Thou art the pilgrim's path, the blind man's eye,
The dead man's life. On thee my hopes rely…
– Excerpt from a poem by
John Wilmot
-----------------------------------
Chapter Ten:
A Kiss Good Night…
With Milo's words ringing in my ears, I make my way back into the kitchen. I hear a pencil scratching against paper – Cicily at the table doing her homework – and a knife slicing through – hmm, some sort of vegetable – the steel blade taps against a wooden cutting board... I wonder what Beth is making for dinner.
"Chicken Cacciatore," she answers my unasked question in an absent sort of way.
One of these days I'm going to ask her how she does that… however, as her tone is still just a little chilly, so I turn my attention towards the table, "How's the homework coming?" I ask Cicily.
The child lets out the sort of sigh that only an exasperated child can make – I manage to keep my snicker to myself (mostly because I remember making that sound a time or two myself – Cicily and I, it seems, have something in common. Math was always my Achilles heel as well – although I can "add big numbers without getting all mixed up.") I'm just contemplating the wisdom of offering my assistance when...
"Why don't you take that out to the garden to finish up," Beth says to her daughter.
Ut-oh. This bodes not well...
I listen to Cicily scoop her work up and head out the door; I take a seat at the table and light up a cigarette.
"Coffee?" Beth asks me.
"Love some."
"Your friend gone?"
I just nod – unlike me, Beth can still see simple body language.
"When will he be back – do you know?"
"He's going to call me in a couple of days. So – I should be out of your hair real soon." Which of course, should make her happy. Only it doesn't seem to.
Beth sets the cup down by my left hand – I can feel the warmth of the liquid inside through the ceramic. It seems to be the only warm thing in this room right now. "Handle's at seven," she tells me.
"Thank you." And then there is silence. Hmmm…. "I can leave sooner if you need me to," I offer tentatively; I'm sure I could persuade Milo to get me checked into an out of the way motel somewhere – all things considered, it might be better than staying here...
"I told you, you can stay as long as you like."
What the Hell is that in her tone…? Fuck, I am just not a people person. Thinking back on it, I honestly don't know how Holly and I made it through a whole summer together… granted, that was sixteen years ago… "Would you just tell me what's wrong so I can address it already?" I suppose my tone is a little sharper than it needs to be… "You've got me dancing on razor blades and I don't like it – if you want me out, just fucking say so."
"I don't mean to put you – on razor blades," she tells me. "And – if I'd wanted you out, I would have said so."
"So what is it?"
I hear her sigh – she's probably shaking her head – maybe folding her arms across her chest... "It's nothing, Sands," she says at last
Don't tell me she finally went and ratted me out to someone…? Fuck me if that wouldn't be timing… "It isn't nothing. Come on – don't leave me guessing here, Beth. I tend to jump to all the worst conclusions."
More silence. I drink my coffee. She can't have finally done it... she wouldn't... she couldn't... not my angel...
Finally – and not a moment too soon because I think I am less than ten seconds away from seriously loosing it – Beth finds her voice again: "I – have something for you. A bunch of somethings, really."
"You – have something – for me?"
"I'm not sure you're going to like it – and don't go getting all paranoid on me."
I can't stopthe small smile from forming on my lips– she knows me too darned well. "So what is it then?"
I listen – it sounds like she's lifting a box onto the table in front of me.
"I hope you didn't wrap it – because let me tell you, the effort would be a big waste."
Her chuckle is soft, "No. It isn't wrapped – it's just a plain cardboard box. Reach in and feel around."
"Nothing's going to bite me is it?" I'm mostly teasing…
"Only thing that bites around here is me."
"Oh really, now, Darlin'?" And I start to feel the comfort returning…
She just laughs, "Just – feel."
Playfully, I grope in her direction – I'm not particularly surprised when she directs my hand back towards the box, rather loudly clearing her throat.
"Hey, you didn't say what you wanted me feel up."
