that I should have the courage
let a red sword of virtue
into my heart,
to the weeds of the ground
can you offer me?
Then hence with your red sword of virtue.
-- Stephen Crane
My emotions tumbled through me as I
climbed into Robbie’s van. I knew what
a mess I had made with Robbie and Alec. The civility between Alec and me existed
because Robbie was involved. Maybe there
was civility on Alec’s side, because of
the resilience of a teenager who respects his father and his choice of
friends—or lovers. Had Robbie not been
there, of course, Alec and I would have long ago taken our separate paths. But it was Robbie who held us together, each
tethered separately to him like children of parents walking through a busy park
on a Sunday—with leashes long enough to stay apart, but not that far apart.
Alec curled up in the back seat of
the van and went to sleep. I curled up
and pretended the same thing, but I was awake the whole time thinking things
We arrived at the campground in the
early afternoon and set up our tents.
It wasn’t too hard to be side by
side with Alec and Robbie as long as nothing of importance needed to pass
between us—like conversation. Of
course, I don’t think ‘Hand me the hatchet, please’ counted as conversation.
Things were awkward, to say the least, but not really that tense. There was an uneasy peace, a
trench-to-trench Christmas peace, or truce, that I had practiced and thought
perfected for the past year.
Robbie had warned me that this was going
to be the last night of soft beds and luxury.
I suspected that Alec already understood full well the rigors of
backpacking. At that time I
didn’t. So I probably didn’t
appreciate the comfort of the soft pads and the crystal wine glasses at dinner
and afterwards the camp chairs by the fire as much as I should. I probably was just too wrapped up in myself
and what I was going to do for the last day of comfort to make any difference
anyway. As I drank the wine over the
evening, I felt myself growing more and more distant from Robbie and his son,
feeling that maybe I didn’t belong in this family world, feeling myself as an
outsider looking in.
The closeness that I saw between
Alec and Robbie began to hurt and undermine my earlier confidence and
determination to open myself up. I
felt jealous of Alec, who had the blood of Robbie, which produced a tie between
them that I could never duplicate. I
felt this blood tie produced an unearned life tie. And I felt once again that Robbie forcing me to choose was a demand
too great. I wanted to go back to the way we were, to the habits Alec and I had
developed. I could live with them.
But I knew in the recesses of my
brooding hours that that life could no longer be. Holding the paradox in my mind—of wanting to break with the past but
not--was, well, an almost impossible task. But, I remembered what Duke had advised: I couldn’t keep this private part of my heart private any longer,
because it affected the person I loved most in the world. Tomorrow—or the next day or the next—I had to
open myself up, or choose never to and leave.
We grew weary after the large
dinner, the wine, the fresh air and the fire; Alec excused himself to go to bed,
and Robbie and I went off to our tent.
Robbie slid into his sleeping bag, methodically straightening it out and
unzipping the side, as was his norm. He
pulled me to him for a kiss (which I felt was a little too chaste), and then he
turned his back to me, as if to say, or taunt: ‘It’s in your court now. Don’t bother me until you’ve sorted things
Of course, that attitude was enough
to keep me wide awake and wonder, briefly, why I had left the sure thing of the
Ians that I has seen in Vancouver for a much more difficult task of
straightening out my relationship with Robbie and his Alec. I stared for hours at the slopes of the canvas,
then I got up, left the tent and sat at the picnic table, looking at the stars through
the canopy of the firs, organizing myself for the next day. Robbie came out to check on me, but I waved
him off, and I’m sure he knew that I needed the space.
And I did.
Robbie and Alec packed our backpacks
the next morning as I cleaned up from breakfast. I did cleanup mainly because I knew nothing about what I needed
for a backpack trip. With the sun still
behind the mountains, it was cold, but the air smelled sweet, making me think
of the time when I was 10 years old in a Christmas-tree lot with my
father. I could hear birds chirping in
the trees, and I could hear the zips of tents opening and the clank of cooking
gear as other campers started their day.
Robbie and Alec loaded what we
needed for the hike into the back seat of the van and what we didn’t need into
the far back. Robbie asked me to drive
the van to an open area near the trail sign while he filled out the paperwork
for the hike. I unloaded the backpacks
onto the road and locked all the doors.
