What the other artists leave out…

The River Road

The love story behind the River Road picture and my Muse.

I can still see her getting out of her fancy car beside her store in Dallas, an odd-looking middle-aged woman, more class than the car, her slenderness, the astute yet childlike way she carried herself, the white t-shirt that didn’t subtract.

So this is Mary, and I remembered what my salesman had said, “Nicest woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

In the early days he'd travel over 100,000 miles a year, peddling the stained glass and art I created. I’m the peddler now, and Mary’s standing in front of me, saying, “If you gave me a discount, I could buy more.” I summoned up all the courage I had, and said, “How about five percent?”

Success! And grabbing up more than I should have, I raced toward the building to impress her and was rewarded by her hand on my chest to check the muscles.

Inside, we discussed psychology and talked for a few minutes. She was good looking and friendly, maybe a little too friendly.

She asked me to lunch. I didn’t go, but looking back, I think a seed was planted. But how did it grow without being watered? I guess that’s the story of love. A seed, then branches, leaves, flowers, mating, droughts, floods, sunshine, death – but hey-- I wasn’t down to that last part and I’m still not, it’s not over. When we met, I had already plowed right through two wives, six kids and three businesses, row after row, putting one day behind the other, creating my own inspiration.

Somehow, Mary got mixed in with the inspiration part.

Chapter 2

FROM LITTLE ACORNS

More than any one person, my grandfather Barney gave me my love of making things, and to this, he added his sense of adventure with stories of his younger days. But far better than any story he could ever tell, and the reason why the old shed is so full, is what he gave me when I was five.

He reached down to pick up a piece of glass in the driveway, telling me it was better than sandpaper. Then, finding a short section of limb, he scraped it so I could see how smooth it became, and then let, “me?” do it?

We slipped the bark off that limb and made a whistle. He made it all seem like an adventure. And creating something from nothing? Wow! That piece of glass, that moment, shaped my entire life.

A few months after the first trip, I went to see her again, but I didn’t go on the day she suggested. I thought she might have picked that day to have lunch together and I had no intention of breaking my marriage vows. So, I kept my distance, but before leaving, I did ask someone if Mary was married. “She is.”

“Then why doesn’t she wear a ring?”

“You’ll have to ask her that yourself.”

Chapter 3

INTO THE WORLD

My father’s biggest gift to me was a sense of independence, handing me a signed blank check when I was twelve with the instructions, “Go get the best deal you can on a new refrigerator.” And out of that cage, flapping my wings, I became in charge of myself that day.

Then, at fifteen, interested in cars, I asked around as to who was the best mechanic in town and applied for work there, saying, “I want to work for you. You can pay me what you think I’m worth. I’ll work for free until you figure that out.”

He then showed me a Buick engine in a box, disassembled, and said, “Put that together, put it in the car and get it going.” I did, and a better more honest man will not be found. His theory was that the customer should only complain when they got their bill, never because of poor work. He had it right.

Three years went by quickly, and at eighteen I left home with the hundred dollars my dad gave me. He offered to pay for college and I declined, thinking he couldn’t afford it after sending my brother to Rice. Then he said, “Don’t you think it’s time you left home?” I thought, gee dad, it never entered my mind, but what came out of my mouth was, “I guess so.”

For thirty a month I rented an unfurnished duplex in a bad section of town, where a burglar tried to break in on my third night. My first thought was to call for my father. Then it hit me, I’m my father now. I chased him off and went back to sleep, putting one hand against the wall so I could feel if he tried to break in again.

Out in the world now, I was geared up and ready to go, and in a year, I was a line mechanic at a Buick dealership. I worked hard, put a chunk of money in the bank and one morning woke up married.

Now settled, I threw myself into making art. I carved marble and wood, made sculptures, experimented with materials and methods.

I made a hanging lamp out of some colored glass and lead my mother gave me, then a table lamp that I took to a furniture store and left on consignment. Returning a week later, I found it had been sold. I was overjoyed until I heard the money was less than agreed on. Since they sold it to a drunk Indian, the man said, I was lucky to get that much. Hmmm. But he wanted me to make some hanging lamps. I was in the lamp business.

A few weeks later at the car dealership, I heard, “All mechanics will come in Saturday to clean the shop.” But my stall was clean, and commission mechanics aren’t hired hands, they work for themselves. I gave two weeks’ notice. I’m sure the parts man didn’t mind me leaving. He was tired of jumping over the counter to chase me when he got shocked with loaded condensers and blasted with cans of refrigerant. Work and fun, a good combination.

With the mechanic work behind me, this was my chance to build the glass business, and I put my energy into that. The fun was in creating. Eventually I hired others to do more of the day-to-day things.

With the extra time that gave me, I invented three new kinds of sculpture and carried examples of them to the best art gallery in the south. The owner said he’d take me on as a permanent artist, but would accept only one style, that only Picasso could sell more than one.

I turned down his offer. He then suggested I do what he’d done, open a gallery, hire a college student to run it, and put high priced art by famous artists in it to help sell my work (he had a Rodin bronze sculpture on the counter next to other work by name-brand artists, and his pictures were up high at the back.)

This man was sincere, I just didn’t have enough money to open a gallery and I refused to cut back to one style. It seemed to me I was left with no choices, so, on the way home I decided to shut the art down until my kids were grown.

In the meantime, I’d gather tools and knowledge, enough to make anything of an artistic nature when it came time to restart my art career.

For the next few years, the business grew and grew. Then here came those pocketbook women. And aggravating everything was a low blood sugar problem which made life challenging. I just seemed to be confused half the time, never understanding the problem or the solution, until, whoops, too late to save this marriage, already divorced.

Watching television a few months later, I saw a doctor talking about how low blood sugar had screwed up his life. It sounded familiar. I bought several books and followed the instructions to lay off sugar for three days. On the third day I jumped out of bed feeling like I was sixteen again, like starting a new life. And I did, with a new wife.

Chapter 4

COME GET HER

Twenty years with the new wife, then a second divorce, and it wasn’t long before my mind drifted to Mary, who I’d met the year before. What was her situation anyway? I’d regret it forever if I didn’t find out.

I called her receptionist to put it to rest.

“Sarah, I just want to know this, is she happy in her marriage?”

“She called an hour ago, going to lunch with some guy.”

“That’s not what I want to know. Do I stand a chance or not?” I receive a two-minute run around, then, out of the blue I hear, “The answer to your very first question is no. Come get her.”

I called the same day and told her I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Little catches in her breath. I shot an arrow into her heart. She shot one into mine.

Then early one morning she calls. The most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. Floors me, disbelief, trying to figure out what to say.

A few days later, I call and say, “I’d like to send you a fax, there’s not enough time on the phone to say everything.”

“Send it.”

She saved the fax, and I start leaving messages on her phone at night.

One morning she leaves a message about the “beautiful soliloquy” I left on her phone. Wow! And like me, she loved nature and books, art, all the things I liked.

