my love comes and goes in three parts

8/7/2019 My Love Comes and Goes in Three Parts

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Rewritten - My Love Come. She Come and Go

Well, first I wrote a poem about a girl who came in and out of my life for years. Later I

illustrated the poem with my photos. I took the pictures for you so you could see theimages in my mind when I went through this happy/sad love story. Also if you don’t like

the poem, you may like the photos of Vermont.Then I thought it would be good to write a short story about our first meeting. Then I

decided to send all this out for you to read.

I wrote an explanation of the situation below so you could understand all this better.

An eight year old girl named Patricia tiptoed into my existence when I was nine andhugged me.

Hugged. That is a funny sounding word that doesn’t have much impact. - Big deal? We

touched our bodies together. Then some magic happened. Sure you say, maybe it was

childish silliness but it changed our lives.

Our parents were kind of dysfunctional so for us, in our lonely lives, it was the first timewe experienced love. That had impact.

It was totally innocent. It was not sexual except in the sense that maybe even little kids

have some kind of hazy idea of the feeling of attraction. But neither of us knew anythingabout sex. Later I was to realize that our ignorance made the experience better, far better.

Seeing the world alone is a numbing experience. Suddenly there was someone to share

the world with. I wanted to take her to all my favorite places along the Vermont stream

and show her all the boulders in mid stream on which I had sat alone and watched the sunset. I wanted to show her where we could stand on top of a certain boulder at the top of a

mountain and have a view of the distant winding stream cutting through patchy green

fields of grass and brush cut in jagged pieces by miles of gray stonewalls.

Our innocence did not last forever. When we were teenagers, we were mystified by atotally new expansion of our love. You know what I mean. At some point, our bodies

felt different when they were near each other. As we touched, the world seemed to get

hazy. Our hands suddenly had magic when we touched each other.

I will tell you more about that later perhaps but it is a long story.

We were together constantly until she went to college. My grandfather and parents haddied. I got my grandfather’s life insurance money insurance and I expanded the family

farm. I had thought it would be our farm, hers and mine, there in that countryside that we

loved very much.

I did not understand why she wanted to go away to school when all we ever needed wasright there in Vermont. But she was her own person and she said she wanted to learn

about other places, city things and knowledge of stuff that I thought was second place to

the beauty of nature. She wanted to study astronomy. I loved looking up at the stars butwhy, I thought, do you have to know everything about all about them?

I had to let her go because she was going whether I liked it or not. I did not cry all

through our last night together. Nor did she. But when I hit the bed, I cried like an



abandoned infant. Suddenly, I felt totally alone. Nothing else mattered. I could not

think of any reason to ever get out of bed again. If it hadn’t been for the sounds of

hungry farm animals in the morning, I think I would have just stayed in bed.

And after all, she was coming back. She said she was coming back. She was only downin New Jersey at Princeton.

After she left, the weeks went by and every day was the same. The cows and chickens

don’t celebrate the Sabbath and don’t act any different that day. I worked hard to create a

paradise for her to come home to. I wrote her long letters almost every day trying tosound happy.

But no letters came. I asked her family if she was all right. They said yes. They acted so

sympathetic to me that I could not stand to ask any questions. I was sad most of the time

but also mystified. Maybe she was thrilled by learning new and wonderful things.Maybe (God forbid) she had a boy friend.

Here is one letter I wrote her. It was so important to me at that time that I wrote out a

copy of it before I mailed it. I found it the other day.

Dear Pat,

I don’t know why you haven’t sent me a single letter but I know there must be areason.

I am totally at a loss to figure out why you haven’t written but I know you will

write soon. I try to make excuses for you – for why you haven’t written but none

of them make any sense. I don’t know how to live without you. I want you toknow that whatever it is that you are going through, it is all right. I understand

and know there is some reason. But please write soon.

After five weeks went by, I marveled that I was still able to function. My faith in her

began to falter. Maybe she did not love me.

But life went on. I worked my heart out feeding the cows and pigs, cleaning out thestalls, cutting and bailing the hay. Sometimes I wondered why I was working so hard. If

there was no Pat, there was no life.

A couple of days before Thanksgiving, I was in the barn toward the end of the day. A

cow had just given birth to a calf. She was having a hard time and I helped by pulling atthe legs of the calf to get her out of the birth canal. The cow was on her side. I sat in the

stall in the hay and I pulled and pulled desperately. Time was running out for this poor

calf. Finally I pulled her out and quickly shoved my fingers in the calves mouth and noseto make sure they were clear. I wiped the sack away with my hands. I took a deep

breath. Then I realized I was being watched. It was Pat. I looked up at her leaning onthe gate of the stall.

She smiled and said, “Good job cowboy. You are truly amazing. Now do you haveenough energy to take a bath and make love to a city girl from a high faluttin’ school?”

I wasn’t about to ask her why she didn’t write.

“I don’t need no bath,” I teased looking down at my slimy hands.



“Well I’ll put you in the tub and scrub you down with a scrub brush,” she said.

“My skin is too tender for a brush,” I said.

“I’ll use my gentle hands,” she said and she stared me using the eyes that had sly smiles.

I staggered up from the floor.

No…..right then, I was not about to ask her why she hadn’t written.

I tormented myself thinking that she did not love me. The doubt was always theregnawing like a beaver at the trunk of a tree. I tried to believe her but I caught myself

wondering, imagining the worst. Perhaps there was someone else.

That was the beginning of a new direction in life. She came. She left for a while. She

came back again. She left and didn’t come back for quite a while. But she came again.She left and returned soon. There was no pattern, nothing I could depend on.

I tried to give up counting days. I tried to going out with other girls but I thought of her

the whole night. People would see me mope into town and try to fix me up with their

cousins. But none of them were anything like her. I was stuck forever and I knew it.I vowed that somehow I would be happy.

But I had to figure out how.

She came in and out of my life over the years. She always disappeared and then suddenly(it seemed) appeared when I least expected her. She would knock on the door and when I

opened it, she would rush to kiss me like she had never left.

Whenever she returned, she never explained where she disappeared to or what she was

doing. I would say something general like,"What have you been doin’?” And she wouldsmother my words with passionate kissing. We made love as though it was irrelevant

that she was gone for so long a time. Maybe that is exactly what she wanted me to think.