And I know she's shaking her head at me…
I reach into the box… my hand wraps around the folded up cane – I don't know why it's so easy to identify, but it is… and at least I know why she was so pensive. She knows how I'm going to react to this.
"I know you don't like to admit it, but you're going to need that," she tells me. "And the sooner you start learning how to use it the better."
Well… She's right. I don't like it.
And she's right about that other thing too. I'm going to need it to navigate the big ugly world… still – it could end up giving an advantage in the long run. People have a way of ignoring the handicapped – a way of discounting the abilities of the blind… kind of like the way the guys I work with down here always assuming that just because I never spoke Spanish around them, I didn't know their language at all. Truth is I speak several languages quite fluently – and Spanish is the first one I learned, thank you La Senora Whipple, high school Spanish teacher extraordinaire.
"There is more," Beth tells me.
All right – I set the cane aside for the moment. The next thing my hands come to – glasses?
"They're just as dark as the ones you have on – but feel the arms," she tells me.
I do – the arms curl at the ends, to fit snugly around the ears. The lenses are curved, too – offering better protection from nosey onlookers. I smile. "Thank you," I tell her. And I realize that this woman has been the recipient of more sincerity out of me than just about anyone I know.
Her voice is soft – sweet. "Keep going – you're not done yet."
"There's more?"
"There's more."
This is better than Christmas… I feel around – a bottle of …decidedly masculine shampoo. "What, no more vanilla and flowers?" I tease her.
"I was in town anyway, and I thought you like something a little less girly."
I have to admit – I like the scent of this new stuff. I wonder if she took a whiff of my cologne to get an idea of what I like. (Musk and sandalwood, in case you were wondering.) "It is a bit of an improvement, yes," I tell her.
"There's still more," she says to me.
I reach into the box and fish out… a cloth …blind fold (like some people use to keep the light out of their eyes.) I hold it up by one finger, "Kinky – I didn't know you were into bondage and blindfolds," I favour her with my very best lascivious grin
"It's for you – for sleeping," she tells me in a mildly exasperated tone – but I can hear the smile behind it. "And this," she places something new in my hands, "Is a talking clock. Press this button –" she directs my fingers to a large square button… I like the way her hands feels on mine...
"Cinco y doce," announces a tinny mechanical voice.
"Spanish language was all I could find," Beth apologizes.
"That's all right, I'm perfectly proficient."
"It has an alarm feature – here," she shows me how to work the alarm. It's pretty basic, really...
"You really are an angel, Beth." My angel.
She just laughs and tells me that there's still more.
I find… a book – a very big book with a heavy spiral binding. "I'm not sure how much use I'm going to be able to make out of this, Sugar Butt."
"Open it."
I lay thing flat in front of me, mindful of my coffee cup and flip it open.
"Touch. The page." Beth adds with an audible grin.
I snicker back at her – but I let my hand slide over the page – raised bumps. "Braille?"
"Very good. That's the alphabet," she says.
And then… I hear her moving – the jingle of bangles – the rustle of fabric (I picture her in this long flowey skirt) – and she's standing behind me, leaning right over my shoulder. She puts her hand over mine – and I can't fucking breathe. Her fingers guide mine over the first set of bumps. Her breath is warm and moist in my ear… "A. B. C. D…" and so on… "The next few pages are your basic Dick and Jane stories – with the words printed so I can help you learn to read."
And for the second time today I'm utterly speechless – I'm not quite sure if it's her very close proximity – or just… let's just say that I'm not real used to people being nice to me. It's not something I go home and cry over – I'm not a nice guy. I don't expect anyone to go out of their way for me – quit to the contrary, I'm rather used to people going out of their way to make my life more difficult. But before my inability to respond makes me feel any more awkward, she places something else into my hands...