Where I live is a paradise for nature lovers with almost every kind of plant and animal life found in this area. It goes from high ground to swamp with a ten-acre lake in the middle. It’s so special that I borrowed money so I wouldn’t have to sell the lake to settle my divorce. Mary had the money to buy it. Says she’ll record every plant and animal.

She decides she’ll come see me, but only if I promise that absolutely nothing of a sexual nature will happen.

Her birthday was about this time, and on the front of the card I got her was a little mouse flexing its biceps. An industrious little thing, it reminded me of her.

On the inside of the card, I wrote, “Perhaps you said it best when you said, I don’t know what fate has in store for us, but one thing for sure, I really love you.” And then on the back, I put, “I gave my heart away for the first time and I don’t know why, but I trust you with it.”

Chapter 5

BE-CAAAUSE

Here she was, coming, and I had no idea what to do when she arrived. She seemed a couple of classes above me, and in our phone conversations, any talk not precisely proper was out of bounds. She went ballistic on the words, “bitch” and “old woman,” no matter what the context. Perhaps some history there. And a few weeks previous, she’d said, “Maybe I need an affair to help my marriage.” That was a complete turnoff and I told her so.

My view was, if we never went to bed, then she could hold her head up when she got divorced. I explained that to her and didn’t get a warm response.

Now I’m just excited she’s coming, and I want everything to be good.

I ask for advice. Mom says, “We came from good stock.” My daughter-in-law says, “Sprinkle rose petals everywhere for her to walk on.” And this. And that.

It was a wet rainy day. I planted a dozen three-foot long artificial roses by the road so I could tell her, “You’ll know where to turn.” The driveway was muddy, but she had on blue jeans and wasn’t fancied up.

She went through the house looking at everything, turning up her nose at the packages of lard in the pantry. Going back through the kitchen she dropped to her knees. I walked off, saying, “Whoa, you said none of that, and I promised not to.”

And a few minutes later she says, “Just come over here to the couch and lay on top of me.” I actually did that, but when it became obvious what was happening, I said, “No, do you want somebody that doesn’t keep their promises?”

After a while she wanted to see the shop, letting me drive her in her fancy car. We stopped at my mom’s, then on to the shop and then bowling, perhaps a first for her.

In a familiar place like that, she became a diamond in the gravel, the finest woman I’d ever seen.

Too soon, she’s in her car saying goodbye and we’re kissing. She’s not a good kisser. I tell her that, and she says, “You can teach me.”

She wanted to see me again, so we met at a barbeque place halfway between towns. Too much makeup on her for my taste, but she was not overly aggressive. The kisses were better. The meeting was over too soon, and we were driving back to our whatever we had. I felt like I had melted into her.

A week later, on my way to Colorado, I stopped at a motel in Dallas, called, and left a room number where she could meet me in the morning.

I had the flu and a high fever. She kissed me anyway on my snotty nose. She loved me, I felt it.

Backing out of my parking space at the motel, I hit a pole that made a big dent in the van. Got out to look at the damage, and oops, locked myself out, motor running and almost out of gas. I ran back inside and got a coat hanger for a just in time rescue.

The next couple weeks brought a lot of ups and downs, with a lot of the downs coming from my defect of speaking as I think.

I’d use a lot of annnnds and be-caaauses, to give me time to clean up my thoughts, be-caaaause, I’d get jumped on if I didn’t.

And she’d shut down occasionally, somewhat abusive it seemed. I’d write out a response, wording it carefully so I could read it for a late-night phone message.

“Hey, my little blossom. I really miss you, and okay, you can humble me and bring me to my knees. I plead innocent. Think back to me telling you it takes three or four hours to compose a phone message.

“My mind simply does not work like other peoples, and as my daughter reminded me three days ago, ‘Dad, you’re completely different from other people. Your biggest difference is that you don’t play games with people. Everybody else does.

“And my friends are different, mostly self-thinkers. You fit that description. You also play games with people and are a little abusive. So what, I love you, and I know you love me. You don’t kiss the snotty nose of someone with the flu unless you do.”

Chapter 6

WILL YOU?

I propose on a phone message one night, writing it out before calling, the last part going like this, “...and I’m down on one knee now. Mary, will you marry me? If you were here, I’d kiss your knee and look up into those big green eyes of yours.

“And listen, I won’t desert you no matter how long it takes. I have a great patience and a great love for you. I think we’re about to enter the world of warm wash cloths, the excitement of someone challenging, the beautiful mystery. I love you. Will you marry me?”

Got a good response, but not a definite yes. Wishes she had a way to save it off her phone. Turns out she has more money than me, we’re not so equal in her mind.

It was obvious she’d enjoy the lake, but when I ask if I should save it for her, she says, “Do whatever you need to do.”

It didn’t seem worth the effort to save it, so I sold it and left this message on her phone, writing it out before calling.

“Took some earnest money from a young couple I really like. Selling it cheaper to them. The other man’s coming back on the fifth to buy it, but I decided I’d rather sell to someone I could crank up the ice cream freezer for. With my coat of many colors (the song), I’m as rich as I can be anyway.

“Still have this to say. Even taking me out of the picture, this place would have made it spring for you forever. I think it’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever not done, but then, maybe I’m only a game you play.”

She’s hot, she’s cold, and on and on. We agree to meet in Dallas at a department store at night. I give her my cell phone number. Up until then I’d never received a cell phone call, because... never gave the number out? Too cheap? I don’t know, but the high point of my life was being inside that department store and suddenly my whole being was filled with her presence, like the journey to, and then arriving in heaven I suppose. What a voice. She was there and yet she wasn’t.

We met outside and went to a bad section of town where a large lot had been cleared. We sat in the van and talked.

I brought a blanket just in case. I didn’t want to lose her on account of that. I offered, she said she’d wait. We necked a little, then she leaned towards me, teased me, pulled her sweatshirt out at the top, showed me what she had.

We got out. She went to sit on a log in the middle of the lot, looking at the pebbles, the bugs. I laid on the grass beside her. I remember the freeness she felt, the connection with nature, the love she had. She was like an animal just out of its cage, stopping at the first safe place. I was thinking, “This is what I have to give her.” And I was enjoying the physical beauty of her. And enjoying that she was enjoying. Men love to be loved.

Back to Tyler in a daze.

Another week or so passed. Now, four months from that fax and I couldn’t make heads or tails out of any of it. My actions consistent, hers, a lot of ups and downs.

I agree to change towns for her, and she tries again to straighten out what has never been straight, her marriage, saying she has to make a stab at it so she can say she tried everything.

Two o’clock one morning she calls, tells me she loves me and asks what would make me happy after we married.

“I can see you saying, ‘Cary, I envision this,’ and I’ll make it for you.” And I tell her of my plan to restart my art career and ask, “What kind of art would you like me to do?”

“I would want you to paint pictures.”

She was my inspiration for sure. I could see her proudly telling her friends, “My husband paints pictures, he’s an artist.”

