Chapter 298: If My Heart Could Speak
"Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese." – G.K. Chesterton
"The dance is a poem of which each movement is a word" – Mata Hari
"I am not Rimbaud to tell you great words; I am not Verlaine to tell you poems; I am just myself to tell you that I love you." – Unknown
"When power narrows the areas of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of his existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses." – John F. Kennedy
"But all art is sensual and poetry particularly so. It is directly, that is, of the senses, and since the senses do not exist without an object for their employment all art is necessarily objective. It doesn't declaim or explain, it presents." – William Carlos Williams
"If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it's to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel." – Jim Morrison
"Hello?"
"Hello Sydney, it's Nicole."
"Oh hi Nicole."
"I just wanted to call and thank you again for having us over."
"Oh it was our pleasure. You're welcome any time."
"I also have a very urgent message that must be delivered to Michael."
Sydney chuckled, "Ok…"
"It's from Annie."
There was a voice in the background, "She's not apposed to know dat Mommy!!"
"Oh right, sorry Sydney, I have an urgent message from…someone…for Michael."
Sydney laughed and handed Vaughn the phone, "Someone would like to speak with you."
Vaughn took the phone, "Hello?"
"Pssst…is dis Mictoby?"
Vaughn tried not to laugh, "Yes it is…"
"Dis is Taddole…"
"Taddole?" Vaughn asked, smiling widely.
"Dat's my secret name…"
"Oh I see…what's up Tadpole?"
"Well…when I camed home…I told my fishies all about you Mictoby and now they really want to meet ya…Tad specially…he wants you to come and bisit him…and I want ya ta see my bedroom dat Eric pickeded the color for…"
Vaughn smiled, "I'd love to honey, we'll have to see when we can ok?"
"Ok…but I want ya ta come soon…" she said in a very small voice.
"I'll try Tadpole."
"Can't ya come over today?"
Vaughn smiled, "I don't think so sweetie. Not tonight. But really really really soon, ok?"
Annie sighed, "Alright…"
Nicole came back on the line, "Hello."
"Hi."
"That was quite the spy conversation. I think she's learning."
Vaughn chuckled, "Yes I think so. She wants me to meet the fishies."
"You're welcome to meet them anytime."
"We'll call and come some time soon."
"That sounds good."
"Talk to you later."
"Bye Michael."
Vaughn handed Sydney the phone and she smiled at him, "Having a very covert phone call there…"
"Yes, I think she's really taking this spy thing to heart. I am supposed to 'bisit' the fishies."
"She's so in love with you…and I don't blame her one bit."
Vaughn sighed, "Yeah, I'm just so irresistible."
Sydney chuckled, "Yeah and modest too."
"That's me."
"You wanna do some more work or something else?" She added, "Actually, do you want to do some work at all since you were copping out or do you want to something else?"
Vaughn smirked, "Hey, I did a good five, maybe ten minutes of work before I took my break."
"Right."
"Uhm…no I think we can do something else."
Sydney nodded, "K…wanna unpack your stuff?"
"Sure."
"You need help?" Sydney asked before she went off to grab the bag they had packed.
"No…I think I'm ok," he said, scooting to the end of the couch and wincingly getting up. "Lead the way," he said, following slowly behind her.
She dropped the bag on the bed and unzipped it, taking things out and laying them on the spread. "Ok, where do you wanna put this stuff?"
"Your room, you decide."
"Our room, where do you want them?" Sydney said forcefully.
He smiled, "Uhm…maybe the pictures of my mom and dad could go on the dresser…"
"You can have them anywhere…" Sydney said reaffirming.
"Well you're the decorator."
She laughed, "If you want them on the dresser, they can go there or they can go on the nightstand. You might be able to see them better." She looked at her side of the bed and the corresponding nightstand, "Why don't we put your parents on your side of the bed like the picture of my dad is on mine…"
"Sure."
"And I hate to tell you, but I think we might have to put the skates and the hockey stick in the closet."
He laughed, "That's ok…they're here."
She grabbed the skates and the stick and put them in the closet, hanging up his hockey jerseys as well. She chuckled, "What do you want to do with the mini jerseys?"
"Uhm, just put them somewhere where we can pull them out the next time mom is here for a visit."
"Ok." She took out the books and the cds and the large array of movies that he packed.
"Hey," he said grabbing the hats she had thrown in the bag, "Thanks."
"I thought you might want a few."
"Yeah I wanted one the other day…"
She smiled, "I think the movies should stay in here…in the drawer in my nightstand…that I can lock…" she said clearing her throat.
