Sign up to save your podcasts
Or
Share Cabin Cousins: Part 5
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Or
Cabin Cousins: Part 5
Cabin Cousins: Part 5
The Gales of November.
Based on a post by NewMountain80, in 6 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connections.
"Hmm" Melissa said, her face still buried in the
pillow.
She shifted and turned her head, and I moved to her side
with one arm and a leg still draped over so we could look into each other's
eyes.
"Wow. That was..." She sighed.
"...Wonderful."
I smiled and kissed her cheek. "I'm glad you enjoyed it
as much as I did."
She squinted at me. "Are you sure I'm not dreaming, and
you're just a figment of my imagination?" She said playfully, though I
could tell there was something serious behind the question.
"I'm real, and I'm right here, in your bed, and I love
you."
She searched my eyes for a moment, rolled onto her side, and
pulled me in close, kissing me deeply.
When we stopped kissing to catch our breath, she whispered.
"It's our bed, and I love you too."
We held each other in silence for a long while. I knew that
she had something else to say, but I didn't push her. Eventually, she broke the
silence.
"Do you want pancakes? I want pancakes."
Not exactly the soul-baring statement I was expecting, but
now that she had said it, by damn I wanted pancakes.
"I'll help." I had made pancakes exactly once
before, and it wasn't a complete disaster, so I felt that my inclusion in the
process wouldn't be too much of a hindrance.
She got a distant look in her eye, then rolled onto her
back, and covered her face with her hands with a groan. "I don't have any
pancake mix."
She peeked at me through her fingers and we both started
laughing. I'm not sure why but we both found it hilarious but we roared with
laughter.
I playfully pushed her towards the side of the bed.
"Well, get dressed. I'll take you out for breakfast."
Still laughing, she got up and opened a dresser drawer.
Stepping into a pair of light blue panties, she asked. "Are you getting
dressed too, or are you going to go like that?"
"I'm thinking about it." I quipped, eyes following
her every movement.
I loved watching her move. She had a litheness and grace to
her. Cat-like? No, that's not quite right. Amazonian? Maybe, but that implies a
stature and bulk that Melissa didn't have. She was fit, not body builder
muscular, and she wasn't particularly tall, just shy of my own five foot ten.
She was perfect, and my eyes couldn't get enough of her. Let's leave it at
that.
"You'll give the old ladies at Perkins quite a
shock." She shot back, still laughing.
With an exaggerated sigh, I rolled off the bed. "For
the sake of the old ladies, fine, I'll get dressed."
Chapter Sixteen.
The plate clinked as Melissa set down her fork. "Ugh. I
ate too much, but that really hit the spot."
She had attacked her "tremendous twelve" meal with
murderous intent. All that remained was a scrap of crust from a piece of toast,
and some maple syrup residue on an otherwise clean plate. She had even swiped a
strip of bacon off of my plate, an act that left fork marks on my brother's
hands on several occasions.
I looked at my plate, with its pile of hash browns and a
third of a stack of pancakes remaining, and set down my fork. "I guess I
didn't work up as much of an appetite as you, cause I'm stuffed too."
Melissa looked at me with her special smile and mischievous
eyes. "Well, you'll have to try harder next time."
"I need to work out more."
"I can help with that." She replied, and we both
giggled, knowing the truth of it.
"Let's start with a walk."
We left the Perkins restaurant, and with Melissa navigating,
we drove north out of Duluth on Hwy 61. We pulled off and parked where a little
river crossed under the road and spilled through a steep set of rocky rapids to
Lake Superior below. We hiked down a little trail, and she led me out onto one
of the big rocks. The scenery was spectacular, and the water rushing past the
rocks had a hypnotic quality. It hadn't snowed last night, but the wind was
blowing hard off the lake, and the constant mist from the rapids gave the crisp
early November air some real bite.
We sat for a while without speaking. Just two people holding
hands, taking in the scenery and the roar of the water. There was a Gordon
Lightfoot song that had something about the gales of November, how did it go?
"When I left home," Melissa began, just loud
enough to hear.
I turned and watched her, careful to hear what she was
saying over the noise of the rapids. I had been hoping for, and dreading this
moment, when she decided to get the details of her past out in the open. I
resolved to not interrupt and to let her tell it at her own pace.
"This was the first place I went." She continued.
"I didn't know where to go. I didn't have anywhere to go."
She sniffed. We were alone but had someone been watching,
her running nose and the tears on her cheek might have been assumed to have
been caused by the cold, but I knew differently. I could see the deep down hurt
that was welling up, and my heart ached. I squeezed her hand, and let her talk.
"Every night for two weeks, I'd leave school, then go
up the hill to the mall and sit in the food court to do my homework. When the
mall closed, I came here, and parked for the night right over there." She
pointed up to the little parking lot where my truck was. "I'd wake up,
scrape the snow and frost off the windows, and go to school. I didn't tell
anyone because then I'd have to explain why I was sleeping in
a car in February. I had friends, but not close friends, you know? Like, not
the kind of friends that I could talk to about..." She trailed off and
wiped her nose on her jacket sleeve.
"I had been lucky, it hadn't been as cold as it should
have been, but then one night it got very cold. When I left the mall, I knew if
I spent the night here again, I could be in serious danger. So I went to the
laundromat. There was never anyone in there in the middle of the night, so I
sat at one of the tables and fell asleep. The owner woke me up a couple of
hours later, yelling at me that I couldn't sleep there, so I got in my car and
came back here."
She had been looking at the water as she spoke, but now
turned and looked at me. I saw the fear and shame these memories invoked. I
wanted to say something, anything to comfort her, but I knew that I should let
her say what she needed to say, so I let her continue.
"When I went to sleep on the back seat, I didn't think
I was going to ever wake up, and I was okay with that. I didn't care that I was
going to die. Nobody cared, nobody would miss me. The world would be better off
without one more stupid girl. Why bother going on?" She looked away from
me, east towards the vast lake, and her face twisted up in anger. "You
know, the worst thing, the worst part of all of it, is they made me feel like
it was all my fault. They had me so twisted up, that I believed that I was the
cause of everything that happened."
She turned back to me, the anger fading, leaving just a
profound sadness. I wiped the tears from her cheek, and she leaned her shoulder
against me.
"Did your parents tell you what happened?"
My throat was dry, and I swallowed hard before replying.
"They were vague."
She gave a little smile that was like a sunbeam on a stormy
day. "I asked your mom and dad not to tell anyone. You're so lucky to have
them."
She looked back to the lake and spoke quietly enough that if
her face had not been right next to mine, I wouldn't have been able to hear
her. "When I was fifteen, when I started looking more like a woman, and
less like a little girl, my dad started abusing me. Mom, she was drunk more
than she was sober. She knew, she had to know, and she didn't do
anything."
As the River roared in its ceaseless path to Lake Superior,
and the cold wind whistled and rattled through the leafless trees, Melissa
spoke of abuse and divorce, lost jobs and social status, the failing of the
system to help a girl who was too scared to ask for help and the blame that was
assigned for all of it.
"So that night, I remember when the state trooper
knocked on my window." She gave a brief mirthless huff. "I thought he
was an angel, with the way his flashlight lit up the frost on the inside of the
window. I thought I was dead, that it was all over. I felt relieved." She
shook her head. "The next thing I remember was being in a hospital bed,
wrapped in electric blankets, and seeing the sunrise through the window. That
trooper was there. He had stayed with me, way past the end of his shift, just
to make sure I was alright. Turns out, when they went to my parent's house to
see what was going on, my dad was out of town, and my mom ended up getting
arrested for assaulting an officer and having a bunch of heroin. That's why she
went back to him. Not for me, but for the money to buy her drugs. The trooper
persuaded me to reach out to my friends. He said that people can be capable of
unexpected acts of kindness, and I decided to believe him. So I called Ashley.
We had always gotten along pretty well, and her parents were always super nice
to me. They let me stay with them, which was really awkward at first. I just
couldn't believe that a family could be so, so perfect. It was like stepping
into an old sitcom. Maybe there was a little trouble now and then, but everyone
loved each other, and it all worked out in the end. It was surreal, but
eventually, I started believing that it was how families should be. That it was
right and good, and normal."
She looked me in the eyes then, and I saw her love burning
through the hurt.