Robbie carried both our packs to the trailhead, and as I neared him, he
held out my pack like a jacket that a maitre d’ might hold for a departing
guest. He lifted the pack onto my
shoulders, turned me around and cinched the shoulder straps before attaching
the belt and cinching it up as well. In
better times, I think he might have squeezed my crotch. Finally, he looked me squarely in the eye
with a go-for-it look, as if I was about to make the final ascent on Mount
Everest—and maybe I was. There was resignation
in his look—maybe he was beyond passion—and I shivered from his
stand-offishness. But his final look
held encouragement and seemed to say: ‘It’s up to you, now. You can do it.’
One thing about a hike, particularly
a long climb as I learned, is that it induces a lot of thinking. The metronome sounds of footfalls leads to introspection. I knew I had to reveal parts of my private life
that I had mostly suppressed for over a decade. I knew I had put someone—Tran—in such danger that he became a
victim of my naïve do-gooder deeds.
Because of me, he had died—needlessly.
Because of my actions, a young life was ripped from the earth. I blamed myself. I could not stop blaming myself, and I had been carrying this
burden for over a decade, unable to face it, unable to throw it off, unable to
deal with it. Those were my thoughts as
I hiked through the subdued forest light that seeped from a gray sky overhead through
a heavy overhang of Douglas firs and hemlocks.
The grayness matched my mood perfectly as my feet moved mechanically up
The first moments of awe came as I glanced
upward into the sheer dominion of the forest—into the towers of the Douglas
firs and hemlocks and the distance to the tree-scraped sky. I was hit by the sepulchral feel of the
space we were walking through, and the regularity of my steps seemed trivial in
comparison to what was above me. It was
the first time in several days that I allowed my mind to empty and to leave behind
my worries about the daunting task that faced me—and I was glad.
In about an hour, the sky began to
brighten; then from time to time sun rays would pierce the forest with bright
fern- and moss-green destinations. I
sought the welcome sun when there were breaks in the forest, letting the warmth
settle on my head and shoulders. It was
just me, the forest and the sun’s warmth during that climb—no Robbie and no
We were actually like separate
hiking parties climbing this ridge that morning. Alec and I acted with each other as if we were solo hikers on the
same trail at the same time going the same direction. One of us would be ahead on the trail, then, during breaks, cede the
lead to the other, passing with a nod in a friendly but distant manner. In a way, Alec and I were strangers going in
the same direction at the same pace, but coming from such different worlds that
there could be no true communication between us. Robbie would move between me and Alec on the trail, joining one
or the other of us, but never the two of us at once.
I felt the isolation—of the forest
and of my circumstances. As my thoughts
returned to my problems, I realized that the isolation really came as a result
of the wall that I had constructed between myself and Alec. It was an isolation that Robbie, in his
earnest way, was trying to break down so that he didn’t have to choose one side
or the other. But breaking the wall
down would require an opening up of my soul and the exposure of the private darkness
* * * * *
The forest started to thin as we
moved to higher altitudes, and I found myself ahead of Robbie and Alec; I think
Robbie had said something to me about them catching up. The trail clung to a steep slope. I could almost touch the ground on the right
side by just reaching straight out; to the left the terrain fell away steeply
for hundreds of feet, rock at the top and the tops of trees at the bottom. I held as close to the right side of the
trail as I could, keeping my eyes down to make sure I didn’t trip and go
flailing down the mountainside. At one
time, I thought that maybe that would be an easy way to solve my problems—as
long as it was guaranteed to be quick and terminal. The trail turned to the right and the terrain leveled out.
There are times in one’s life when
the beauty of nature makes one small and inconsequential. This was one of those times. As my eyes rose and looked ahead, I was
struck with my insignificance in the face of what I saw. Ahead of me was Mount Rainier craggy with
volcanic outcroppings–enormous, dominating, covered with snow, even in
August. Beneath the background of the mountain
and just ahead of me on the trail was a meadow of fresh green grass spiked with
wildflowers that flowed down to a postcard-perfect mountain lake.
I was absolutely overwhelmed. How could my turmoil—a transitory event in
the universe—mean anything in the face of the forces of the eons that had
created and recreated the scene before me.
My inner troubles seemed so small.
My eyes would not leave the scene in front of me. All the issues that I had before me, all the
heartbreak that I had caused, all the errors in my life seemed so trivial.
