Hug Log

I said that I have a list of hugs sitting around, after all.

I'm going to begin with a sweet one.

I ran into Tori a couple of months ago, a chance encounter. Tori is a nice girl, whom I have commented on here or elsewhere under another guise, and I was pleased to see her. Her family were neighbors along time ago. Her older sister Nanci was kind of a girlfriend for a while, and I suppose remains the most beautiful girl that I ever kissed.

But this is Tori's story, and I ran into her on her way to select some videos. Her companions moved along while she and I talked.

I was concerned about Tori, because she didn't seem to be in the best of health, and I was uncertain what was wrong, or how to ask in a chance encounter. Tori had always been slight, but athletic, and she seemed to be having some physical problems as we spoke.

But finally it was time to move along, and I opened my arms to her. I was astounded as she squeezed the stuffin' out of me ... as the long lost friend that I suddenly realized that I actually was. Aside from a chance encounter on the street a year prior, this was the first time that I had seen Tori in ten years. And she certainly gave me her all. It's nice to be loved.

We can go all over the place from that hug.

Bobbie gets one here, whether she likes it or not.

Though as an individual hug, I don't know that I have a story. Because Bobbie has always been a simply loveley, warm and open hugger. To Bobbie, a hug means acceptance, love, and friendship. Trust. All of the things that a hug is supposed to be. A measure of intimacy.

It didn't escape me when I had upset her, and those hugs changed.

Suddenly, though still receiving hugs, I was receiving a distinctly one shouldered variety. I was being pretty thick at the time, but eventually even I figured out that something was wrong, and eventually she and I sat down and talked. Eventually I managed to make my way back to those lovely hugs again.

Not that I deserved it.

But Bobbie was a remarkable hugger.

The rest of this list is devoted to remarkable ...hugs.

Linda

Joyce

Anna

Becky

It's time that I wrote something sweet, something remarkable again.

Dreams and Visions

The doggonedest thing.

I kinda thought that I was settled over the whole Marcia thing. Finally tasting true closure, well earned emphatic and thorough understanding.

You can't guess how good that felt.

Then I had a dream last week. A very interesting, beautifal and mildly romantic dream. A smiling woman. Extremely clear, as a matter of fact. I don't think that I should describe the greater part of the details, but a few things stand out. I was more than a little bit startled by this dream, but one part that I can tell you is that Kay was wearing a purple skirt.

Rather reassuring, of course, to know that I am, indeed, over Marcia.

Final Truths

It was the strangest thing. Lorie swept over to me in warm greeting, and I was surprised at her immediate and easy familiarity. I reached out to touch her hand in greeting, and felt a momentary thrill of surprise to feel her fingers curl inside mine.

What?

In instant later, they demurely slipped away. Yet Lorie regarded me evenly, almost in challenge.

She seemed to be willing me to look into her eyes, to find some truth inherent. I was lost to comprehend was she seeking from me. Lorie was long and happily married. I simply had no desire for a women to whom I could not give every dreg of my soul.

Reluctantly daring, I looked deeply into her eyes, and what I found was somehow only right. Pleasure at the sight of me. A sudden awareness of someone veiled from her so many years ago. A shock and joy at finally seeing...me. The real me. Someone that she had been waiting for all of her life. Wonder at how I had hidden all of this from her then.

I tasted a bit of longing, long sought completion that touched my own soul...then allowed my eyes to slip away. And was astounded to realize that all surrounding us hadn't somehow sensed that deafening explosion of revelation.

It was too noisy to talk, so Lorie and I strolled down the hall, chatting about little things. Eventually the corridor reached a dead end, and we stepped into an open classroom. I chuckled to see all of the pint size chairs, so reminiscent of my own childhood. I turned toward Lorie, expecting her to share the nostalgic memory, to find her eyes regarding me instead. My words died on my lips as I realized that she had closed the door behind us.

Seeing her eyes gazing brilliantly up at me, I felt suddenly helpless. Her head tilted, as if glimpsing this unspoken emotion, and trying to grasp it’s origins. Without intending to, I leaned closer...and my lips brushed hers. I was astounded when her soft lips easily conformed to mine, and the kiss grew deeper. I could feel her warmth, her eagerness, her...desperation. Tasting Lorie's sudden joy, her immediate satisfaction, I drew her closer to me, feeling her readily meld with me. Coming home. Finally arriving where she belonged. A place held waiting for her all of these years.

Where she was supposed to be.

**

Three hours later, I heard a knock at my door. I opened it to see Lorie, standing there silently, hands buried in her pockets. She was attired in a long coat, with her boots of earlier in the day, and I surmised that she had stopped by on her way out of town. With a gesture I beckoned her in; she stepped past, turning to face me in the middle of the room. For long moments, we just stood there, looking at one another in silly sadness. Rueful awareness of all of the years lost.

Then suddenly, Lorie was upon me, arms wrapped tightly about my neck, dangling down my chest. I could see the tears splashing from her eyes, and I did the only thing I could. I kissed her. A lifetime swept away. Her lips hungrily met mine for long moments, then to my surprise and dismay, she was wriggling free of my grasp.

She stepped back, and regarded me searchingly. Seeking something in my eyes. Not knowing what Lorie was looking for, I simply held her gaze. Her cheeks flushed a bit, and I noticed as her hands fell to her belt, as if in sudden decision. Then her coat was open, falling to the floor. Lorie’s only apparel was that intriguing pair of boots, with the amazing stilletto heels.

The kids weren't waiting in the car after all.

