Straight No Chaser

Prince of Mine

this will doubtless be the longest entry i'll ever write. which is fine; it needs to cover a lot of ground. if you don't like long-windedness, skip to the last few paragraphs, where i'll put my reflections. otherwise, enjoy.

thursday.

hadn't gotten very much sleep the night before at all; i was both too excited and too hurried because of last-minute changes to my travel plans. still, on thursday morning i bounced awake an hour early, showered like i was trying to cleanse the very depths of my soul, tried on about thirty-five different outfits and finally settled on the one i'd originally laid out: favorite tight express jeans to emphasize hips and butt, very fitted pink express tank top with spaghetti straps to emphasize waistline, white tailored express button-down left unbuttoned to emphasize everything underneath, new white flip-flops from...yeah, target. hair newly straightened, twenty nails painted with this polish that looked like sugar glaze, silver hoops in main holes and studs in the extras, silver anklet in place, silver water-bearer pendant between my collarbones. i worried about the pink tank top because it doesn't allow for a bra. that's usually okay, but, you know, parents. but that's kind of what the tailored shirt was for, to make me look clean-cut and pulled-together (which i am, or at least can be), and easy to pull off whenever i was ready for him to appreciate what was underneath again.

both flights were on these ridiculously tiny jets that didn't even pull up all the way to the airport gates. on the way to cincinatti i sat next to a really nervous older woman; she complained about the size of the plane and touched my arm a lot and wouldn't let me open the window, and then when we finally touched down her parting comment was, "that wasn't so bad." ha. cincinatti was a mess, mainly because i've never flown through there. i got lost trying to find my concourse, didn't have time to buy a hairbrush, spilled pretzel crumbs into the front pocket of my backpack and finally wound up on just as tiny a jet, in the row behind a woman who was traveling with her five kids, the oldest of whom couldn't have been more than seven. i mentally marked all our changes in elevation by the volume and timbre of their screams. their ten aching eardrums multiplied to an entire planeful's. touched down right on time, a few minutes early, and was relieved when i realized how miniscule the shreveport airport actually is.

enter marcus. gorgeous; i thought i was going to cry when i saw that he wore my favorite shirt. a striped polo with denim on the underside of the collar. new haircut, nice shave, perfect perfect; we hugged for a long time and i don't remember ever wanting to cry so early in the day. drove through his town and he pointed stuff out, and i sort of listened but sort of just basked; we shared mozzarella sticks and cake at chili's and then went home. his dad adores me. his mom has an edge to her but she too was amazingly nice. marcus went to work and i looked at baby pictures, then tagged along with his parents while they drove around comparing the prices of high definition televisions. we toured the barksdale air force base, where they lived before the dad retired, and then met his grandmother for dinner at carrabba's. all of this while marcus was still at work, which apparently he couldn't get out of on such short notice. grandma scared the crap out of me; she was absolutely beautiful and terrifyingly quiet except for once every twenty eons, when she would break the silence (her personal silence; marcus's dad doesn't stop talking for a second) to ask me something completely off the wall. where are your parents from? how much do you weigh? is that your real hair? you don't eat meat, do you? are your parents as thin as you? have you noticed marcus is losing weight? you're sleeping in the guest room, right? except not rapid-fire like that. that was how i marked the passage of time. by the time i finally got back to marcus i had fielded fourteen or fifteen of those.

we went to tinseltown to see a midnight showing of star wars. both of us had already seen it AND we had the theater completely to ourselves, but he fell asleep on my shoulder, the first of two very irritating passive-aggressive shows of his exhaustion. i didn't bother him about it then. i did later, when he tried to fall asleep without letting go of so much of a goodnight kiss. i showed him, sneaky temptress that i am. i felt a little manipulative, but i got my way, and in the end it turned out to be our way. eventually tucked him in, danced across the hall and slept better than i have in months.

friday.

skirt day. i got up at nine because that's what he'd told me to do. the mom and i were the only ones awake--the dad was up and out already, and marcus and his brother were still conked out in bed. she cooked for me, against my insistence that i could just have grapes and juice, and we talked, pleasantly, about what a shithead marcus can be. her phraseology, not mine. her sentiment, too; i smiled and defended him mildly for about an hour. he was late getting up and when he did, he argued with his mom and barely spoke to me. by the time we hopped in the car to go back to tinseltown, i wanted to flog him; more so when he was just as much of a jerk through mr. and mrs. smith as he'd been through breakfast. granted, his friends will and crystal were at the movie too, and i don't know what he'd told them about us, but it was starting to bother me that i'd paid hundreds of dollars (and endured cincinatti) to receive what i considered pretty mediocre treatment. so whenever we got back in the car, i pouted. i really was rather an asshole. i gave him one- or two-word answers to every question he asked, refused to give input as to our next destination, just generally made a bitch out of myself until he started probing, and eventually said "you didn't come all the way down here to sulk, did you?" so i backpedaled pretty ferociously, we made up in the parking lot at a coffee shop, and that was that.