Where did she go when she left? Was she married? Where did she live? As I plowed or

bailed hay – whatever I was doing, I made up elaborate stories about how maybe she wasa scientist who discovered new medicines?

Maybe she was married and had children? Maybe, she was the CEO of her own

business? Maybe she was an investment banker? Anything was possible. One thing I

knew was she had money, lots of money.

I will tell you how I know she was rich. I had two bad years in a row on the farm. One

year, I was raising thousands of chickens and they just up and died. The vet said it was

some kind of virus. The next year, I decided to concentrate on growing corn. Everything

was great until the end of summer when it rained for two straight weeks at the end of fairly wet summer. The corn rotted on the stalks. My tractor got stuck in mud and I

burned out the engine trying to get it out. I was dead in the water.

I was planning on selling the farm. Then she came at Thanksgiving and as usual left after

a week or so.

Then a while later, I got a call from White River Junction. “Come pick up the new

tractor.”



“What the hell you talking about. You crazy or something?” I hung up on him.

He called back and said he was sorry. He thought I knew. Arrangements were made and

everything was all paid for by my aunt. I didn’t even have an aunt. She sent a check. It

took some convincing but I went to town and sure enough, I had me a new tractor.

I didn’t tell him I didn’t have an aunt. Pat never did admit it but I knew…Even as we got older, it was as though we were teenagers again each time we met.

When she left, I always tried to relive our love - It was like a dream upon awakening that

escapes all the more as you try to remember it. It was so intangible that sometimes I

doubted that her coming back was reality. I decided many times that I would write downeverything we did and what we said so I could read it after she left and know it was

reality. I always started writing but it was useless. I always gave up. I tried to remember

how she kissed….her touch. She took on the aura of an imaginary being – an angel thatdropped out of the sky. Was she even real? Was I insane?

I took out my camera many times to take her picture.

“No photos,” she said, ”You can not grab this moment and store it in a picture for later.”

“I just want to look at your picture when you are gone,” I offered.

“When you look at my picture, I will be no less “gone”. As a matter of fact the picture

will make me seem farther “gone.” Be here now. Can’t you just focus on now withouttrying to save it for later?”

So I never took many pictures. I had no picture of her except our high school yearbook

picture. In that picture, she looked serious and studious.

I wrote a poem about this experience. If you keep reading, you will read the poem. I

wasn’t much of one for fancy poetry or writing poetry. I didn’t like the sing song moon-

in-June fancy stuff. I just wrote in plain English how I felt.I felt better getting it all down on paper so I could look at our story. In the poem, I

portrayed summer time as love time…Warm and alive …. Then when she left, it was

like winter would come.

Cold. The cold changed the landscape of my life. Everything lost its color like when theleaves fall and the ground is covered with white.

Monochrome….. Life went from color to black and white. You look at a picture of a

lush living landscape. And then you see it in the fall. No color. Just gray - Everything

gray and seemingly dead.. Yet you know that underneath that dreary frigid deadness islife that will explode again.

That was what life was like with her. She would appear and the earth would blossom like

when wet dirt fields shove up green grass and colored flowers.

It was then I wanted to ask, ”Why do you go away?”

In the poem, the snow covering the ground made it impossible to remember that Springwas still underneath. She was still there somewhere. She still existed and would come

back.



Then when she showed up at the front door – Let me explain it this way….Did you ever

go through a long Winter and then one day unexpectedly, and it was 65 degrees and

sunny? The air smelled of Spring and you just wanted to scream with joy. That’s how itwas.

So in the poem, to portray the way I could not picture her, I described how all the distinct

shapes of the farm and the country side were covered with a cold blanket of white death.I looked at the landscape but where stone walls had been; there was just smooth rises inthe snow (just little damnable rises.) The streams were frozen over. Life stopped. What

did Spring look like? I couldn't remember. Would Spring ever come again? At least I

knew Spring would always come again but I couldn’t even be sure she would comeagain.

It was like looking at her with clothes on – knowing that underneath was her naked body.

Her bare skin and shapes were hidden under damn clothing. After a while I could not

even picture what she looked like, let alone imagine the stark reality of her naked beauty.It was if my mind was frozen dumb and my memory of her image was blinded by a snow

storm streaked my world with white lines.

There must have been someone in your life that you felt this way about... someone who

had the key to your most inner self... to something deep in your soul. Only that particular person could reach that far into your being and touch you with such intensity.

It was a very, very great thing. But sad in ways.

“It would not always be so,” I always asked myself.

“What if she stopped coming?”

I could not bear the thought that one of us might die. If she did not come, I would wait

forever…Or if something happened to me, she would knock at the door and I would not

be there.Love was for as long as she was there in my arms.

Below you will find the story of our first night. I want to give it to you because I am not

going to read it anymore. I want to read it but it makes me sad….And I have read it again

and again and cried again and again. No more. Please take it and read it and then burn it.

Also after that is the poem that I spent years writing and rewriting. It says what I alreadytold you but it says it like a poem (I hope.)

Our First Night - The Awakening

She was Patricia, the mysterious girl next door.

She was the only child of two very strange parents who lived the lives of recluses. They lived in

a very old sagging faded dilapidated fifty foot trailer overgrown with brush. In back of their

property was the relic, the skeleton of a huge century old Georgian colonial that stood as

testament to the wealth of her mother’s deceased family. They had sold off all but the five acresof a 1200 acre diary farm. They eked out a living growing corn and making moonshine. They

sold whatever they did not drink to the local impoverished native Yankee farmers in the county.



People said they drank a lot and beat their daughter and their animals.

Patricia didn’t go to kindergarten. People said her mother told the school officials she already

knew how to read. Her mother said when she read to Pat, she had the habit of pointing to words

with her finger when she read. Unbeknownst to her mother, Pat had taught herself to read. The

principal didn’t believe it until she brought Pat in to the school. The principal gave her a first

grade book. She read it almost perfectly. The principal said she must be a child prodigy.That fact fascinated me. I lived next to a child prodigy. I wondered what a child prodigy was

like. I really didn’t have much of an idea of what it would be like to be a genius.