Lorie might or might not look as she did at twenty, but I didn’t notice. I simply couldn’t tear my eyes from her brilliantly dazzling face.

Utter beauty. Her soul pouring forth.

I was surprised and pleased to find that that her desire, her urgency matched mine.

Pure nonsense.

Did you get that, Scott, you ninny?

At what point did you realize that it was utter nonsense, pure fiction? Life isn’t a bad romance novel.

As in, “wasn’t gonna happen”. On so many levels.

Don’t you get it? She chose you.

Grow up. Get some balls. Be a man for a change.

I’m embarassed to realize what you are doing, after all. It’s not really Lorie that you’re worried about, is it? That’s just blatantly obvious.

All that you’re worried about is that someone in your backwoods Mississippi Church might find out that your wife has a ‘past’.

However insignificant or long distant that ‘past’ may be.

Christians are supposed to forgive, after all. Had you forgotten that small fact? But no, all that you can think of is yourself, and what people will think.

But that’s not all there is to it, is there Scott. I inadvertently hit the nail on the head, in one simple sentence. I’d forgotten, really, until your nonsensical reaction, all out of proportion, made me think.

And there it was, plain as day.

“Hey, Scott's clearly the better man. He got her. Obviously, he dared to ask her out.”

And that’s it, in a nutshell, isn’t it, Scotty boy?

Because you didn’t ask her out. Lorie asked you out.

All right, so now we both know who the ‘better man’ is. On a number of counts.

That’s what you’re afraid of.

But that doesn’t matter. You still got her, and that’s all that counts.

Lorie, ever leave you? Not in this, or any other lifetime. Don’t be ridiculous.

Worried about me? Well, one thing that I know about myself, after years of experience, is the one piece of truth mentioned above. I have no interest in a woman that I can’t give every dreg of my heart, my soul to. Lorie is married. No matter how…ineffectual the guy is. That automatically makes her “not a candidate”. In any way, shape or form.

Just for her sake, buddy boy, I’m going to tell you a complete and rather personal truth. Though you certainly don’t deserve it. Standing there next to your wife and her mother, I took a mental inventory of my feelings. I wasn’t terribly surprised with what I found. A lot of love and affection for both women, Lorie’s brother, the family. That’s natural. But what I had once felt for Lorie (which is none of your business) had totally and completely vanished. Not a trace. An empty room. Which I found that I didn’t mind at all.

Of course, she’s still a special, dazzling, remarkable woman; but that didn’t matter at all. Because she’s married, and there is no way that I am going to open my heart to any woman who is. Are you just too stupid to realize that?

Don’t be scared. She’s yours. It’s still no contest. I’m sure as heck not even taking the playing field. That should have been obvious at the church. No contest at all. However poor a job you’re doing.

Criminy. You telegraphed it right away. In so many ways. For example, a real man never would have sent to his wife’s father the tiny little excerpts that you did.

Idiot.

As if I hadn’t lost all respect for you for taking statements out of context in the first place.

Be a man. Get a real job, what you do is for younger men. Or hadn’t you noticed that all of your peers are getting younger every year? Do you really think you’re going to be doing this at sixty?

Treat her right. Hit the gym once in a while, shape up that Pla-Do body of yours. Find a copy of Kama Sutra, for cryin’ out loud. Tantric sex. She’s your wife, it sure as heck isn’t a sin. Give her what she deserves. She’s been the force behind you all of your life, do something special for her.

Not this weenie crap.

All right, so she chose you because you were safe, because you were a nice guy, because she could wrap you around her little finger.

Give her more.

If you can’t do that, find another way to be a man. She’ll never divorce you. Do the honorable thing. She deserves better.

Ask yourself just one question, truthfully.

What are you worried about?

That’s painfully obvious, too.

That said…just leave me alone. Don’t mess with me, you won’t like the result. Go away. I have my own life to take care of. I don’t need your insecurities invading it.

The Other "Marcia"

In nearly three weeks, I haven't heard from her.

I was hesitant in the first place. This wasn't someone whom I had ever met, merely someone whose colorful fiction I had read and deeply appreciated. And thought of the ironic parallels to another "Marcia", floating about there somewhere.

I read about the chronic illness, wondered about the implications and repercussions. Thought about how there seemed to be no evidence of this "Marcia" online for more than a year. That didn't sound good to me. Certain entries haven't been updated in three years. Worse.

Fleetingly, I elected to send her an e-mail, including my thoughts and appreciation, my concerns, and a link to this page. Perhaps this "Marcia" was well enough to enjoy some brief insight into another who shared not only her name, but a boundless sense of adventure, a marvelous spirit, a essential joie de vivre.

Simply so that whatever this unmet "Marcia" was facing now, she might momentarily have a smile on her face.

Perhaps I failed.

Events shifted, came together as I hadn't, couldn't have anticipated, and still I stubbornly kept "Marcia" on this page. I have mentioned the last names of neither, try Googling "the name that was here" and see what you come up with.

As if anyone ever stumbles across this page anyway.

So "Marcia", if you are out there and either well or struggling, I wish you peace.

You will be in my prayers.

Marcia, Resolution

I suppose that it's time for one final and profound truth about Marcia.

Whether you happen to like it or not.

I stood there at that buffet table, as Marcia smiled up at me, and I was mildly surprised not to feel anything in response.

No grief, no anguish, no torment. Nothing.

Slightly puzzled, I turned my attention inward, to the area that my feelings for Marcia had long ago occupied. Once upon a time, this was a treasure room, filled with glittering gold and gems. The Tower of London. Fort Knox. Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.