Vaughn laughed, "Good idea."
"The other ones, it's up to you – we can keep them separate so they don't get mixed in with the 'house' movies…"
"No, they can go out there. That's fine."
"Ok, I'll take them out in a bit." She grabbed the Cds, "These we'll keep in here so we don't forget to make the bath soundtrack."
"Good idea."
"Ok…I think that's it…"
"Cool. What are we gonna do now?"
"Hmm…" Sydney made a production of thinking, "I know…" she said happily, grabbing a book and grabbing his hand. She pulled him along until they were back to the couch again and after they sat, she handed him the book, "Read to me." When Vaughn looked at her, she reminded him, "You said you would."
He nodded, "Ok…" He looked at the book she had grabbed and smiled, "What poem do you want me to read?"
"Your favorite."
"I have a lot of favorites…"
"Well then pick one."
"I don't need the book for that…" he said with a cocky smile.
She smirked, "Ok then…recite it." As his voice filled the room, it reverberated off the walls, sending no other sounds to Sydney's ears. Her whole body was captivated with the movements of his lips, with the inflection of his voice, with the meter and rhythm of his reading…
"Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God."
From beginning to end, Sydney felt like she was floating high in the sky with Vaughn, where his voice transported her; moving melodically through fluffy clouds on laughter-silvered wings, the sun streaming and spreading it's warmth over her as she flew. He deftly and wistfully took her through the mirth of the sky, her own heaven hovering before her, her own hand reaching out to touch his face as his voice ended quietly on the solemn prayer.
"High Flight by John Gillespie Magee, Jr."
"I've heard that before…It's beautiful," Sydney said just as quietly as he had ended the poem. She whispered, "More," as her eyes clouded over in their own love-lust for the man who was cantilating to her soul.
He smiled shyly, stuttering and rather uncomfortable as he saw the look in her eyes,
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."
Sydney had closed her eyes, envisioning the words Vaughn made come to life with his kinetic and rich voice, "Robert Frost – 'The Road Not Taken,'" Sydney said, opening her eyes to see Vaughn's on hers.
"That's right," he said swallowing noticeably.
"More," she said with a smile.
He chuckled, "I think I'll have to actually open the book for the one I'm thinking of."
"Ok," Sydney said, snuggling closer to him.
He read, "Tell me not in mournful numbers,
'Life is but an empty dream!'
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem."
Sydney giggled as Vaughn looked at her and narrowed his gaze, saying the last line as though it were a mystery to be solved; his eyebrow raising. She had a sudden flash of him reading to their children, his tone playful and gentle, young eyes looking up at him in adoration, reading the book just as he had. She had to force herself to focus on the current moment and not the future…
"Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
'Dust thou art, to dust returnest,'
Was not spoken of the soul."
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us further than to-day.
Sydney smiled happily, thinking of a Dr. Seuss book as Vaughn continued reading. The cadence was reminiscent of the children's books and the way Vaughn read; it was getting increasingly difficult not to jump on his lap on the couch.
"Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave."
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act -- act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Sydney laughed as Vaughn smiled at her and became more animated in his reading, his hand making motions in the air, while the timbre of his voice lilted and vacillated across the words.
"Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;"
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.
Sydney got a shiver as the poem ended, his voice quivering as he enunciated the last few words.
"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 'A Psalm of Life.'"
Sydney nodded, "Very nice reading of that poem Mr. Vaughn," she leaned over, playing with the collar of his shirt. She looked up at him through hooded lashes, "Will you read me more while I make dinner?"
He smiled, knowing full well that she knew he'd do anything she ever could have asked. "Sure," he managed to choke out.
She smiled in triumph, clearing her throat as she walked to the kitchen, Vaughn following and sitting on his usual stool.
"Ok, fire away," Sydney said trying to change the ever-sexual mood.
"What's for dinner?" he asked.
"That's not a poem," she pointed out.
"Yeah, but before I read I wanna know what I'm gonna get outta this deal."
Sydney shot him a look, "I think you know what you're gonna get out of this deal…and I think we'll just have leftovers from yesterday…if I start heating it up now, it should be ready when Will and Francie get here…even with his stop for the swing."
"Ok, then I can commence," he replied, looking down at the book again.
Sydney started to take things out of the refrigerator, listening while Vaughn read, "If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;"
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!';
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
He smiled, "I used to love that one when I was younger," he said looking up to see Sydney had stopped preparing dinner. "What?" he asked.
She smiled, "Nothing…just got lost…" 'in the vibration of your voice, she thought, "in the poem…" she lied.
He smiled.