Prior to first grade, all I saw of her was a tiny figure in the distance always out working in the

fields. Now and then, I would see her father walk toward her and sometimes, when the wind was

blowing toward our farm, I could hear the faint sound of shouting. One time, I could swear I sawhim slap her head and then I couldn’t see her. Had he slapped her so hard, he knocked her down?

Until I was age 7, I never saw her up close but once. I had gone to the local country store with

my mother. I had just gone to the end of an aisle and turned quickly to walk down the next aisle.

I almost bumped into her. We both jumped back surprised. Then we stood face to face staring

with wonder at each other. Her face had such fine features; she looked just like a doll. Our eyes

seemed locked as we peered into each other as though looking for something. It seemed like wewere both thinking, “So this is what the kid next door looks like….”

I stammered, “I’m sorry…I didn’t see you.”

She said,”That’s OK.” There were a few moments of very loud silence. I had the feeling that we

were both trying to think of something to say.

Then her father’s voice alarmed her, “Patricia, where the hell are you?” She looked embarrassed,

did a quick about face and disappeared.

I dreamed of her. In every dream we always were walking in the fields and the woods.

Something would always happen to me - like I would fall down and cut my leg. She would be

very concerned and look at my wound, put a band aid on me and take care of me. She sat next to

me and read a book without pictures to me. I didn’t listen to the story but I liked her voice. Iremember it sounded like she was singing. Then in every dream, something interrupted whatever

was happening. A voice would call scream her name or my parents would come in the room andshe had to leave. I wanted her to stay. I felt sad when she left.

A while after the meeting in the store, her father pulled a wagon full of corn along the border

between our property.

He over used the whip on the poor old horse. The old nag seemed like she was trying very hard

to maintain a good pace but he snapped the whip now and then anyway. When you grow up with

horses, you can read their faces. I could see terror all over that horse’s face. I hated him.

As the wagon went passed, I saw her on the back of the wagon facing backwards, her legs

hanging off the buck board swinging with the motion of the wagon. Her face turned downward

away from the view of the blue sky and beautiful white thunder head clouds left over from adistant storm. Her long dark brown hair draped down and covered her face. The way her limp

body swayed with the wagon, it almost looked like she was asleep.

Her faded white shirt looked too small. She was very thin. She looked like a rag doll propped up

in the back of the wagon.

She caught a glimpse of me looking at her and almost jumped to kill the slump and sit up straight.

She attempted to smile but she only managed a tired grin. She waved her hand once in a half

circle.



I looked at her, realizing too late to erase the sad look on my face. Nevertheless, I forced a slight

smile and returned the half circle wave.

She shyly and it seemed, sadly turned her head back down toward the dirt road again.

Who was this girl who looked so miserable? What was her life like, I wondered? Was it as bad

as I imagined?

One day in the mid day sun, I saw her raking near the border between out property. I crouched

and snuck up on her.

“Past,” I said, “Com’ere.”

She startled and looked toward her shanty farmhouse in fear.

“I can’t.” she said, “My father watches me and if I stop working, he….I mean I ….get in trouble.”

“Well keep working and we can talk.”

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked.

“I don’t want to talk about anything in particular. I just wanted to say hello… I mean we have

been neighbors all our lives and never even talked. Aren’t we supposed to be friends,” I asked.

“I don’t have time for friends during the day because I am always doin’ chores “ she said. “but

maybe I can meet you someplace sometime when I stop working.”

“What time are you talking about…. and where?.”

“How about tonight – like at 8:00 after my father passes… I mean, falls asleep.”

I pointed to a distant hill. “Follow out fence over there and I will sit down somewhere along the

fence and met you and lead you to my favorite place a bluff overlooking the stream.”

“Okay, “ she said in an anxious voice, “Are there any bears out there?”

“Hardly any,” I replied with a laugh,”But they are as afraid of you as you of them…unless you

mess with their cubs.”

“Isn’t it really dark out there? Do you have a flash light,” she asked.

“Because of daylight saving time, it will still be light. I think there is at least a half moon tonight

even if the sun starts goin’ down”

At 7:55 PM, she came hesitantly down the path looking down now and then like she was afraid

she was going to step on a snake.

“Follow me,” is all I said.

The peak was my favorite spot. The stream passed through miles of pasture. Then the stream hit

rock ledge and carved out a huge swath of earth. Past the rapids was a slow moving wide cut of

deep water that curved through distant woods and pastures to the south. A 20 foot cliff

overlooked the frigid water.

On top of the cliff, I had cleared out a circle of brush and a spot for a camp fire. I made a stone

wall surrounding the area.

I had come there earlier and started a fire. There was one grassy spot to lie down on to look at the

stars. In front of the fireplace, I had made a four foot long bench out of saplings and hay.

“This is so magical,” she said when she got there. “It is like a fairy land.”



I walked in the door and stopped and looked down on her.

“You look sick. Are you all right,” I said bending down to feel her forehead. I added, “I think

you have a fever.”

She pretended to be sick by lying down and letting her arms hang lifelessly at her side. I did

detect a smile on her face as she watched me act out my part.

“I don't feel good. My throat hurts and I have a headache,” she said.

I tried to think of what my mother asked me when I was sick

“Are you dizzy or are you feeling really tired?“ I asked.

“Yeah, first I feel hot and then I feel really cold.”

“You should be resting. I'll put you to bed,” I said.

“Can you carry me to bed, “ she asked.

I spoke in my own voice to indicate I was speaking out of the story and said, “Hey I'm just a kid.

I am really not your father, you know, and I don't think I am strong enough to pick you up.”

“I'm just a skinny girl, “ she objected. “You can pick me up.”“Okay, I'll see if I can,” I responded begrudgingly.

She was fairly light and I was able to pick her up. It helped that she put her arm around my neck

and held on. Still I stumbled with her weight and almost dropped her. Her face was very close to

mine. She looked at me with laughing eyes and a smile, giggling at the difficulty I was having.

“It's not funny,” I said, but I also had a hard time stopping myself from laughing.

I carried her over to the camp fire and laid her down on the straw I had put there.

“I'll tell you a story.” I said but I had no idea what story I would tell her.