For you youngsters, think Nicholas Cage's National Treasure...on a vastly smaller scale.

Introspective, I was intrigued to find a rather large, dark and completely empty room. No sign of all that had once filled it, my feet echoed on the hard floor. Questing, I found not a trace of that which once resided here, feelings that I knew all too intimately.

For those of you not terribly good with metaphors, that means that I don't have those feelings for Marcia any longer. They have long since vanished.

That pleased me.

The funny thing is, this description is exactly how I was seeing it in my mind. At the same time standing there carrying on a conversation at the buffet table with Marcia and her mother.

However, back toward one corner I noticed something glowing brightly.

When I looked closer, I saw that it was tiny, but pure and clean. Shining white with no heat.

I don't know exactly what this something was, perhaps I'll never know. I can only attempt to describe it as something akin to simple joy. Purity. Peace. That tiny spot was the only thing now occupying that rather oversized room.

I had never encountered it's like before.

I didn't investigate closely, the cool bright spot had no pull on me, it simply was.

Satisfaction, in and of itself.

Completely content, I turned and walked from the room, closing the door behind me.

In case you can't guess, you're completely on your own for that particular metaphor.

Truth Unveiled

It's amazing how many truths can be discovered in the space of a few minutes. How long held perceptions can shift, illusions be dispelled, reality be revealed.

Enabling lives to change.

Deceptions can be both internal and external, after all.

The truth can come from unexpected places. And that is what I have been seeking all along.

Mission accomplished.

On this stage of the journey.

Obscured

Friday the Thirteenth seems in full force. A more than naughty, utterly recalcitrant contact lens means a lot of pain, an eye inflamed and swollen half closed throughout the day. No posting or editing today for this half blind fellow.

Perhaps it's a sign that I really shouldn't delete certain portions altogether?

Marcia, Incomplete Completion

Now, I have to wonder exactly what all of you might be anticipating after this tumultuous few days.

After all, this post was originally composed ages ago. It's been sitting in draft form on my account for months, long before I abruptly decided to open this tale with Marcia Last.

Kind of changes things, doesn't it?

Here I have been telling you something of the fairy tale...without the romantic beginning.

Well, er...perhaps I'm the only one who thought that it was a romantic beginning.

And I hope that perhaps to some of you...it has seemed like a fairy tale.

At least the "Boy Meets Fairy Princess" part.

I'm afraid that I botched the rest.

All that I knew, was that I was captivated. And moments built over the years, ending in a heart wrenching crescendo.

I suppose that's all there is to it, after all. I really should get on with the story. Now, at least slightly rewritten for some small degree of detail and accuracy. Hopefully that translates to "better".

I cannot hope to do it justice.

***

I'll remember the very first time that I really saw Marcia; frankly, it's like something out of a fairy tale.

Because I really mean first time, as well as saw. Most of the years long story involving her is exactly that, a romantic fantasy, up until and including the last moment that I have to write about. Indeed, the very last time that I saw her.

Just remember, this first moment was over twenty-five years ago.

That very first instant is unmistakable, so long ago. I was eighteen, and had just graduated from high school. It was a 'last pass' trip with our Church youth choir, and both the departing seniors and entering sophomores were invited along. For whatever reason, I can't seem to remember noticing Marcia, though we had to have had a number of choir practices prior to this weekend.

Yet there we were, early the morning just preceding the performance. It was utter chaos, dozens of youth choir singers swirling about in a large room off the Church lobby. People were excited and rushing from group to group, chattering excitedly. For whatever reason, I remained along one wall, not exactly aloof, simply watching the confusion and commotion.

I'm not sure that I can describe it well.

As I glanced about the room, it just happened, however improbably.

I was just watching the crowd, watching people as I often do, when suddenly my eyes were drawn to a crooked path. Oddly, I realized that it would wind it's way across the entire room, except for a couple of people blocking. If only Joy and Heidi...

Almost as the thoughts formed in my mind, Joy, grinning at someone's joke, stepped into the group she was talking to on one side of the pathway. A heartbeat later, wonderingly, I watched Heidi drawn into another fluid cluster on the opposite side.

And there was an empty path, clear across the polished tile, to the feet of a girl. Suddenly revealed, a girl to whom my eyes were irresistably drawn. A girl in a cornflower blue dress that set off her sparkling eyes, a small smile quirking her lips, her face gently alight. A girl, a moment that I would remember forever.

The instant remained just long enough to etch itself into my mind, and then that impossible avenue through the seething mass swept closed again. It was...such an impact. I was dumbfounded. Such a remarkable girl. Such an improbable parting.

So much awareness, so much potential.

All that I knew was that this was an incredible girl.

Boy, was it to become the rollercoaster ride of a lifetime. Talk about "much ado about nothing".

If only I hadn't been quite such an idiot...

But we're past that now.

Aren't we?

Marcia, With a Side of Forgiveness

I think that I must be crazy.

There's no two ways about it.

I slipped into the Church just before the family entered the sanctuary. After a moments hesitation, I found a seat at the end of a pew with a handful of people from my own Church, from long ago. Mostly, the mourners were from this Church, that of Marcia's grandfather.

It took me a moment to recognize Marcia's brother, Greg, from behind. He has a neck like a bull linebacker now. And perhaps even less hair than I do.

I admit it, I was checking out these old friends, people that I hadn't seen in--eighteen years? --when suddenly Marcia turned in her seat, glancing over her shoulder. She was looking in my general direction, and a sudden smile flickered across her face. I'd like to believe that it was meant for me, but there were plenty of possible candidates beyond where I was seated. Perhaps Barb or Virginia had waved to her.