"I'm trying to remember," Sydney said, turning back to the microwave with a plate of brats, "This is bad Vaughn, I was a literature major…"
Vaughn smirked, "Rudyard Kipling – 'If.'"
"Riiiiiiiight," Sydney said nodding, "Come on I remembered the others."
"I've always liked Longfellow…you wanna hear a couple more of his?"
"Sure."
"K – this one is 'Haunted Houses:' 'All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors..'"
We meet them at the doorway, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.
There are more guests at the table than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.
The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, or hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives that is; while unto me
All that has been is visible and clear
"That's a cool one Vaughn," Sydney said, enthralled with his love of literature, sensing it had more personal meaning than he was telling her.
"And this one is 'The Builders,' he started before she could ask, 'All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble, as they seek to climb.'"
Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.
For the structure that we raise,
Time is what materials filled;
Our todays and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.
In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the gods see everywhere.
Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house where dogs may dwell
Beautiful, entire, and clean.
Else our lives are incomplete,
"That's nice."
"Mmhmm…shall I serenade you with some love sonnets of Shakespeare? Only with no singing?"
Sydney chuckled, "Absolutely."
Holding up a hand he said, "Ok, first though – I have another one – this is really short – by Henry Van Dyke, 'Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love time is eternity.'"
"Aww…" Sydney said turning to him again.
"Yeah I know…" Vaughn said nodding, "I'm wonderful."
Sydney snorted, "You are…that's beautiful," she said seriously, "and true, we have eternity together."
He smiled and was quiet as he scanned over some of the sonnets. Sydney heard pages turn and smiled when she saw him concentrating to find the perfect one for her. He finally decided and started to read, "This is 17:"
His voice took on another completely different facet, lower, more sensual, fitting the mood in which the sonnet had been written.
Sydney marveled at how he could touch her heart in such simple ways, how he could make her soul and body soar and sing so easily…
"'Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies:
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.'"
She stopped to watch him as he read through the last lines, but he wasn't reading it anymore; he was reciting it, watching her.
He smiled knowingly as he finished breathily, and she swore that this man could melt glaciers in the Arctic with his eyes alone, melt the largest iceberg with his voice, light the Stygian darkness of the darkest night with his smile.
"You're amazing," she said.
He blushed and looked down momentarily, "So are you."
She continued with her preparation as he leafed through more pages. Then he closed the book and watched her again for a minute before he said quietly, "I used to be afraid of the dark when I was little."
Sydney turned to look at him, "I think a lot of kids are…"
"Yeah, but I mean I would scream bloody murder if left in the dark."
"Aww…"
"Yeah, every night my mom would say the same thing before she left my room…" he said sheepishly.
"And what was that?"
"'Though my soul may set in darkness,
It will rise in perfect light.
I have loved the stars too fondly,
To be fearful of the night.' Sarah Williams wrote that…and then on top of it, because she knew I was afraid, even with the nightlight sometimes, she bought those glow-in-the-dark stars and put them all over my room, and they would glow until I fell asleep usually…"
Sydney could feel the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She leaned her hands on the counter and then moved; Vaughn watching as her fingers skimmed along the cool marble surface of the countertop until her hand disappeared, snagging on the corner of the wall and then she was on his side, smiling gently.
He turned to smile back at her, but she caught him before he did, kissing him on the cheek before making him move the stool backward. She straddled his lap and wedged herself between him and the counter, her lower back pressing into the hard surface.
Her arms came to rest on his shoulders, her hands linking behind his head, splaying on his neck, her thumbs playing with the hair at the base of his neck.
His hands rested on her sides, just above her hips in the spot that seemed made to fit his hands, the grooves perfectly matched for him. He pulled her closer as she said, "I love you," both looking into the pair of eyes that warmed their souls.
"I love you too," he replied, his eyes softening even more in love.
"I don't think I really understood what my mother meant when she told me that, not until I was older," he admitted, "It was just the comfort that she said it every night. It made me feel better, safe…like the darkness couldn't have me…"
"Then it did what it was supposed to," she said.
"You do that…"
"What?"
"Make me feel safe…Make the darkness go away…"
"Vaughn…" she started, but he stopped her when he continued.
"You know…I don't love you because you're beautiful, even though you are. And I don't love you because you're the smartest person I know, even though you are. I don't love you because you're always there for me, even though you are. I definitely don't love you because you're great in bed, although God knows you are," he said with a grin, "I certainly don't love you because you're stubborn, although you are…I don't
love you because your great at your job or because you're the most loving person in the world or because you don't charge rent…"
She laughed as he continued.