"What's this?" I ask. It's about the size and heft of my Beretta – and it has a kind of gun-like handle – but it's no firearm…
"It's a labeler that makes tags in Braille – I can show you how to use it. It'll help make your life a little easier – once you're back home. You can even get a Braille type writer and there are all kinds of voice programs for computers now."
"I wish I knew what to say – Beth – I –"
I can almost hear her smile, "De nada, Cowboy."
She gets up and – seems to be going back about the business of fixing dinner…
I go over the Braille alphabet a couple more times – and as I'm putting everything back into the box, my hand slides up against something else… I lift it out… feels like… a jewel case? Like for a CD. "What's this?"
Beth turns – again, I hear the jingle and rustle, "Oh – nothing." Her tone is very odd.
"Well it must be something – I can feel it," I favour her with a smile as I try to figure out what she's up to.
"It's just – something – so you don't forget your favourite nurse, when you're back stateside."
"So what is it?"
"Nothing."
"Beth – give me a break already. I can tell it's a CD case – what's in it?"
"I told you I used to be a musician. It's just – something I did with the girls – about a million years ago. It's not the best quality recording –"
"You're on a CD?"
"With three other women," she insists, hastily.
"But – this thing was for sale somewhere, right?"
She chuckles, "We sold about a thousand copies – unfortunately I let the girls talk me into being in the picture with them – that's how Neal found me – a friend of his saw it somewhere. It didn't take him long to track me down after that. So I ran – and ended up here."
"Is your picture on this copy?"
"It's not the best –"
"Which one are you?"
"What?"
"Come on – when people ask me where I got that it, I want to be able to point you out to them."
"Sands –"
"Come on – fess up – which one is you – and no fair lying to the blind man," I warn her. "If I think you're not telling me the truth, I will not hesitate to ask Cicily to confirm your story."
She's giggling, "Ok – ok – there are four women, standing shoulder to shoulder, and I am on the far left. I'm the only bond – and I'm wearing a blue bodice."
"Bodice?" Oh the images that creates in my mind…
"Bodice," she repeats the word. "You know, nice snug thing that laces up in all the right places – does wonders for your posture but is Hell in hotter than seventy degree weather."
"Ok – now I gotta hear this – where's the CD player?"
"It's probably not even your taste in music –"
"It's got you singing, right?"
"We all sing – but yes – I there are a couple of songs where I'm singing lead."
"Than it's my taste – CD player."
She sighs – I think she's beginning to regret this – but I'm having fun.
"Take my arm," Beth says. "And use the cane – you might as well start getting the hang of it."
I'm not going to let anything ruin my good mood – so without any fuss at all, I unfold the thing – and take a couple of experimental swipes through the air with it.
I hear Beth jump out of the way, "That is not a weapon, Sands!" she yelps at me.
"Everything is a weapon, Darlin'." And I begin wondering where I can get something custom made…
She just sighs, "Place the end on the floor – nice easy sweeping motions. Not that far – gently!" She warns as I tap rather hard into the wall. "And not so fast – the idea is to actually feel your way as you go."
"Right."
I already have a fairly good idea of the layout of her living room – but I have to admit, using the cane helps me avoid that stupid footstool that always jumps out and kicks me in the shins.
"Ok – CD player is right in front of you – set the cane aside – two steps – now – tap the thingy to open it."
"Thingy, Sugar Butt?"
"Sorry," her blush is audible. "The – door. You know, where the CD goes in."
I feel around – finding the door isn't particularly difficult – one light tap and it slides open. I set the disk into onto the – hmm, what do you call that thing? Well, at any rate, I'm sure you know how to work a CD player. "Ok now what?"
"If you push play – first button to the left, it'll close and start playing. But – I should warn you – the last three 'bonus tracks' at the end that are a little risqué – well – probably not by your standards."
"And just what, my dear, do you think my standards are?" I ask with a wicked grin – because no matter how tame her version of risqué turns out to be, I think my image of Beth is about to be altered…
"If you reach down by your feet – bottom shelf there – you'll find a set of head phones – do me a favour and use them."