As I mentioned in the last post, I stayed at the Church, for various reasons, and God and I had a chat. He usually gets His way when that happens. And I'd like to think that He did this time.

I had written Marcia a long and personal letter, and eventually mailed it last week. I was quite certain, after all of these years and a thousand-odd miles of separation, that I wouldn't see her again, and there were a few memories that I wanted to share with her.

Check the dates. I started posting this series the same day, with Marcia Last.

Two days later, her brother Greg e-mailed that their grandfather Ray had passed away, and the funeral would be on Monday.

Who says that God doesn't have a sense of humor?

Frankly, I was horrified that I had written Marcia such a letter--to have it arrive at almost the same time as news that her Grandfather had passed away. I felt like a horrible person.

Her reaction to me at the funeral seems to mean one of three things.

Either she hasn't read the letter yet...

Or she doesn't think that I'm horrible...

Or I am horrible, and she has graciously forgiven me.

Pretty straightforward, isn't it?

All right, so the last one doesn't seem terribly likely.

Uh huh.

I should point out--we discussed this in the last post, after all. I have to forgive myself...and live.

I meant it.

So did He, for that matter.

That's what God gave us life for.

So...

When I entered the Church gym for the luncheon, Greg was absent, and both Marcia and her mom Carol were in conversations. I didn't wish to interrupt, so I...lingered, until I caught Carol's eye. She seemed pleased to see me, and we caught up on life until I realized that I had monopolized her, with everyone else well along the buffet line

We continued talking, and Marcia was across the aisle from us, picking up her plate. After a few moments, she greeted me with a smile and, "It's nice to see a familiar face."

We chatted a tiny bit, but I was more than aware of Carol beside me, and our own paused conversation. As I said yesterday, I was a bit...reticent.

Oh, I did say one thing.

"If I didn't see your family today, I don't think that I'd have ever forgiven myself."

Considering my track record, there's a remarkable amount of utterly profound truth in that statement.

When I made it through the buffet line, Carol made her way to a table with her cousin. Marcia was sitting at a table in company with someone, and not wishing to intrude, I found an open seat with some of the people from my old Church.

Odd, me not wishing to intrude.

After a moment, she and her companion made their way over to her mother's table.

After lunching, I found an open spot, and waited in hopes of Greg returning.

His mom's opinion was that either he and his family had immediately headed out of town, or stopped for pizza. Flip a coin.

Marcia's son sat down at the empty table I had occupied. He obviously felt like a fish out of water. That made two of us. I attempted a brief conversation, but found my mind unusually blank.

I did catch Carol one last time--at the dessert table. It was nice to say good-bye.

After a while, I gave up on Greg...er, um...as well as an opportunity for a brief chat with Marcia before I departed.

I simply couldn't impinge upon family moments. And Marcia certainly was engaged with family.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I laughed at myself--again, as I mentioned yesterday. Because of course, once again, part of me had been afraid to open up and talk with Marcia.

A smaller part, I think, than twenty years ago. It simply hadn't been the right moment.

And I had worked through more fear that day...than I care to admit.

Truth.

And she's still beautiful.

Marcia and...Me

There isn't a lot more to tell about Marcia.

Merely my perspective, twenty years in the making. With a bit of maturity, and a great deal of experience.

Really.

Funny, I've always thought of myself as preferring brunettes. But it wasn't Marcia's appearance that mattered.

Ever.

She was always, ever and simply beautiful to me.

Just...scintillating. Simply a beautiful soul shining through. And that is how I always saw her. Painfully beautiful to me, even. Most especially so when she was looking up to me, so openly. A beautiful, remarkable woman. It didn't really matter what package it came in.

Though that was pretty doggone nice, too.

I have seen enough of Marcia's relationship with Scott to surmise that they work as a team, a pair, a true couple.

Just as I envision the perfect relationship.

Hey, Scott's clearly the better man. He got her. Obviously, he dared to ask her out.

I'm not perfect. But I wonder what might have happened.

Would she have simply said 'no'? Probably, if she had any sense. Which she did.

It really doesn't matter. I'll never know.

Who knows. Possibly I would have discovered some fatal character flaw deep within her. Well, I can think of one serious flaw right off the bat.

Marcia married Scott instead of me.

See? Told you I have a sense of humor.

But either or both of us may have changed in that time.

May have?

Marcia might find some portions of this blog...disconcerting.

Certainly both of us have matured.

Of course, I'm still walking that particular path.

But perhaps I'm not fooling myself. As much.

***

After about twenty years, I can look back on it with some perspective.

What did I want for Marcia? All that I ever wanted was for her to be happy.

I could clearly see that quality in her relationship with Scott, and that's all that I needed. In a number of relationships, that is all that I have ever wanted for the other person. I have never been "possessive", and I don't understand those who are.

I was never jealous of Scott. As I said, the better man won.

Envious? That's a completely different issue. Would I have like to be one who was gently entwined with Marcia on those picnic tables?

Undeniably.

I'd have to say that I yearned to be the person there with her.

What might I wish?

I wish that on the day of her wedding, there in the hallway....that I had managed to release that long ago dream. Grieve the forever loss of a relationship never born.

Rather than burying it, to face now. Most of twenty years later. At least it has been...illuminating.

What else? I wish that I had at least had the fortitude to ask her out.