Chapter 7

CHASE ME

It seemed time for her to make that decision. I consulted with my oldest son, making these notes to refer to when I called her.

“Want to be married, not a dog on a leash, not a bench warmer. I’m a quarterback, hail Mary pass, last twenty seconds, grab it and have a life. If not, I`m going to get on with mine.”

Don’t remember exactly what I said, but I ended it with, “I’m not calling anymore. If you decide you want to get married, call me.”

Thought for sure I’d get that call, so I put a beautiful personal message on the answering machine. She’d flip when she heard it.

I waited. It was embarrassing when friends would call.

And the anticipation, my stomach churned every time I saw a car like hers. Two and a half weeks passed, and the next day, turmoil set in. Three more days and I gave up, couldn’t go on.

Four days later the phone rings. It’s Mary, saying, I’m ready,” but with a tone of resignation and a touch of sadness, not what I expected for a yes. My reply, “I gave up four days ago,” brought this, “You didn’t put a time limit on it.”

Well, I didn’t set a time limit, but what came out of me was, “I couldn’t wait forever, I had to draw a line at some point. If you chase me like I chased you, then maybe I’ll marry you.”

Chapter 8

CONTRAIRE

Three years pass, and I think again of the promise I made years ago to restart my art career when my kids were grown.

One wife had turned into two, and two kids into six. It seemed like the day to crank the art back up would never arrive.

I’m thinking of going for it on my birthday, the art, the whatever it’ll be, what I gathered all the tools and waited all these years to do.

I don’t want to start with any preconceived ideas, but I think of Mary, she had wanted me to paint pictures. That thought settled in my mind over a few days, growing stronger.

That’s a big field, I could start with pictures. I return from the store with a large assortment of flat things to paint on, tons of choices. I already have plenty of things to color with and all kinds of paints and tools. Got it all. Had a long time to prepare.

My mind clear of any notions other than flat things, the day arrives.

Oh boy oh boy, I jump out of bed like I’m fourteen again, fired up. Throw some paper down. This is the day.

Thinking, well, my imagination’s so big I could paint like Dali, only better. I look at a shaman that I had sandblasted into a rock. It was beyond Dali-ish enough and would make a good start. I paint the shaman in the center of a sheet of paper and add staircases, wings and various things.

The two symmetrical staircases oppose each other, but without a preliminary drawing, they don’t match. That brought me down from that high. Why wasn’t this planned better. And the wings needed to be realistic.

I thought it’d be easy. It wasn’t. I put that picture aside and played with acrylics and watercolors. Hmmm.

Ate supper. Went back to the picture, thinking, “I don’t have the time left in my life for realistic stuff. I need something quick and bold. My stained-glass windows are quick and bold, I’m quick and bold, I can do this.”

I took the acrylics and some big brushes (quicker, bolder), and made some strokes. And because the colors in my windows have a lot of clear glass around them, I left a lot of white around the strokes of color. Looking at that, well, that looks pretty good. Now what. The color’s there. It needs black. But the black won’t look good outlining the color like it does in the glass. Hmmm, a girl in black would look good if placed in one particular spot. Amazing, disbelief. Never saw anything like it. Different. More powerful than stained glass.

I go to bed.

Next day I look at it. Still amazing. Maybe it’s just a fluke. Do another one. And a third, not sure if it’ll keep going.

“On the third one it seems that the color calls for the drawing, really strange. The color’s calling for the black drawing and where to put it, and how thick the lines are. Never saw anything like that before. I do a few more and take them over to show my mother who has a masters art degree and taught art in school. She takes one look and says, “You’ve invented a new style. Don’t tell anybody.”

Whoa, that’s a lot to consider...

I come home and do more, thinking of the secret thrill my father said he got when he finished a house and had only a few small boards left. I think I got it now.

I look through every page of my two-foot-thick art encyclopedias trying to find similar pictures, then through a big commercial-artist sample book. I look on the internet and hang out at the book store, looking at books, magazines, newspapers. It’s nowhere to be found.

Another strange thing. When I place one of these pictures beside any other picture, it overpowers it, even beside a big nude, beside anything.

I show the pictures to a friend.

He takes me to a huge manufacturing place that not only makes the prints for Kincaid, but buys forests in other countries for the wood to make the frames he wholesales, even manufactures his own mats. He agrees he’s never seen anything like it, and tells me to bring back all the pictures I have in the current popular colors. I turn him down, thinking, history books, not money. He calls up Kincade’s agent in California and puts us together.

I send the agent a small photo of five paintings on my couch. A week or two later I receive a letter saying he showed it to some home décor buyers. They think, at this time, the pictures aren’t traditional enough. Wow. That was the next best thing I could have heard. One of the best representative pictures I have of this style, I pulled out of the trash where I had thrown it days before. It’s not traditional for sure. Like Monet’s paintings that took years and years to catch on, it’ll take time to put this in peoples experience banks. Each person’s vision of beauty, of art, is based on past things.

I take the pictures to this smart, rich guy that’s good at promoting. I ask him, “What should I do with this? These are different from all other paintings.”

“Exactly why are they different from all other paintings?” he shot back.

That was a really good question. I knew they were different, but didn’t know why.

Back to the house.

Went over the process of creating them in my mind. I put in the color, then draw in the drawing--

Wait a minute…Draw in the drawing? Don’t you color? in the drawing, like crayons in grade school? Then it hit me, I was drawing with the color, and coloring with the drawing. Just thinking about it was confusing.

I pondered over it sitting at the picnic table outside. The sun was setting, the trees turning black. If the sky had colored clouds, and you moved the trees around to add feeling to the clouds and sky, well, that’s somewhat like what I was doing, and still the closest thing I can think of.

I decide to have a showing at my shop. After all, the pictures are beautiful, and showing them now will set a date for, hopefully, the history books. And I’m featured in the paper and on the local news. But mostly, when I tell people it’s the biggest change since cave paintings, they think I'm crazy. “Of course, I tell them, but I’m a good crazy.”

Chapter 9

MARY AGAIN

I’ve finished a lot of Contraires by now and I notice that the company (Rubbermaid) making my brushes also makes the pens I use for the black (Sharpies). I send them an offer to use Contraire in their advertising. What a combination, and how often does a radical change like this come around, twice? They say very interesting, keep in touch, but did not offer anything.

And what about Mary anyway? Four years have passed and I still think of her. Everything would have meshed perfectly.

I make out an email giving her credit for the Contraire, but I’m too chicken to send it. It sits on the gadget for months.

Eventually I ask a friend to visit her. He comes back and says, “Kent, when she talked about you, that special glint came into her eyes. She’s still in love.”

After he leaves, I check my no guts no glory tattoo to see if it’s still there. Yep, still there.

“Hey, it’s me”

“Why, hello. How have you been doing?”

“Well, I invented this new way of painting pictures I think’s bigger’n dirt. I owe you the credit.”

“I’d sure like to see some of them.”

“Got email?” I asked.

“Of course.”

That voice, like coming home.