"I didn't think that I would ever have that. I thought
that there was no way I could ever open up and let someone love me, to be me,
to be normal. Who could want me? Then your parents invited me back to the
cabin, and I grasped onto a foolish hope that maybe you could. Ever since it's
just been, It just doesn't seem real. Charles, I know you love me, but I'm
still so afraid."
I silenced her with a quick kiss on the lips. I held her
cold, rosy cheeks in my hands and looked her in the eyes. "None of what
happened was your fault. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved. I
love you, I will always love you. Nothing in the past, present, or future will
stop me from loving you until the end of time, and when we're both gone from
this world, I'll find you in the next and keep loving you!"
Fresh tears streamed down her face, not tears of remembered
pain, but tears of joyful love. She threw her arms around me and we held each
other tight. Overhead, a hawk called, adding its little part to the scene of
wind, water, and young lovers.
Chapter Seventeen.
Getting in my truck and leaving Duluth that evening was the
hardest thing I had ever done. The only thing that gave me the strength to
leave was the knowledge that it was only temporary. Soon, very soon, I would
never have to leave her again.
When I got home, Mom was at the kitchen table reading a
newspaper. She greeted me with a smile. I had to be very careful with how I was
going to handle this conversation. I didn't want to lie to my mom, but I also
didn't want to tell her the whole truth.
"How was your weekend? I didn't get a call from the
cops, so it couldn't have been too exciting."
"I was the cop! We went to a Halloween party dressed as
the Village People."
"Fun!" Mom exclaimed, giving me a beaming smile.
"Yeah, and something else happened. Do you know how I
can get my employee discount at any store? Well, we stopped at one of the
stores in Duluth, and I ended up talking with the yard manager. They've been
having trouble finding someone competent to drive a forklift, and if I
transferred up there, they'd give me a raise and make me an assistant manager.
He said I could start working up there in two weeks." All of these
individual facts were technically true, but it still felt like lying.
"Good for you! It's great to have in-demand skills.
That's a long way to drive though."
"Yeah, it would be like, five hours of driving every
day."
"Did you look into getting an apartment up there?"
Mom folded up the newspaper and gave me her undivided attention.
"After the school year starts, there's literally
nothing cheap available."
"Where would you stay then?" She asked, looking
concerned.
"Well, on the way home, I was thinking about who I know
that lives up there. Rob lives in a dorm, so I couldn't get away with staying there
long-term. But then I remembered that Melissa lives in Duluth, I could maybe
call her and see if she wants a roommate." Okay, this last bit was a lie.
I didn't feel good about it, but it had to be done.
"Our Melissa? Have you called her yet?"
"Not yet. I'm pretty sure I have her number in my
phone."
"You should figure this out sooner rather than
later." She looked at the clock. "It's not too late, give her a call
now."
I made a show of finding Melissa's number as if I hadn't
memorized it weeks ago. Melissa and I had rehearsed this moment. I had the
volume on my phone turned way up, so my mom was sure to hear Melissa's side of
the conversation too.
"Hello?" Melissa's angelic voice asked after three
rings.
"Hi Melissa, it's Charles."
"Charles! It's good to hear from you! What's up?"
"Well, I'm going to be transferring up there for work,
and I was wondering if you would mind having me as a roommate until I found a
place of my own." Another necessary lie.
"Yeah, I guess that would be okay. You're not going to
find anywhere else to stay until the end of the school year. Even then, I was
lucky to get this place, this spring."
"So, you're okay with me staying with you?"
"Yeah, it'll be fun. Like staying at the cabin, but I
don't think my landlord would approve of campfires."
"I'll pay half the rent, and utilities, and
everything."
"Naturally," Melissa said. "I was going to
ask one of my friends if they wanted to move in. Only paying half the rent will
make saving for school a lot easier."
"Cool. So, I guess I'll give you a call tomorrow, and
we can figure out the details?"
"Yeah, okay."
"I'm talking with my mom right now, so I should
probably let you go."
"Hi Mom!" Melissa yelled.
"Hi, Melissa," Mom replied, loud enough to be sure
that the phone picked it up.
"Talk to you tomorrow, bye!" Melissa said, much
quieter this time.
"Bye." I had to be very careful not to reflexively
say I love you.
I put my phone away and noticed that my mom was studying me
with a funny little smile on her face. Then in the most casual tone, she asked.
"So, does she love you as much as you love her?"
My heart nearly stopped. I couldn't respond.
"That was a lovely charade. Unnecessary, but
lovely."
I couldn't speak. My brain frantically searched for words
but found only shocked silence.
"Oh, honey." She began, in a soothing motherly
voice. "You're my baby. Did you think I wouldn't know? It was plain to see
at the cabin that you two are in love. You spent the weekend with her?"
I forced myself to reply. "Yes," I said, fearing
that it was all over. I felt like crying.
"Good," Mom said simply.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Mom knew about me and
Melissa, and she was... Happy for me? "So, you're not mad about us?"
"Oh, Charles. Love is so precious. It doesn't matter
where you find it, but when you do, you hold on with both hands and never let
go."
My tears came then, flowing hard as I released all my
pent-up fears and anxiety. Mom held me as I cried on her shoulder. She gently
rubbed my back like she used to do when I was a kid.
When my crying subsided, she held my shoulders at arm's
length. "Now, tell me about her."
I did. In the conversation that followed, I was more honest
and open about my feelings than I could remember being to anyone other than
Melissa. I explained how we knew what each other was thinking or feeling, just
by looking into each other's eyes. I told her how I wanted to improve myself,
to be a better person for Melissa. And, looking back on it with a touch of
horror, I did my best to explain the connection I felt with Melissa when we
made love. Throughout it all, my mother was nothing but caring and
understanding. After all the fear of this moment, it was surreal. It felt so
good, so liberating to tell her how I felt about Melissa.
When I was done, I asked Mom. "Does Dad know?"
"Oh, I doubt he picked up on it."
"Are you going to tell him?"
Of all the people in the family, I was sure that Dad would
be the least likely to accept. He had always been very traditional. Kind and
gentle, but with a very strict moral compass.
"Of course. He's my husband. The way you feel about
Melissa, I feel about him." She hugged me again. "Don't be ashamed.
Love her with all your heart, and everything else will work itself out."
She kissed me on the cheek and told me that she loved me. I
told her that I loved her too, and said goodnight.
I went to my bedroom, shut the door, and called Melissa.
"What's up?" She answered. "I didn't think
I'd hear from you until tomorrow."
Deciding to just be direct about it, I said. "My mother
has officially given us her blessing."
The line was silent as Melissa processed this. When she
spoke, I could tell that she was crying.
"How did she find out?" She asked.
I recounted the whole conversation.
"See? I told you your mom was the best."
"She really is."
"So, what now?" She asked, with a bit of anxiety.
"She said that she had to tell everyone because it's
better to have it out in the open than have to keep lying to the family. I
agreed."
After a short pause, Melissa said. "Me too."
As it turns out, my family's reaction was both better than I
had feared and worse than I had hoped. My parents had called a family meeting
and all of my immediate family, and their spouses, showed up. There were those
like my mom, and my brother Mark, who were supportive and genuinely happy for
me. On the other end of things, there were people like my second older brother,
Stephen, and his wife, who were disgusted and called me a pervert.
Most were somewhere in the middle, either not understanding
and being polite about it, or just ambivalent to the whole issue.
Then there was my dad. He just sat there the whole time,
with a frown on his face, and never spoke a word. I couldn't tell if he was
ashamed, or angry, or what, and it tore me up inside. He had never in his life
been shy about voicing his opinion. After my mom, he was who I needed
acceptance from the most. I desperately wanted him to say something, anything,
but he never did. His silence cut deeper than any insult or accusation ever
could.
At the beginning, and with prompting from my mom, I had
stood before everyone, confessing Melissa's and my love for each other, and
that I was moving out to live with her in Duluth. After the initial shock and
spectrum of reactions, I sat down and answered questions.
Now, not being able to bear my father's silence any longer,
I stood again, interrupting several side conversations. I addressed the whole
group, but my words were meant for my father more than anyone.
"Melissa and I truly love each other. Nothing you do or
say can change it. Accept it, accept us, or don't. I don't care."
Dad didn't react, didn't even look me in the eyes.
I rushed to my room and locked the door. I curled up on my
bed and cried, harder than I could remember ever crying before. The stress of
the family meeting and my dad's non-reaction had utterly destroyed me. I held a
pillow over my head to muffle the sounds of my uncontrollable sobs, and to hide
my face from the world.