I turned off the trail onto the meadow and collapsed to my knees,
struck dumb. At first I could not
think, but soon the sad and suppressed images hidden in my conscious streamed
before me, as if I were the proverbial dying man seeing his life flashing
before him. I began to sob and went on for
an hour, both oblivious to and in awe of my surroundings. I recalled Robbie and Alec passing me
by. Through my tears, I saw that they
settled onto some rocks that protruded from the side of the lake. I vaguely recalled a worried-looking Robbie
getting up to move toward me but me waving him off. This was to be my turmoil and mine alone. These were my sins that needed to be
expiated. And those I did.
Maybe it was the ultimatum from
Robbie, maybe it was the support I got from my mother and the final acceptance
of my father, maybe it was the advice I got from Duke in Vancouver--probably it
was all of these, but when I finally composed myself, I felt that an enormous
burden had been lifted and that I was ready to take up life again.
I had one major task left. I hiked down the path to join Robbie and
Alec where they were seated and where they had started to set out something for
lunch. I think I made some stupid
Mariner joke. Maybe I felt the
assurance of Robbie’s arms around me at one point before I sat down to have
something to eat. We finished lunch,
and I hesitated.
It was Robbie who broke the ice, and
he began to say how much this place meant to him during his breakup with
Anne. And he started to go on and on,
seemingly to fill the gap. I knew he was trying to help and I knew he was
trying to get me started, but he was talking nervously, and that struck me as
humorous, especially when Alec said:
“You’re babbling, Dad.”
I glanced at Alec and he glanced at
me, and we almost started to giggle.
But that glance and our joint reaction to his father became a thread
that tied us together. It was a thread
that I knew with a few more strands could become a lifeline to the heart of
Alec. So I took hold of it and bared
the darkest part of my soul to both of them.
It was an emotional hour. I
addressed myself to Alec, though I felt the presence of Robbie sitting behind
me, being my rock, as he always had been.
When the hour and the story were
over, I was emotionally empty. My soul
was wide open, exposed, but protected by Robbie and ready to be filled again
with better things.
We picked up our gear and hiked in
silence to our camping spot for the night, Alec going on ahead. We didn’t really speak, as we hadn’t on the
climb up from the pass, but it was a companionable silence, a silence of
unuttered warmth and respect. I had not
felt better in over a decade, and each step seemed to drive a small bit of
warmth into my heart.
i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginably You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
I smiled to myself as I repeated the
poem in my mind—and aloud twice—as I walked.
Robbie probably thought that I was talking to myself, but really I was
talking to the reopened world ahead.
We camped that night somewhere ahead
on the trail. I really had no idea
where we were, but Robbie did, as did Alec who had arrived at the night’s stopping
point earlier, staking out the best camp site, and he had already started to
set up things. We ate dinner quietly
that night. I wasn’t in the mood to say
much, and I don’t think Alec and Robbie were either. It wasn’t unpleasant, though, and we finished off our meal with a
nice wine that Robbie had packed. It
was as if we needed the quiet dinner to recharge our emotions. I know I did.
After the last light left the sky to
the west, Robbie and I climbed into our tent, undressed and lay on the top of
our sleeping bags. We made love, as
Robbie has described in his story, and it was good and just right for our mood.
* * * * *
The next day, I felt at the time,
was the first day of the remainder of my life.
It dawned for me with a cup of fresh, steaming black coffee thrust into
my hands, and it ended with a midnight skinny dip, and much laughter in
between. Well, it didn’t end with the
skinny dip, but I won’t go into what happened after the midnight swim. The day after
that we built upon a new, warmer relationship, and the day after that we had to
pack up for our trip out—me with a new outlook on our relationship. You should read Robbie’s story if you want
to find out about that part of our hike.
After lunch on that last day, I made
the sad decision to make the final break with the past. I wanted, no, needed, to get rid of my gift to
Tran: the emblem of my past, continually dragging me back to Vietnam. We had passed a steep cliff that fell
sharply into a river valley several thousand feet below. My idea was to throw the bracelet as far as I
could over that cliff, leaving me with no bracelet and no memories coming back
every time I saw it. I would let the
mountain swallow the Vietnam nightmares, leaving them, I hoped, entirely behind
me. I would retain only intangible memories
of my time there—memories that might fade away some day if I was lucky.
We were picking up
everything from lunch, and Alec and Robbie were busy stuffing the packs for the
final leg of our hike.
I rose from where I was sitting and walked
about a hundred paces down the trail to do what I had decided to do. I reached into my shirt pocket and pulled
out Tran’s bracelet, turning it in my hand as I walked along the trail, alternately
losing my will and then regaining it. I
walked toward the edge of the cliff and stood, opening my hand for one last
look at the silver and turquoise symbol of so much sadness. Tears rose in my eyes. This decision seemed almost larger than the
one I had been through two days earlier.