“I don't want to lie down, “I want to sit next to you and put my head on your shoulder and you put

your arm in back of me.”“Okay,” I said,” but I don't really have a story to tell you.

“Just say, ‘Once upon a time,’ and then make up something,” she said.

She made it sound like it would be easy so I said, “Once upon a time…..”

I paused.

She waited. She smiled with anticipation as though I was going to spin a fantastic yarn.

I figured it if I opened my mouth maybe words would pop out. I repeated,” Once upon a time”

and then much to my surprise I said,”A boy and a girl lived on farms next to each other. Their

parents made them work really hard and they hated being on their farms. So one day the boy said

to the girl, ’Let's run away.’

She says okay and they packed some of their clothes, and a few knives and forks and pots and

pans and a jack knife and fishing poles and went into the forest.”

Both of them unconsciously assumed that the story was really about themselves but they did not

want to acknowledge it.

“Aren't they going to take some kind of plates and glasses?” she asked.



“Yeah, okay they take plates and glasses… Well make it plastic plates and glasses – They’re

lighter. Anyway when they get in the woods, they’re very happy that they had brought some

bread and peanut butter and they had that for dinner.

“They swam in the stream and the boy showed the girl how to jump off a bluff into the water.”

She looked directly at him and shook her head “no” but did not interrupt him.

“When the night came, it was very, very dark. They were afraid to walk anywhere. It was also a

little cold that night and they heard strange noises of animals moving all around them.”

“How about we … I mean …. they build a log cabin?” she asked.

“First we better build a tree fort or find a cave to live in because it takes a long time to build a logcabin…….”

“I don't like caves,” she said, “They have too many snakes.”

Well, they can make friends with a wolf or a bobcat and he can eat all the snakes,” I said.

We kept going on and on, adding and agreeing on more and more details until we had a fairly

elaborate story.

At one point she asked me,” Do you really want to run away?”

“This story is not about us,” I said.

“Well,” she said,” It is and it isn't….. Don’t you think?”

“Well, in a way,” I said, adding, “It could be about us”

“So do you want to run away?” Pat asked him.

“Sometimes I do. Sometimes I think I would like to sneak on a train and go somewhere –

anywhere. When I get far away and they catch me, maybe I could say I don’t know where my

home is or who my parents were and somebody would adopt me,” I said.

“I don’t think it would work. Your parents would report you missing and the police would match

you with the missing kid,” Pat said.

“I don’t think I would do it anyway but I like to think about it?” he said.

“Why would you want to run away anyway?” she asked.

“I hate this town and I hate my school. It’s hard to make friends … I sort of don’t know what to

say when I talk to other kids …..And the older kids pick on the younger kids. It’s horrible. Like

me – They pick on me.”

“What do they do to you?”

I sighed and answered,” Stupid stuff…. like the take my lunch and everything else I have like my

pencils and paper. They push me around, trip me. The other day, this big kid, Bud tried to push

my head into the toilet bowl.”

“What? Why would they do something like that?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Ya’ never know what they’re going to do. It’s stupid. The horrible thing is they

pick on me more than anyone.”

“Why you?” she asked,

“They think I’m the teacher’s pet. She thinks I’m smart and she has me teach some of the older

kids. They don’t like that. They call me Dumbo.”



“You know you aren’t the first to say that. Alotta people say that.” She smiled and added,”You

won’t hold that against me, will you?”

“No, I kinda like it. .. But what is it like being so smart.”

“Funny… It is kinda funny. Sometimes I say things to people and they look at me funny Then

sometimes they ask, “How old are you, anyway?’ “

I thought about what she said and was pretty sure I would like to be that smart.

I thought for a second looking off in the deep cold darkness and thought of telling her the real

reason I wanted it run away

I didn't want to tell her. My parents were great most of the time but both of them, especially myfather drank too much. It really bothered me when he got one of his angry moods and lost his

temper and argued with my mother and got violent.

I asked,”What about you? Do you ever think of running away?”

She looked at me as though she was going to speak but said nothing. Then after a moment, she

held her finger to her lips as if to say “Quiet.” Then as though very unsure of herself she

asked,”If I tell you a secret, will you promise not to tell anyone ever?”

“Yes I promise.” I said adding, “I like secrets. I am really good at keeping them too.” I thought

to myself – I have a few too.

“Well, I’ve thought of running away too. It's my father. He drinks a lot… a real lot. And my

mother, well she is really nice and all but she’s quiet and hardly goes anywhere, She’s alwayssad. She spends a lot of time in the bedroom sleeping. Something is wrong with her but I don’t

know what. I think it might be because of him but I don’t know.”

I smiled at her as though I was going to laugh. She looked surprised that I smiled.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked angrily.

“Well I just thought it was kind of funny that you are so afraid of telling me that secret and guess

what?”“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Both my parents drink too much, especially my father. I don't mean to laugh, but the whole

situation is funny in a certain sense. It is coincidental that you tell me your secret and it turns out

that I have been hiding the same secret,” I said, adding,”I never told anyone.”

“Are you just making this up?” she asked incredulously.

“No, it’s true. Really. And it not too surprising in this part of the country when you think of it.

My friend’s father always says, ‘In the winter in Vermont there’s so much snow that there is

nothing to do but drink and beat your wife.”

I looked at her. She didn’t laugh. I could tell she was thinking.

“One good thing is that you know what I’m goin’ through and I know what you’re goin’

through,” she said slowly in a serious way.

”I never told anybody about that and I never talked about it with anyone…. Boy, I could tell you

some stories you wouldn't believe,” I said.

“I don't think you could beat my stories,” she said with a knowing certainty.

“My father came home one night and when he pulled the car in the barn, he drove right through a

cow stall and then the outer wall. Killed the poor cow,” I said.



“That ain't nothing,” she said.

I thought of something worse. “He threw an empty bottle at my mother. Fortunately he missed

her but it broke the front window,” I said.

What she said next was a shocker.

“Listen to this one, and please don’t ever tell anyone about this.” Then she hesitated. “Ya know,I don’t know why I am trusting you. My mother told me never to trust anyone, especially a boy.

But there is something about you… I don’t know what it is about you that makes me trust you.”