This time, if there was to be a this time, I’d be myself, not a person I created to fit her image of what I should or shouldn’t be.

I email some pictures and an explanation of Contraire and the postcard announcement of the showing, explaining I even took the postcards to fancy women’s hair salons and said, “Can you help me? I want to look like that cook Emeril on TV.”

“Who would want to look like that?”

“Just joking. Would you set these out on your counter?”

The next day I get an email.

“The art was “beautiful, interesting, aesthetic.” She really likes it and would like to see some more.

That turns me on. Excited, I just throw myself out there in a handwritten letter, and email it with more pictures.

“I assume you got the explanation of Contraire. Since these I’ve branched out quite a bit. One of my shortcomings is typing. I seldom do email because it might take two minutes to find a letter. You’re the only one I spill my guts to anyway. And I still have that dent in the van and that candy and black panties you sent, you devil. I have no idea why I really called, don’t know if I want to make love, court you, or cuss you.

“Okay, that brings me full circle as to why I called. I told you what would make me happy is hearing you say, “Cary, I envision this, and I’d make it for you. That’s because I see you as giving praise. Why it matters it comes from you, I don’t know, but I do know you caused the pictures to happen.

“Damn it, now I’ve done talked myself back in love.

“Well, anything’s possible Why don’t you lock your door and send me more than three or four sentences.

“I have no idea what I just wrote, automatic writing, I guess. It felt like, after sex, and I became passionate thinking about the twinkle in your eyes. Maybe that’s why I called.”

Chapter 10

A DOLLAR SEVEN

I’m painting pictures like a mad man because she bragged me up in that email, but it’s three days and still no response. What have I got to lose? I peel off another couple layers and write some more, typing it this time.

“Cat got your tongue? When you called four years ago you didn’t sound believable. l thought you’d chase me. I put more than I had into that and lost face. You could have had me with one phone call, probably now.

“Me? Today I drew the “color?” on some sheets for a simple but true contraire. Sophisticated simplicity is what my mom called them.

“One finger typing. Hard to find the letters.

“Why don’t you chase me a little? I might be as easy as a crack whore. You should have jumped in the first time. You misread a lot of my intentions.

“Oops, just noticed I’m in a trance. I don’t want to write this letter automatically, so it’s time to close.

“I’m going to be myself. If you stomp on me that’s ok, I’ll draw a line under it and go on.

“Want to see me?

“I don’t have a clue on how to end this letter. Tried to send that local TV news thing, but it’s too long. You would have been proud of me.

“I’d like to see you.”

Two more days, I finally get an email saying she received mine. She’ll be writing later, needs time to think.

I kick it up a little and send another.

“Finished half those pictures I started. They’re all related to sex or nature, go figure. Two were really good because I discovered something. One of them had black raindrops.

“One time I placed an ad for an artist and about forty people showed up. They would lay these big black folders on the counter and pull out one or two nice pictures and a lot of junk. When I asked, ‘What else have you got?’ They would say, “That’s it.”

“This German man came in that was a fantastic artist. I told him most of the people that applied had talent, but it looked like they had never done much of anything. He said, “Kent, in Germany they have a saying about that, Talent’s one thing, exercise is another.” This is one of my favorite sayings now, and is so true, don’t you think? An old person would say, “Don’t you see?”

“I figure situations change. I do know this. You have the brightest eyes I’ve ever seen. I vividly remembered them when I had this fantasy about you the other night. We were sweaty. We locked eyes. Fireworks.”

Two more days. No news must be good news, right? She did say she was thinking. Maybe she’s just waiting on me to convince her.

“It’s dangerous to let me on a computer. Should I apologize? Let me make it clear. I don’t want to play games. If your situation’s changed somewhat, if you’re interested, you need to chase me a little. It’s all scary.

“Summary: I’m teasing you with that brass ring to see if you’ll grab it. If you do, we’ll explore from that point. If you don’t, I’ll draw a line under all of it and go on with my life.

“Not a yes or a no? A maybe’s not enough. A double maybe, maybe. That’s funny. Or a half yes.

“The reason I sent this letter is because I want one from you.”

Another double day goes by.

An email finally appears. Asks if she can call the next day and finishes with, “Stay cozy.”

Hmmm, hope, not a whole lot, but enough to climb back on top of that mountain.

I paint three pictures before going to bed.

She calls, but time is limited. Says she’ll call the next night between 6 and 6:30 to talk again. I sit by the phone until 8:00, then email later that night.

“Sorry, I must have missed your call. It seems silly when you say this is Mary. You could just breathe in the phone because no one else sounds like you.

“Just finished an old Russian novel, the Romance of Leonardo da Vinci. It seems like some great truths have been revealed to me.

“Still thinking about it. Dmitri Merejkowski, author.”

I wait two more days and then drag the chair over in front of the gadget. It’s getting to be a habit.

And a great invention, I now use a finger on the left hand to push the capital key with. Okay, I’m stupid in a lot of ways, smart in some, but smart don’t mean a whole lot. You can take smart and $1.07 to the burger place and they’ll hand you an apple pie.

“Over a hundred ducks came in right after you called the other day. First big group this year. They came up to within a hundred feet of the house, then went to the back of the lake. A pair stayed off to the side that made me think of us. Here’s a view from the back porch today.

Been thinking, if we had married, what a fairy tale ending, which turned into, why didn’t she marry me?

“Oh my god, what if she was serious? and if that’s the case, I accept my stupidity, I own it.

“I think we were both rejected in our own way back then. You said it didn’t make any difference, but l think people don’t ever reveal the real reasons. They’re hard to get to in your brain. Even your best friends won’t give you absolutely everything.”

She finally calls, implies I should have been by the phone when she called an hour and a half late.

“Hey, I got a life, got better things to do than sit by the phone all night.” Oops, I shouldn’t have said that. She let me have it, both barrels, right “tween” the eyes. Ouch. And I said “old woman.” Double ouch.

I email, “It would still be a hell of a story for our grandkids if we connected after all this, and hey, I meant nothing when I said old woman. We had this conversation before. Words like bitch and old woman can be terms of endearment for me.

“I don’t think you grasp the power you have over me. You’re the only woman I’ve ever chased. With no experience, what do you expect?

“And you sitting up there lonely. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? If you were here right now, I’d be caressing every part of you.”

That phone call, did I lose her? Or with the emails? I send another.

“Didn’t I make it clear that the biggest disappointment in my life was when you didn’t call four years ago? I went into survival mode.

“Well, I can’t change the past, and I apologized from the heart. You’re just too damn tight with your feelings. You hold your real feelings in. That’s a form of control. Maybe it makes men cater to you, but I don’t think it’s becoming on anyone.

“I’d love you if you were paralyzed from the waist down. l had “and up” on there, but took that off cause I’m not sure, laughing.

“I’m having trouble drawing that line. A mean and nasty email would help. Let a feeling go, will ya. You’ll feel better. You could say, ‘You’re nice to visit, but I wouldn’t want to stay.’

