A Wish Fulfilled Two

“What a sad, lonely, little life I have lived,” he thought. Another New Year's Eve was ticking down, and he had been in bed for three hours. Just he and the cat. There was always a cat. God, I have become my crazy aunt Peg. He didn't know ‘ but he had heard the stories. "Peg had a hundred cats." "She never met one she didn't take home and keep." It wasn't true, of course, but that didn't stop the relatives from spreading gossip. She hardly ever went to family functions. "She's a loner, lives out there with her cats, alone in that old home." He thought that was probably a plus in the column of pluses and minuses for her. He spent way too much time in the company of the people who gossiped. He thought he would have liked crazy Aunt Peg. He much preferred the company of his cat over them. Still, he knew something they didn't. He had never been alone, not since the summer of his eighth year.


Things changed that summer of 1966. He fell in love. She was tiny and blonde, with bright, warm blue eyes. He did not know how he knew this, but he did. He played alone to any who watched. She never left his side in his mind. She rambled and talked, and he admired that about her. It was not that he was shy. He was contemplative. His mind had this gift of instant analysis. He could figure the angles and trajectories, the weight and velocities of all that moved. He counted the ticks between the seconds and listened to the innocence of her voice. She had the cutest lilt as she told a story that excited her. He didn't know how he knew this any more than he knew what she looked like. But, he knew.


She was kind, sweet, and gentle. She had a smile in her eyes even through the tears. She cried a lot, he knew, but most of it was from joy. He admired that about her. She was generous with her emotions. He could not afford them. He hardly ever cried. He hardly ever smiled except with her. That smile was for her. She was the only one who ever saw it. It hid in the corners of his mouth. He felt it more than he saw it, but it was there, he knew. Pensive. That was the word his parents used. "Pensive little bastard." Engaged in, involving, or reflecting deep or serious thought. He had looked it up. He looked up the word bastard, too. Born of parents not married to one another. He did not put much thought into that. He did not put much thought into them at all. He could not see a connection to them at all if he was honest about it. Perhaps they had stolen him, he sometimes thought. For what his parents lacked, his grandparents made up for. That and the little girl.”


What if I was only meant to write for you? That this is what it was always about? What if our only purpose was to make us fall in love and find your heart again? That the universe wanted the world to know your heart? To be honest with you, I’m good with that. I found everything I ever wanted in you.
“What a sad, lonely, little life I have lived,” he thought. Another New Year's Eve was ticking down, and he had been in bed for three hours. Just he and the cat. There was always a cat. God, I have become my crazy aunt Peg. He didn't know ‘ but he had heard the stories. "Peg had a hundred cats." "She never met one she didn't take home and keep." It wasn't true, of course, but that didn't stop the relatives from spreading gossip. She hardly ever went to family functions. "She's a loner, lives out there with her cats, alone in that old home." He thought that was probably a plus in the column of pluses and minuses for her. He spent way too much time in the company of the people who gossiped. He thought he would have liked crazy Aunt Peg. He much preferred the company of his cat over them. Still, he knew something they didn't. He had never been alone, not since the summer of his eighth year.


Things changed that summer of 1966. He fell in love. She was tiny and blonde, with bright, warm blue eyes. He did not know how he knew this, but he did. He played alone to any who watched. She never left his side in his mind. She rambled and talked, and he admired that about her. It was not that he was shy. He was contemplative. His mind had this gift of instant analysis. He could figure the angles and trajectories, the weight and velocities of all that moved. He counted the ticks between the seconds and listened to the innocence of her voice. She had the cutest lilt as she told a story that excited her. He didn't know how he knew this any more than he knew what she looked like. But, he knew.


She was kind, sweet, and gentle. She had a smile in her eyes even through the tears. She cried a lot, he knew, but most of it was from joy. He admired that about her. She was generous with her emotions. He could not afford them. He hardly ever cried. He hardly ever smiled except with her. That smile was for her. She was the only one who ever saw it. It hid in the corners of his mouth. He felt it more than he saw it, but it was there, he knew. Pensive. That was the word his parents used. "Pensive little bastard." Engaged in, involving, or reflecting deep or serious thought. He had looked it up. He looked up the word bastard, too. Born of parents not married to one another. He did not put much thought into that. He did not put much thought into them at all. He could not see a connection to them at all if he was honest about it. Perhaps they had stolen him, he sometimes thought. For what his parents lacked, his grandparents made up for. That and the little girl.”


What if I was only meant to write for you? That this is what it was always about? What if our only purpose was to make us fall in love and find your heart again? That the universe wanted the world to know your heart? To be honest with you, I’m good with that. I found everything I ever wanted in you.


James, you have always written for me. You have always had a way of writing that speaks directly to my heart. I cannot make much sense of what anyone else says, does, or writes anymore. But you and your writing and the way that you speak ... it’s the only thing I can make sense of. This Lyme is dissolving my brain away and my resolve to be here. I am in a full-blown tailspin. I have lost faith in everything except you.