Whether she said yes or not, whatever else might or might not have developed between the two of us. I simply wish that I had had the integrity to see it through, to at least make the attempt to live the dream. Make the fairy tale reality.

Perhaps my life would have been different, had I dared grasp that dream. I might not have allowed other dreams to slip through my fingers.

It's time, and more than, for that to change.

I do still have dreams, after all.

Heh...I'm editing this after a funeral today.

It was Marcia's grandfather's funeral. It was the first time that I had seen any member of her family since...well, since her wedding. Odd echoes, more than I will tell you here. I remained at the Church during the graveside service, and God and I had a talk. He and I needed to get some things straight, and I found myself reading John 8. Yep, that one. It was easy to see the message that He had for me. After all, I'm the only one still casting stones. It's time for me to forgive myself. Forgive myself for lost opportunities, and live life as He meant me to.

Of course, I did see Marcia, and her mom at the luncheon afterwards. I talked to Carol far more than Marcia, and didn't really wish to intrude any more in what had to be family time.

And yes, I found myself a bit tongue-tied. At least reticent--with Marcia. Perhaps that was just because other people were around. Or, because I had mailed off a certain letter the day before Marcia's grandfather had passed away.

He moves in mysterious ways...and afterward, I was laughing at myself. Someone has to.

Care to join me?

Ah. I almost forgot. I haven't related to you the fairy tale beginning yet, have I?

Eventually, you'll get that.

Simply Marcia

Yes, Marcia is as special as I've painted her. Perhaps even more so.

Over the years I had an opportunity to come to know her, from various perspectives. Everything that I came to learn of her only served to confirm, even build upon that very first moment. That instant of destiny, the fairy tale beginning.

This was a remarkable girl.

Who would grow to become a remarkable woman.

Trust me, before too long, I was looking for something to prove it a lie.

Desperately.

How's that for irony?

Marcia's good looks simply weren't debatable, and as I came to find upon her return from Florida, her innate faith was unshakable. I was delighted my her sharp mind, her intelligence, always dreaming of a woman whom I could share with on every level.

What made her unique to all of the other sweethearts around was simple. There was a streak, a spark to Marcia, that made her special. A determination to live every moment to the fullest. A rich blend of romance, passion and adventure. The creativity and vivid imagination, an ability to dream of, to grasp just a bit more.

A born romantic, I was a goner.

And because I loved her family so much, when Marcia came back that summer with a boyfriend, when she was utterly lost to me...I had no escape.

I sincerely admit that even now, this desperately needs to be rewritten.

I simply cannot do her sparkling spirit justice.

I guess that I found ways to make myself miserable.

I have to admit that I relished everything about this young woman.

I have too many stories to tell here, and I don't know that any of them are really relevant. Except to say that to me, Marcia was simply and utterly beautiful.

Innately.

Marcia, Family Ties

I have mentioned it several times, but Marcia's family was exceptionally special to me.

Hah. This is where I get...er, more than a bit maudlin.

As if I hadn't been already.

But I digress.

I met them well before I knew her, as I realized later.

Marcia's brother Greg was a grade school spitfire in my earliest AWANA group. That's a story and a half. It wasn't until later that I would recognize that it was the same Greg, mischievous spirit only vaguely diminished with age.

Still, when Marcia returned from Florida, somehow I found myself close to her family. Her folks, Mike and Carol, welcomed me with open arms. I never knew why--aside from the fact that they were good Christians—as well as exceptionally nice people.

But being in their house, their home, was an education for me. I hadn't ever been somewhere that people weren't always fighting all the time. When they had little disagreements that they called “arguments” and later apologized for, I had to smile.

I was accepted into their home—into their hearts—for everything. An evening around the television, complete with plentiful popcorn. They taped the final episode of M*A*S*H* for me while I was at college. Supper at the family table--and I have a story about a chili soup dinner that one day I'll absolutely have to confess to Mike. He was outnumbered.

And always, ever and always, was not only their home, but their hearts open to me.

And of course, there is Greg. My friend, and at times my best friend. I really cannot comment on some of the times that we shared, and experience has already shown that I remember some of the details far better than he. And a few of them I really have to duck my head and keep quiet about.

Well, at least in public, where someone might be looking.

But Greg, though older now, was still a ball of fire, and some of his hijinks I heard about rather than experienced with him. I remember when he was at college, and we started talking long distance. He had met a wonderful girl, and I got to meet Evonne, one night at his parent's house.

Great legs—and a night of "Hefty, hefty, hefty..."

You had to be there.

Greg is a good guy.

Am I a fool to admit to myself that I would have liked to make her family my own?

Or to recognize that, despite all this, family was merely one of the secondary attractions that Marcia held for me.

But that's yet another story.

Marcia and Love

Now, then.

You have heard of two of the most embarrassing moments.

Of my life.

Perhaps some of you might refer to them as...poignant. All that I know, is that it wasn't terribly easy to be there. To live through them.

I could wend our way to a year previous to our last installment, upon the occasion of another episode at Marcia's parent's house. This one being the combined graduation party for the siblings, high school for Greg, junior college for Marcia.

I suppose that the most dramatic happening of the evening was the jeans and red t-shirt that Marcia was wearing. They were more than a bit snug...and Marcia had a dynamic figure. Think Vanna White...or for you younger types, Scarlett Johannsen. Trust me, every guy there noticed. She looked spectacular. Inevitably, she spent most of the evening hand in hand with her boyfriend, Scott, and it wasn't exactly the first time that I had seen her in a tight t-shirt and jeans.