I lost track of time.
The next thing that I noticed,
through the blur of my tears, was Alec’s hand on my wrist. I hadn’t seen Alec come up behind me.
Alec stood before me with a rueful
grin on his face: “You’ve been a
selfish asshole this last year, you know that.
You’ve been so wrapped up in yourself that you haven’t had any real time
for me, or for my father for that matter.
And you’re about to do it again.”
I couldn’t figure out how to
react. Here, Alec had told me the awful
truth of the year, yet he was grinning at me.
I didn’t know what to say, if anything.
I sat down on the outcropping, my legs dangling over a sharp drop below
me. I buried my face in my hands and started
to say I was sorry once again.
Alec put his hand on my
shoulder. “Don’t say a word. I’ve said my piece. I’ve wanted to say that for a year now, and I
couldn’t resist.” Alec grinned again.
“Now I want you to forget that I said what I said. The words are off my chest, behind
us. Leave them there. You don’t need to
apologize or say anything, because its over.
I believe things have changed—truly, I do. I forgave you three days ago, by the way.”
I looked up at Alec, a guileless boy
of 14 who had acted more like a man in the last year than I had. His face showed only forgiveness—and
amusement at my reaction. I opened my
arms, and we hugged as we should have done months ago if I had been the least
bit sensitive to this young man. He sat
down next to me, and I put my arm over his shoulder, and we sat, silently, basking
in the sun and the enormous bulk of Mount Rainier.
It was time to complete my
task. I looked at the turquoise and
silver bracelet in my hand and decided it was time to throw it as far as I
could throw it. I stood and started to
wind my arm up to throw it over the cliff below us, but I felt Alec’s hand on
my wrist again, softly restraining me from my throw.
“You’re doing it again—getting
wrapped up in yourself. Don’t,” Alec
said. His hand rested on my arm. I sat back
down, and Alec sat next to me.
“I just want to get rid of this part
of my life…,” and I nodded toward the bracelet, “…and put it behind me.”
“If you’d really wanted to do that,
you could have thrown it away years ago.”
I thought about what Alec said. “I know,” I admitted. We sat in silence for
a few more minutes, me trying to hold back the tears.
“Tell me in your own words why you
didn’t,” Alec said softly. “I think I
know the answer, but I want you to tell me.”
I put my head in my hands. “I didn’t because….” I halted.
I couldn’t go on. I could hold
back the tears no longer. They poured down my face unchecked.
Alec reached over and took the
bracelet from me. “You didn’t because it was the symbol of Tran, and it was a
good symbol, and you couldn’t give up that one tie to him.” Alec looked me straight in the eye.
I nodded. My mind returned to the many times in the past that I had sat and
considered throwing the bracelet out, but relented.
“And even though this piece of
jewelry brought you incredible sadness, it also represents an incredible gift
of your love and time.” Alec handed the
bracelet back to me, saying: “I want
you to promise me the same gift of love and time.”
I had come to edge of this cliff
intending to get rid of a part of my past, and Alec had asked me to make my
past part of my present and future. My
initial intent had changed character—had morphed into a very different decision,
and I realized immediately that it was a better outcome. I slipped the Navajo bracelet over Alec’s
wrist. “But I’m so afraid that harm
will come to you, as it did with Tran.”
“Shit happens,” Alec said with a
grin, knowing full well that his father would not approve of his Anglo Saxon. He held out his wrist and looked at my
gift—with its implied promise.
“I’ll be afraid for you as long as
you wear this bracelet.”
“I want you to be afraid, because I
know then that you care.” Then, he
smiled his father’s smile and began to laugh softly. “Besides, superstition is for baseball. We’re not talking about the Red Sox, for Christ’s sake. It’s me and it’s a beautiful piece of
jewelry that was intended for love, not for sorrow, and not to be thrown away.”
Tran would have been happy, I
thought as Alec opened both arms and let me fall into them. Here I was a 34-year-old man being comforted
by a 14-year—and loving it.
* * * * *
The rest of the trip went by in a
blur as we met up with Celly and Anne climbing up the trail. We got back to her car, got ferried to our van,
unloaded and reloaded our gear, said goodbye and drove off. I was so exhausted I fell asleep almost
instantly, waking only for a piece of huckleberry pie à la mode in one of those
mountain-highway restaurants that could have been built when the first autos
were able to drive to the mountain. I
think Robbie must have known every good place to get pie in the Northwest if
this place was any indication.