"What if they're right about you?" A
part of my mind asked. "What if you're just a sicko. That's what
they all think."
"No! I really do love her!" Another
part of my mind answered.
"What kind of weirdo falls in love with his cousin?
What kind of deviant fucks someone in his own family?"
"No! Our love is pure and perfect!"
"Yeah, perfect. The perfect fantasy of a clinically
twisted pervert! You're just taking advantage of a poor broken girl."
"No..." I moaned aloud, holding my head in my
hands.
Sometime after, someone knocked lightly on my bedroom door.
I ignored it, lost as I was in terrible contradictory thoughts.
The knock came again, and I heard my mom's voice.
"Charles, honey. Can I come in?"
I didn't respond, knowing that right then I couldn't bear to
face anyone, even my mother.
"Oh, my baby." She said through the door.
"All I want is for you to be happy. Follow your heart, everything will
work out. I love you."
Her words quieted the thoughts whirling through my mind, and
though my sobs faded, the tears continued to flow. I was exhausted, physically
and emotionally.
I closed my eyes and imagined Melissa lying next to me. I
thought about how if she were here, she would comfort me, and wipe the tears
from my face. I could see her so clearly in my mind, see how her icy blue eyes
would pour her inexhaustible love into me.
Soon, my tears stopped flowing, and I regained a sense of
peace. I felt awful for doubting myself, for doubting Melissa, if even for a
moment. Our love is right. It is pure and perfect. She made me complete, as I
made her complete.
I drifted off to sleep, with a smile on my face, thinking
about Melissa, and dreaming about the future.
Chapter Eighteen. Charles copes with changes, but the biggest is yet to
happen.
The armrests of the padded chair where I was seated were a
little too high to be comfortable, so I kept my hands folded in my lap. I gazed
at the paintings of calm rural scenes hung on the walls of the spacious office.
I wondered absently if they were real places or just the artist's impression of
idyllic country life. I glanced at the woman in the matching chair positioned
across from me. She was patiently waiting for me to continue my story, with an
encouraging expression on her face.
"I moved my things into Melissa's apartment a few days
later and spent the night with her a couple of times when I had the day off.
After the two weeks were up, I started work at the Duluth store and lived with
her from then on. I think the only word to describe the years that followed is
heavenly. I wouldn't have changed a single thing."
"Tell me more about how your family reacted," said
the woman, Dr. Clarke. "Did your father and brother ever come
around?"
"Dad? Yeah, he just needed a little time to process it.
After that, he was as good with it as Mom was. The thing with him was, years
before, before anyone knew what had been going on with Melissa's dad, he'd known
that something was wrong. I'm not sure how, but he knew. After Melissa left
home, he would call and check in on her. He paid to have her car fixed and even
paid the deposit on her apartment. He always went out of his way to make her
feel like she had people that cared. I think he loved her as if she were his
own daughter, so the whole thing with the two of us was kind of a shock. When
Melissa and I went to my parent's place for Thanksgiving, later that month; and
he saw firsthand how happy she was, it wasn't an issue."
"And your brother, Stephen?" Dr. Clarke prompted.
"That same Thanksgiving, I ended up knocking him down
with a punch to the face. He said that Melissa's family were all degenerates
and that Melissa was just bringing that degeneracy to our family now. That was
the last time I ever saw him." I forced my clenched fists to relax and
laid my palms flat on my thighs.
"Have you ever thought about reaching out to him?
People can change a lot in twenty-four years."
"No," I said firmly. "It was his choice to
ostracize himself from our family, and I want nothing to do with someone
capable of being so deliberately malicious. He knew that she was just beginning
to heal the trauma that had been done to her; and had said what he did,
specifically to hurt her. Someone capable of doing that will always be capable
of doing it."
"You might be surprised by how much people can
change," She said, as she scribbled a few lines in her notepad.
"Maybe," I said, brows furrowing. Those words had
made their way into Melissa's nightmares. My fists clenched again, as I
remembered all the times I was awoken in the middle of the night by her sobs. I
remembered how helpless I felt, being able to do nothing but console her; and
hold her until she fell back asleep.
My knuckles were white, and my fists trembled slightly. I
saw Dr. Clarke glance down at my hands, but she did not indicate what she was
thinking. Therapists must make superb poker players.
"Some things just can't be forgiven," I said
quietly, forcing my hands to relax.
"Again, you might be surprised. We can talk more about
that next week." She set aside her notepad and glanced up at the clock on
the wall behind me. "Now close your eyes, and concentrate on your
breathing. Take a slow deep breath, imagining all your negative emotions as a
tangible thing. Now breathe out slowly as all those emotions evaporate and exit
your body like smoke. Again, deep inhale, and out. Good. Feel your mind become
still as your breath carries away the pain. Once more, in, and out. Good."
For some reason, this technique worked for me. If left
alone, my thoughts naturally gravitated to the bad memories, and each one
brought two more with it until I became overwhelmed. I would become mentally
gridlocked to the point of not being able to function in everyday life.
"When I say the word joy, what is the first thing that
pops into your mind?"
My eyes were still closed, and I smiled. "Melissa's
face when she first saw me that October weekend reunion, at the cabin."
"Good. Keep up your breathing exercise. All the pain is
gone, only the joy remains. Describe the scene for me. What else do you see?
What do you smell and hear?"
A single tear rolled down my cheek. I'm not sure why I
started to cry, whether it was joy in the image of her, so happy and full of
promise for the future, or sorrow because that future is gone. I would never
again see her smile.
"Sunbeams cut down through the trees, lighting up smoke
drifting from the fire pit. She passes through one, and her hair glows like
golden fire. I smell the white pines, strong in the soft breeze, and the smell
of burning oak. A loon call echoes up from the lake, and all around the cabin
yard, there is the quiet burble of conversations and laughter." I wiped
the tears from my face with a flannel shirt sleeve and looked away from Dr.
Clarke. I still felt embarrassed to cry in front of another person.
"That sounds lovely. Hold on to that moment, use it as
a refuge." She glanced at the clock again and stood.
I stood as well, taking a tissue from the box on the coffee
table to dry my eyes.
She walked me to her office door. "Thank you for
sharing today, Charles. I think you are doing very well." As she opened
the door, she asked. "Have you gone to the aromatherapy shop we talked about
last week?"
"No," I said dejectedly. "I was going to,
but..."
I had meant to go, but sometimes certain things were just
impossible to make myself do. Going into an unfamiliar place and talking to a
stranger was one of those things. Sometimes I could, sometimes I couldn't. This
hadn't been a particularly good week, and the thought of talking to someone
new, someone who would ask questions about why I was there, questions that
would bring up painful memories, was simply unthinkable. Yesterday, I had made
it all the way to my car and had the key in the ignition, but then I just sat
there, unable to make myself go through with it.
"That's ok." Said Dr. Clarke.
I knew she knew why I didn't go, and I had gotten to the
point where I felt safe sharing my feelings with her, but I couldn't help but
feel a sense of shame.
"Addy is very good at what she does, and she has helped
many of my clients. She's a friend."
I nodded and started moving through the doorway. Ending
conversations always seemed so awkward. I never knew what to say.
"Thank you for being so open today, Charles. See you
again next week."
She was looking at my eyes, and I met her gaze briefly
before looking away. In recent years, I had become very uncomfortable making
anything more than the briefest of eye contact with people, especially women,
so I was usually at a huge disadvantage when it came to reading people's
motivations and emotions. In that brief glimpse though, I caught the impression
of empathy and a real desire to help. It felt really good to know that someone
cared. I gave her a genuine smile and left.
I left her office with the intention of going directly to
the shop she had recommended, but by the time I was in my car, I just...
couldn't. This is what my life had become. I could go from being on the verge
of drowning in a sea of sorrow to feeling positive and optimistic in an
instant, then back just as fast. But mostly, it was what I called 'the gray'. I
am self-aware enough to understand how it began. Instead of dealing with
certain traumatic events, my brain decided that it was easier and far less
painful, just to push them aside. The problem is, that those things don't just
go away. No matter how hard you push them down, they keep bubbling back up, and
you end up pushing everything away in the effort. Then one day you realize that
living in the gray was the only way to survive because every little bit of
emotion, good or bad, could open the gates and let all the pain come rushing
in. I had pushed everything and everyone aside for the sake of
self-preservation, and it was killing me. I knew I needed help. I knew that the
person I was, wasn't really me. The problem was, I had been in the gray so
long, that I couldn't remember how it was before, not really. I knew that I had
been happy once, that I had hopes and dreams. But that was all gone, lost in
the gray.
