I love a good love story, I believe in romance. I believe that we all blossom when we experience love and when we see it in others. Here is one – short and sweet – inspired by the fictional name Guinevere I bestowed on Winnie in the story "Hope." If you haven't read that particular story, I encourage you to do so.
An Ode to Life and Love
It was one of those days, Spike arrived home having just completed a 14 hour shift. Four hours of those were lost to debriefing and grieving. A shooting had occurred in a neighbourhood not known for peace, a domestic that involved a husband protecting his pregnant wife from his own drug-addicted brother.
The scene that greeted them when they arrived to secure ground zero was gruesome to say the least. No manual, no training, no forensic photograph could prepare them for the volume of blood that was spilled that afternoon. The brain matter that caked on the walls and the bodily fluids that mixed with tears and snot assaulted their sense of decency and morality.
The young man whose face was shattered by a bullet laid prone on the floor, in the embrace of his young wife. The drug-addled other man would perhaps live to regret what he did to his brother and if there was any justice at all, experience remorse.
Spike, whose duty it was to bring victims to safety was tasked to take the young wife away from her husband's lifeless body, "I'm sorry, I have to take you away," he heard himself whisper, "It's for your protection." With tear stained eyes, she pleaded with him, "No," she said, "I can't leave him here. I can't." He was left with no choice but to physically lift her off the floor whereupon she wailed, "No, please, no."
He repeated, in what he hoped sounded kind and reassuring, "It's ok, we will look after him. He would want you out of harm's way." He had heard of course that one of the hostages was pregnant but it seemed to have escaped him until now. His right arm wrapped around her as he escorted her out of danger. He looked down on her swollen belly and felt a stab of pain for the unborn child who would grow up without a father. The injustice of it all was too much.
Spike left her in the care of the paramedics, his heart heavy-laden. He joined his Team for there was still a subject to talk down. The world would be a better place without this scumbag. But they weren't judge or jury so they left the talking to Saint Parker. Another two hours before the subject surrendered, another two hours to debrief and another two before he found the energy to shower.
He drove home mindlessly and was almost surprised to find himself in the building where they have lived for three years. He reached home by automation.
Winnie knew what state he'd be in, she had followed part of the drama as it unfolded from work. She didn't want to leave SRU. She wanted to stay, wait it out but there wasn't anything she could do other than get in other people's way. She waited for two hours passed her shift, when Team One hadn't returned she decided home was where she needed to be.
The door opened silently. Liley, the Canadian Eskimo dog sensed sadness. She hastily stood up to greet her Daddy but stayed well away. She seemed to know when to give her human space. Moppet, the golden retriever had a great sense of smell but not a great predictor of human emotion. She wanted to play and tried to engage her Dad. She received a pat on the head. "Go," Spike said. She went to be with Liley, even she now sensed melancholy in the air.
He went straight to bed where Win had been waiting. She had been sitting up on the bed, her legs pulled to her chest, her chin resting on her knees, reading a book. She looked up as he entered, and sighed at his form. "Hi," a sound escaped from her throat.
He laid down on his belly, his face turned towards her unable to speak, she rubbed his back, "Do you want to go to sleep?" He shook her head, "I'm too tired to sleep," he said.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I'm too tired to talk."
"Do you want something to eat?"
"No."
She got out of bed. "I'll be right back". She returned 15 minutes later, half expecting Spike to be asleep. She was mistaken. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, a million things fighting, forcing its way to the forefront of his thoughts.
"Come," she said as she pulled him out of the bed. She brought him to the small balcony where she had laid down rugs, blankets, pillows and cushions around. Lit candles in lanterns hanged around the balcony rail. She got him to sit amongst the pillows and cushions and offered him a glass of wine. "Look at the stars," she said. There they were in their millions.
She had her book, "I want to read you a poem by Lord Alfred Tennyson." He smiled, "I'd like that, I want your voice to drown out the droning inside my head." She kissed him passionately, and then laid on his chest. She read from the book a poem titled Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere. She read it to him for no other reason than to ease his mind, perhaps so he could find solace and rest.
And Launcelot pass'd away among the flowers,
For then was latter April, and return'd
Among the flowers in May with Guinevere.
Like souls that balance joy and pain,
With tears and smiles from heaven again
The maiden Spring upon the plain
Came in a sun-lit fall of rain.
In crystal vapour everywhere
Blue isles of heaven laugh'd between,
And, far in forest-deeps unseen,
The topmost elm-tree gather'd green
From draughts of balmy air.
Sometimes the linnet piped his song:
Sometimes the throstle whistled strong:
Sometimes the sparhawk, wheel'd along,
Hush'd all the groves from fear of wrong:
By grassy capes with fuller sound
In curves the yellowing river ran,
And drooping chestnut-buds began
To spread into the perfect fan,
Above the teeming ground.
Then, in the boyhood of the year,
Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere
Rode thro' the coverts of the deer,
With blissful treble ringing clear.
She seem'd a part of joyous Spring:
A gown of grass-green silk she wore,
Buckled with golden clasps before;
A light-green tuft of plumes she bore
Closed in a golden ring.
Now on some twisted ivy-net,
Now by some tinkling rivulet,
In mosses mixt with violet
Her cream-white mule his pastern set:
And fleeter now she skimm'd the plains
Than she whose elfin prancer springs
By night to eery warblings,
When all the glimmering moorland rings
With jingling bridle-reins.
As she fled fast thro' sun and shade,
The happy winds upon her play'd,
Blowing the ringlet from the braid:
She look'd so lovely, as she sway'd
The rein with dainty finger-tips,
A man had given all other bliss,
And all his worldly worth for this,
To waste his whole heart in one kiss
Upon her perfect lips.
Spike fell asleep before she got to the end. She moved only to cover them with a blanket, pleased to have put her beloved to sleep with an ode to love and life. It was written in 1840 by Lord Alfred Tennyson as a tribute to one of the greatest historical lovers, Lancelot and Guinevere, and has never been altered since 1853. She watched the stars for a wee bit longer and then followed her lover to a land of sleep.
She woke up just as the sun was peeking over the horizon, drenching them both with a reddish tinge of light, he whispered to her,
"A man had given all other bliss,
And all his worldly worth for this,
To waste his whole heart in one kiss
Upon her perfect lips."
It didn't seem possible but today he felt he could get up and do it all again. Life is cruel and ugly but it has its many shades of lights and moments of good and wonder. He had a taste of it last night so he could face come what may.