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Hopes All Things, Endures All Things
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rainandblues



Joined: 25 Aug 2006
Posts: 116
Hopes All Things, Endures All Things

There were too many people -- far too many -- and after an hour, Sylvia excused herself from the cacaphony of female voices, and wandered out of the room. It wasn't just her normal social anxiety; her body ached and throbbed with the beginnings of the flu, and her eyes were burning. She knew she should just go home, but she had promised Carol that they would stay at least two hours. It was the holiday party, the annual celebration of their weekly get-togethers, started years ago and kept going as different friends faded in and out of their circle. Carol lived for this. And since she couldn't rush out the door to her comfortable home and cozy pajamas, she could at least find a quiet, uninhabited portion of the house and wait out the furor.

But as she rounded the corner to the den, she discovered that she wasn't the first person to have that idea. Beatrice, the latest addition to their little gaggle of neighbors and friends, was sitting on the end of the sofa, sipping her tea.

"Mind if I join you?" Sylvia croaked with a smile, and Beatrice lifted her left arm into the air, waving at the empty space beside her.

"Come here, little one. Lean against me. You look like you're about to fall down."

"I feel so sick. I just want to go home." She slid onto the leather couch and tucked up her legs as she laid her head down in Beatrice's lap. The act surprised the older woman, and would have surprised Sylvia, herself, if she hadn't been too tired and ill to care. "I don't do large groups of people, anyway."

"Neither do I. It's why I came in here."

"I know. You stole my idea."

Beatrice slowly lowered her arm and let it rest across Sylvia's shoulder, draping over her stomach. She was a bit uncomfortable with the intimacy of the moment - she'd only known Sylvia for a few months. But as she looked down at the woman's resting form, her face flushed with fever yet still so angelic and beautiful, Beatrice found the discomfort quickly seeping away. There was something about this young woman; she’d felt it almost from their first meeting. She was so young in so many ways – and so old in many others. And the tenderness of Sylvia’s heart was absolutely adorable. For all her nervousness and anxiety around people, Sylvia was actually the most personable woman that Beatrice had ever met. It hadn’t been easy, coming into a group of friends who had known each other for years, all of them strangers to her. But Sylvia had immediately put her at ease, seeking her out and calming her nerves with a cup of tea and a soft hug of welcome. The women got together once a week, for coffee and dessert at one of their homes, or for a day in the park with their children, as most of them had families. And at every outing, Beatrice found herself only relaxing and finding it possible to breathe once Sylvia arrived. She always wanted to find an excuse to talk with the woman further, to get to know her, to reach out beyond their weekly conversations on the outskirts of the group. But thus far, her hermit mentality had won out. She would much rather ponder the idea of calling Sylvia and forming a friendship, than actually reach out and take the risk and do it.

“Do you like it here?” Sylvia said quietly after a few moments, her eyes still closed. Beatrice looked down at her.

“I do, yes.”

“…I only ask because, I can’t stand it here.” A soft, old-beyond-her-years smile crept across Sylvia’s lips. “I’ve been thinking about moving for years.”

“Where would you move to?” Beatrice surprised herself by reaching down and letting her fingers slowly play with Sylvia’s short, dark curls.

“Perhaps back to Boston. Though I’d rather shoot myself in the foot. Maybe back to Los Angeles.”

“That would be worse than Boston.”

“True.” The smile changed, widened a bit, but still Sylvia’s eyes remained closed. “That feels so nice,” she cooed, as Beatrice continued the soft touches of her hair. “I’m very glad that Anne brought you into our group.”

“Me, too.” Her fingers strayed from the soft hair between them to the soft skin of Sylvia's cheek. She felt the fluttering in her stomach and chest, and pushed it away. Ridiculous, Beatrice, you're being an idiot. Do not feel this for this woman. She's half your age, at least.