Chapter Nineteen.
The next day turned out to be one of the good ones. I was
able to get myself out of bed, dressed, and in the car. I decided that I would
finally make it to this aromatherapy shop Dr. Clarke wanted me to go to.
I turned the key in the ignition, and my geriatric Honda
Civic purred to life. I quickly released the emergency brake and shifted into
reverse. I backed out of my parking spot with a sigh. There, I did it. The hard
part was over, and now that I had started the task, it would be easier to go
through with it. Don't ask me why that makes sense, I wouldn't know how to even
start explaining.
I enjoyed my drive across town. It was a beautiful day in
Duluth. Down near Lake Superior, it was a little breezy and a comfortable 65
degrees, perfect for driving with the windows down. Climbing the hill on 194,
the farther I got away from the lake, the hotter it got. By the time I got to
the shop, it was nearly 80 degrees, and I had begun to sweat. A typical July
day in the Twin Ports. I've always said, that this was one of the things I
loved most about living in Duluth. It could be hot as hell up on top of the
hill, but if the wind was right, it was always cool near the lake.
I shut the car off and set the E brake. I wiped a bit of
sweat off my brow, and it occurred to me that I was wearing the same clothes I
wore yesterday and that I hadn't showered. Hit with a sudden wave of shame and
embarrassment about meeting someone new in this state, I almost just left to go
back home. With an effort of willpower, I opened the car door and stepped out.
Task begun.
I walked in and was greeted by a smiling older lady that I
assumed was Addy.
"Hi, um, Dr. Clarke sent me."
Addy's smile widened. "Oh, come in, come in. I'm
Addy."
"I'm Charles," I replied, meeting her eyes for the
briefest moment.
"Pleased to meet you, Charles. How is Rose doing these
days?"
Dr. Clarke's first name was Virginia. She had grown up in
Virginia, Minnesota, and I think she was still annoyed by her unimaginative
parents, because she liked to use her middle name, Rose. I almost exclusively
used 'Dr. Clarke' when speaking with or about her.
"I've been seeing her for a couple of months now. She's
nice." I never seemed to know how to answer questions like that. I
grimaced inwardly at my awkwardness.
"She's a sweetheart, and good at her job. I saw her for
years." She led me over to a glass counter filled with hundreds of small
labeled bottles. "So, are we looking for something to help you
relax?"
"Something to help me remember." I paused briefly,
trying to find the right words. "Well, remembering isn't the issue."
I felt a rush of awkwardness and a little bit of embarrassment in talking about
something so personal with a stranger. My cheeks flushed, and I looked at the
bottles in the case to ensure I didn't accidentally make eye contact. "I
want to be able to focus on just the one thing."
"Tell me about it."
I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. "There's
smoke from the campfire, mostly oak. Maybe a tiny bit of something acrid, like
someone had thrown a plastic plate in the fire."
As I spoke, I could hear Addy selecting a few bottles from a
rack within the display case.
"Pine trees. Even with the smoke, the pines smell
strong."
"Spruce?" Addy asked politely.
"No, White Pine. The needles and sap are
everywhere."
"Anything else?"
I took another deep breath but didn't reply.
"Sometimes there's things around us that have a scent,
but we're either too used to it, or its faint enough that we don't remember
without smelling it. What else was there? Is this a campground?" Addy
asked in what I recognized as being in a deliberately unobtrusive way.
"It's a cabin," I replied, searching the mental
image for things that may have a scent. "It's an old log cabin, surrounded
by white pines. There's a log pile. My brother had been using the chainsaw
earlier. My truck is parked in the driveway, it smells like gas because the
tank leaks a little bit. Someone had mowed the little patch of grass in front
of the cabin."
"Is there anyone there, wearing perfume or
aftershave?"
I nodded my head in the affirmative.
Addy gave me time to answer.
"She..." I struggled to find words to describe
Melissa's scent. How do you describe such a thing to someone? How do you
describe a sunset to a blind person, or describe to a deaf person the emotions
evoked by the Moonlight Sonata? She smelled like love, and I still smell her on
the clothes I keep in her dresser.
"You know how strawberry plants don't smell like
strawberry? Not like the fake strawberry candy scent?" Of course, she did,
but I went on. "A strawberry blossom. Delicate, faint, with just the
promise of sweetness."
"She was someone special," Addy said, in more of a
statement than a question.
"I ended up marrying her. She;" A tear rolled down
my cheek. "Nine years ago;" I just couldn't force the words out of my
mouth. I could tell Addy the exact date and time. I could tell her that we had
just gone to see The Martian in the movie theater and that the night was clear
and cool after the late August thunderstorm earlier that afternoon. I could
tell her what song was playing on the radio. I could tell her the look on
Melissa's face when the headlights crossed through the median in front of us.
What I couldn't say, was physically unable to, was that nine years ago, Melissa
died.
"It's okay, dear," Addy said. She had a
grandmotherly voice, full of kindness and understanding. For the briefest of
moments, the power of that gentle voice made me believe that yes, everything
would be okay. "Give me a few minutes, and I'll have something for you to
try."
I nodded and wandered away from the counter, absently
browsing the candles and incense as I tried to compose myself. As I looked
through the shop it occurred to me how posh the place seemed. High-dollar
products are meant to be sold to people who have the luxury of ignoring price
tags. I did not have that luxury. I felt anxiety and a general shame of the
complete fuck up I had become. If this costs more than about forty dollars, I
wouldn't be able to afford groceries this week.
"Charles, it's ready," Addy called from the other
side of the store.
I walked over and closed my eyes as she extended a small
glass bottle filled with clear liquid. I breathed deeply and conjured the scene
in my mind. The scent of Addy's mixture hit me like a lightning bolt. It was
like reading a book in the dark, and then someone turned on the lights.
Everything came into sharp focus like I was there. The smoke, the pines, and, My
breath caught in my throat. Buried deep within the mix there was something
light, something so tenuous you hardly knew it was there. It was Melissa. In my
mind, she threw herself into my arms, and I could smell her. I could
smell her.
"How?" I asked, looking her in the eyes for the
first time since my initial glance.
Addy smiled warmly, and I could see genuine care in her
face, not just the politeness of a shop owner to a customer. "If she had been
wearing perfume, it would have been harder. We remember scents much better than
we think we do. Sometimes all we need is a little hint, and it's brought right
to the front."
Dr. Clarke was right, Addy was good.
"Your idea about the strawberry flowers was good.
They're very faint and don't smell like much at all, definitely not
strawberries. But when you know that you have strawberry flowers, and you smell
them, your brain brings up the memory of strawberries. Scents are all connected
in our minds, and are rooted deep down at the very foundation of memory."
Addy put a rubber stopper in the bottle and carefully placed
the bottle in a velvet pouch with her shop's logo on it. She held it out for me
to take. A tear dripped off my jaw, and I quickly wiped my face on a sleeve.
"How much?" I started to ask, again acutely aware
of my wrinkled clothes, my general lack of personal hygiene, and the
depressingly small balance of my bank account.
Addy cut me off with a raised hand. "Rose is a friend
of mine, and any friend of hers is also a friend of mine." She pushed the velvet
bag into my hands.
"No, I can't;"
Addy stopped me again. "Most of my clients just want
something that smells nice in their bathroom, or to cover the smell of weed.
I'm perfectly happy to take their money." She placed her hands on mine,
still clutching the velvet bag. "It's very rare that I get to help
someone. Take it as a gift, with my thanks."
I was speechless, and fresh tears rolled down my face. I
couldn't remember the last time someone was so altruistically kind to me.
"Thank you." Was all I could say.
To be continued in part 6. Based on a post by NewMountain80, in 6 parts, for Literotica.
View all episodes
By Steamy Stories
3.6
2525 ratings
Cabin Cousins: Part 5
The Gales of November.
Based on a post by NewMountain80, in 6 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connections.
"Hmm" Melissa said, her face still buried in the
pillow.
She shifted and turned her head, and I moved to her side
with one arm and a leg still draped over so we could look into each other's
eyes.
"Wow. That was..." She sighed.
"...Wonderful."