Again she paused and then said,”One day my father, mother and I got into the truck and went on

that highway toward Hanover. I had to pee but I was afraid to ask him to stop somewhere

because he always got mad at me if I asked him to stop. So I told him that my doll Polly had to

pee. It was dumb but I was younger then and it made sense to me. He started yelling at me that

Polly was just a stupid doll. I started crying. He grabbed Polly by the hair rolled down the front

window and threw her out onto the highway. When he did that, he took his eyes off the road and

went head on into a car with a family in it.”

I cringed. I didn't know what to say.

She continued the story. “My father had a broken arm. My mother and I were okay except for some cuts on our faces. That's how I got the scar here above my lip,” she said pointing her littlefinger to a scar that ran from her lip up to her nose.

A little girl around the same age as me was in the other car. Her body lay on the road like a

bloody pile of rags…..”

She stopped talking. I thought she was going to start crying. I waited. I didn’t know what to say.

After what seemed like a long time, she continued, “Her sister was injured too. Her face and hair

were bloody. She saw her sister’s body. She was crying and screaming like crazy. It was so loudthat I still can’t get it out of my mind.”

She did not seem to be looking in my direction anymore. She stared straight ahead into the

darkness as though the scene was projected in front of her.“Sometimes, in the day out in the fields or at night when I am in bed…It can happen anytime ….

I hear a faint noise. Sometimes it turns out to be some sounds from the radio or a squeaky door

but to me I think it is the screaming …a tiny young girl far away shrieking in horror.

“I have dreams and I see the pile of bloody rags again and again and hear the shrieking. I wake

up and my heart is pounding. I tell myself that it is over, not here and now anymore… it is gone.

Gradually my heart slows and I breathe without fear but I know that it is not gone. It will come

back…. Again and again.”

Again she was silent looking out at the darkest part of the sky. Her eyes were open wide but tears

dripped down her face. She ignored the tears. I wanted to wipe away the tears but I was afraid of

being so forward and familiar with her

Without lifting her head she said,”All this because of him and his drinking. A little girl was here

on earth and now she is gone.” Then she said as if amazed, “Gone.”

I tried to think of something to say but everything I thought of seemed so empty. What was I

supposed to say? I wasn’t smart like her, I figured

By instinct, I said, “I’m sorry for you.”



She turned toward me like a person waking up from a dream. She attempted to smile when she

said,”That is sweet of you to say that.” Tears continued splashing down onto her dirty threadbare

shirt, mixed with the dust and turned the white shirt brown where the drops fell.

I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to ask about but I said,”Didn’t your father get arrested?”

”He should have been,” she said emphatically,” but he was taken away in the ambulance. The

police hardly saw him. It turned out he had only minor injuries. When they asked him whathappened, he said he dropped a cigarette in his lap and took his eyes off the road trying to grab it.

The police believed him.

Then she looked right into my eyes, “And he is not my father, not my real father. He is my

stepfather. Thank God I am not related to him…..That’s why I look oriental?”

“Yes, “ I said, “You look kinda’ cool. I kinda’ like the oriental look you have.”

“Well this oriental look sure ain’t from my mother or step father.”

“Where is your father?” I said, wondering if that was too personal a question.

“If I told you, you would laugh, “ she answered

“Why?” I asked?

”Because he is on the other side of the world. He’s in China, a world away. He was the son of a

some big deal rich Chinese guy. He was going to school at Dartmouth. My mother met him at a

bar and went out with him for a long time. When he graduated, he went back to China. Then I

was born.”

“Have you or your mother heard from him?”

“No. My mother said she heard from him until she re-married. He knows I was born. I guesshe’s kind of shy about contacting her now. Maybe, he’s married,” she answered. Then she added

as though bothered by the question or upset about the situation, “I don’t know… Sometimes I

picture him driving up in a fancy car. I get in and he hugs me and takes me away. But it won’t

happen. He’s out of the picture.”

“I’m sorry. I guess it’s none of my business,” I apologized.

“It’s OK. You know all my secrets now.”

She paused. She continued, “Do you believe in fate?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I was sure what she was asking me. I wasn’t sure if she said eight

or bait. I never heard the word “fate before.

“Fate is when something happens that is meant to be. Like God made something happen because

he wanted it to happen.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said apologetically.

“Okay. What I mean is - Isn’t it funny how we got thrown together by chance in this particular

place in Vermont. I mean here I am on one farm and you are right next door. Is that just an

accident? And we seem to be able to talk to each other as though we knew each other for a long

time…. It is as though we were meant to met… and to be together, to be friends. So how werewe lucky enough to meet?”

“That’s true,” I said, “We sure are alike or something. Somehow, I feel like I can talk to you. I

never told anyone about my parents, but with you, I feel like I can say anything.”



“I’ll be careful,” I replied looking at her face. I was nervous that I might cut her too much so I

proceeded very slowly. I held her index finger and moved the tip of the blade across the tip of

her finger slowly…. No blood.

“Does that hurt,” I asked.

“No… Well a little ….but go ahead,” she said, “You can push harder.”

I pushed harder. Suddenly she said, “Ouch.” and jerked her hand away. A drop of blood

appeared and then another.

“Sorry.” I said.

“That’s Okay. I was just startled.”

“My turn I guess,” I said. I held out my finger and I started to move the blade toward it.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she said, “I'll do it. Don't you trust me? Isn't that part of the deal?”

“Yes,” I lied. I was thinking to myself that she probably never held a jack knife before.

I handed her the knife. She took the knife and grabbed it in her palm and held it up like she was

going to suddenly stab at my hand. She stepped menacingly toward me, “Do you want me to get

up over and do it with one quick stab?”

By reflex, I jumped back and then noticed that she was laughing.

“Gotcha back!” she said.

Looking more serious, she took my finger in her little hand and quite efficiently and quickly

made a perfect cut.

“Now we press the tips of our fingers together, right?” she asked, adding, “And then we are

related by blood.”

“Yeah, sure are,” I said.

“Forever?” she asked.

“Forever,” I said positively. I smiled at her but I was afraid I sounded less enthused. She was

into this whole thing more than me, but she fascinated me more and more each minute.