Of course, that occasion had been a few years previously, and had to be the summer after Marcia graduated from high school herself. In this case, I suspect that it was a bright yellow t-shirt. No particular reason to think so, just...it fits.

Anyway, I was out cruising one night with Marcia's brother. Doesn't that sound silly, almost twenty-five years later? But well into the night, Greg and I ran into Marcia and a couple of her friends at the Mall. The three girls were standing beside their car, watching the cars pass. This was quite the collection of attractive young women, I tell you.

Greg was more than happy to stop and talk with the girls. Two of them weren't his sister, after all. So I pulled over, and casually wandered over to the trio. By the time I arrived, of course, Greg was doing his level best to distract the other two girls. Completely unintentionally, of course, he's just a natural clown, and I'm quite sure that they regarded him fondly.

Not that he didn't have hopes.

I settled next to Marcia, who was regarding her brother with a bit of fond exasperation, and quietly started a conversation with her. Just what I wanted--an opportunity to talk with Marcia. This was before she met her eventual fiancé, of course.

Yet we hadn't more than started chatting, when a car pulled up in front of us. Annoyed at the interruption, I glanced over to see a guy in an older convertible, a fedora cocked jauntily on his head. He quite obviously was trying to attract the attention of the three good looking girls, but I certainly wasn't impressed. I'm afraid I'd have to admit that a rather derogatory term came to mind.

And it wasn't 'poser'.

After a moment, feeling that I had given him the benefit of the doubt, I quite deliberately turned back to Marcia and friends, expecting that she would be ready to resume our rudely interrupted conversation. I opened my mouth to say something, anything so that the guy would get the hint that he could move along...and froze in shock.

For Marcia most certainly wasn't looking at me.

Indeed, she was gazing quite raptly at the sleazeba--- er, gentleman in the convertible. And there were other signs that he had managed to capture Marcia's complete attention. Let's just say that it was blatantly obvious that somehow he had managed to stimulate her...imagination. 'Flushed' would have been a good starting point. With that tight yellow t-shirt, her reaction...stood out clearly.

Hey, I told you that she was beautiful.

I meant it.

Nonplused and disgusted at my poor showing, I collected Greg and moved along. Yet I always have to remember that Marcia indeed had a vivid imagination. Romance and passion. For a deeply committed Christian, she wasn't a naive, straight-laced sweet thing.

Er, just sweet.

Hmm. I suppose that I could have told you that this section...exists somewhere outside of the pure fairy tale.

And that imagination, especially in combination with her faith, was a large part of what I liked about her.

I had it thrown in my face a few years later, well after I had last seen her, when a supposed friend dragged another acquaintance a couple of hundred miles just to drop a bomb on me regarding Marcia.

That this other acquaintance had slept with her years before, when she was very young.

He was clearly disappointed in my calm acceptance, however.

I knew very well that everyone is human.

I had long since suspected a far deeper passion in this woman...I wouldn't have been so long attracted to her otherwise.

Is there a good way to say that? Passionless...just doesn't appeal to me.

And I belatedly remembered...the rest of the story.

You see, the very first fall after I first met Marcia, she went away to school. You'd think that this would cause some difficulty for a guy who thought that he had found the perfect girl...and you'd be right. But eventually I would hear the reason for her absence, and one day make a connection that I wasn't capable of one night in the wee hours of the morning.

After all, the reason that Marcia spent her sophomore year in Florida was because she was fighting with her parents, and sneaking out at night.

Just as she would one day comment of her brother.

Is it such a reach to recognize that perhaps the other parallels were in place as well? Just because she came back from Florida temperate and well behaved certainly didn't mean that Marcia was suddenly a different person. That's not the way that God makes us.

I remember her return, as it was eagerly awaited amongst the youth group. Marcia had spent a year in the exotic locale of Florida, after all. That summer the youth choir made another trip, and my class, a year removed from graduation, was invited along. Mainly because of a shortage of male voices, I'm sure.

But I remember seeing Marcia again, and it was impossible to penetrate the wall of excited girls around her. Especially when it became evident that Marcia already knew how to water ski. And so it was to be another summer of lost opportunities.

And a year after that summer of cruising, Marcia would return from college with a boyfriend. Who would then become a fiancé, who would eventually become a husband.

Opportunity lost.

And I saw more of the two of them--in the process seeing more of Marcia.

I worked that summer for the City Parks Department, which was headquartered adjacent to the community college. Yes, we're still going backwards here, folks.

In the process of my duties, oftimes I would come across Marcia and her boyfriend adorning one picnic table or another. No, not making out, just touching, holding one another. Studiously and closely entwined.

I saw her for the warm and intimate, sensuous, loving and romantic woman that she was.

And that...hurt.

To know that I had missed it.

That was only one more part of Marcia's life that I looked in on, but it wasn't the only one that fit.

Would have fit.

With me.

As if I hadn't missed it from that very first moment.

Marcia, Stairway to...?

I have to begin somewhere, because you are nowhere near the foreshadowed moment from the last post.

Hah! That'll teach ya!

So this one starts out with a pair of white pantyhose.

Really.

As a matter of fact, a pair of white pantyhose...that never coelesced into reality.

Seriously.

Like so much else of this ever winding tale.

I told you that I was close to Marcia's family. Her folks, Mike and Carol, her brother Greg. Yeah, I'll go back and change the names some day. Honest.

I know that this began as one of many many evenings that I had spent at their home, though they were becoming rarer and rarer, now that I had moved out of town, gone away to college. Yet as usual, there were movies and popcorn, and a warm glow wrapped about the house.