"I don't love you because you're a wonderful friend, and I certainly don't love you because my mother adores you even more than I think she does me…" he smiled, "I don't love you because you yell at doctors and don't let anyone hurt me…I don't love you because you put up with my myriad of moods. I don't love you because you wouldn't let me go…"
"Even though you're all those things…that's not why I love you…do you want to know why I love you?"
She nodded through tears that were rapidly spilling over.
"I love you because you always play with my hair. I love you because you always hold my hand and you remember to bring my baseball hats and you make sure that I get to wear shoes. I love you because you get excited about Finding Nemo and MacGyver. I love you because you always add more hot water so we can stay in the tub longer, and you'll get up at three in the morning to shower with me. I love you because you always tuck your hair behind your ear and look down when someone compliments you. I love you because you bring me my toothbrush at night and because you sing when you're folding clothes and you think no one is listening. I love you because you yell at the people on screen in movies and you jump and grab my arm when something scares you. I love how you'll repel from a helicopter into a terrorist cell but Barney the big purple dinosaur creeps you out."
"Hi is evil," she said nodding, and wiping away tears.
"I love you because you can withstand torture but you need band-aids for your paper cuts. I love you because you can break codes that are impossible to break, but you can't program your VCR. I love you because you slip Donovan treats when you think I'm not looking. I love you because your eyes light up like you're five when someone gives you a present. I love you because you'll let me veer from nutrition to have a beer and you'll eat pizza like a college buddy but you won't admit that you secretly love it more than your nutritious foods. I love you because when I'm with you I feel like I can do anything and when I'm not with you I can't stand to be away. It hurts to be away from you. I can't think of being anywhere else. I love you because you make me feel like a better person than I was before I knew you. I love you for all the little things that no one else knows. I love you because you make me feel like I belong to someone and that I can be myself. I love you with everything that I am and I love you because I know you love me back."
She hugged him fiercely, her head falling on his shoulder, her forehead pressed into his neck as the tears streamed down onto his shirt. "Vaughn," she choked out.
He held onto her, running his hand over her head, "You don't have to say anything…"
She shook her head from her perch on his shoulder, "I don't think I could anyway…I don't have the words…"
"How about just three?" he said quietly.
She pushed back from him and looked at him through her tear-stained eyes. "I love you Michael."
He smiled, "Four, even better – see you just outdid me there…damn you."
She chuckled, "I don't think that outdid your whole speech there."
"Mmm…I don't think you understand the power of the first name calling."
She laughed again, "Gets ya huh?"
"Well let's just say if I'd know that poetry made you a pile of mush, I would have done it long ago."
"Your poetry there was better than anything you read in that book," she said looking down, her fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt.
He looked down to watch her fingers dance over the fabric.
"Thank you," she added, looking back up at him.
"You're welcome. It's all true."
She smiled, "You know…we really should do something about Barney…he is evil, I know it Vaughn…I mean he sings too…"
Vaughn smirked, "I'll get right on that."
"Thanks…my guardian angel…that's why I love you."
"You did it again…"
"What?" she asked.
"Outdid me…"
She laughed."
"And I certainly don't love you because you do that…" he said smiling.
"Yeah you'll put up with it cause you're stuck with me…"
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
She leaned forward and captured his mouth, the fingers of her right hand still playing with the buttons while the left became tangled in his hair, her nails tickling his scalp in the way that made him tingle all over. She was intoxicating in everything she did and Vaughn scarcely heard the front door open; he was too lost in the world that was all Sydney.
Francie walked in and smirked, holding the door for Will as he lugged a box in the house. He dropped in loudly, making Vaughn jump, and ending his sensory loss in Sydney-ville.
"Jesus Christ, ya know, I'm lugging this huge ass box around for you guys and what are you doing? AGAIN? Sex lessons," he said shaking his head. "I'm not sure why it surprises me anymore."
Sydney giggled as Francie smiled, "He's just jealous."
Sydney kissed Vaughn quickly a few more times, her hand lingering on his cheek before she moved off of his lap.
"You know I really don't love you because you have a friend that constantly prevents me from getting laid."
Sydney laughed loudly.
"What?" Will asked.
"Nothing," Vaughn said waving him off, "It's just I have all these wonderful lessons planned out in my head, and then when you come in, they just go right out the window."
Sydney chuckled as Will started to laugh, but then she stopped, "Wait…how come I never get to hear these?"
"Well by the time I can put them back into action, that moment is over."
Sydney pouted, "Damnit Will!"
"OH COME ON!" he said grabbing a beer from the fridge.