“Most people in your world wouldn’t dare hand you all that, you’d chop their head off, wouldn’t you?

“Typing in words per minute now (one finger). Going in here and making some blueberry muffins. Wish you were here to brag me up on them. I feel good about sending this email. I’m not picking up on something am I?”

When will I hear from this woman? Pounding away when I’m not painting, and painting when I’m not pounding. For sure, I’m getting a lot of exercise just checking for messages.

I pound out another one.

“And anyway, I imagine all this talk is for naught. I’d rather have come in person. I sent the emails because I imagined that the little joke things were pleasing.

“I keep thinking I’ll hear something from you. I’ll tire of this eventually.

“My biggest fear is that you’re a player, even though you say you’re not. Painting today.

“PS, Eating some cabbage, turkey, and rice. Pozole without the hominy, unbelievable, it could be better than sex. Some days are just winners.”

Chapter 11

UP AND DOWN AND BACK TO TOWN

No response, a difficult phone call days ago, I’m at the end of my rope. Courting a married woman on a computer? Maybe I lost my mind.

A friend shows up. I tell him I’m about to give up on Mary. He’s deep in thought, then picks up the picture I painted of her, and says, “Kent, send her a picture of this. Tell her you were talking too much to listen.”

What have I got to lose? I send a copy.

The next day I get a reply saying I’m amazing. She’ll send me a free thought email later, and does.

She says, “It’s hard to put feelings on paper because the emotions are so much bigger and more complicated than the most sophisticated of vocabularies.” And when I called the other day, it caught her off guard. I got a completely honest response. She’s happy to hear from me but has mixed feelings. I make her feel like she’s “messing” with me. She thinks it’s the other way around.

I fire back the next day.

“What’s wrong with feelings anyway? People fall in love, divorces happen. You might enjoy forty-five-minute sex instead of five minute.

“l got a thousand questions for you, enough to last a lifetime.

“And hey, what do you think you get with forty-five minutes? laughing.

“Why should we screw this up. l read it as fifty-fifty on both of us. It is what it is, same course as last time.

“And I’ve heard that friend stuff before, all of it. Almost didn’t come to Tyler, blah, blah. It boils down to the last phone call back then and whether you were serious or not. If you were serious, I want to make love, if not, I want to draw that line.

“P.S. When I typed make love, you know... Love.”

Oh my goodness, I’m rewarded for my effort.

As soon as she opened her eyes this morning, she ran downstairs to check her emails like a kid on Christmas morning. There I was, waiting for her, delicious like some dangerously addictive candy. She reads my messages, laughs and cries. Says we both have an effect on each other.

She loves my spirit. I make her feel like a teenager. “To be continued.”

This ain’t no secret thrill I got now. This is a sure nuff full blown one. I’m having trouble gitting traction cause my feet don’t touch the ground in these clouds. Oh. The human condition, what goes up must come down. Whose law was that anyway?

Barely an hour later, I receive another email. I’m excited enough to reach in through the monitor and grab it.

I open it and see this: “Sadness, I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

Back to square zero. Am I an optimist or what?

“I still want to know what was in your heart back then when you called. Let me judge for myself what that means. Looking back, I had it right until the very moment of your phone call.

“And what’s wrong with feeling like a teenager?

“Working on a picture today of you as a teenager, how I see you anyway, naked, standing in a river, a house in the background.

“There are no answers in the back of the book of life. Everything is a choice, every moment. I treasure every moment I had with you and regret not having the skill of a poet to convey that… Just got an email from you, but I have no idea when you sent it, so, come what may, right or wrong, here is this one, love, Cary.”

Her email says, “Mary wants to chat.”

Chat? Talk? Who knows, maybe she changed her mind.

I throw this on the plate: “God, how I love you and I still believe in Santa. We could have one of the greatest loves on earth, the kind you only read about in books. Yeah, it scares me too. And how a great love story could be so scary, I don’t know, a big truth in there, or maybe I’m just an idiot, your motivation for “chat” might not be as I have perceived it.

“I want to hug you so bad right now that I’m thinking about hugging the post in the other room. Probably won’t, but I’m not kidding.

“If you think you get excited over emails, even the tiniest morsel of one from you makes me, uhh, having trouble finding that word, but you know what I mean.

“Maybe I shouldn’t even send this. I have this fear now that everything with you’s a naught and I’m a total idiot.

“Love.”

Chapter 12

IRRESISTIBLE LITTLE DEVIL

It’s the next day after the “chat” email (never connected) and I still haven’t heard from her. I’m completely fired up nonetheless.

I work on the picture of her as a teenager, sending all four of these emails to her at various times in the day as my passion builds for her and the picture.

“Subject: The river picture, you as a teenager. This is a bigger picture. The copier is streaking and wiped that eye out. It’s not that way in the picture. This is how I imagine you as a teenager, and you seem one to me now. That’s what love is, and probably the river because of that time you went swimming trying to fix your marriage and called me. The contraire is not visible here, still working on all of it, enjoy.”

“Subject: The River Road. It has a name! Oh my god. That river’s also a road that goes to the house. The girl, you know she’s connected with the house. It’s far away and yet she’s here for me.”

“Subject: More. There’s kind of a circle around her where I could just walk in, not wade in. Never thought about any meaning till now, unbelievable.

“Here’s the rest of the story.

“I had just finished reading that old Russian love story about da Vinci and Mona Lisa. When I started, I thought it was true. Tear jerker. Read some more and couldn’t stop.

“He worked on the picture five years so he could keep seeing her. The picture, therefore, was never perfect to him.

“She was married and always had a nun with her, until the last time she sat when they almost came together. The next day she went on a trip and died.

“Looked up real story, is none. Then I looked at the Mona Lisa picture and saw how great the writer was. And since that picture is the most looked at of any, I thought, in my child like mind, that I’d do one just as good, and with a great love on my mind, you, I started painting.

“I’ve only today realized what a great love story it represents. I’m humbled.”

“Subject: email. Still looking at this picture. I’m totally unable to look at it objectively. It has a tall child-like tree whose (just wait) shadow falls into the circle. Someone brought up child-like, and I said that’s the way it came out. I’m the tree. My shadow falls into the circle, touches your hand then touches you.

“There’s no white space in this one, yet the circle in the water makes it contraire. And if the field between her and the house was darkened and some little things touched up.

“It’s beside me now as I fumble here. And like da Vinci in the book, I may never finish it, even though for me it’s already ten times more than the old Mona because of the love story behind it.

“I never had a thought or saw a picture that could compare with this representation of us. I keep holding my finger at it to see how to finish. I don’t want to mess it up.

“I’m better now on these emails, but it took me two hours on the very first one to figure out how to get this bar down so I could make paragraphs.

“Surely that’s not you laughing about my ignorance. I am what I am. A naked river teenager painter?

“I would treat you like a queen on weekdays and a whore on Saturday night, what more could you ask for?