She smiled. We held our hands up in at shoulder height and pressed the tips of our fingers

together and held them together for 10 seconds or so and looked into each other’s faces. She had

a serious look at first but then she smiled as if delighted by our ceremony.

We both stared at our fingers. She looked very intense. I felt a little self conscious but her eyes

captivated me and I could not help but have a slight smile because I was pleased to have some

one who obviously liked me a lot. I liked the idea that I had made her so happy by going along

with her ceremony.

Our eyes met and I saw tears in her eyes that reaffirmed that she was taking this very seriously.

When I realized how sincere she was, it seemed like a feeling went from my stomach up to myhead. I felt like crying also but I'd be damned if I would cry in front of a girl. I tried not to even

look like I was going to cry but the expression on my face gave me away. She looked into my

face as though she was mesmerized. I think she saw my face melting.

“Forever? You will love me forever, won’t you?” she asked again almost in a whisper. She

asked like she was sure I loved her but reassurance.

“Well ….yes …We will be love each other forever,” I said, afraid to say,”I love you.”. I was just

a little kid at the time. She seemed like she was at least a teenager.



But most of all, I loved her. I loved her because she saw right through me… She knew I loved

her. I was hopelessly in love. My idea of romance might have been childish but it was like a

magical fairy tale. The beautiful princess comes along and the boy dreams of loving her. She

saw through all the shyness and fear.

And I loved how she was bold. I loved the way she said “Forever? You will love me forever,won’t you?” She said what she felt. It was exciting.

“Then it is a pact,” she asked quietly in an almost hypnotic voice.

“If that means I agree to love you forever, then so be it.”

“She looked at my face almost as though she was pleading with me to say the word love.

“Yes I will,” I said.

“Why don’t you say it?” she asked.

“I just did,” I answered.

“Don’t you feel like you love me? Can’t you just look me in the eyes and say the words,’I love

you’?”

She was direct and honest and I love her for it.

“OK, I will say it ” I said. I hesitated and took a deep breath. “I love you.” I had never said

those words before, not even to my parents. I felt like an older guy who proposes to a girl.

I felt better having said it. What the heck? I love her and she loves me back - How could I

lose? And she was pretty….

“And I now we are related by blood.” she said pleased as she moved her finger away from mine

and put it in her mouth to suck off the blood.

I mused,”Kind of a neat thing.”

“Okay but I thought of something else…. we should put our hearts together too,” she said as

though proud she thought of a new idea.

“Huh,” I asked,” What do you mean?”

“You press your heart to my heart. Then we are heart to heart friends…. Take off your shirt,” she

said as she unbuttoned her shirt.

I kind of pointed toward her questioningly. ”But you’re not supposed to….” I didn't know how to

say it.

“What? I can't take off my shirt?” she said in a humorous but almost mocking way “Don’t be

silly. Are you going to see anything looking at me that you don't see in a mirror when you look at

yourself? Besides, you are my blood brother now.”

She stood in front of me with her shirt off. She had a point there. I looked at her trying to look

like I was not looking at her. Like she said I did not see anything that I would not see in the

mirror but still I felt funny. This sounds like childish romance because that’s exactly what it

was.

I took off my shirt.

“Ya know - We shouldn’t really feel embarrassed,” she said, ”Remember, we are blood brother

and sister and have nothing to hide anymore.”

I continued looking uncomfortable but I thought her idea was kind of neat.



“How do we do this heart to heart thing you were talking about,” I asked.

“I think the heart is on the left side – right here.” She pressed here right hand to the right side of

her chest. “So you press the left side of your chest to the left side of my chest and our hearts will

be together…. they will beat together right next to each other,” she said.

I took two steps toward her. She lifted her right hand to touch my shoulder. Then she reached

behind my neck. Her touch startled me as if her touch had electricity and my body twitched. Iwas afraid she noticed.

“Sorry,” I said,”I guess I am not used to being touched.”

I said that and the thought flashed through my mind that it was a fact - I was not used to being

touched .... I thought to myself,” That is pretty sad.”

“Relax,” she said, “Look up at the sky and take a deep breath.”

“What’s that supposed to do?” I asked.

“”I don’t know—Isn’t that what people say when that want someone to relax?”

I put my right arm behind her back. I felt so awkward.

She pushed against me and squeezed hard.

I was very shy and I held her loosely. ”Squeeze me hard,” she said.

I did hug her tight at first. Both of my arms were wrapped around in back of her. Her body didnot feel soft. Her muscles were as hard as rock but her was very warm. Maybe it was all the

farm work. But her body was warm and cozy.

Harder,” she said,” our hearts have to be very close.”

I closed my eyes and I was somewhere else. I was lost on a different plane of existence.

Finally, I guess we were close enough. As I held her, I could feel myself relax. I could feel her

skin against me and I felt funny because I was sweating. I was keenly aware of the feeling of her

hair on my shoulder. It seemed like I could feel the heat from her body and I could smell her. Itwas not a perfume or flowery or bad smell, just a unique “person smell” that made me feel warm.

I started to break away.

“No,” she said,”Close your eyes and hold me. See if you can feel my heart beating. Listen…”

I did what she said. I was surprised that the affect it had on me. I had never held anyone like that

before, never, not even in a dream, for so long a time, not that tightly, not with my eyes shut, anddefinitely not with my shirt off.

I thought she must be able to hear my heart. Then I was sure I could feel her heart. My heart was

pounding and I thought hers was too. She had her face pressed to my neck and could feel her

warm breath. Her hair on my neck and chest felt warmer and warmer so it seemed. It tingled the

skin of my chest. By then the summer chill had set in but she felt so warm….I felt her soft hand

on my neck almost desperately trying to pull me closer.

I was getting overwhelmed by all these sensations. I think I forgot where I was and what time it

was. Time was passing and I lost track of it. I felt light headed, almost dizzy and was afraid I

would lose my balance. I was afraid that would be embarrassing.

“Have you ever hugged anyone like this before?” she whispered with her mouth right next to my

ear.



“No. I can't say that I have. My parents are not the hugging type.” I had the feeling that I said

that too loud. I didn’t whisper like she did.

“Mine either to say the least. I think the last time my father held me was when he grabbed me

and started choking me,” she said and then to my surprise, she half chuckled.