"Could I have some help plugging them in – in my current state, I might hit the wrong hole – and in my experience that can make a lady just a wee bit cranky."
And that, ladies and gentlemen, gets me hit. At least she hits the good arm – and I get the feeling she could have socked me a lot harder if she'd wanted to… I feign great pain and suffering anyway. "What was that for?"
"You know perfectly well what that was for, Officer Sands," her blush (and smile) are audible.
However, she does plug in the headphones before extracting herself from the room in what I think I'm supposed to believe is a huff. I doubt she thinks she's fooling anyone.
Chuckling merrily to myself, I park my butt on the floor and find the button on the CD player that will skip through the songs – the first thing I want to hear are these risqué tunes…
I must tell you that after listening to the rather – umm – precise language in a little ditty called the Bastard King of England, I have quite a new prospective on my sweet little angel. The accompanying mental image includes a blue bodice that I'm very sure is very snug and good for improving more than just her posture… (some of my favourite flicks have been period pieces… yours truly is rather fond of the look of snug garments that lace up to show off a woman's best assets. The fact that the skirts are long doesn't bother me – in fact, there is something extraordinarily sexyabout a woman revealing just the right amount of flesh… give me a girl in a pair of tight blue jeans and a cotton blouse buttoned down to reveal the just top of the mound of her breast…one more thing I'm never going to see… but… I wonder what a bodiced body would feel like…)
However, because Cicily is present at the dinner table, I refrain from asking Beth if she still has that bodice of hers lying around somewhere… not that I have any doubts that such a request would get me slapped.
After the evening meal, I help with the dishes (I'm rather glad Milo isn't around at this point – I don't need him making any more clever suggestions to me. I'm just being a good houseguest – and – maybe I am a little too comfortable around her… but it's not like we're playing house. I'm nothing more to her than a patient. In a few days I'll be gone and Beth can resume the normal life I'm sure she's anxious to get back to…)
After we've cleaned up the kitchen, Cicily follows me into the bedroom – and crawls up into the bed with me so we can continue with Peter Pan. I've become almost accustomed to having the child sitting next to me – although I never quite know what to do when she does that snuggle thing. Fortunately, Cicily seems to understand my discomfort and makes no issue of it – she just tucks my arm around her shoulders and reads – and seems perfectly happy. Strange, strange women in this family…
I lean back against the headboard and listen as the story unfolds in a way I never thought a story could… when I was growing up, it was me reading to Alison – Mom just didn't have the time.
… "All right, time for bed," Beth calls to Cicily from the doorway, some while later.
"Aww, we were just getting to a good part," she complains.
"Now – do as your mother says," I tell her in a gentle tone. One must be gentle with children… and as more pieces of the puzzle of Beth's past fall into place – I get the feeling that Cicily has seen enough dis-quiet in her life. One thing I do remember about being a child: children are clever. They hear a lot more than we adults give them credit for. I knew all about my parents' problems, long before my old man split – and even though my mother never told me, I know he left us for his secretary. Yeah, I know, how fucking stereo typical can you get, right? He is truly a man without imagination.
"Since you're feeling better – will you tuck me in?" Cicily asks me, unexpectedly. She has not made such a request before – nor has she even hinted at it. I think my momentary panic must be showing…
"Cicily – Senor Sands is a guest here. A patient," Beth is quick to my rescue.
"He can be a friend and a patient."
"Cicily –"
I manage to recover my wits, "I don't mind," I say quietly – and… I guess I really don't. I mean – how hard can it be? – you shove the blanket around the kid and say something cute about nocturnal insects not gnawing them to death in their sleep...
Christ on a crutch – I'm kidding ok? Remember, it was me taking care of my little sister when we were kids. Mom was always working late, so it fell to me to make sure Alison got her homework done, that she'd packed a lunch for school (and that butter between two pieces of bread did not constitute a real sandwich). I made sure she had clean cloths for morning and that she brushed her hair and teeth before bed – and I tucked her in almost every night for quite a few years without leaving any gaping emotional scars. Sheesh.