“I see your face, but don't knock it if you haven’t tried it. And I’d want to cuddle and hug at least half of each day, don’t know if you could stand that or not. Smiling.

“And I’m not saying women are fickle, but I know they change their minds, so I keep pounding on this thing. I imagined I’d get this email from you that said only I love you, and my return one would say I love you. And you’d send another with that, and so on and so forth. It would be so...cool? Okay, I’m not as good at words as I thought.

“I said so much, you’re bound to have liked some of it. Past my bedtime. Son performs at PTA tomorrow. Got him a tux shirt today. Uhh, I don’t own a suit. It’s like people saying they don’t have to work for a living............to bed.”

Sleep good, and the next day when I punch the gadget in, I have a good feeling, and, surprise! she’s there in all her glory.

She loves my emails. Wishes she didn’t. Why do I have to be so irresistible? She has so many things she’d like to say and she doesn’t know where to begin. And she certainly doesn’t know where and how to end our conversations if I get her drift. She weighs about ten pounds more than last time. Do I still love her? Uh oh! Maybe she’ll go run around the block a few times.

“God how you just made my day. I want to hear all about everything. You’re good up to 225 lbs. Kidding. Absolutely don’t care.

“Got so excited the first time I read your email that I missed the where and how and drift. Read that just now and something happened down below.

“Worked on that picture today. Your house is way down the road. One of your hands is dipping in the water. Fairly traditional picture except for the contraire circle and the girl.

“This picture has one hell of a story behind it already. As for the goodity (bet that’s not in the dictionary), that’s for other people to judge, not me. To me, it’s a precious thing.

“And food...all that “drift” stuff throwed a craving on me for some sardines and picante. Shoveling it in as I speak. Good. Now some cocktail onions. Maybe I’m pregnant.

“Here’s some love. Hold it close today. Love.”

The next day.

“Hey, this phe-los-sur-ra fiez-ing is hard work, plus, couldn’t go to sleep because I was thinking of you. If you were here, I’d have you in there grabbing your feet, those legs up in the air, and thinking about all that, can’t nap.

“You wouldn’t be thinkin’ bout no troubles, that’s for sure.

“The love I have for you must be there for everyone to see. When passing cars on the street, women been giving me these big smiles, thirty when I have a cap on, forty up otherwise, laughing.

“And whoa, coffee ice cream with unsweetened chocolate, and I’m cracking pecans on a real Caddo Indian nut rock that came off this place. And I have to get more sleep. I reach over now at night and touch you with my feet and place my hand on you. Uhh, maybe I am crazy, or do you think that might be love.

“And speaking of love, here’s something to place up next to your heart. Carry it with you until I can send more. ONE LOVE - ONE SOUL.

“P.S. You’re like cigarettes, ice cream, how I imagine drugs to be. Wish you’d call, wish you wouldn’t. Obsessed, is that the right word? Sometimes I think, well, I’m not a toy, and yet I melt at any contact. Never felt this way. Is this how you feel? Love to hear from you.”

Chapter 13

GIVE AND TAKE, ASK AND RECEIVE

I’m pulling blueberry muffins out of the oven and hear the gadget beep. She’s feeling a little quiet, a little uncertain, not ready to talk about some things. How was my day? When I was a kid what were my favorite things to do? What did I spend most of my time doing? Did I grow up in Tyler? Did I ever think of leaving? Who was my first love, did she break my heart? She wants to know...me.

Okay, I’m vain, and it’s Mary asking. I put the pencil to the paper--

Everybody could take those naps in school. Not me. Brains always going. When young, if I was waiting somewhere, I’d be memorizing the total tiles on the ceiling or the scratches on the wall, just in case somebody asked.

And that first love. I stripped the gears on my motorcycle showing off on the ice-covered highway in front of her house. I remember being in the woods with her, supposed to be at the picture show. Back into town to call her mom. “Mom, nice show, can he take me for a coke?” and then back to the woods.

That first kiss, those breasts heaving, good god, and I still remember what she smelled like, what she felt like on the back of that Harley with those short shorts on.

Don’t remember why we broke up, but I remember a longing for her. That longing for her, like the longing for you, but there’s not a lot to be intimate about when you’re fifteen.

I guess I still love her, or do right now, because I went back in my head to that time. The circumstances are different, and yet, you’re like my first-love.

I love nature. Wish I had more time to enjoy it.

As a kid, I was making things, inventing things, repairing things. I’m still a maker of things. Are you a thing? I could make you. Hmmm, maker of things with a dirty mind. Let’s see if I can add to that.

Why do I tell you all this stuff anyway? I feel had. I want to know you. I’m sending a picture of me when I was 18.

That was Friday. On Saturday I get my reward. “Oh my gosh,” she says. She has just begun to read all the amazing emails and loves the sexy picture of me at eighteen. She’s going to make a copy of it so she can look at it whenever she wants, “Like right now,” she says.

And she loved the adventure of looking for rocks and things when she was young. And she collected bugs, especially betsy-bugs.

“What are we going to do?” she asks. “Why aren’t people just allowed to love each other without complications?”

Hmmm. I take a photo of the River Road picture and send it along with an email.

“Still working on it, but you get the idea, the emotion’s there.

“At the family thing yesterday, mom told me what the picture meant before I told her.

“Floored me.

“Everyone who sees it, says major goodity.

“We’ll see.”

She’s in love. I’m in love. The whole world’s in love. She calls Sunday. I let the love sink in all day.

That night, I examine a few treasures on the shelves above the gadget. Feathers, fossilized vertebrae, bookends of opalized palmwood, and especially, a giant gourd my son grew that looks exactly like a pear. She’s headed to the right place if she likes nature.

Before I go to bed, I email.

“I didn’t get high from that phone call, but I did get a completeness I’ve never had before.

“That lasted till 8:30. Then, a few withdrawal things, the seeming impossibility of it, then, the I don’t care, things change. Now its boiled down to destiny.

“And maybe I’m not as neat as you picture me, either. I love it that you’re thinking about running. You don’t have to.

“And hey, the edge fell off that cockiness of mine. I’m stupefied. Here is the person, finally, that completes me.

“And I thought about you all day. Call me, you little betsy-bug keeper, kiss kiss kiss.”

The next day I send another.

“You prove psychic abilities, hundred miles no problem.

“Trying to combine the words, butter, slather, and muffins into an intelligent morning email for you, and thought about, did you stick those feet up in the air and think of me?”

Chapter 14

REAL MAIL AND UP A NOTCH

“Real mail. No B.S.

“Ok. After that last call when you implied you were tired of emails, I had sex with myself up to four times a day and stopped eating, had trouble sleeping.

“God you’re sexy, speaking of which... love at first sight is a passion thing. That’s why I was never worried about that part unless you rub everybody’s chest that comes in.

“Finished a picture today of Jesus taking orders at a Whataburger in heaven. Menu has things like, “Fish, one feeds all.” And worked another twenty hours on the River Road. My mom saw it today and said I’m in love with love, and to tell you she loves you.