They sat in silence for an eternity, and eventually Beatrice recognized the slow, deep breaths of a woman lost in sleep. With a smile, she went back to sipping her tea, now gone cool from inattention. No, she absolutely would not allow herself to feel an attraction for Sylvia. Pretty Sylvia, with her bubbling laugh and dancing eyes, the youngest member of the group, not even turned 30 years old yet. And here I am, Beatrice thought wryly, in my mid fifties and getting the butterflies because I'm playing with a woman's hair. Silly old woman - you need to get out more.

Sylvia stirred in her lap, her eyes fluttering open in the dimly lit room. She made a noise, an unintelligible question voiced in dream-speak, and Beatrice hushed her softly. "Go back to sleep, little one. Rest." Sylvia's large, green eyes searched for Beatrice's face in the shadows, her face a look of apprehension from whatever had haunted her in the dream. Only when her eyes met the older woman’s, did Sylvia relax and fall back to sleep. They stayed like that until Carol came peeking around the corner.

"Is she...?" The woman whispered, pointing at Sylvia's prostrate body.

"Fast asleep," Beatrice whispered back.

"Oh, poor baby!" Carol stared at her friend and pondered what to do.

"Carol, if you want, I'll just drive her home. You drive her car back to your place - you two don't live far apart, she can get it tomorrow. Stay for a while. I'll get this little angel home."

"Are you sure?"

But Beatrice waved her worry aside as she leaned forward and gently shook Sylvia's shoulder. "Little one, wake up," she cooed softly. As the young woman's eyes fluttered open, Beatrice eased her into a sitting position. "I'm going to take you home, honey. Carol will drive your car back tomorrow."

"Oh-- no, no I'm fine, I can stay a while. You don't have to--"

"Hush it," Beatrice smiled. "Now get up, and get moving."

Sylvia plodded behind her friend down the hallway, grabbing her coat from the other room and wrapping it around herself. They waved to the gathered women, most of whom rose and came over to say goodnight, and Beatrice waited as their friends fussed and fawned over Sylvia. "You take care of her," Anne commanded. She, alone, looked especially worried about Sylvia's condition.

"Oh I plan on it." She held the door open for Syl, and again when they got to Beatrice's car. "Stay awake now," she said as she slid inside and buckled up Sylvia's seatbelt for her. The woman was rapidly fading completely into the realm of the seriously ill. "You have to give me directions."

"Just take Farringer Road all the way into Cordelia," Syl croaked, her eyelids fluttering again. "Make your first left. I'm 915, on the right."

"Easy enough. Now you can sleep."

Several times through the drive, Beatrice found herself glancing over at the young woman, staring at the flush of her face and the way the moon shone across it. Sylvia was beautiful, even in the midst of illness. Her attractive features alternated, Beatrice had noticed, between cute, sexy, alluring, pretty, boyish, feminine... She was many women in one, and all of them had a touch of something enigmatic, as if a brush had just barely stroked across her skin and left a hint of mystery. She didn't talk about her own life half as much as the rest of the women did, choosing instead to listen and advise and console. In fact, there were very few details that Beatrice knew about Sylvia. She knew where the woman worked, what she did for a living; she knew how long Sylvia had lived in the area, and that her family still lived back East. Beyond that, the tidbits were scarce. Every now and then, a factoid would come out. Sylvia would confess a love of blues and opera when they were all discussing music, she might notice the shade of a friend's sweater and comment that burgundy was her favorite color. But she kept herself fairly well hidden; just as Beatrice did.

When she pulled up into Sylvia's driveway, Beatrice turned off the engine and moved to wake her friend. But her hand hadn't even made contact with the woman before she noticed how feverish she was. The heat was emanating from her body onto Beatrice's palm, and all at once the older woman was worried. Without speaking, she got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, opening the door and leaning in to unbuckle Sylvia's seatbelt. The woman didn't even stir as Beatrice extricated her from the seat and picked her up, kicking the car door shut behind her as she walked up the steps to the front door with Sylvia cradled in her arms. It was at that moment that she realized she didn't have the house keys, and she shifted her weight as she dug through the easiest pocket for her to reach inside of, hoping for jangling metal and thanking God when she found it.

"Turn off the oven," Sylvia croaked as Beatrice shifted them again and shut the door behind them.