Cicily – as you might imagine – doesn't give her mother the chance to put the kibosh on my willingness – she jumps up and grabs my hand and I have to remind her that I'm only a little better, not all better.
"Sorry."
"That's ok – just take it easy with me," I smile down at her.
Walking at a more sedate pace, Cicily leads the way to her room; Beth brings up the rear, and I hope it's just in case I need an emergency rescue. I'd like to think that I've earned at least a little trust. I may not like kids, but I really don't eat small children for breakfast…
I listen as Cicily brushes her teeth and then her hair – then she takes my hand again and leads me to her bed. After she's crawled in, I find the covers and pull them up just under her chin.
It's only when a pair of tiny arms reach up and pull me down into a hug that I feel helplessly out of my depth… and off balance… those gunshot wounds in my thighs are less than two weeks old, people. (And I'm more than just a little worried about the glasses slipping off the edge of my nose, as I have yet to switch them for the new ones Beth got for me.) I fumble the glasses back into place with one hand and try to catch myself with the other – without falling onto Cicily in the process...
Fortunately, Beth is quick with that rescue, helping me get my balance back.
"Sorry," Cicily squeaks.
"It's ok," I tell her – mostly I'm just – I just don't know quite what to do when a child likes me. "You just have to remember – I can't see and my balance isn't so good these days. Getting better takes time."
"I'm glad you're getting better here."
Swell – they can both render me speechless…
"Good night, Senor Sands," Cicily says then, as I begin to make my egress.
"Good night, Cicily," I manage what I think is an age-appropriate friendly smile.
Wordless, Beth guides me back to my room… "Thank you," she says at the thresh hold.
"For?"
"It doesn't take a genius to tell you're a little out of your element when it comes to children. I appreciate your humouring her."
I shrug, "De nada."
Beth chuckles.
I imagine how pretty her smile must be... "Where did you come up with the name Cicily?" I ask. I don't know if it's true curiosity – or that I'm just not ready to say good night to her.
"It's – kind of ironic."
"Oh?" I nod towards the bedroom – the hand on my arm seems to nudge forward – yes, she'll follow me… we sit down on the bed – I lean up against the head board and I feel Beth recline next to me, her head (propped up on one elbow) at my feet. Now there is a very brave woman, folks…
I drape my arm over her legs. They're smooth – her skin is soft to my touch – her feet are bare (and apparently not as ticklish as her jaw)… and I was right, she's wearing a long silk skirt… "So how is it ironic?" I ask after we've gotten ourselves comfortably arranged.
"My cousin moved to a little town called Cicely – with an 'e' instead of two 'i's' – fifteen years ago, now, I think. It was named for one of its founding mothers. Anyway, when Maggie told me the story – I thought it was one of the prettiest names I'd ever heard. So when I got pregnant – I knew that's what I wanted to name my daughter."
"What if you'd had a son?"
"Devlin – after my grandfather. Neal didn't like either name – but I managed to get the forms filled out while he was out 'celebrating' with his brothers."
And the more I hear about this Neal, the less I like him… still, "It doesn't sound like a very ironic story."
"It only got ironic when you showed up."
"Oh?"
"St. Cicily is the patron saint of musicians. And blind men."
And once again – though I don't have eyelids, I just want to blink – because I can't think of any other response. Or at least none that I think I want to share…
"I guess that must sound – almost a little crazy," Beth says –she sounds nervous.
"No – I'm just afraid you'd take it the wrong way if I told you – what – a – what that kind of irony – that reminds me of."
"Try me."
Hmmm… "Make you a deal."
"What kind of deal?"
"I asked you a question earlier that you refused to answer. You answer me and I'll answer you."