“I like that you question things, that you’re smart and your own person.

“And I’ve given this a lot of thought. I’m NOT a complicated person like you said. I’m run by one thing, not counting sex. My brain runs that.

“I think the creative part makes me seem complicated.

“Whereas most lose their creativity at fifty, mine just gets better, a gene thing maybe.

“I’m simply the boy that loves the girl in Dallas.

“My banker buddy came by yesterday and gave me a beautiful plate he made out of some rotten walnut because I told him he couldn’t do it.

“He worked for me while he was going to college. I taught him to take one bite out of each donut he might want later. He says he does the donuts at the bank that way.

“He drove his pickup off in the ditch when he applied for the job and I hired him anyway. Maybe you’ll take me anyway, I’ve run off in the ditch a few times with you, for sure.

“I fought writing this letter cause you never called.

“And I don’t know why, but I don’t remember one I ever enjoyed writing more.

“May I apologize again for being such a complete idiot four years ago, by far the worst mistake of my life, assuming that was a for real yes. And just because I’m willing to wait a year now, doesn’t make up for that I know.

“All the pieces being there in my mind, l love you Mary.”

She emails, saying she tried to call about ten times tonight.

And emails again, saying she’ll call tomorrow. Signs it, “Sweet dreams XOXOXO.”

I email, “That made my day, those X’s and O’s.

“I thought about that all day, and that you tried to call. Am I easy to please or just mental?

“We can’t be half as much as we view each other. I have no experience with these kinds of feelings. It seems the more you like me, the more I like you. Today I’m thinking I want to go get you. That’s what I was thinking the last time.

“Should I be calling, or just showing up, or what? I understand the frustration of not being able to connect.”

Phone call on Saturday. She’s coming to see me, says she’s more serious now than four years ago. Really. Why did she say that? Was it to save face on getting turned down four years ago? or because it was just a game to her. I don’t think it matters anymore.

She wants me to leave everything at the house just like it is, so she can think about how to improve my bachelor living, the woman’s touch thing. I agree to be, “as is,” but I’ve been married too many years in the past to view myself as a bachelor.

I tape her photo in front of me where I’m at during the day, the one I took of her on the back porch four years ago, barefooted, head thrown back. And I handwrite and email the following.

“Wow! a lot of info passed on that phone call. You went way up in value. Is that like a horse? Hey, if you showed up with your bags today, that’s okay with me.

“And when you said, if we’re even a quarter as much as we already see each other, I knew you were serious.

“Promise I won`t change nuttin! I’ll even leave the cobwebs and the pile of reading beside the bed. And if you’re a real good girl, I might let you look at my big stash of blueberries and make you a smoothie, laughing.

“Both my parents found happiness the second time around, the happy ending, like us. “Like us.” That’s brave, that’s bold. And you can just bite me now, becaaause...... I’m going to do some picture painting.”

Two days later.

“Been thinking of what you said you had on the other day when you called, and thinking I’d like to make love to a cowgirl. You could ramp that up a little bit.

“I’m excited concerning your visit, yet calm and expectant of good. Maybe that has to do with commitment.

“I taped your picture to the very first Contraire painting where I work, and at the exact height, where, when I lean forward to kiss it, the kiss goes, hey, does something for me.

“And pondering today, don’t want to lose you on account of smoking. Maybe three or four a day would still be okay. I could still fart, couldn’t I? Oh my garden seed (my grandmother’s way of saying oh my god). Putting that in my vocabulary now.

“They say whoever has the best sex wears the pants (controls the other). I think it’s going to be a tie.

“Just don’t limit to maybe hold hands (your last phone call). WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I MIGHT WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND ANYWAY? P.S. The teeniest email from you is as good as a thousand words because I know you’re thinking of me, and that keeps me all fired up.”

Chapter 15

FRIENDS

“My best friend Graver just called. I consider him the world’s best or second best gun engraver and the nicest person I’ve ever known.

“Here’s a picture of a special knife he engraved and gave to me. He said I’ve got to do the scrimshaw on the other side.

“We did a lot of morel mushroom hunting when he lived in town. We say, go “room” hunting. He’d go “room” hunting with my wife and come back and tease me, saying, “I was lying in the grass with an erection and hollered to your wife, “Come look, I think I see one over here.” That’s totally out of character which makes it so funny.

“Like you, he’s special.

“Got your email. Just feed me little ones and I’ll be happy.

“Hate like hell to leave. Know it’s only an email, but for you I put a lot of me in it.”

She emails again. Wishes she was more like me, with stories that flow and an amazing way of telling them. It’s her day, well, kind of her day after she finishes grocery shopping, washing the car, etc. Sign’s XOXOX.

“I would love to go grocery shopping, car washing, etc, with you. How often? A lot. Saw Raul today. His son’s making something from the big bottomland post oak I logged here. They were going down to buy a table saw. I gave them one of mine.

“This is a good friend. I go to these Mexican things at his place. The food and company are great, but I don’t understand the talking.

“And I haven’t reciprocated enough on the food things. I need a woman to help with that. Hmmm.

“Quite a day with the family here. Hugs and love everywhere. Pots and pans flying, fantastic food. Four kinds of meat, two cakes, veggies, etc.

“Got a good feeling about when we meet in person.

“Just sat back in the chair and looked at the “in person” in the last sentence, and, “you know what” happened. You’re one powerful woman even a hundred miles away. Oh my garden seed.”

“Subject: hungry.

“I was looking for something today and found all manner of stuff you’d like, from a crow skull to some tumbled and polished tiger eye.

“And just now saw some mallards doing a mating dance in the lake. Could this be right, in the water? The male’s head was going up and down, and the hen presented herself by going a few inches under water and putting herself in position. The whole thing was like a play.

“When you said you wanted to know me and I threw it on paper, it got me thinking that maybe I’ve been too nice my whole life. Asked my mom about that and she said my grandmother was the same way. Asked my youngest son and he said it was just my nature. Looking back, it seems like the women in my life took advantage of that.

“Wondering about your stuff, tired of mine.

“...for you. (see subject above.)”

She reassures me I’m in her thoughts all the time and that her brain’s scrambling trying to figure out what to say. Adores my emails. She loves me. And signs, “We will see each other soon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Eighteen marks on the end. Hmmm. She’s thinking of the picture I sent her. I love the way she signs these things.

Chapter 16

COMMITMENT

“It’s gonna be SO satisfying just to get within a couple of feet of you. I may just stand there grinning like an idiot.

“Just kissed your picture and satisfied some weird food cravings. Don’t draw any conclusions, laughing. Going to read your email a few more times, one part a lot of times, two parts.

“You know what goes here. You can triple it, so there.”

Two days later.

“Today I thought about the birds going to nest and all the little things that’ll be crawling around soon, but mostly I’m going through the motions of everyday stuff until I see you.

“I do enjoy writing to you before I go to bed.