Love and family, the two things that forever permeated this household.

Sometimes things just happen, y'know?

During the evening, Marcia and I had fallen into a conversation. Slowly everyone else drifted away to the television, until Marcia and I found ourselves possessing the kitchen entirely to ourselves. She had been on a couple of mission trips overseas, and I had enjoyed a couple of far more modest expeditions, but we found a number of notes to compare and expand upon.

The only contingency being that Marcia needed to run to the store for a pair of white stockings to wear to church on the morrow. Since we were talking, I offered to accompany her.

When eventually she and I found ourselves both deserted and intent on our conversation, my memory tells me that she and I relocated to the far more comfortable couch in the den next to the kitchen.

Yes, for those of you who read the last installment, Marcia was engaged at this point. Part of my ongoing...frustration, for want of a better word.

So Marcia and I sat, alone and ignored, in the back of the house, entirely intent on our conversation, only the distant drone of the television from the front room to keep us company.

We wandered from mundane to esoteric topic, conversing about any great number of things. Including why her little bro, Greg, was so preoccupied with...girls. Marcia commented that she didn't understand it, and told me a little anecdote for the possible origins of his fascination, which I won't recount here. She did mention how he had been a handful, arguing with his parents and sneaking out at night.

To my utter embarassment, I didn't twig to a hugely relevant clue when I heard one. Years later I would make a connection, and curse my fallibility.

Hey, I'll plead exhaustion, okay?

Eventually the sounds from the living room dwindled, and finally disappeared as people made their way upstairs to bed. Evidently her parents trusted me. Evidently for good reason.

And still Marcia and I chattered on.

I don't want to say that I was in heaven, but...this was the first time that I had ever had quality time with Marcia, all to myself. And to my embarassment...

Okay, I'll admit it.

As the wee hours progressed, as conversation dwindled, as I simply didn't wish for the night, the stolen moments with this incredible young woman to end...fatigue having set in, I thrashed my mind for fresh topics. And found...nothing.

In a panic, I resorted to a desperate, amazingly stupid measure.

I repeated something that I knew perfectly well that we had talked about hours before.

I knew very well that if I was aware, Marcia had to be as well. Even as the words came out of my mouth, I was narrowly watching her reaction....and she was gracious enough to let me get away with it. And I managed to stretch our time together a tiny bit longer.

I can't tell you how embarrassed I am to admit that. Mortified.

Those stolen moments complete, Marcia and I finally wrapped up our conversation. To realize that it was now four o'clock. In the blessed AM. No wonder everyone else had wandered off to bed.

Slowly we made our way to the front of the house, where the stairwell crooked and creaked it's way upstairs from the front door.

Whispering, though we had to be waking everyone abed at the top of the echoing stairs, finally I said good-night to Marcia, standing on the landing just above.

And stuck out my hand.

She regarded my gesture for a moment, then with a half sort of chuckle, glanced up at me.

"A handshake's just not gonna do it, Jeff."

Disbelieving, I took a step up those horrid, ancient stairs to meet her, and hesitantly, awkwardly, fumblingly took Marcia into my arms. Entirely aware of every inch of her. For years I had dreamed of nothing else, wanted nothing more than this woman. To feel the warmth and softness of her in my arms. Feel her soak into me.

Now, of course, I was so afraid of how much I liked her, so aware that she belonged to someone else...that I just have to have given Marcia the worst hug in the entire history of the planet.

Somewhere, I have a list of all the wonderful hugs that I have enjoyed in my life. Honestly, I swear. This one I muffed, big time.

It might always haunt me.

Because Marcia certainly hadn't said her wedding vows, then.

Halfway home it struck me. We never did go get the white pantyhose,

Marcia Last

Funny, I suppose that I am going to do something completely different, and write about Marcia...backwards. Yes, that's true. Just to be different...and because in so many ways, she is completely different than any other woman in my life. I suppose that I went about everything completely backwards, anyway.

Damn idiot. Falling in love with a girl at first sight, anyway.

So, of course, I must start with the very last time that I saw Marcia. Which makes complete, utter and total sense...because it might have been the very first time that I saw the truth.

The truth that really mattered.

And what do you get for your price of admission? Well, very likely a story that makes little if any sense, because it is taken entirely outside of almost a decade's worth of context.

*

The setting, of course, is fairly straightforward. It's Marcia's wedding day.

How's that for a kicker?

I do remember that it was difficult for me to attend, way back in the latter reaches of the eighties, and I was absolutely disgusted to find, at the last moment, that I didn't have a suit that would fit me. So I stuck together some sketchy approximation of "respectable", for not only Marcia's sake, but her entire family meant a great deal to me. And off I went for a wedding that I entirely approved of...and absolutely loathed the thought of.

To tell you the truth, all that I wanted was for Marcia to be happy. And how could she ever be happy with a schmuck like me? Scott was a nice guy, after all.

I have to admit that much of the ceremony went by in a blur. Marcia was beautiful, of course. I remember passing through the reception line, and the horrible thought of kissing the bride passed through my mind. Not that kissing her would have been horrible, of course, but...well, uh, you get the idea.

And there were a couple of guys brave enough to take advantage of that ancient tradition, with a peck on the cheek. But no, not for me. The least problem being that I was far, far too shy.

Marcia was radiant.

The reception was in the church Annex afterwards, and though I had been close to dad Mike, mom Carol, and (especially) brother Greg for some time, I remained in the background.

I knew where my place was in this particular celebration.