"Sands –"
I can tell by her tone that I've crossed over into dangerous territory… not the kind of dangerous territory I was in when I grabbed her… no, this is different. I'm not sure different how… but… I know the water is murky here… "Yes or no," I tell her. "And no hard feelings either way."
I hear her take a long breath – and let it out again, slowly. "Will you go first?" she asks.
"You are really determined to make me trust you, aren't you?"
Beth laughs, "That wasn't actually my intent – but yes, I am."
"All right. You just have promise me you won't take this the wrong way."
"Scout's honour," she says – she's smiling.
"Not good enough," I tell her – I'm grinning… but….
Beth sits up, pulling her legs away from me– although now she's sitting with her butt up against my legs, so it's not such a bad trade… "All right. Serious. On my mother's womb, I will endeavour not misconstrue whatever it is you're going to say."
"Ooh – big words," I tease her. (Ok, I'm stalling. You know it. I know it. She knows it.)
"Very funny. Out with it – or the deal's off."
"There are times when you remind me just a little bit of my daughter's mother," I spit it out as quickly as I can.
Silence.
"You promised –"
"The good times or the bad ones?"
"Darlin' – the only good times were between the sheets – the bad times were all the rest."
"So I take it I remind you of the bad times."
I am fairly certain she's smiling… but damn, her tone is hard to interpret. "That's not what I meant. Holly would love that CD you gave me – although I have no plans to share it with her or anyone else. She believes in stuff like Karma – providence – and she'd probably like you – although I'm afraid to think what she'd tell you about me."
"For someone who was a part of your life so long ago, she still seems to mean an awful lot to you," there's that tone again… or one of them. It's – soft. Sad? Thoughtful? It's almost as if Beth is talking as much to herself as to me.
I shrug, "She mothered my child. Even if it took her four years to get around to telling me about it – that still has to count for something."
"Do you ever think of getting in touch with them? Especially now –"
Great – either she's been talking to Milo – or they have both come up with the same idiotic notion, independent of one another. I tell her the same thing I told him.
At least her response is completely different, "Sands – maybe the best thing you did for Holly was to stay out of her life – but what about Emma? Don't you think she deserves to know you? You're her father."
I almost laugh, "You have got to be kidding. You don't have to know me any better than you do to know that answer to that."
"I just know that having Cicily to love – having her love me – that was the only thing that got me through the darkest parts of my life. There is nothing more precious to a parent than their child."
"Which is why mine'll never know me."
"You're making a mistake."
And for half a second I'm pissed. Really pissed… I count silently to ten. "You don't know me," I finally tell her – my temper is only just barely reigned in… the subject of Emma will always be a sorepoint – or does Beth actually think I like it that I've never even seen my own kid, not face to face… And I neverwillsee her... Holly can send me pictures of Em 'til the cows come home, it just won't matter… and I haven't even seen the last three years' worth of them… because I didn't bother to get my frigging mail forwarded...
"I'm sorry. I know – I overstep my bounds. That's why Neal hit me."
"Oh no you don't," I say to her – and I'm pissed all over again, but for entirely different reasons.
"What?" I can hear just how startled she is by the vehemence in my tone.
"Don't you dare pin on me what that creep did to you. I may not be a nice guy – in fact I'm a lot bigger creep than he could ever be – but – " but I can't say I've never hit a woman – I can only say that I've never hit a woman who was a part of my personal life. The things I've done as a part of the job just don't count.
"Oh – Sands – no – I didn't mean it like! All men are not the same. I know that. I just mean that I know – I – say too much sometimes. And I know that's what got me hit. But – I know that you are nothing like my husband."
"Fine. But don't you dare blame yourself for him hitting you, either." I tell her – it has not escaped my notice that she did not shove an 'ex' in front of that husband… so I was right. She just ran. That's ok… widows get benefits.
"But it is my fault. Neal wasn't the first person who ever – told me to just keep my mouth shut, mind my own business. I just never – learned – and – I thought – he'd known me when we were kids. I thought – he was different – but he – just wanted me to 'love, honour and obey – and when I couldn't – I guess he was willing to settle for fear, honour and obey."
