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,