we hung out downtown with his friend chuck, saw madagascar (if you're debating, see it for the lemurs) and had some wings and ice cream, and then after it got dark we all drove to this park to play. marcus laid down on the hood of his car and i remembered how much i like his stomach. later, we went to his friend staunton's lakehouse, where a bunch of drunk kids were sitting around on the porch trying really hard to debate politics. jessica was there.

(jessica is marcus's ex. she dated him through his last year of high school and first year of college, which is when i got the privilege of her acquaintance through his continual complaints about how childish and domineering she is. back before i knew i was attracted to him, i couldn't figure out why i reacted so strongly to his every mention of her. i eventually reasoned that, as his best friend, i had the right to be protective of him when it came to people like that, people who took advantage of his goodness and cheated on him heedlessly and generally didn't treat him like the masterpiece that he was. what's ironic is that, once i had fallen madly in love with him, i developed this tremendous respect for jessica, for handling him in a way that i still struggled with. then i got updates and she was a bitch again. i can be mature about things like that. things that happened for the first eighteen years of his life are really none of my business, except in the informative sense. they're still friends, and i try to encourage him to support her when she needs it, rather than showing her the same level of selfishness that she did him. but we can't have people hurting him. he's too precious.)

it was our first meeting, and jessica was really nice to me. she was a little tipsy, which she vehemently denied ("i can't have alcohol with my medication," she insisted, but marcus told me when she went on zoloft--over six months ago--and i've heard his end of a thousand of her drunken phone calls since then, so i figured it was a lie). she slobbered all over his face while i pointedly stayed out of their contact, sat in his lap instead of in a very convenient chair two feet away, told me about her nephew, giggled incessantly. i found her to be a nice girl. i still don't respect her. i, meanwhile, chatted with staunton and his younger brother, who are the type to say things like "i typically don't consort with black people, but i find you very impressive. you just might be more intelligent than i am." said in the haughtiest of intoxicated tenors, so i couldn't even really be offended, just struggled with not laughing in his face till we finally got out of there--around when people started dunking each other in the lake. which, i hear, was the site of two circumstantially similar drownings earlier this year.

that night, when we got back to marcus's room (thinking everyone else in the house was still asleep, since all the lights were off), big brother michael was sitting at marcus's computer in his bathrobe, researching jedi fight styles. i kid you not. his big brother, age twenty-two. researching jedi fight styles, and trying desperately to rope marcus into a debate about whether or not the jedi council would consider stabbing a "veritable bodily desecration." i had to bury my face in marcus's pillow to keep from laughing. eventually michael left. we turned on love jones, waited what we thought was enough time, and then took advantage of our new privacy. i missed his lips SO much. slept great that night, too.

saturday.

he had to run to outback to take a menu test, so i put on my black skirt, top and heels and rode with his family to his dad's fraternity luncheon. the dad introduced me to everyone as his "future daughter-in-law." i cringed until i remembered marcus wasn't there to hear it, beamed and curtsied at everyone, made a fantastic impression on the group collectively (except for the grandmother, next to whom i ended up sitting at the table) and helped the mom clean up afterward.

at home, marcus napped and i changed into comfortable clothes and took a walk through his neighborhood. it's directly adjacent to a golf course, with maybe thirty feet between the edge of his backyard patio and the border to the sixth hole, and everything is really well-kept--the lawns, the flowers, the porches, everything. i got on the phone and chatted it up with krystle, gave her my commentary on everything that had happened so far, and enjoyed the ninety-degree heat (a stark contrast from what was going on inside the house, where the air was kept at a constant full blast--motherly menopause and whatnot) till marcus's dad poked his head out and invited me in to watch fight club with him. SO much time did i spend bonding with that man. he hugged me every time we so much as passed each other in the hallway. more of that when i start reflecting, at the end.

marcus was grouchy when i woke him up, and he wanted to can our plans for the night and skip straight to the newly established bedtime routine. i wanted to, too. instead, we went to chuck's apartment and watched friday night lights with he and his roommate, and two of marcus's good female friends from high school.