I smiled and kissed her cheek. "I'm glad you enjoyed it
as much as I did."
She squinted at me. "Are you sure I'm not dreaming, and
you're just a figment of my imagination?" She said playfully, though I
could tell there was something serious behind the question.
"I'm real, and I'm right here, in your bed, and I love
you."
She searched my eyes for a moment, rolled onto her side, and
pulled me in close, kissing me deeply.
When we stopped kissing to catch our breath, she whispered.
"It's our bed, and I love you too."
We held each other in silence for a long while. I knew that
she had something else to say, but I didn't push her. Eventually, she broke the
silence.
"Do you want pancakes? I want pancakes."
Not exactly the soul-baring statement I was expecting, but
now that she had said it, by damn I wanted pancakes.
"I'll help." I had made pancakes exactly once
before, and it wasn't a complete disaster, so I felt that my inclusion in the
process wouldn't be too much of a hindrance.
She got a distant look in her eye, then rolled onto her
back, and covered her face with her hands with a groan. "I don't have any
pancake mix."
She peeked at me through her fingers and we both started
laughing. I'm not sure why but we both found it hilarious but we roared with
laughter.
I playfully pushed her towards the side of the bed.
"Well, get dressed. I'll take you out for breakfast."
Still laughing, she got up and opened a dresser drawer.
Stepping into a pair of light blue panties, she asked. "Are you getting
dressed too, or are you going to go like that?"
"I'm thinking about it." I quipped, eyes following
her every movement.
I loved watching her move. She had a litheness and grace to
her. Cat-like? No, that's not quite right. Amazonian? Maybe, but that implies a
stature and bulk that Melissa didn't have. She was fit, not body builder
muscular, and she wasn't particularly tall, just shy of my own five foot ten.
She was perfect, and my eyes couldn't get enough of her. Let's leave it at
that.
"You'll give the old ladies at Perkins quite a
shock." She shot back, still laughing.
With an exaggerated sigh, I rolled off the bed. "For
the sake of the old ladies, fine, I'll get dressed."
Chapter Sixteen.
The plate clinked as Melissa set down her fork. "Ugh. I
ate too much, but that really hit the spot."
She had attacked her "tremendous twelve" meal with
murderous intent. All that remained was a scrap of crust from a piece of toast,
and some maple syrup residue on an otherwise clean plate. She had even swiped a
strip of bacon off of my plate, an act that left fork marks on my brother's
hands on several occasions.
I looked at my plate, with its pile of hash browns and a
third of a stack of pancakes remaining, and set down my fork. "I guess I
didn't work up as much of an appetite as you, cause I'm stuffed too."
Melissa looked at me with her special smile and mischievous
eyes. "Well, you'll have to try harder next time."
"I need to work out more."
"I can help with that." She replied, and we both
giggled, knowing the truth of it.
"Let's start with a walk."
We left the Perkins restaurant, and with Melissa navigating,
we drove north out of Duluth on Hwy 61. We pulled off and parked where a little
river crossed under the road and spilled through a steep set of rocky rapids to
Lake Superior below. We hiked down a little trail, and she led me out onto one
of the big rocks. The scenery was spectacular, and the water rushing past the
rocks had a hypnotic quality. It hadn't snowed last night, but the wind was
blowing hard off the lake, and the constant mist from the rapids gave the crisp
early November air some real bite.
We sat for a while without speaking. Just two people holding
hands, taking in the scenery and the roar of the water. There was a Gordon
Lightfoot song that had something about the gales of November, how did it go?
"When I left home," Melissa began, just loud
enough to hear.
I turned and watched her, careful to hear what she was
saying over the noise of the rapids. I had been hoping for, and dreading this
moment, when she decided to get the details of her past out in the open. I
resolved to not interrupt and to let her tell it at her own pace.
"This was the first place I went." She continued.
"I didn't know where to go. I didn't have anywhere to go."
She sniffed. We were alone but had someone been watching,
her running nose and the tears on her cheek might have been assumed to have
been caused by the cold, but I knew differently. I could see the deep down hurt
that was welling up, and my heart ached. I squeezed her hand, and let her talk.
"Every night for two weeks, I'd leave school, then go
up the hill to the mall and sit in the food court to do my homework. When the
mall closed, I came here, and parked for the night right over there." She
pointed up to the little parking lot where my truck was. "I'd wake up,
scrape the snow and frost off the windows, and go to school. I didn't tell
anyone because then I'd have to explain why I was sleeping in
a car in February. I had friends, but not close friends, you know? Like, not
the kind of friends that I could talk to about..." She trailed off and
wiped her nose on her jacket sleeve.
"I had been lucky, it hadn't been as cold as it should
have been, but then one night it got very cold. When I left the mall, I knew if
I spent the night here again, I could be in serious danger. So I went to the
laundromat. There was never anyone in there in the middle of the night, so I
sat at one of the tables and fell asleep. The owner woke me up a couple of
hours later, yelling at me that I couldn't sleep there, so I got in my car and
came back here."
She had been looking at the water as she spoke, but now
turned and looked at me. I saw the fear and shame these memories invoked. I
wanted to say something, anything to comfort her, but I knew that I should let
her say what she needed to say, so I let her continue.
"When I went to sleep on the back seat, I didn't think
I was going to ever wake up, and I was okay with that. I didn't care that I was
going to die. Nobody cared, nobody would miss me. The world would be better off
without one more stupid girl. Why bother going on?" She looked away from
me, east towards the vast lake, and her face twisted up in anger. "You
know, the worst thing, the worst part of all of it, is they made me feel like
it was all my fault. They had me so twisted up, that I believed that I was the
cause of everything that happened."
She turned back to me, the anger fading, leaving just a
profound sadness. I wiped the tears from her cheek, and she leaned her shoulder
against me.
"Did your parents tell you what happened?"
My throat was dry, and I swallowed hard before replying.
"They were vague."
She gave a little smile that was like a sunbeam on a stormy
day. "I asked your mom and dad not to tell anyone. You're so lucky to have
them."
She looked back to the lake and spoke quietly enough that if
her face had not been right next to mine, I wouldn't have been able to hear
her. "When I was fifteen, when I started looking more like a woman, and
less like a little girl, my dad started abusing me. Mom, she was drunk more
than she was sober. She knew, she had to know, and she didn't do
anything."
As the River roared in its ceaseless path to Lake Superior,
and the cold wind whistled and rattled through the leafless trees, Melissa
spoke of abuse and divorce, lost jobs and social status, the failing of the
system to help a girl who was too scared to ask for help and the blame that was
assigned for all of it.
"So that night, I remember when the state trooper
knocked on my window." She gave a brief mirthless huff. "I thought he
was an angel, with the way his flashlight lit up the frost on the inside of the
window. I thought I was dead, that it was all over. I felt relieved." She
shook her head. "The next thing I remember was being in a hospital bed,
wrapped in electric blankets, and seeing the sunrise through the window. That
trooper was there. He had stayed with me, way past the end of his shift, just
to make sure I was alright. Turns out, when they went to my parent's house to
see what was going on, my dad was out of town, and my mom ended up getting
arrested for assaulting an officer and having a bunch of heroin. That's why she
went back to him. Not for me, but for the money to buy her drugs. The trooper
persuaded me to reach out to my friends. He said that people can be capable of
unexpected acts of kindness, and I decided to believe him. So I called Ashley.
We had always gotten along pretty well, and her parents were always super nice
to me. They let me stay with them, which was really awkward at first. I just
couldn't believe that a family could be so, so perfect. It was like stepping
into an old sitcom. Maybe there was a little trouble now and then, but everyone
loved each other, and it all worked out in the end. It was surreal, but
eventually, I started believing that it was how families should be. That it was
right and good, and normal."
She looked me in the eyes then, and I saw her love burning
through the hurt.
"I didn't think that I would ever have that. I thought
that there was no way I could ever open up and let someone love me, to be me,
to be normal. Who could want me? Then your parents invited me back to the
cabin, and I grasped onto a foolish hope that maybe you could. Ever since it's
just been, It just doesn't seem real. Charles, I know you love me, but I'm
still so afraid."
I silenced her with a quick kiss on the lips. I held her
cold, rosy cheeks in my hands and looked her in the eyes. "None of what
happened was your fault. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved. I
love you, I will always love you. Nothing in the past, present, or future will
stop me from loving you until the end of time, and when we're both gone from
this world, I'll find you in the next and keep loving you!"
