I worked on this on the plane and once I was in the hotel. Adam and Dair have been together about a year, maybe less, when he gets a letter from home and vanishes. Dair finds him crying in the basement and they argue before Adam rushes out of the house. This is immediately following that --
----
I sat on the bench he let me build for him. I know it was cold but I felt nothing, only emptiness. I know I had thoughts in my head but cannot think of what they were. I know the beauty of the waterfall just up the hill tried to soothe me but it achieved nothing. It was only a pretty image, no longer real to me. I was alone in the world, no chance of return to my life, no more with a family, and I could not feel even the cement upon which I sat.
I felt something cover my shoulders and managed to make myself look around. It was Dair. He had brought me my parka. I barely acknowledged him. Then he knelt before me, took one hand and slipped a glove onto it. I let him. He did the same with the other hand...and I still let him. Then he picked a piece of paper off the snow, looked at it and looked at me confused.
“Your letter?” he asked.
I could only nod.
He folded it to put in my parka’s pocket so I said, “You may read it.”
He hesitated then said, “My French isn’t very good.”
I nodded. I had forgotten, for the moment.
“I have learned from a friend...my father is dying. Cancer. I try to call but the number has been changed. Not registered. So I wrote to him, asking to come see him. My phone number...my address are in the letter. Today I receive a response from my mother. She returned it. Asks why I bother them. They have no son by my name.”
“...Adam...”
“I am orphaned. Because of what I am.”
“No...no...mon ange...mon mere est son mere...”
I chuckled. “You are right -- your French is...is not so good...” Then I began to shake and sob and he drew me close and held me as I wept. No. No...I cried as a baby cries. Knowing something is wrong and not able to understand and giving in fully to his emotions in a way that is completely out of his control. My body shook with sobs and I let him keep his arms around me. I let him see me weak and broken. And still he held me. My losses and pains and desolation poured onto his shirt and molded it to him. My breath grew harsh and difficult to grasp. My head began to scream from pain and my heart throbbed as if I had run a hundred miles. And when I finally took back control, still he held me. Still he caressed my back, with nothing more than tenderness. Still he leaned his head against mine to give me support.
When finally I pulled away, I was no longer beautiful, but flush and swollen and scoured by my loss, but still he held my face and looked at me with kindness. He produced a cloth...one of the clean, white, cotton diapers he used for everything...and let me clear my nose and wipe my eyes. And he said nothing.
He guided me to my feet and led me inside through his studio. Across to the bathroom. Into the shower I had built. A hundred colors of clear and opaque tiles supported by soft molding and gray grout. Glass doors folded open to let us enter. He leaned me against the wall and undressed me there. Slowly, like one does a child. And I let him. His own shirt and pants, he shrugged them off and let them stay on the floor of the shower. His briefs he did not remove, nor mine, his quiet way of letting me know that was not the intention of this moment. He turned on the hot with a bit of cold mingled in and guided me around to it. Held me, face to face, his arms wrapped around me, letting the water pound on my neck and shoulders as the steam filled my soul with life and wonder. Nothing...nothing...nothing had ever felt so perfect.
He dried me as I dried him, both slow and gentle, but as I began to dress he stopped me and gave to me a pair of his jeans. His waist was a bit larger than mine, and the jeans would bunch around his ankles, but on me they looked casual and had only the slightest break at the hem. He gave me his favorite shirt, black and warm and just the right size for me, so long as I wore nothing under it. He gave me socks and, once I was dressed, put on me his parka.
Then he dressed himself in my workpants, undershirt, pullover sweater and camo-jacket. They fit him tight...but to my surprise, they looked perfect on him. Then we walked through the brisk evening air, hand in hand down the winding drive, stopping to watch the melting snow fill the stream that filled the little pond before dancing over the rocks to tumble down into rapids. The moon danced from cloud to cloud and stars cast adoring winks at us as we passed the road that led to the new housing. The parking lot for Harrison’s was full and it was all so nice and normal and human to see people loading groceries into their cars. I slowed to watch them with a quiet sense of wonder.
We waited for the light before crossing the 39 then wandered up the drive to Marion’s lodge and entered and passed those dining in the restaurant or lounging by the fire to go straight to her office.
Marion was at her desk, writing. She looked up at seeing us and a soft frown crossed her face.
Dair brushed his fingers against my arm and asked, “May I share this?”
I gave him a slight shrug.
He turned to his mother and said, “Adam received a letter. From a place he once called home but no longer can.”
Marion leaned back and saw my pants on him and his shirt on me and how he looked at her, unmoving, and how I could not focus my eyes on anything for more than a second, and she rose and came to me and straightened my collar and buttoned one more button on the shirt and smoothed my eyebrows and chuckled and said, “Y’know, if Gareth were here, I’d be able to say something silly like, Here’s my three sons.” She must have seen confusion in my face because she added, “Old TV show when I was a little girl. I had such a crush on Dan Grady, I think half the reason I married my second husband is because he looked like him. Stupid thing to do...and I’m rambling so...”
I shrugged and sort-of smiled and could see her eyes were dancing. She held me close, like a mother should hold her child, and I hugged her and felt Dair’s hand caress the back of my neck and for the first time in my life I knew love and support and peace. And I vowed to become worthy of it.