Still, I couldn't stay too far distant.

Scott attempted to cater to Marcia's sense of romance and adventure by hiring a balloon to carry them away from the reception. Unfortunately, the winds that afternoon were too high to take off.

Like many other dreams that day, that particular one never got off the ground.

As everyone vanished, I found myself helping to clean up the Annex, like the decent guy I sometimes manage to be. Refrigerating food, putting away tables and chairs, helping to dispose of the trash, that sort of thing. There were surprisingly few hands available. Yet I felt myself more than obligated.

Marcia was floating about in her happiness and joy (still radiant), and at one point, when the place was becoming quite deserted, I accompanied one of the guys towards the Church, along the hall connecting the main building with the Annex. He assured me that he could handle his task alone, and vanished into the bowels of the Church, trailing the rest of the men of the wedding party.

I stood there alone for a moment in the long empty corridor, gazing after him. Feeling the utter silence, pondering the events of the day...and what they had meant to me. What really mattered to me was that Marcia was quite obviously, completely happy.

As she could never be with a wreck like me.

And her happiness...satisfied me.

Hearing a slight rustle behind me, I turned in startlement.

To find Marcia behind me, quietly looking up at me expectantly, a smile caressing her face, head tilted slightly to the side.

She was still in her elegant gown, though her veil missing, the train was long since departed.

Take that, metaphor city.

Marcia looked absolutely, stunningly beautiful, graceful neck curving down to greet bare shoulders.

And she was happy. Content. There was no doubt in my mind.

The moment stretched, and she didn't say anything, just looking up, into my eyes.

The silence surrounding us billowed. I knew how absolutely alone we were, the guests departed, the few remaining family members in the farthest reaches of the buildings.

Take her into your arms. Kiss her.

Not really a thought, more simply a profound feeling; the awareness, the conviction blossomed in my heart, filling my soul. I knew, utterly, that it was absolutely the right and fitting and perfect thing to do. Something once in our life for us to share. Knowing completely that no one else could ever see, would ever know.

Once in your life, for you will never have another opportunity.

Yet another voice, a voice of conscience, wrested me away. Away from battles surrendered before being fought, a dream forever lost.

It was too late to kiss her...more than an hour ago. The moment that she said her vows.

It was an angry voice. There was a finality to that statement which resounded through me.

I don't remember exactly what I did, what I said. I think that I mumbled something absolutely nonsensical and inane, and physically wrenched myself away. Horribly, turning my back on her.

I doubt that Marcia ever understood my abrupt departure.

I stalked...nay, blindly half stumbled away.

Remembering a fumbled moment on a staircase, a year before, in the middle of the night.

Hating myself, for lost opportunities. Shattered dreams.

Fractured fairy tales.

Breathtaking

Lest any of you think that this blog only mentions older women, there have been a handful of far younger in my life, at least to one degree or another. Just like the others that I have written about.

As I approached--and crossed--the 'forty' line, there were a few twenty-somethings who flashed through my life. There was Tiffany, by far the most unconventional (er, I think), Crystal, who had beautiful skin, Raquel, who was deeply romantic, and...Christie. I always thought that Christie was beautiful, clever, attractive, intelligent, resourceful, funny, appealing and sexy...and that was before she trotted out her little red dress.

Suddenly...devastating.

Utterly so. Breathtaking is probably the best word that I have ever used.

To my amazement, I suddenly found that I was seeing on the exterior the exceptional woman that I had always sensed on the interior.

I remember one day, sitting in the basement of the Library. Just looking at her, the curve of her face, how her hair set off her eyes, gracefully framed her face. Thinking about how beautiful she was. Or remembering the time that online she sat unseen feet away, claiming to be elsewhere, while mysteriously “guessing” every element of my attire.

I always have regretted not walking her to her door that night.

Christie was absolutely beautiful. Her raven hair was dramatically set off by the ruby red of her dress. Rich tresses swept gracefully about her incredible cheeks, cascaded softly down her back. I had never seen her look so vibrant, so alive, so...luscious. Absolutely entrancing.

Like so many others, I never did manage to sift the depths of Christie's mischievous soul. I know that there is a great deal of joy and passion there, welling beyond the surface. I just didn't manage to touch it…for myself.

I never told her, but whatever she might have once told me, Christie does have a great figure. I have to admit, years later, I would have loved to see just how that tiny red dress opened—a hot topic of discussion that evening. It was tiny enough to spark the imagination, exactly what she was wearing beneath it that night. Just that high slit atop her sleek thighs alone, reaching towards her hip, the hint of a wonderful rump...was more than enough to capture any man’s imagination.

After all, it was Christie who made the dress come alive. Not the other way around.

Unfortunately, there were three of us friends, old roommates, out for dinner that night, and I suspected that if for anyone, Christie wore that little red dress for the other guy....to my eternal regret.

Still, I can think back on four girls with a smile on my face. Interestingly, all of these younger women are from vastly different ethnic and cultural backgrounds. From Chicago to Catalonia, with Turkish and Szechwan blending into the mix. That doesn’t even begin to mention disparate religious differences...and all four of them were beautiful.

It's kinda funny. A year or two later, Christie commented about how I liked bright colors. Perhaps it wasn't so much bright colors, but the incredible woman wearing them. And while she might not have been in the absolutely fit, perfect shape that she felt that she needed to be to wear that...remarkable dress, she is, was and always will be, beautiful, breathtaking and devasting.

Just because that's the woman that she is.

Like so many of my other stories, I have never been able to say this to Christie.

She deserves it.