(here's where i debate getting critical, on the off chance that one of them is reading this or something. they're both writers. anyway, back in high school he had a brief physical relationship with the curly-haired one. which, much like the jessica thing, is none of my business, but was puzzling to me because she is so completely not his type, i fact i can base with confidence on three hours of observation at chuck's apartment. i know who he is; i know what he likes; i believe they were friends but i have the hardest time wrapping my mind around that idea. so i puzzled over it all through nine million episodes of aquateen hunger force, all LITERALLY NINE MILLION, and wondered which of my four companions was secretly so high that all nine million were actually funny to him or her, and froze to death because louisiana people keep their air conditioning set on "frigid," and was generally ecstatic when it was time to leave.)

we got in the car and i burst into tears. he's seen me cry quietly into my hand but never sob the way i did, gasp for air and drip all over my clothes for upwards of ten full minutes. he pulled into a gas station and we talked; he hugged me very comfortably and i shared some of my coming reflections, in summary form. he said "i really love you, shannon." i said "yeah, i know." "and," he went on, "i definitely noticed that you don't say you love me on the phone anymore." i didn't explain. "i love you too," i told him, and we kissed until the gas clicked off, and then we considered pulling over somewhere secluded rather than waiting the nine minutes it would take to get home to finish what we'd started. we aren't animals, though. we drove home.

we talked some more when we got back to his room, and then stopped, and this time there was no pretense of the television, just us, and i broke the mood briefly to grab my camera and take some pictures. i swear, guys. so beautiful. i threw the camera on the floor and went about honoring him in a different way, and it was, appropriately, the best session yet, particularly when, in the middle of it, he laughed and said, randomly, "what a gush of euphony voluminously wells, right? that's how it goes, right?" and then i had to laugh too, because god, what dorks we are. but he was right, of course, and that warranted more euphony. and for about ten seconds i was one hundred percent sure he was about to do something that would have required a very important snap decision on my part, and at the end of that ten seconds i remembered how much i trust him, and all was well. slept like shit that night, though; don't know why.

sunday.

church was at eight o'clock. apparently marcus's pastor had a "visitation" recently that told him to hold a ninety-day revival in a tent across the street from the actual church building, so that's where we sat, under a thirty thousand-dollar burlap tent in the sweltering louisiana heat, me in a vented skirt and flip-flops, he in khakis and timberlands. ninety degrees, literally, and a deathload of bugs, but the pastor was charismatic, and wove our discomfort throughout his sermon in every possible way. the grandmother was there, and introduced me to all her friends, and then the dad took my hand and introduced me to practically the entire remainder of the hundred-person congregation, the pastor included.

marcus had to work, so i had to survive sunday dinner on my own. me and the parents, plus the grandmother, great-aunt, a godmother and a play-cousin. i helped as much as i could, but three fat women will be damned if they're going to let some skinny girl from out of town get anywhere near the dinner they're cooking. it was for the best, of course; dinner was delicious, even though i was clearly being scrutinized throughout the entire thing. the dad looked out for me, and jumped in every time their questions got intrusive; i connected with the play-cousin and finally found a legitimate place in the conversation about two third of the way through.

the grandmother hugged me tight before she left. after all that, she liked me after all. she told me to take care of her grandson, got my phone number for when she comes to washington in august, and waddled out smiling. she was gorgeous.

then it was the parents and me, cleaning up, discussing the weekend and their son and my travel arrangements. they were impressed with how well i know him, how well i understand his m.o., how easily i can sum up his psyche in three sentences or less. still, i was glad when they both fell asleep in their armchairs. i sneaked off and did the same thing on marcus's bed.

when i woke up, his lips were just leaving mine. i was still curled up on the non-pillow end; he stretched out next to me on his back and pulled my hand onto his stomach. he knows i like it there. he smelled like outback and speed stick, and as tired as i was, i felt like i was going to have a spontaneous climax every time i breathed in. i didn't. i listened while he talked about the weekend and how he was sorry he had to work so much, sorry i got stuck with his crazy family for such extended periods of time, sorry he made me cry (i told him he didn't but he didn't believe me). he thanked me for coming, for being patient, for admiring his baby pictures and for being a constant. "i love you so much" is what i think he said last, but i got stuck there, so that's debatable. i could feel his heartbeat through his stomach.