"Beth – it is not your fault some guy used you for a punching bag. I don't care what you said to him – what he did was wrong." I reach out for her – and I'm almost surprised when she grabs hold my hands and squeezes tight. My hands, hands that are covered in so much blood… no, that's not a guilty conscious nagging at me (believe me, I look forward to meeting up with this Neal in a cold dark alley some day.) It's just – that these hands have hurt so many people – and now someone is holding on to them for comfort… it's just weird.
"You know – it wasn't even the bruises that hurt – it was – I just – I never felt like I was good enough – I didn't think I could ever be good enough. And that's all I ever wanted – just to – be good enough. Just to – to do the right thing – to help people. To make someone happy. And – I've just never been able to get it right."
I give a gentle tug and bring her closer – I really don't know what to do in the face of this kind of emotional avalanche – but I remember how good it felt when she held me in her arms… And she's not really crying – just – sniffling a little, so it's not so hard to be too close. I let my hands play in her hair…
"I'm sorry," Beth shifts away from after a while. "You probably – have – "
"Shhh," I cut her off – I have no idea what she was about to say, but… it doesn't matter. "Just think of this as – me returning the favour for you sitting with me last night – and the before that – and the night before that – get my drift, Darlin'?"
A very small laugh escapes her throat, "Fair enough Cowboy.But please – do me one favour – think about what I said before – about your daughter. Just think about it – that's all," she says quickly, as I open my mouth to protest. "My gut keeps telling me that you need each other – and – my gut is usually right."
I suppose there's no harm in telling her I'll think about it – so I nod. Then, "I just hope you don't think you're getting out of your end of the bargain."
"I made a deal. I just don't know if you're going to like the answer."
"Like I said – try me."
"You're more than the sum of your parts, Sands – you're – more than what was taken," she brushes a soft fingertip under the glasses, across the bridge of my nose – then right across each eyebrow, as if to prove to me that she really isn't bothered by she knows is there – or more to the point, what's not there. "You're more than – finely sculpted cheek bones or a firm jaw," her fingers caress my cheek and jaw – and I am finding it exceedingly difficult to breathe… "You're more than ears – more than a nose – more than lips. More than finger tips, more than hands," she takes my hand into hers and I feel the feather light touch of her fingers brushing over my palm, tracing out the deeply etched lines. "You're more than your past. When I look at you – I see – so much more than what's been lost." Beth lifts her hand to my face and brushes her finger tips along my cheek, as high up as she can without actually touching the healing tissue… "I have seen far scarier things in my life than what you keep hidden behind those dark glasses, of yours Sands," Beth tells me again.
And this time – I really believe her… "It's Sheldon," I say – and I can honestly tell you that I have no idea why I've just invited this woman to use my first name…
"Sheldon," she repeats it softly - and like the way it sounds. "It's getting late," she says, easing herself up from my side. "You should probably get some sleep."
"Yeah," I don't really know what else to do but agree…
Then Beth leans over and brushes her lips across my cheek… and I never would have thought a kiss on the cheek could be so sensual.
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I hold my breath as this life starts to take its toll
I hide behind a smile as this perfect plan unfolds
But oh, God, I feel I've been lied to
Lost all faith in the things I have achieved
And I
I've woken now to find myself
In the shadows of all I have created
I'm longing to be lost in you
(away from this place I have made)
Won't you take me away from me
Crawling through this world as disease flows through my veins
I look into myself, but my own heart has been changed
I can't go on like this
I loathe all I've become
I've woken now to find myself
In the shadows of all I have created
I'm longing to be lost in you
(away from this place I have made)
Won't you take me away from me
Lost in a dying world I reach for something more
I have grown so weary of this lie I live
I've woken now to find myself
In the shadows of all I have created
I'm longing to be lost in you
(away from this place I have made)
Won't you take me away from me
Evanescence
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Author's notes:
More Depp movie references: The movie Libertine is (supposedly) due outlater this month (I have yet to see any adverts for it); in it, Johnny Depp plays the role of debauched poet John Wilmot.