"Hush little one, you're a little delirious. Where's your bedroom?" She wasn't expecting an answer, was more voicing the question to herself as she turned around and peeked around the corner of the entryway into the hall.

"You're so beautiful tonight," Sylvia croaked again, her eyes still closed.

"And you're very gorgeous, yourself. Ah, here we go." Beatrice walked into the bedroom, her back and arms hurting from carrying her friend in spite of Sylvia's tiny frame. She laid her down on the bed and walked over to take off the woman's shoes.

"Can you stay with me?"

"Of course." Beatrice blinked at her easy acquiescence - she had been waiting to get back to her own, quiet house for hours. Well, no harm done, she thought; she probably doesn't even know she's talking to me. I can slip out as soon as--

"Will you lay here beside me? Please?"

Beatrice turned and stared at her, letting the woman's last shoe fall to the ground, but Sylvia's eyes were still closed. "If you would like," Beatrice said carefully. Slowly she walked to the other side of the bed and slid in beside her, feeling the softness of the mattress and pillows greet her tired body far too luxuriously. If she wasn't careful, she would fall asleep, herself, in a matter of moments. Sylvia rolled over and curled against Beatrice's body, snuggling into her arm.

"Careful, now, little one -- I don't make a very good teddy bear."

"Love teddy bears," Sylvia mumbled, and Beatrice furrowed her brow in concern at the heat she felt on the left side of her body. That fever was getting worse. She leaned over and, with some protestation from the ill woman beside her, managed to get Sylvia out of her jacket and under the covers.

"I'm going to fetch some tylenol, you need to wake up enough to take it. And a cool washcloth, I think. Hang on a bit."

It took longer than a bit as Beatrice acquainted herself with the inside of Sylvia's home, finally returning with the discovered medicine and wet cloth. She patted down Sylvia's forehead and cheeks, cooling off her neck and hands as well, before rousing her enough to take the pills with some water.

"You're a wonderful woman, Beatrice," Sylvia said hoarsely, looking up at her with glassy eyes.

"And you're a very sick one, my dear." Her worry was growing exponentially, though she told herself that she was being a fool, people came down with the flu all the time. Still, this particular flu looked very bad, indeed...

"I'm so glad you were there, tonight," Sylvia whispered as her eyes fluttered closed again. "I so look forward to seeing you... I look for you every night."

"Every night, hmm? That would be silly, we all get together only once a week."

"Every night," Sylvia maintained, her voice fading as her body twitched with the onset of sleep. "When I leave work, every night."

Beatrice was startled by this strange admission, and she chalked it up to Sylvia's fever as she brought the washcloth back into the bathroom. She knew that Sylvia worked near her building, but it was fairly out of the woman's way; it would be strange, indeed, if Sylvia was driving by every evening hoping for a glimpse of her.

When she walked back into the bedroom, the woman was fast asleep, and Beatrice pulled the covers up to her chin before leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Sweet dreams, little one," she whispered, but just before she straightened up Sylvia's slightly-cooler hands shot out and pressed against her cheeks.

"Oh stay," she whispered. "Stay with me please -- I'm so scared. And I'm not scared when you're near me."

There wasn't a single thought that had time to enter Beatrice's mind in the split second it took for her to crawl back onto the bed beside the young woman, pulling her into her arms. The plea had been from a terrified, frantic voice - and even though she knew it was simply the fever, it still had an edge of something else. Sylvia nestled into the crook of her neck, her hand placed above Beatrice's right breast. The woman's hair smelt of honey and berries, and Beatrice tried not to sigh as she held her close. Kissing the top of her head gently, she let her eyes close and her body relax as Sylvia cuddled closer.

"Thank you," she mumbled in a whisper.

