, then? He asked, smiling.
Straddling me, he knelt down and I pulled him closer. Mmm, hmmmm I murmured, raking my fingers through his thick, dark hair, playfully biting his bottom lip.
Outside? He seemed surprised.
"Mmm, hmmm
On the porch? But it didnt take long for him to warm to the idea. One hand found its way up the inside of my legI was wearing a loose, cotton t-shirt and nothing elsewhile the other held his body steadily just a few inches above mine.
It was his turn to murmur approval.
Later we moved inside, spread a faux fur comforter on the floor in front of the entertainment center and I played Gabes CD for Cam while we munched on a bowl of fresh strawberries. I had picked them myself the previous weekend on an organic farm in Union County that opens to the public during the summer and early fall harvest seasons. Eight dollars for a bucketful. They were magnificent.
Thats not bad, really, not bad at all, Cam said about the CD.
Its beautiful, I agreed, but it seems so, so sad. A thin red stream of strawberry juice trickled down my chin. Cam licked it off for me. Thank you.
Anytime.
The conversation paused as we listened. You know, I wonder if I would have thought it sounded sad if Id heard it before Gabe died?
Notheres definitely a mournful quality to it. I dont usually care for electronic music, but I could get into this. Its very Moby-esque.
I closed my eyes and rested my head on Cams shoulder. The same images that had come to me when Id drifted off earlier in the evening played like a slide show again behind my eyes. I tried to relax and let their story unfold: Gabriel and Helen happy and in love, Helen cowering in the beanbag chair, her father towering over her, menacing, Gabriel in combat fatigues sitting at an electronic keyboard, making his musicsome part of his soul etched in time, telling us something now that he couldnt say while he was living. An artist forced to go to war. An artist fighting an internal war with the expectations of othersexpectations that stifled his creativityforced him to camouflage his real driving passion like sand-colored fatigues camouflage a soldier in the desert
My eyes flew open and I sat up suddenly, startling Cam and knocking a strawberry out of his mouth. Oops, sorry! I said, kissed him quickly on the lips, hopped to my feet, and pulled the t-shirt down over my bare ass.
He rolled his eyes. Hed seen this behavior before. Oh, no.
I made my Im-sorry-but-yeah, face and ran to my computer. Set up on a big maple desk that used to belong to my grandfather, it was situated beside a bay window overlooking the tail-end of my propertynothing but trees as far as the eyes could see. Of course, at this time of the night, without the aide of night-vision goggles, the human eye couldnt see much of anything at all. It was well after midnightstill no moon or stars to speak of.
Cameron slowly dragged himself to his feet and pulled on his jeans. Hey, whered we leave my shirt?
On the porch, I think, I called back to him as I opened my word processing program. I ran upstairs to my loft bedroom and pulled on a pair of terrycloth shorts under my t-shirt. When I came back down, Cam was in the kitchen making a pot of coffee.
He knew the drill. When the urge to write hit me, I had to go with it.
The music was electronicaentirely instrumental (no lyrics). It was slow and ambient, resonating a deep, still sadness and something darkly passionate at the same time. It was a lush recording with a fairly simple set of sounds, never overwhelming. Again, I was incredibly surprised by this new dimension to Gabriels personality. What a loss to this world his death was, what a loss.
Warmed by the wine, I closed my eyes and fell into the sound. A disturbing collage of thoughts and images drifted through my mind to the pulse of the music: Gabriel and Helen happy and in love, Helen cowering in the beanbag chair, her father towering over her, menacing, my ex-husband towering over mefist drawn back preparing to strike another blow, my bloody reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely visible through my own tears, my hand wiping away tears to reveal Helens reflection in the mirror in place of my own, the security light flashing on the keypad beside my front door, alarm blaring in my ears and drowning out Gabriels music. Alarm. Ringing. I started awake and looked around me. I must have fallen asleep. The music was no longer playing, but the ringing persisted. I felt confused. Its not my alarm, I realized, its my phone. My cell phone.
I jumped up, almost knocking my wine glass to the floor, and pulled my phone out of my purse, pausing only a split second to check the name on the caller ID.
Hi, Cam. I said with a yawn.
Cameron Bell was a twenty-three year old graduate student in Psychology at UNC Charlotte. Id met him while attending a lecture on Energy Psychology at Carolinas Medical Center. Our relationship was pretty casualkind of unusual for two highly intuitive Psych majors.
He chuckled, You sound sleepy. Did I wake you?
I looked at the clock above my kitchen door. It was 10:30. I dont knowI must have fallen asleep. I was just sitting here listening to a CD someone gave me today. I guess I got too relaxed and drifted off.
You feel like having a little company?
I smiled. Is this a booty call?
I hope so. I can be there in about ten minutes.