There in the clearing lit by about a half of a moon and the stars, I am pretty sure I hugged her for

a long time. I'm not sure how long it was. I felt like she really needed someone and to tell thetruth, I felt like I needed someone too. The funny thing was….I felt almost ashamed to act that

way. In the back of my head was the question I asked myself for the first time - Why are you

afraid to have feelings? Why are you afraid of being touched?

And then something really weird happened. I almost thought it was my imagination. Maybe it

was but…. I think lightning lit up the sky. I could swear to God; it was distant heat lightning,somewhat common on summer nights, but it was lightning. Nonetheless a chill went down my

spine. This did seem all too magical. I thought about what she said about fate. This was all too

coincidental to be true.

She leaned back and looked at my face. I wondered what she saw in my face. Did she see a boy

who was afraid or did she see the boy who did finally escape the fear and allowed himself to feel

love? She turned her head toward the sound of thunder and said,”Do you think that was Godsaying he approves?”

“It may be,” I said, “It sure seems funny.”

Then she leaned forward again and put her mouth near my ear and whispered as though she was

telling a secret for just the two of us to hear, “Now we are approved by God - heart to heart and

blood to blood. Forever heart to heart. “

My mouth was a little dry. She seemed too smart for me. I felt like she was in control of the

situation. I remember thinking maybe that’s how geniuses act. She said things I could only

dream of saying. This girl was unbelievable. Where did she come from? Was she some kind of angel who fell out of the sky with magical powers to enchant me? I felt like everything that

happened was some kind of magic she had spun.

I couldn’t believe my own ears when I said,” Forever heart to hear,” but it just seemed so natural

to me now. I still felt overcome by all the sensations and these new feelings.

That was our first night. Little did I know then that it was to be the first of countless nights.

When I left her, I keep thinking, “Neither of us had ever been hugged before like that… Never before. Never, ever…” The words,”Never, ever” were playing rhythmically in my head like a

verse of a song.

The next day was exceedingly hot and humid. The cow manure stunk more than usual and

swarms of flies buzzed in the barn. Our parents drank too much, screamed and acted weird. Thehaze of the sun trapped the heat and it hung on the steamy hot earth. The leaves of even the trees

lost their shapes and wilted, hanging down limp. The cows sat in the shade of trees too tired to

chew grass. The day was too long and most of the time too deadly quiet. Outside the cat satdown with the dog on the grass in the front yard. The panting dog hated the cat but just looked

the other way.

She was on the morning side in the shade of the line of tall oaks along our property line and I was

on the afternoon side surrounded by fields of grass.. We were close and yet seemed much too far

away. I felt sure that both of us in every moment of the day were aware of the other’s presencejust beyond the trees.

But everything was different. Neither of us felt alone and nothing would ever be the same.



And Now the Poem

She Come. She Go. She Came. She Went.

By Bruce D. Gormley

circa 1973



Scene Looking at Same Farm House

She Came, She Go



Throughout Vermont on this morning,

the alarms –

bells, buzzers, beeps sounded their call in tens of thousands of homes.

Warm feet hit the frigid floor

Babies cried. Children screamed.

Legs swung to the floor and everyone sat still for a while.



Then

Yawns…. Hugs…. sharp yelling words….Laughter…. gentle talk.

Eyes looked out to check the weather

Some paused and took a second look at the sky.

Hands hurried to pull on clothes and fasten for the rain or sun.

Water steamed through coffee and the smell soothed the senses

And made people hungry for toast, eggs and bacon.

Children scurried and animals watched and waited for their food.

Hats, scarves, coat, gloves, mittens

Kisses goodbye. See you later.

Today I got up and sat at the edge of my bed for too long.

I felt alone.

It was too quiet.

I wanted to make breakfast for more than just me.

I wanted to talk to someone about the weather,

about the news,

about the aurora

borealis I saw last

week -

about

anything.

I was hungry not-for-breakfast-alone;



I was thinking of you.

I looked down the long dirt driveway

lined by aged faithful maples

forming a tunnel that cuts through the fields.

The fog hung on the land still.

The farm was backlit by the rising sun,

Making the trees glow dark red, then pink, then pink-yellow.

I looked out the front window and waited

for your wonderfully-wispy figure to appear,

walking as you always do when you

come to me -

slowly (or is it idly or cautiously?)

On this particular day I envisioned you

in a country girl dress with pleats that fluttered in the breeze.

That Day You Came

From no where today.

You seemed to drop out of the sky today.

Silently you walked to me

with a slow smile.

Today

You appeared as a tiny distant doting indistinct dot,

far down the driveway.

I….squinting…..

Then soon I knew it was you by the way you walked



slowly and smoothly although stopping now and then

then seemingly gliding in soft angel steps inches off the ground.

Now and then you gazed upward at the maple branches

and looked off toward the fields and the five mountains one beyond the

other

as though curious and wondering where



(and perhaps why) you were there.

I thought I saw you hesitate once or twice

You even turned around to face

the space from whence you came…

Then to my appreciation

you then walked on a little swifter

to me

closer and closer.

Today you appeared



just when I thought

I had almost forgotten you. …

and just when I thought you

had forgotten me for sure.

You appeared though my hopes were

shrouded like ancient women at a funeral.

You were dead and arose again .

You were a mere flash of my mind

granted (again) flesh and warmth and breath

and warm skin for me to perhaps touch…

yielding lips to kiss and a quiet voice

to repair my fragile

crystalline mind.



That morning was unusually warm for early spring.

A fog drifted idly in a ribbon

along the insistent and persistent ice of the snow feed stream.

The fog formed a misty line,

looking as if drawn in oils by

the talented dabbing hand of a master artist.

The stream strayed off as far as I could see

and then out of sight

where it cut between two gray hills

with trees that had only the adolescent stubble of tiny

leaves.

zx

In the valleys where the sun hardly shines

The snow melted unceremoniously

in the changing-to pink-to-yellow-to-white-light-blue-sky -

intensifying sunlight.

You walked over the wet grass

into the middle of the front yard

and stood stationary as if lost in thought,

perhaps unsure

but driven to me by some primordial instinct .