I think I asked Robbie if he wanted
help driving at some point during the trip, but he waved me off, telling me to
get some rest for our upcoming night at home.
Home! That sounded good. Upcoming night sounded even better. And coming?
Well… Thoughts like these caused me to adjust my pants, and I had to
think of neutral things before I could go back to sleep.
* * * * *
Something appeared seriously wrong
when we walked in the door of the condominium.
Had someone broken into our home? I knew I had turned off some of the lights that were now on. I almost said aloud that something smelled
suspicious, but it actually smelled like good cooking. Robbie looked as puzzled as I was, but when
he got to the kitchen door, the tenseness left his body, and I heard him
exclaim, “Sarah!” There, sitting in the
kitchen was my mother. The only thing I
could think of was: What in hell’s name
was she doing here?
Mom was looking anxiously at Robbie,
ignoring me, I noticed. He must have
figured it out first, because I felt his arm circling my waist, which was
enough of a signal to cause my mother to break into a warm smile—in fact, she
beamed—before she remembered to chide me about not giving her a proper
As I walked over to her, I realized
why she had come, and I became a bit pissed at her and at Robbie, who I thought
at that time had set her trip up in case the hike went badly. However, Robbie’s initial surprise belied my
suspicions, and I had to believe in his innocence. I finally cooled down and decided I should be grateful that my
mother had come to pick up any pieces, if needed be.
Things Come Together
The next year was a truly happy one
for me—the happiest since my summer in Mississippi. My work was still hard and intense, and totally absorbing, and I
was given ever more responsibilities by Drew.
I became less the tormentor of the computer geeks and became more their collaborator,
at least as far as the program interface was concerned. Our company’s sales were rising rapidly, and
we had one of the lowest “help desk” needs of companies our size.
My home life was also intense and
hard, but being hard at home had a different meaning than hard at work—in more
than one way, of course. I was trying
to make as much time for Alec and Celly as I could. Doing so seemed no longer a chore or a duty; it was a pleasure, but
it consumed time that I had to steal from Robbie. He didn’t seem to mind, though, because of the growing ties
between Alec and me.
I was able to regain some of the
devil-may-care spirit that I had set aside for the past 14 years. I had loved to let myself go and be creative
and do things that no mature adult would do, because I knew that somebody was
there as my steady support. I could
consciously avoid being mature, again, which, curiously enough, was probably a
sign of maturity. I was able to press
the limits of our relationship—the embarrassment limits—as the confidence in
myself rose and as I shucked off the anchor of my awful memories.
* * * * *
In one way, though, I wanted to
press Robbie’s limits. I wanted him to
become more open about us. I had
admitted to myself that I was gay and that I believed there was nothing wrong
with being gay. Robbie was behind me in
this respect. I could sense his
reluctance about exposing our relationship to people who did not know us. Our relationship was no problem to our
friends. It was no problem to Robbie’s
kids and Anne. But I could sense
Robbie’s unease at times, and my mission, I believed, was to press him till the
resistance rose, to back off, and then to press him again. I know that Robbie deep down did not mind
what I was doing, because he would have said something if he did.
So, I pressed him. I wanted us both to feel that we could be
physically affectionate to one another in public—not physically affectionate in
the sense that Robbie and I would feel embarrassed were it done by a heterosexual
couple, but in the sense that we could hug or lightly kiss each other on the
cheek or lips without feeling we were acting “gay.” I knew that holding hands in public was too “in your face” for Robbie’s
conservative self, and I respected his sense of privacy. But holding hands in a darkened theater, in
a dimly lit restaurant booth or when we were largely alone was okay, even
though I had to press him to take those chances sometimes. Actually, I had to charm him into taking
them, but that was okay—with both of us.
* * * * *
On a day in November, I announced to
Robbie that I was taking Alec and Celly back to Boston and I wasn’t taking
him. Actually, I said that I would like
to take them, and I thought enough to ask him if he wanted to go. However, my decision had been made, and he
was certainly welcome to come, but I knew he probably wouldn’t. I think he wanted me to act like a
responsible father-like figure in front of my mother, and he knew, I suppose,
that playing that role was not too far outside of my abilities. And, as a saving grace, he probably didn’t
think I could mess up their lives too much—no more, at least, than our recent winter
Alec and Celly had never been to
Boston nor anywhere else in the Northeast, so they were excited as they got on
the same flight that Robbie and I had taken some months earlier. I played the nonchalant role, but I realized
that I felt like a proud father showing my brood where I was raised.