“Heard a song today, Flesh and Blood. It sums up my feelings. Listening to the right songs can easily double my feelings for you, so I smashed all the radios here. Kidding.

“And, changes going on, inside and outside. For some reason I pulled up into a complete man. Chin up, belly in, chest out. I could lead an army into battle. And I’m no longer stressed over whether or when I hear from you. That’s indeed a strange bowl of beans (did I invent that just now?) Yours.”

On a roll now.

“Good morning my little bright-eyed betsy keeper.

“I remembered those eyes and that you’re little, like my grandmother, and I fell in love again.

“I’m leaving the front door unlocked in case you make it down this weekend. What’s mine is yours, snoop all you want.

“What else could I put here, greasing my brain up for you? Love ya.”

“The next day I receive a request for directions to the house. I send a map, along with, “You sure you can find it without the roses?”

She emails the same day. She’s reading a book club book and I’m one of the characters, a builder, inventor, artist, nice guy in love with her, an intelligent, defiant, compassionate woman.

She doesn’t know if they’ll ever get together. She’s in suspense with the book and in suspense in real life. She’ll let me know how it ends, and signs, “Lots of love.”

“Perceptive little thing, aren’t you, thump thump thump. Yep, and we’re writing our book now. We can visualize and choose our own ending. People make things come out how they want to. All the good stuff ain’t easy, but half the fun’s getting there.

“Here’s my theory, be me, take you for you, trust you’re you and take me for me. Okay, here it is: Me me, you you. You you, me me.

“P.S. I see new beginnings, new paths being forged, laughter, challenges, love, appreciation. What more could life hold?

Chapter 17

THE PICTURES WE KEEP FOREVER

She calls in the morning with, “Let’s meet halfway today.”

We arrive at the same time.

She said she wasn’t dressed too well, but that’s not right, she’s a knockout, gorgeous. We neck in front of a burger place, people looking at us. Time flies, it’s over too soon and I’m driving back, dazed.

“Wow! It was just like coming home, not like an affair thing, two hours not enough, will take a lifetime. Our honeymoon will never be over. You’ll always be the new bride.”

And send this in the wee hours.

“Subject: A LOT. You’ve been on my mind all day. Couldn’t go to sleep because seeing you was so powerful.

“The trip up there and back seemed like ten minutes each way.

“Everything better this time because I’ve been myself.

“It’s almost too good to be true that you’d love me for me. Kinda in a daze, don’t know what to say.

“I think it’s your turn. WISH YOU WERE HERE. HOW MUCH? (See subject).”

Those feelings were mutual. The next day, she says, she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop seeing my beautiful face and those “amazing intense eyes.” She “LOVED ALL MY EMAILS!! LOVED LOVED LOVED.” And the expression on my face when she saw me teetering on one foot in the parking lot will be in her mind forever. She adores me.

“One day I’ll take off those fancies, take my time and have my way. And I’ll forever have a picture in my mind of your eyebrows and a spot about six inches square on your chest, God, and a lot more things. Love your chin. Love every part of you.

“Uhh, had to look up adored in my unabridged to make sure I wud’n gittin slighted. Can’t believe I told you that.

“One happy boy right now. I have no idea how it’ll turn out in real life, but when I think about you in the van that night, things start happening.

“Here are the pictures you wanted.

“Gaze-e-bo (long a). You can see the path from the house.

“Hmmm, I can see you on it.

Dogs all tucked in here.

“Song on now, build a world of our own. Laughing because I just thought, change world for word and get build a word of our own.

“Is that cool or what? I adore you! YOUR TURN, GIVE ME SOME LOVE! DON’T FUDGE.”

She emails, bragging up the pictures. “Love the pictures you sent!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Big Kiss.”

Still got those eighteen marks, that devil. Wants to know if she can come on Saturday. And calls today. We talk for over an hour. It’s all there

“God how I love you, just off the phone, speechless.

“Full feeling, exciting, full of promise. You paint pictures in my mind like no other, made me want to eat that fried egg.

“We’ll aim for the stars. We may not reach one, but we won’t come up with a handful of dirt either. Well, we might, out rock hunting.

“And I’m not that good of a cook, but I really enjoy it. Maybe I fudged a little when I bragged myself up on that.

“I don’t want to disappoint you, happiness being the difference, some say, between what you perceive you should get, and what you get.

“Love you Bitsy.”

I never know what’s coming on an email from her.

Today I hear that love isn’t rational. She loves me, but her potential costs and risks are higher because there’ll be more changes on her side. She loves who I am and loves how my brain works, but she’s not sure she can give me the kind of relationship I so often hint at wanting.

“And since when is love rational.

“I do want to marry you, if that’s what you say I hint at.

“I thought I was very clear both times, I’m not a player. I think we’re down to the commitment part.

“This is our chance for this lifetime. I totally committed that day of halfway. First for me, you could do it!

“I forgive you if you’ve had affairs. I would imagine they were justifiable, and no, I’m not on the buffet, you cook me at home. I’m not going to be a play toy for anybody. I’m all you can handle anyway.

“You certainly have my ear and my shoulder and my heart.

“I know you love me, Bitsy, a lot, enough to go for it.

“Love.”

Chapter 18

SOME POWERFUL LYRICS

“Going 55 mph down the road today, had my hand out the window and a red-oak leaf landed right between my thumb and the next finger. I instantly felt your presence. This is a beautiful leaf, has meaning.”

Phone call from her. She says I keep hinting at a bigger relationship. Hmm, I know she erases my emails as she receives them. Maybe her memory’s a little short. Maybe she wants something more formal.

In any case, I can fix that for sure.

“Sitting here two hours in front of this thing, rereading emails, 98% are from you. No way of telling you how good I feel when that yellow thing pops up and says, “You have 1 new message.”

“You’re so much a part of me, I can see you at the table over there reading while I’m punching this thing.

“WILL YOU MARRY ME MARY?

“Heck of a thing for an email, but that’s where I’m at. I want to make love from now on with you, do things with you, discover, examine, enjoy. Crap, here’s where I need your vocabulary Bitsy, help me out.

“I pulled it out of that hinting category you stuck it in, didn’t I?”

The next day I receive an email from her.

“Subject: Re: I pulled it out of that hinting category you stuck it in, didn’t I?” It contains only the attachment, “All I Want Is You.” I can’t open it.

I email it to my son for help,

“Got this attachment on an email from my woman after I proposed. Must be a yes or a no. Maybe it’s a song? I can’t open it. I looked it up on the net. There’s more than one song with this same title. If the first few words are, if I was a flower growing wild and free, that would be a yes. Call me.”

Phone rings and I pick it up. He says, “Sounds like, if I was a flower.”

I don’t know how to answer her. Something’ll come to me before I go to sleep, if I ever go to sleep. I can’t play it yet, but the lyrics are amazing. Words like, “Will you be my bride?” I’m overcome and tell her so.

“I’m at a total loss for words to express my feelings. What a beautiful song from such a beautiful lady. I’ll do my everything to make our life as beautiful.”