"Hush little one, hush. Rest now." She kissed her hair again, and tried to ignore the fluttering in her belly, or the heat above her breast from where Sylvia's hand rested, that she knew was not due to the fever. Eventually she fell asleep, and when she woke in the morning neither woman had moved an inch from their nestled, entwined postion. But what was also immediately apparent, was that Sylvia's fever was worse. Worried, Beatrice shook her in an attempt to wake her, and when the young woman didn't rouse Beatrice's worry turned up in intensity. After several minutes of shaking and calling her name, she was finally rewarded with the fluttering of eyelids and a soft moan. But her worry did not lessen - Sylvia's eyes were glassier than the night before, dialated and dark.

"I'm taking you into the doctor," Beatrice announced. It was a Saturday morning, and she had nothing else pressing on her day – nothing more important than seeing this woman get well. But Sylvia’s eyes widened at the suggestion, and she quickly shook her head.

“N-no,” she croaked, through parched lips. “No, if you could just – just help me to the living room, I’ll call someone to take me in. My doctor is in San Jose – it’s a bit of a drive. I have someone who can take me.”

But Beatrice refused to move her, instead bringing the covers up to Sylvia’s chin and fetching her the phone along with a glass of water, and another cool washcloth. As Sylvia called a close friend down the street, Beatrice patted down her skin with the wet material, and their eyes were locked on each other the whole time. As Sylvia thanked her friend, asked for help, explained a bit, she let her eyes roam across Beatrice’s face – over every line and every curve, lingering on the fiery green of the woman’s eyes. When she clicked off the phone, Beatrice took it and set it down on her nightstand.

“She’ll be here in a few minutes,” Sylvia explained. “Beatrice, I don’t know how to thank you…for last night…” Her voice was hoarse, and her breathing labored. Beatrice shushed her and leaned down to kiss her cheek – but it was a kiss that lingered, and Sylvia leaned into it with a gentle, cooing moan. Embarrassed – and terrified of the electric hunger welling up inside of her – Beatrice straightened up and turned away.

She waited until Sylvia’s friend arrived, then slipped out the front door and into her waiting car. It’s just the flu, she reminded herself as she pulled out of the woman’s driveway. Everyone gets the flu.

She called Sylvia's house several times over the week - an extreme action on her part, and testimony to her concern. But there was never an answer, and she never left a message. Finally calling Anne and inquiring, she got a vague explanation of a lingering illness, and Sylvia taking a lot of bedrest. "She'll be fine," Anne said hastily, when Beatrice suggested she might stop by and see if Sylvia needed anything.

On their next weekly get together, one of the women explained Sylvia's absence by saying she was out of town, and Beatrice found herself sulking all throughout the evening before finally leaving earlier than normal. Anne got up as she was putting on her coat, as the other women asked why she was running off so soon. "Her cohort in crime is missing," Anne explained with a smile, but her eyes were studying Beatrice as if searching for an answer.

"My what?"

"Sylvia," Anne winked at her with a smile. "The two of you have become thick as thieves."

"She's young enough to be my daughter," Beatrice answered, rolling her eyes.

"In body - maybe not in spirit. And even so, so what? The two of you are good for each other." Beatrice couldn't quite tell what Anne meant, specifically - something in her tone almost conveyed a meaning beyond the obvious. "You know, she hangs on your every word - and you think she hung the moon," Anne quietly added with a smile.

"She hangs on my every word, eh?" Beatrice snorted, buttoning her jacket and fighting her discomfort. The women were all looking at her, smiling knowingly, and she wasn't sure which was more pressing -- the urge to flee or the urge to smack them. She erred on the side of caution and gave in to the latter. But just as Beatrice had made it to the front door, she noticed Anne had followed her.

"I'm sorry, ducky. I know I was a bit out of line back there - you're so private, my God, you don't even talk to your own family, let alone a bunch of women you've just met. The words just slipped out."

"They were odd words to slip out," Beatrice frowned, placing her hand on the doorknob. "But it's alright."

"Bea, listen...." Anne furrowed her brow and opened and closed her mouth a few times, mentally chewing on her words before she spoke them. "Sylvia..."

"Oh Jesus, Anne -- like I said, the woman is young enough to be my daughter. There's nothing there between us."