Though I obviously needed to get some sleep, I thought about how good Cameron would feel right now...the warmth of his skin on mine. I told him to come on over.
I poured myself another glass of wine and moved outside to my front porch. The night was very dark, just a few stars in the sky and a sliver of moonlight. There was a gentle breeze rustling through the trees, taking the edge off of the heat of the day. The morning music of bird songs had given way to the night music of cicadas and the occasional owl or Virginia nightingale. I tucked my legs underneath me in the swing and rocked gently back and forth, a strange discomfort stirring inside. Maybe it was just residual tension I had picked up from my visit with the Hudsons, but I wasnt sure. It felt more personal than that, but I wasnt ready to deal with it just yet.
I concentrated on my breathing, the night music, and the pleasantly detached, slightly dizzy feeling the wine gave me. I tried to rest completely in my own skin.
True to his word, Cameron pulled up and parked beside my Jeep in just over ten minutes. He hopped out of his convertible Volkswagen Beetleover the door, James Bond-styleand casually strolled up to the porch. Show off, I thought to myself.
He heard the swing squeak before he saw melooked a little surprised to find me outside waiting for him.
Hey, he moved over to the swing, stopped in front of me, his thumbs hooked on the belt loops of his blue jeans. Moved isnt quite the right word. Its one of the things I enjoy most about Cam, the way he strolls, hips kind of thrust forward, rolling like waves in the ocean, almost undulating with each step. Hes incredibly sexy without even trying.
I didnt say anythingnot a word. My pulse already quickening, I set down the empty wine glass and slipped my hands around his waist, grabbed his back pockets and pulled him close to me. I pulled his polo shirt above his waist and brushed my lips, the tip of my tongue across his stomach in gentle circles. Rock hard abs, this one. A thin layer of salty sweat. Beautiful, beautiful boy/man.
He lifted me out of the swing, but I sat down stubbornly in front of him on the hard wooden porch. Oh, is that how its gonna be, then? He asked, smiling.
Straddling me, he knelt down and I pulled him closer. Mmm, hmmmm I murmured, raking my fingers through his thick, dark hair, playfully biting his bottom lip.
Outside? He seemed surprised.
"Mmm, hmmm
On the porch? But it didnt take long for him to warm to the idea. One hand found its way up the inside of my legI was wearing a loose, cotton t-shirt and nothing elsewhile the other held his body steadily just a few inches above mine.
It was his turn to murmur approval.
Later we moved inside, spread a faux fur comforter on the floor in front of the entertainment center and I played Gabes CD for Cam while we munched on a bowl of fresh strawberries. I had picked them myself the previous weekend on an organic farm in Union County that opens to the public during the summer and early fall harvest seasons. Eight dollars for a bucketful. They were magnificent.
Thats not bad, really, not bad at all, Cam said about the CD.
Its beautiful, I agreed, but it seems so, so sad. A thin red stream of strawberry juice trickled down my chin. Cam licked it off for me. Thank you.
Anytime.
The conversation paused as we listened. You know, I wonder if I would have thought it sounded sad if Id heard it before Gabe died?
Notheres definitely a mournful quality to it. I dont usually care for electronic music, but I could get into this. Its very Moby-esque.
I closed my eyes and rested my head on Cams shoulder. The same images that had come to me when Id drifted off earlier in the evening played like a slide show again behind my eyes. I tried to relax and let their story unfold: Gabriel and Helen happy and in love, Helen cowering in the beanbag chair, her father towering over her, menacing, Gabriel in combat fatigues sitting at an electronic keyboard, making his musicsome part of his soul etched in time, telling us something now that he couldnt say while he was living. An artist forced to go to war. An artist fighting an internal war with the expectations of othersexpectations that stifled his creativityforced him to camouflage his real driving passion like sand-colored fatigues camouflage a soldier in the desert
My eyes flew open and I sat up suddenly, startling Cam and knocking a strawberry out of his mouth. Oops, sorry! I said, kissed him quickly on the lips, hopped to my feet, and pulled the t-shirt down over my bare ass.
He rolled his eyes. Hed seen this behavior before. Oh, no.
I made my Im-sorry-but-yeah, face and ran to my computer. Set up on a big maple desk that used to belong to my grandfather, it was situated beside a bay window overlooking the tail-end of my propertynothing but trees as far as the eyes could see. Of course, at this time of the night, without the aide of night-vision goggles, the human eye couldnt see much of anything at all. It was well after midnightstill no moon or stars to speak of.
Cameron slowly dragged himself to his feet and pulled on his jeans. Hey, whered we leave my shirt?
On the porch, I think, I called back to him as I opened my word processing program. I ran upstairs to my loft bedroom and pulled on a pair of terrycloth shorts under my t-shirt. When I came back down, Cam was in the kitchen making a pot of coffee.
He knew the drill. When the urge to write hit me, I had to go with it.