Fresh tears streamed down her face, not tears of remembered
pain, but tears of joyful love. She threw her arms around me and we held each
other tight. Overhead, a hawk called, adding its little part to the scene of
wind, water, and young lovers.
Chapter Seventeen.
Getting in my truck and leaving Duluth that evening was the
hardest thing I had ever done. The only thing that gave me the strength to
leave was the knowledge that it was only temporary. Soon, very soon, I would
never have to leave her again.
When I got home, Mom was at the kitchen table reading a
newspaper. She greeted me with a smile. I had to be very careful with how I was
going to handle this conversation. I didn't want to lie to my mom, but I also
didn't want to tell her the whole truth.
"How was your weekend? I didn't get a call from the
cops, so it couldn't have been too exciting."
"I was the cop! We went to a Halloween party dressed as
the Village People."
"Fun!" Mom exclaimed, giving me a beaming smile.
"Yeah, and something else happened. Do you know how I
can get my employee discount at any store? Well, we stopped at one of the
stores in Duluth, and I ended up talking with the yard manager. They've been
having trouble finding someone competent to drive a forklift, and if I
transferred up there, they'd give me a raise and make me an assistant manager.
He said I could start working up there in two weeks." All of these
individual facts were technically true, but it still felt like lying.
"Good for you! It's great to have in-demand skills.
That's a long way to drive though."
"Yeah, it would be like, five hours of driving every
day."
"Did you look into getting an apartment up there?"
Mom folded up the newspaper and gave me her undivided attention.
"After the school year starts, there's literally
nothing cheap available."
"Where would you stay then?" She asked, looking
concerned.
"Well, on the way home, I was thinking about who I know
that lives up there. Rob lives in a dorm, so I couldn't get away with staying there
long-term. But then I remembered that Melissa lives in Duluth, I could maybe
call her and see if she wants a roommate." Okay, this last bit was a lie.
I didn't feel good about it, but it had to be done.
"Our Melissa? Have you called her yet?"
"Not yet. I'm pretty sure I have her number in my
phone."
"You should figure this out sooner rather than
later." She looked at the clock. "It's not too late, give her a call
now."
I made a show of finding Melissa's number as if I hadn't
memorized it weeks ago. Melissa and I had rehearsed this moment. I had the
volume on my phone turned way up, so my mom was sure to hear Melissa's side of
the conversation too.
"Hello?" Melissa's angelic voice asked after three
rings.
"Hi Melissa, it's Charles."
"Charles! It's good to hear from you! What's up?"
"Well, I'm going to be transferring up there for work,
and I was wondering if you would mind having me as a roommate until I found a
place of my own." Another necessary lie.
"Yeah, I guess that would be okay. You're not going to
find anywhere else to stay until the end of the school year. Even then, I was
lucky to get this place, this spring."
"So, you're okay with me staying with you?"
"Yeah, it'll be fun. Like staying at the cabin, but I
don't think my landlord would approve of campfires."
"I'll pay half the rent, and utilities, and
everything."
"Naturally," Melissa said. "I was going to
ask one of my friends if they wanted to move in. Only paying half the rent will
make saving for school a lot easier."
"Cool. So, I guess I'll give you a call tomorrow, and
we can figure out the details?"
"Yeah, okay."
"I'm talking with my mom right now, so I should
probably let you go."
"Hi Mom!" Melissa yelled.
"Hi, Melissa," Mom replied, loud enough to be sure
that the phone picked it up.
"Talk to you tomorrow, bye!" Melissa said, much
quieter this time.
"Bye." I had to be very careful not to reflexively
say I love you.
I put my phone away and noticed that my mom was studying me
with a funny little smile on her face. Then in the most casual tone, she asked.
"So, does she love you as much as you love her?"
My heart nearly stopped. I couldn't respond.
"That was a lovely charade. Unnecessary, but
lovely."
I couldn't speak. My brain frantically searched for words
but found only shocked silence.
"Oh, honey." She began, in a soothing motherly
voice. "You're my baby. Did you think I wouldn't know? It was plain to see
at the cabin that you two are in love. You spent the weekend with her?"
I forced myself to reply. "Yes," I said, fearing
that it was all over. I felt like crying.
"Good," Mom said simply.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Mom knew about me and
Melissa, and she was... Happy for me? "So, you're not mad about us?"
"Oh, Charles. Love is so precious. It doesn't matter
where you find it, but when you do, you hold on with both hands and never let
go."
My tears came then, flowing hard as I released all my
pent-up fears and anxiety. Mom held me as I cried on her shoulder. She gently
rubbed my back like she used to do when I was a kid.
When my crying subsided, she held my shoulders at arm's
length. "Now, tell me about her."
I did. In the conversation that followed, I was more honest
and open about my feelings than I could remember being to anyone other than
Melissa. I explained how we knew what each other was thinking or feeling, just
by looking into each other's eyes. I told her how I wanted to improve myself,
to be a better person for Melissa. And, looking back on it with a touch of
horror, I did my best to explain the connection I felt with Melissa when we
made love. Throughout it all, my mother was nothing but caring and
understanding. After all the fear of this moment, it was surreal. It felt so
good, so liberating to tell her how I felt about Melissa.
When I was done, I asked Mom. "Does Dad know?"
"Oh, I doubt he picked up on it."
"Are you going to tell him?"
Of all the people in the family, I was sure that Dad would
be the least likely to accept. He had always been very traditional. Kind and
gentle, but with a very strict moral compass.
"Of course. He's my husband. The way you feel about
Melissa, I feel about him." She hugged me again. "Don't be ashamed.
Love her with all your heart, and everything else will work itself out."
She kissed me on the cheek and told me that she loved me. I
told her that I loved her too, and said goodnight.
I went to my bedroom, shut the door, and called Melissa.
"What's up?" She answered. "I didn't think
I'd hear from you until tomorrow."
Deciding to just be direct about it, I said. "My mother
has officially given us her blessing."
The line was silent as Melissa processed this. When she
spoke, I could tell that she was crying.
"How did she find out?" She asked.
I recounted the whole conversation.
"See? I told you your mom was the best."
"She really is."
"So, what now?" She asked, with a bit of anxiety.
"She said that she had to tell everyone because it's
better to have it out in the open than have to keep lying to the family. I
agreed."
After a short pause, Melissa said. "Me too."
As it turns out, my family's reaction was both better than I
had feared and worse than I had hoped. My parents had called a family meeting
and all of my immediate family, and their spouses, showed up. There were those
like my mom, and my brother Mark, who were supportive and genuinely happy for
me. On the other end of things, there were people like my second older brother,
Stephen, and his wife, who were disgusted and called me a pervert.
Most were somewhere in the middle, either not understanding
and being polite about it, or just ambivalent to the whole issue.
Then there was my dad. He just sat there the whole time,
with a frown on his face, and never spoke a word. I couldn't tell if he was
ashamed, or angry, or what, and it tore me up inside. He had never in his life
been shy about voicing his opinion. After my mom, he was who I needed
acceptance from the most. I desperately wanted him to say something, anything,
but he never did. His silence cut deeper than any insult or accusation ever
could.
At the beginning, and with prompting from my mom, I had
stood before everyone, confessing Melissa's and my love for each other, and
that I was moving out to live with her in Duluth. After the initial shock and
spectrum of reactions, I sat down and answered questions.
Now, not being able to bear my father's silence any longer,
I stood again, interrupting several side conversations. I addressed the whole
group, but my words were meant for my father more than anyone.
"Melissa and I truly love each other. Nothing you do or
say can change it. Accept it, accept us, or don't. I don't care."
Dad didn't react, didn't even look me in the eyes.
I rushed to my room and locked the door. I curled up on my
bed and cried, harder than I could remember ever crying before. The stress of
the family meeting and my dad's non-reaction had utterly destroyed me. I held a
pillow over my head to muffle the sounds of my uncontrollable sobs, and to hide
my face from the world.
"What if they're right about you?" A
part of my mind asked. "What if you're just a sicko. That's what
they all think."
"No! I really do love her!" Another
part of my mind answered.
"What kind of weirdo falls in love with his cousin?
What kind of deviant fucks someone in his own family?"
"No! Our love is pure and perfect!"
"Yeah, perfect. The perfect fantasy of a clinically
twisted pervert! You're just taking advantage of a poor broken girl."