And, yes… if anyone catches it, there is a tiny bit of cross over madness in this chapter… two reasons, the first of which is that when I was coming up w/ a name for Beth's daughter,"Cicely, Alaska" crossed my mind.So in that respect, my character is truly not lying about from whence the name comes. It was only later, when trying to chose one of the names on the list of possibilities, that I discovered that St. Cicily is the patron saint of musicians and blind men – which of course cinched the deal, so to speak.
Then, I was trying to figure out where on Earth a guy like Sands might go to live "happily ever after" (I hope no one expected me to end it any other way… ok, it crossed my mind, but then I had visions of unhappy readers with tar and feathers… ;) There's a deleted scene inOUaTiM where Sands comments that he would rather be in Alaska… and so… I figured what the heck. Cicely has Maggie O'Connell – and it didn't seem like too much of a stretch to have an O'Connell related to a McKinny… and so that is that story…
And finally, if anyone is really interested (or just plain curious) – and I am going to Warn You Now – the lyricsare um - precise… but here you have it, the Bastard King of England...
Although it's described as a "ballad," I've never heard it sung as anything but an up beat,"pub song." There are slight variations on the lyrics floating around, but the differences arealways minor – literally, a word gets changed here or there, but it doesn't get any cleaner! (My recording of the song happens to be on a CD of favourite pub songs performed by Scott Hendricks, aka Axel the Sot – I mention this because he is an awesome performer and a very gracious man.) Ok, you have been duly warned!
THE BASTARD KING OF ENGLAND
(Traditional English ballad)
Oh, the minstrels sing of an English king
Who lived long years ago,
And he ruled his land with an iron hand,
But his mind was weak and low.
He used to hunt the royal stag
Within the royal wood,
But better than this he loved the bliss
Of pulling his royal pud.
He was dirty and lousy and full of fleas.
His terrible tool hung to his knees.
God save the bastard king of England.
Now the Queen of Spain was an amorous dame,
A sprightly dame was she,
And she longed to fool with his majesty's tool
So far across the sea.
So she sent a royal message
With a royal messenger
Inviting the king to bring his ding
And spend the week with her.
He was dirty and lousy and full of fleas.
And he had his women by twos and threes
God save the bastard king of England.
Now the King ofFrance heard by chance,
And he swore before his court,
"The queen prefers my rival
Just because my prick is short."
So he sent the Duke of Suffering Sap
To slip the queen a dose of clap
To pass it on to the bastard King of England.
He was dirty and lousy and full of fleas.
His terrible tool hung to his knees.
God save the bastard king of England.
When news of this foul, dastardly deed
Reached fair Windsor Hall
The king swore by the royal whore
He'd have the Frenchman's balls.
So he offered half his kingdom
And the hole of Queen Hortense
To any sod who'd bring him the rod
And the nuts of the King of France.
He was dirty and lousy and full of fleas.
And he had his women by twos and threes
God save the bastard king of England.
So the loyal Duke of Essexshire
Betook himself to France.
When he swore he was a fruitier,
The king took down his royal pants.
Around Philip's dong he tied a thong,
Leaped on his horse and galloped along,
Dragging the poor Frenchman
Back to merry England
He was dirty and lousy and full of fleas.
His terrible tool hung down WAY DOWN PAST his knees.
God save the bastard king of England.
Now the King of England saw the sight
And fell in a faint to the floor,
For during the ride, the Frenchman's pride
Had stretched a yard or more.
And all the maids of England
Came down to London town,
And shouted round the battlements,
"To hell with the British crown."
So the Philip France usurped the throne.
His sceptre was his royal bone.
With which he beat the bastard King of England.