I held my breath.

“Come to me,” I whispered to your image

I could hear the dripping of dew

from the naked-warming-slowly branches in the back wood lot.

“The trees are laughing because the snow is gone,” I thought ,



“Come to me,” I urged I a whisper.

I moved my lips to make those words but am not sure if

I actually spoke the words.

No one morns the passing of the snow.

It’s here for a while and then it goes away

for long hot seasons.

It is loved at first, then taken for granted

until one gets tired of it.

But now even in April, it might snow tomorrow.

In Vermont, no one is ever sure of

a particular snowfall being the last of the year -

until perhaps July.

No bells echo down the valley

for the funeral of that cold glistening whiteness.

There are no final

funerals for snow -

No closure.

No

condolences.

No tears.

No

fragrant bouquets to soothe the senses.



You were there in the front yard staring at the door of my houseI thought -

you come and go,

go and come like snow

but without the regularity of seasons.

When you go away, you blanket the world

And take the colors with you

And make the world black, white and gray.



I stood in the window watching you come to me

And you –

Your weather is New England’s.

You have your seasons but without the comfortable

reliability.

And you come as in the infancy of spring

You have not forgotten how to be reincarnated

For too long you hide from me like a child.

Then something happens to you…

And you come home.

(Then perhaps the nor’easters of your soul spin for a while

in some deep cold part of your mind

that will not be warmed and tamed)

and

you go away, perhaps forever…

I never know if it will be weeks, months or years

or forever.



Sometimes I feel I am a immobile rough hewn statue

Of jagged ice

and you come to me

with gracious and creative warm hands

and you smooth away my sharp edges.

You sculpt me into a masterpiece.

That is how you make me feel.

You are a fine artist with most talented hands.

It is strange how you go away,

then appear like dawn at midnight

and give yourself so completely to me

as before

- in time too far away -

Then you leave

To a place with no address.

When I kiss you, I remember and always say to myself

With silent suppressed surprised delight, -

Yes, that's how your kissing was.

Not quite as I tried yesterday to remember it.

Oh better, much better.¶

You are softer than rainbow rain,

warmer than the feeling of down quilts thrown over me

on February nights at two o’clock by someone who loves me.

Each time together is the first time

so it seems.



like you were saying a prayer," ...the time we went to

Nauset Light beach on the Cape in the storm?"

(Of course, I remembered everything

of that occasion so I said)

"And we defied the lightning

and walked the beach at the edge of the breakers."

We felt fearlessly immortal.

We felt like together-forever-summer

As constant and powerful as the waves

that rolled with delight

upon finding at last warm sand.



Countless times in bed alone,

I try to remember how it was

that your wispy fingers teased me.

I try to picture your lips

when I bend to kiss you.

I can always fleetingly see your face

but just as I am about to

recreate you in my imagination,

your image stuns me like… just as if …

I woke up and….

The dream is broken



How can I explain?

It was like one day in winter …

I stood on the snow covered upper pasture

on a frigid winter afternoon - 4:30 and already getting dark.

I stared out over the curved meadows

that sloped to the frozen stream…



Everything was indistinct in dull grayness…

And then abruptly the sun shined through a break in the clouds.

It felt like a sudden warmness was about

to caress my back like your hands.

There was clarity for a moment

but then my eyes were blinded by the intensity…

I squinted against the brilliance but then…

Black clouds slid in closing the crack in the dome of dusk and ..

the light was gone.

That is our story.

(Light-Dark



Hot-Cold

Begin-End

And too much time in between.)

Sometimes the light melts the images

in my imagination.

I struggle to keep images

and I try to kiss you,

and am disappointed you are not there.

Yes, sometimes in dreams, I hold you closely and you are there.

I am about to kiss you and then damn it

I wake up and try

desperately to return to the dream.

I curse the noise

that woke me up.

I curse the sun and its interfering light.

I try to recall the dream, to go back,

but it is gone.

Every detail, every feeling that I can’t

remember torments me.

I struggle to remember some little detail,

something to lead me back.

But no, I am grasping at rays of light.



Rain falls on the water color masterpiece

that my mind is in the midst of painting.



And helpless I watch -

I cannot stop the November fog and rain.

Each time you come,

I think I will forever-remember every movement

of your hips, your tongue,

your talented hands ...

How could such wonders be forgotten?

But each day drops another cold veil

Of more opaque snow across your face.



When you arrive, suddenly you are not just a memory anymore

though I know you will go away again

and become a memory again.

Each time you come, your kiss-anew

provides me with months

of now and then new fresh memories to create -

Spontaneous flashbacks now and then to enjoy.

Yes - for memories, I don’t have to

dig so deep, but

How the dark big-ole-cold winter months-especially

dull and fuzzy up the details.



And you said,

"Because I ... Because you ...."

and then you stopped speaking

and stilled my mouth with kisses

that I did not want to question.

I do not question kisses.

“And why do you go away,” I ask.

You never explain and I do not understand.

Sometimes I even entertain the thought that

you will come and stay forever

but something in me remembers

that your shoes are always by the door,

and when a certain time comes,

I wake up and the shoes are gone

You have left at times even in the midst of blizzards

leaving brief footprints on the path to the road

and on my mind.

When it's time to go,

you're gone.

You always seem to walk faster when you leave

and your steps are heavy and deliberate.

I have watched you leaving.

You always look back ...

So far, you always look back,

but someday you might not.



I never know.



On early November New England Sundays,

I sit before the window

and watch the snow slowly cover the still green fields.

Slowly the distinct edges of the stone walls

are rounded off in blurry wind curved strokes

...and the descending sun colors the landscape

in all colors from yellow to pink, then

black, gray and white.

I want to see your image emerging from the falling snow.

And I await your return

clinging more and more to the last smooth images

of your magic body that is like

no-other-distinct-stark-nakedness.

I try to imagine what it was like when you came,

what it will be like -

if you ever come again.

If you ever come and go again….

Dancing to me with wanton whimsy

making footprints brief-just-as-spring

in and out of the wildly flowering fields of my soul.



Or someday you will not come.

It may not always be so….

So be it…..

If it must be

And it must.

(No choice)

Just so long

my love comes and goes in three parts

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