"No..." I moaned aloud, holding my head in my
hands.
Sometime after, someone knocked lightly on my bedroom door.
I ignored it, lost as I was in terrible contradictory thoughts.
The knock came again, and I heard my mom's voice.
"Charles, honey. Can I come in?"
I didn't respond, knowing that right then I couldn't bear to
face anyone, even my mother.
"Oh, my baby." She said through the door.
"All I want is for you to be happy. Follow your heart, everything will
work out. I love you."
Her words quieted the thoughts whirling through my mind, and
though my sobs faded, the tears continued to flow. I was exhausted, physically
and emotionally.
I closed my eyes and imagined Melissa lying next to me. I
thought about how if she were here, she would comfort me, and wipe the tears
from my face. I could see her so clearly in my mind, see how her icy blue eyes
would pour her inexhaustible love into me.
Soon, my tears stopped flowing, and I regained a sense of
peace. I felt awful for doubting myself, for doubting Melissa, if even for a
moment. Our love is right. It is pure and perfect. She made me complete, as I
made her complete.
I drifted off to sleep, with a smile on my face, thinking
about Melissa, and dreaming about the future.
Chapter Eighteen. Charles copes with changes, but the biggest is yet to
happen.
The armrests of the padded chair where I was seated were a
little too high to be comfortable, so I kept my hands folded in my lap. I gazed
at the paintings of calm rural scenes hung on the walls of the spacious office.
I wondered absently if they were real places or just the artist's impression of
idyllic country life. I glanced at the woman in the matching chair positioned
across from me. She was patiently waiting for me to continue my story, with an
encouraging expression on her face.
"I moved my things into Melissa's apartment a few days
later and spent the night with her a couple of times when I had the day off.
After the two weeks were up, I started work at the Duluth store and lived with
her from then on. I think the only word to describe the years that followed is
heavenly. I wouldn't have changed a single thing."
"Tell me more about how your family reacted," said
the woman, Dr. Clarke. "Did your father and brother ever come
around?"
"Dad? Yeah, he just needed a little time to process it.
After that, he was as good with it as Mom was. The thing with him was, years
before, before anyone knew what had been going on with Melissa's dad, he'd known
that something was wrong. I'm not sure how, but he knew. After Melissa left
home, he would call and check in on her. He paid to have her car fixed and even
paid the deposit on her apartment. He always went out of his way to make her
feel like she had people that cared. I think he loved her as if she were his
own daughter, so the whole thing with the two of us was kind of a shock. When
Melissa and I went to my parent's place for Thanksgiving, later that month; and
he saw firsthand how happy she was, it wasn't an issue."
"And your brother, Stephen?" Dr. Clarke prompted.
"That same Thanksgiving, I ended up knocking him down
with a punch to the face. He said that Melissa's family were all degenerates
and that Melissa was just bringing that degeneracy to our family now. That was
the last time I ever saw him." I forced my clenched fists to relax and
laid my palms flat on my thighs.
"Have you ever thought about reaching out to him?
People can change a lot in twenty-four years."
"No," I said firmly. "It was his choice to
ostracize himself from our family, and I want nothing to do with someone
capable of being so deliberately malicious. He knew that she was just beginning
to heal the trauma that had been done to her; and had said what he did,
specifically to hurt her. Someone capable of doing that will always be capable
of doing it."
"You might be surprised by how much people can
change," She said, as she scribbled a few lines in her notepad.
"Maybe," I said, brows furrowing. Those words had
made their way into Melissa's nightmares. My fists clenched again, as I
remembered all the times I was awoken in the middle of the night by her sobs. I
remembered how helpless I felt, being able to do nothing but console her; and
hold her until she fell back asleep.
My knuckles were white, and my fists trembled slightly. I
saw Dr. Clarke glance down at my hands, but she did not indicate what she was
thinking. Therapists must make superb poker players.
"Some things just can't be forgiven," I said
quietly, forcing my hands to relax.
"Again, you might be surprised. We can talk more about
that next week." She set aside her notepad and glanced up at the clock on
the wall behind me. "Now close your eyes, and concentrate on your
breathing. Take a slow deep breath, imagining all your negative emotions as a
tangible thing. Now breathe out slowly as all those emotions evaporate and exit
your body like smoke. Again, deep inhale, and out. Good. Feel your mind become
still as your breath carries away the pain. Once more, in, and out. Good."
For some reason, this technique worked for me. If left
alone, my thoughts naturally gravitated to the bad memories, and each one
brought two more with it until I became overwhelmed. I would become mentally
gridlocked to the point of not being able to function in everyday life.
"When I say the word joy, what is the first thing that
pops into your mind?"
My eyes were still closed, and I smiled. "Melissa's
face when she first saw me that October weekend reunion, at the cabin."
"Good. Keep up your breathing exercise. All the pain is
gone, only the joy remains. Describe the scene for me. What else do you see?
What do you smell and hear?"
A single tear rolled down my cheek. I'm not sure why I
started to cry, whether it was joy in the image of her, so happy and full of
promise for the future, or sorrow because that future is gone. I would never
again see her smile.
"Sunbeams cut down through the trees, lighting up smoke
drifting from the fire pit. She passes through one, and her hair glows like
golden fire. I smell the white pines, strong in the soft breeze, and the smell
of burning oak. A loon call echoes up from the lake, and all around the cabin
yard, there is the quiet burble of conversations and laughter." I wiped
the tears from my face with a flannel shirt sleeve and looked away from Dr.
Clarke. I still felt embarrassed to cry in front of another person.
"That sounds lovely. Hold on to that moment, use it as
a refuge." She glanced at the clock again and stood.
I stood as well, taking a tissue from the box on the coffee
table to dry my eyes.
She walked me to her office door. "Thank you for
sharing today, Charles. I think you are doing very well." As she opened
the door, she asked. "Have you gone to the aromatherapy shop we talked about
last week?"
"No," I said dejectedly. "I was going to,
but..."
I had meant to go, but sometimes certain things were just
impossible to make myself do. Going into an unfamiliar place and talking to a
stranger was one of those things. Sometimes I could, sometimes I couldn't. This
hadn't been a particularly good week, and the thought of talking to someone
new, someone who would ask questions about why I was there, questions that
would bring up painful memories, was simply unthinkable. Yesterday, I had made
it all the way to my car and had the key in the ignition, but then I just sat
there, unable to make myself go through with it.
"That's ok." Said Dr. Clarke.
I knew she knew why I didn't go, and I had gotten to the
point where I felt safe sharing my feelings with her, but I couldn't help but
feel a sense of shame.
"Addy is very good at what she does, and she has helped
many of my clients. She's a friend."
I nodded and started moving through the doorway. Ending
conversations always seemed so awkward. I never knew what to say.
"Thank you for being so open today, Charles. See you
again next week."
She was looking at my eyes, and I met her gaze briefly
before looking away. In recent years, I had become very uncomfortable making
anything more than the briefest of eye contact with people, especially women,
so I was usually at a huge disadvantage when it came to reading people's
motivations and emotions. In that brief glimpse though, I caught the impression
of empathy and a real desire to help. It felt really good to know that someone
cared. I gave her a genuine smile and left.
I left her office with the intention of going directly to
the shop she had recommended, but by the time I was in my car, I just...
couldn't. This is what my life had become. I could go from being on the verge
of drowning in a sea of sorrow to feeling positive and optimistic in an
instant, then back just as fast. But mostly, it was what I called 'the gray'. I
am self-aware enough to understand how it began. Instead of dealing with
certain traumatic events, my brain decided that it was easier and far less
painful, just to push them aside. The problem is, that those things don't just
go away. No matter how hard you push them down, they keep bubbling back up, and
you end up pushing everything away in the effort. Then one day you realize that
living in the gray was the only way to survive because every little bit of
emotion, good or bad, could open the gates and let all the pain come rushing
in. I had pushed everything and everyone aside for the sake of
self-preservation, and it was killing me. I knew I needed help. I knew that the
person I was, wasn't really me. The problem was, I had been in the gray so
long, that I couldn't remember how it was before, not really. I knew that I had
been happy once, that I had hopes and dreams. But that was all gone, lost in
the gray.
Chapter Nineteen.
The next day turned out to be one of the good ones. I was
able to get myself out of bed, dressed, and in the car. I decided that I would
finally make it to this aromatherapy shop Dr. Clarke wanted me to go to.