a lot more happened that day; i ran into trouble at the shreveport airport and even more when i got to inclement weather-stricken atlanta, but i'm going to end it there. i gave my parents a barebones summary of my trip and then collapsed on my own bed. his was the last voice i heard when he called to make sure i got in safely, so i slept easy again, even without the orgasm.

reflections.

i have never loved anything or anyone the way i do him.

he was a gorgeous baby, gigantic dimples and the same smile, eyelashes every bit as long and this comical hair that wouldn't stop growing. his mom says he used to drain both of her breasts every time she'd feed him, and that he would jerk his crib toward the master bedroom when attention was too slow in coming. i looked at the pictures and was SO glad to see someone i recognized in them; i wanted to cuddle the infant he was and kiss the man he's become. i know that's weird.

we'd have pretty beautiful babies, i think. they would be the color of dark honey with thick curly hair and jet black eyes, slightly bowed legs and pudgy bodies that would slim and streamline as they developed into toddlers. we'd name them miles and lana.

that his parents loved me so much was a bonus. that was never what was important. what was important was demonstrating my love for him to him by doing my best with his parents, his grandmother, his church family and everyone i met. i made a good impression because that's what i tend to do among adults, and i was glad for it. but that wasn't the focus. i needed to show him that i can be a part of his life without being a liability, that i have a place among the people who will always be there for him.

i can say with some assuredness that his dad hopes we'll get married one day. i got off the phone with him not an hour ago (he called to thank me for the message i left with his cell last night, letting him know i got in safely) and basically said as much. his dad loved me. to death. and he complimented my hair about a hundred times. i didn't tell him i blew eighty bucks on it the day before my flight to shreveport. i'm glad, though. really glad his dad likes me. marcus respects his dad more than anyone, probably, and if i'd made a bad impression i'd find marcus justified in being wary of me.

his mom can be, in marcus's words, "a bitch." i'd never say so out loud, of course, but her personality has an edge that cannot be mistaken, even when she's on her best behavior and cooking like a madwoman to impress you. she insulted marcus about a thousand times in my presence, lit into everything from his attitude to the smell of his deodorant, and tried to get me to side with her when she told him, repeatedly, what an asshole he was being. i handled that well, i think; definitely better than i would have at this time last year. all this is to say that it's pretty miraculous that she liked me, too. and she did. we were friends by the time i left. i was glad to spend the time with her; it stoked my desire to be everything marcus needs me to be to him. he's a physical and spiritual adult but he's also someone's child, the vulnerable baby in the photos hung all over the house, and even now i wish there was an awkward-free way to tell his mother not to worry, that i recognize how extraordinary he is, and what a miracle, and that i would never fall remiss in meeting his needs.

i wrote her a letter while marcus was napping. i'll never send it, of course, but i needed an outlet for every domestic surge i got while i was there. in the letter i promised her that i'd be good to her grandchildren. and that i would understand if she felt the need to teach me how to cook. lord knows i'm not going to learn it anywhere else.

i don't hate jessica. i thought i would. for two years i only got his side of the story, which you'd think would make it easier to really loathe her. i can't help passing judgment on some of the decisions she's made as a girlfriend and as a human (she's not graduating from high school on time because of said decisions), but i had to meet her to see her for what she really is: an intelligent but immature and misguided little girl with shaky values and no direction, someone deserving of help but not of marcus. i hugged her before i left staunton's lakehouse, and i meant it.

i believe that he loves me now.

there's nothing like driving around with him in the dark. we listened to nothing but dave and he touched my hand a lot.

louisiana is hotter than hell, and church in the tent was particularly unbelievable, but a good experience in all. the sermon was about making promises to the lord.

this is NOT something i do.

but just in case, here's what i'll say when i'm ready to do that without feeling like a liar:

i promise that i know he's a treasure. i promise that i recognize his value on every level, and that within whatever role i may fill in his life, i'll always be the filter that helps him shine. i promise that i recognize the value of experiences like these; of being near his dearest relatives and his elementary school principal--all the people who shaped him into the masterpiece he is today. i promise i'll do what i can to make the next revision of that list. i'll always love him for what he is and not for what he isn't; i won't confuse the physical with the transcendent. i'll keep food in his stomach and protect him from the ugly things he can't see through his rose-tinted glasses. i really do love him. i promise.

i feel silly.

but, eh. can't hurt.

great weekend.