----
I sat on the bench he let me build for him. I know it was cold but I felt nothing, only emptiness. I know I had thoughts in my head but cannot think of what they were. I know the beauty of the waterfall just up the hill tried to soothe me but it achieved nothing. It was only a pretty image, no longer real to me. I was alone in the world, no chance of return to my life, no more with a family, and I could not feel even the cement upon which I sat.
I felt something cover my shoulders and managed to make myself look around. It was Dair. He had brought me my parka. I barely acknowledged him. Then he knelt before me, took one hand and slipped a glove onto it. I let him. He did the same with the other hand...and I still let him. Then he picked a piece of paper off the snow, looked at it and looked at me confused.
“Your letter?” he asked.
I could only nod.
He folded it to put in my parka’s pocket so I said, “You may read it.”
He hesitated then said, “My French isn’t very good.”
I nodded. I had forgotten, for the moment.
“I have learned from a friend...my father is dying. Cancer. I try to call but the number has been changed. Not registered. So I wrote to him, asking to come see him. My phone number...my address are in the letter. Today I receive a response from my mother. She returned it. Asks why I bother them. They have no son by my name.”
“...Adam...”
“I am orphaned. Because of what I am.”
“No...no...mon ange...mon mere est son mere...”
I chuckled. “You are right -- your French is...is not so good...” Then I began to shake and sob and he drew me close and held me as I wept. No. No...I cried as a baby cries. Knowing something is wrong and not able to understand and giving in fully to his emotions in a way that is completely out of his control. My body shook with sobs and I let him keep his arms around me. I let him see me weak and broken. And still he held me. My losses and pains and desolation poured onto his shirt and molded it to him. My breath grew harsh and difficult to grasp. My head began to scream from pain and my heart throbbed as if I had run a hundred miles. And when I finally took back control, still he held me. Still he caressed my back, with nothing more than tenderness. Still he leaned his head against mine to give me support.
When finally I pulled away, I was no longer beautiful, but flush and swollen and scoured by my loss, but still he held my face and looked at me with kindness. He produced a cloth...one of the clean, white, cotton diapers he used for everything...and let me clear my nose and wipe my eyes. And he said nothing.
He guided me to my feet and led me inside through his studio. Across to the bathroom. Into the shower I had built. A hundred colors of clear and opaque tiles supported by soft molding and gray grout. Glass doors folded open to let us enter. He leaned me against the wall and undressed me there. Slowly, like one does a child. And I let him. His own shirt and pants, he shrugged them off and let them stay on the floor of the shower. His briefs he did not remove, nor mine, his quiet way of letting me know that was not the intention of this moment. He turned on the hot with a bit of cold mingled in and guided me around to it. Held me, face to face, his arms wrapped around me, letting the water pound on my neck and shoulders as the steam filled my soul with life and wonder. Nothing...nothing...nothing had ever felt so perfect.
He dried me as I dried him, both slow and gentle, but as I began to dress he stopped me and gave to me a pair of his jeans. His waist was a bit larger than mine, and the jeans would bunch around his ankles, but on me they looked casual and had only the slightest break at the hem. He gave me his favorite shirt, black and warm and just the right size for me, so long as I wore nothing under it. He gave me socks and, once I was dressed, put on me his parka.
Then he dressed himself in my workpants, undershirt, pullover sweater and camo-jacket. They fit him tight...but to my surprise, they looked perfect on him. Then we walked through the brisk evening air, hand in hand down the winding drive, stopping to watch the melting snow fill the stream that filled the little pond before dancing over the rocks to tumble down into rapids. The moon danced from cloud to cloud and stars cast adoring winks at us as we passed the road that led to the new housing. The parking lot for Harrison’s was full and it was all so nice and normal and human to see people loading groceries into their cars. I slowed to watch them with a quiet sense of wonder.
We waited for the light before crossing the 39 then wandered up the drive to Marion’s lodge and entered and passed those dining in the restaurant or lounging by the fire to go straight to her office.
Marion was at her desk, writing. She looked up at seeing us and a soft frown crossed her face.
Dair brushed his fingers against my arm and asked, “May I share this?”
I gave him a slight shrug.
He turned to his mother and said, “Adam received a letter. From a place he once called home but no longer can.”
Marion leaned back and saw my pants on him and his shirt on me and how he looked at her, unmoving, and how I could not focus my eyes on anything for more than a second, and she rose and came to me and straightened my collar and buttoned one more button on the shirt and smoothed my eyebrows and chuckled and said, “Y’know, if Gareth were here, I’d be able to say something silly like, Here’s my three sons.” She must have seen confusion in my face because she added, “Old TV show when I was a little girl. I had such a crush on Dan Grady, I think half the reason I married my second husband is because he looked like him. Stupid thing to do...and I’m rambling so...”
I shrugged and sort-of smiled and could see her eyes were dancing. She held me close, like a mother should hold her child, and I hugged her and felt Dair’s hand caress the back of my neck and for the first time in my life I knew love and support and peace. And I vowed to become worthy of it.
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