I turned the key in the ignition, and my geriatric Honda
Civic purred to life. I quickly released the emergency brake and shifted into
reverse. I backed out of my parking spot with a sigh. There, I did it. The hard
part was over, and now that I had started the task, it would be easier to go
through with it. Don't ask me why that makes sense, I wouldn't know how to even
start explaining.
I enjoyed my drive across town. It was a beautiful day in
Duluth. Down near Lake Superior, it was a little breezy and a comfortable 65
degrees, perfect for driving with the windows down. Climbing the hill on 194,
the farther I got away from the lake, the hotter it got. By the time I got to
the shop, it was nearly 80 degrees, and I had begun to sweat. A typical July
day in the Twin Ports. I've always said, that this was one of the things I
loved most about living in Duluth. It could be hot as hell up on top of the
hill, but if the wind was right, it was always cool near the lake.
I shut the car off and set the E brake. I wiped a bit of
sweat off my brow, and it occurred to me that I was wearing the same clothes I
wore yesterday and that I hadn't showered. Hit with a sudden wave of shame and
embarrassment about meeting someone new in this state, I almost just left to go
back home. With an effort of willpower, I opened the car door and stepped out.
Task begun.
I walked in and was greeted by a smiling older lady that I
assumed was Addy.
"Hi, um, Dr. Clarke sent me."
Addy's smile widened. "Oh, come in, come in. I'm
Addy."
"I'm Charles," I replied, meeting her eyes for the
briefest moment.
"Pleased to meet you, Charles. How is Rose doing these
days?"
Dr. Clarke's first name was Virginia. She had grown up in
Virginia, Minnesota, and I think she was still annoyed by her unimaginative
parents, because she liked to use her middle name, Rose. I almost exclusively
used 'Dr. Clarke' when speaking with or about her.
"I've been seeing her for a couple of months now. She's
nice." I never seemed to know how to answer questions like that. I
grimaced inwardly at my awkwardness.
"She's a sweetheart, and good at her job. I saw her for
years." She led me over to a glass counter filled with hundreds of small
labeled bottles. "So, are we looking for something to help you
relax?"
"Something to help me remember." I paused briefly,
trying to find the right words. "Well, remembering isn't the issue."
I felt a rush of awkwardness and a little bit of embarrassment in talking about
something so personal with a stranger. My cheeks flushed, and I looked at the
bottles in the case to ensure I didn't accidentally make eye contact. "I
want to be able to focus on just the one thing."
"Tell me about it."
I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. "There's
smoke from the campfire, mostly oak. Maybe a tiny bit of something acrid, like
someone had thrown a plastic plate in the fire."
As I spoke, I could hear Addy selecting a few bottles from a
rack within the display case.
"Pine trees. Even with the smoke, the pines smell
strong."
"Spruce?" Addy asked politely.
"No, White Pine. The needles and sap are
everywhere."
"Anything else?"
I took another deep breath but didn't reply.
"Sometimes there's things around us that have a scent,
but we're either too used to it, or its faint enough that we don't remember
without smelling it. What else was there? Is this a campground?" Addy
asked in what I recognized as being in a deliberately unobtrusive way.
"It's a cabin," I replied, searching the mental
image for things that may have a scent. "It's an old log cabin, surrounded
by white pines. There's a log pile. My brother had been using the chainsaw
earlier. My truck is parked in the driveway, it smells like gas because the
tank leaks a little bit. Someone had mowed the little patch of grass in front
of the cabin."
"Is there anyone there, wearing perfume or
aftershave?"
I nodded my head in the affirmative.
Addy gave me time to answer.
"She..." I struggled to find words to describe
Melissa's scent. How do you describe such a thing to someone? How do you
describe a sunset to a blind person, or describe to a deaf person the emotions
evoked by the Moonlight Sonata? She smelled like love, and I still smell her on
the clothes I keep in her dresser.
"You know how strawberry plants don't smell like
strawberry? Not like the fake strawberry candy scent?" Of course, she did,
but I went on. "A strawberry blossom. Delicate, faint, with just the
promise of sweetness."
"She was someone special," Addy said, in more of a
statement than a question.
"I ended up marrying her. She;" A tear rolled down
my cheek. "Nine years ago;" I just couldn't force the words out of my
mouth. I could tell Addy the exact date and time. I could tell her that we had
just gone to see The Martian in the movie theater and that the night was clear
and cool after the late August thunderstorm earlier that afternoon. I could
tell her what song was playing on the radio. I could tell her the look on
Melissa's face when the headlights crossed through the median in front of us.
What I couldn't say, was physically unable to, was that nine years ago, Melissa
died.
"It's okay, dear," Addy said. She had a
grandmotherly voice, full of kindness and understanding. For the briefest of
moments, the power of that gentle voice made me believe that yes, everything
would be okay. "Give me a few minutes, and I'll have something for you to
try."
I nodded and wandered away from the counter, absently
browsing the candles and incense as I tried to compose myself. As I looked
through the shop it occurred to me how posh the place seemed. High-dollar
products are meant to be sold to people who have the luxury of ignoring price
tags. I did not have that luxury. I felt anxiety and a general shame of the
complete fuck up I had become. If this costs more than about forty dollars, I
wouldn't be able to afford groceries this week.
"Charles, it's ready," Addy called from the other
side of the store.
I walked over and closed my eyes as she extended a small
glass bottle filled with clear liquid. I breathed deeply and conjured the scene
in my mind. The scent of Addy's mixture hit me like a lightning bolt. It was
like reading a book in the dark, and then someone turned on the lights.
Everything came into sharp focus like I was there. The smoke, the pines, and, My
breath caught in my throat. Buried deep within the mix there was something
light, something so tenuous you hardly knew it was there. It was Melissa. In my
mind, she threw herself into my arms, and I could smell her. I could
smell her.
"How?" I asked, looking her in the eyes for the
first time since my initial glance.
Addy smiled warmly, and I could see genuine care in her
face, not just the politeness of a shop owner to a customer. "If she had been
wearing perfume, it would have been harder. We remember scents much better than
we think we do. Sometimes all we need is a little hint, and it's brought right
to the front."
Dr. Clarke was right, Addy was good.
"Your idea about the strawberry flowers was good.
They're very faint and don't smell like much at all, definitely not
strawberries. But when you know that you have strawberry flowers, and you smell
them, your brain brings up the memory of strawberries. Scents are all connected
in our minds, and are rooted deep down at the very foundation of memory."
Addy put a rubber stopper in the bottle and carefully placed
the bottle in a velvet pouch with her shop's logo on it. She held it out for me
to take. A tear dripped off my jaw, and I quickly wiped my face on a sleeve.
"How much?" I started to ask, again acutely aware
of my wrinkled clothes, my general lack of personal hygiene, and the
depressingly small balance of my bank account.
Addy cut me off with a raised hand. "Rose is a friend
of mine, and any friend of hers is also a friend of mine." She pushed the velvet
bag into my hands.
"No, I can't;"
Addy stopped me again. "Most of my clients just want
something that smells nice in their bathroom, or to cover the smell of weed.
I'm perfectly happy to take their money." She placed her hands on mine,
still clutching the velvet bag. "It's very rare that I get to help
someone. Take it as a gift, with my thanks."
I was speechless, and fresh tears rolled down my face. I
couldn't remember the last time someone was so altruistically kind to me.
"Thank you." Was all I could say.
To be continued in part 6. Based on a post by NewMountain80, in 6 parts, for Literotica.
More shows like Steamy-Stories
View all
The Ben Shapiro Show
153,483 Listeners
History That Doesn't Suck
6,105 Listeners
Dear Nikky: Hidden Desires
227 Listeners
Erotic Stories from Wylde in Bed
623 Listeners
The Megyn Kelly Show
40,372 Listeners
Cum With Us: Erotic Audio Stories for Women
448 Listeners
My Friend's Erotic Stories
484 Listeners
My Sexy Stories
320 Listeners
Erotic Stories
962 Listeners
Bedtime Stories With Salty Vixen
80 Listeners
The Audio Porn 🔞 | Erotic Stories
293 Listeners
Erotic Stories
34 Listeners
Erotic Stories To Get You In The Mood - By MoodCrest
113 Listeners
Steamy Sex Stories for Her
10 Listeners
Naughty Sex Stories
12 Listeners