My mother had met Alec and Celly briefly
in Seattle on her blessedly failed rescue mission, but she hadn’t really had a
chance to get to know them. These two
kids might have been her grandchildren if circumstances had been different, so
I hoped that she would accept them as substitutes. And she did.
In fact, she absolutely doted on
them. She insisted on taking them to
every possible tourist destination that she could think of. She took them out to Legal Seafood for
lobster, up to Gloucester for fishing boats and lobster, out to Harvard,
Wellesley and M.I.T. as a not-so-subtle hint that they should apply to college
there, and to Locke-Ober for an expensive dinner. Mom would bribe anybody with a fine meal. “I can spoil anyone I want to,” she said one
evening after I complained that she was doing too much. “I spoiled you, didn’t I? And you turned out
all right.” Of course, she didn’t know
how close a call that was, and I figured then that Dad had said nothing about
our bet—about how close I was to calling an end to everything before he beat me
to the grave. However, she may have
understood me better than I did myself and knew that I could never have the
courage or the stupidity or both to end my own life.
Mom even wanted to take Alec and
Celly to New York City, but I insisted that was just too much for everybody
this time, and I promised to bring them back again. I think she threatened the New York trip solely to ensure my
promise that they would come back. In
fact, she said they could come back with or without me or Robbie.
Celly and Alec spilled the beans
about our winter-storm camping trip one morning over breakfast, and when she
stopped laughing, Mom tut-tutted her confirmation that I was crazy and smiled
her approval at my eternal adolescence.
She didn’t spare me an examination
of my love life, either. No intimate
details, of course, but she wanted to make sure that everything was okay
between Robbie and me. I think she knew
the answer before she asked, and she understood me so well that she would have
known if something was wrong, plus I figured she’d been on the phone to Robbie,
who would have spared her nothing: they
had grown that close since our hike.
I called Dave Handel to see how he
was doing after he decided not to move to Seattle with Molini. He sounded particularly nervous until I told
him I was involved with Robbie—for the long term. Then he relaxed and said he finally could entertain a friend at
his apartment without going apoplectic with nerves. He had taken a job with another software firm outside of Boston,
but he admitted he liked Molini better.
I said he always had a job waiting for him. Finally, he said his love life was beginning to develop. I wanted to ask whether his friend was a he
or a she.
“I don’t know if Mike is ready to
quit his job,” he said.
Now, that answered that, and it
probably meant it really had been enough time from when he had been unable to
sit at the same couch with somebody without freaking out.
“Mike…?” I asked.
“He’s a dancer. He was a gofer where I’m working so that he
can afford to eat while pursuing a dancing career. He’s 19. He’s cute. He loves me. I love him. We’re both
out to our families and friends now.”
He paused. “I just wasn’t ready
when you were here. I’m sorry. But I love you, too. But differently, of course.”
“That’s okay. I rediscovered the person I loved most in my
life, and we’re together. And I don’t
think I could’ve committed to anyone else until I had resolved my issues with
Robbie. So I probably would have left
you in the lurch. I’m happy you found
somebody. If you come to visit Seattle,
we’ve got room for you both to stay.” We
hung up on a positive note and agreed to keep in touch.
The trip home was eventful. Alec and Celly could not stop talking about what
they had done, and it seems to me that they thought half the people on the
plane needed to be told about their good time.
I would grin and shrug my shoulders as I caught the eyes of the amused passengers
they cornered. All the passengers
seemed to be enchanted, however, with these two exuberant children.
Anne and Robbie were waiting for us
at the gate. I gave Robbie a quick
kiss, which caused his eyes to look around the waiting area in concern, but
once again nobody was really paying attention.
Alec and Celly immediately attacked their mother with yet another
retelling of all that occurred on the trip.
They were talking nonstop, simultaneously, and Anne was trying to get
them to talk one at a time as Robbie and I slipped off to the baggage-claim
area. Where did they get all that
I only had enough energy for a quick
lovemaking session with Robbie before I fell asleep in his arms that night. Well…it wasn’t too quick, but it was 1 a.m.
Eastern time as my eyes closed.
To be continued…
Copyright 2005, 2007. Comments are welcome at vwl1999 at
Thanks to Sharon for editing!