Anne shook her head and waved her hand in the air, signalling that wasn't what she was going to say and was neither here nor there. "Whatever you say, dearie, but what I was getting at was, there's something you should know." She went back to her fish-like mouth movements and then paced the small patch of carpet for a few moments. "Bea, whatever you maintain about your feelings for her is your issue, but it IS obvious the two of you are becoming very close, on a level few friends really connect on. And the thing is -- God she'd kill me for telling anyone this, she really would, but you need to know before you get any closer--"

Just then, Sheila rounded the corner, hands on her hips and staring at Anne impatiently. Anne immediately snapped to attention and played off the conversation as a lengthy goodbye, before following Sheila back into the other room. "I'll call you," she said over her shoulder. But she never did. Instead, when Beatrice saw Anne at work the next morning, the woman pretended as if there was nothing at all amiss and nothing at all to be discussed. This sudden change alerted Beatrice's warning systems far more than Anne's coded words of the night before, but try and press as she did, Anne would only say that she had been overreacting to a concern and it was nothing.

"Anne, I've known you for twenty years. You're the main reason I moved back into town - you, and this job. Come clean with me. Spill it."

"Nothing to spill, dearie. I was just being a worrywort last night. Ignore it." But she would hardly meet Beatrice's eyes.

After work, Beatrice planned on pressing Anne further, so she followed her out of the parking lot and planned on talking to her when they pulled up outside her house. But instead of going home, Anne drove to the hospital downtown, stopping only to buy flowers from the florist two blocks down. With a shrug, Beatrice drove past the tall, white building as Anne pulled into the vistor's parking structure. She'd let it go, for now. She'd press her later. Not now, when she was obviously visiting a sick friend and had other concerns on her mind.

Post Thu Jan 08, 2009 5:30 pm 
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rainandblues



Joined: 25 Aug 2006
Posts: 116


Two days later, Beatrice pulled into Sylvia's driveway, deciding she'd had enough of worrying and wondering and was finally prepared to do something about it. Taking the flowers (that had made her feel silly when she purchased them) and the bag of soups from the passenger seat, she made her way up the walk and steps and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, she rang the doorbell, and waited longer. Just as she was turning to leave, feeling foolish, she felt her cell phone buzzing in the holder clipped to her belt. She shifted the goodies she was holding in order to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Tell me that's you," came a tired, rasping version of Sylvia's voice on the other end. She sounded breathless and exhausted. "I can just make out a cute little auburn head through the beveled glass of the door. Tell me it's you."

"It's me," Beatrice smiled, her heart melting and sighing with relief.

"Come in, the door's open."

The picture that greeted her when she walked in the door, however, made her want to retract that sigh. Sylvia was lying on the sofa, a blanket tucked around her legs, her hair unwashed, unkempt, and plastered to her skull. And the circles under her eyes were dark and deep.

"You're still not well."

Sylvia managed a wan smile as Beatrice crossed the entryway and walked into the living room. The house looked so clean and untouched - as if it hadn't been occupied by a very ill, weak woman for a week and a half. She looked down at her friend and produced the flowers from behind her back, kneeling in front of her.

"Oh, darling..." Sylvia said tenderly, and even though it was a simple term of endearment, and even though Sylvia often used terms of endearment with those around her, Beatrice still felt her knees weaken just a little. "Beatrice, they're beautiful. They're my favorite, you know," she said quietly, looking back up into the woman's eyes.

"Are they, now?" Beatrice winked at her. "I confess I already knew that -- I called Anne to ask if she knew which flowers you liked. Do you have a vase? I'll put them in water for you."

"In the cupboard next to the refrigerator," Sylvia gestured in the direction of the kitchen, and Beatrice followed the motion.

"Have you felt better at all? I heard you were out of town last week," she called out over the sound of the tap filling the glass vase she had found. But the woman didn't respond, and when Beatrice walked back into the living room with the flowers in hand, she noticed Sylvia avoiding her eyes. She set the vase on the table beside the young woman, as Sylvia slowly moved her legs to allow Beatrice a place to sit on the sofa. "Well?"

"I...I wasn't exactly out of town. I just wasn't well," Sylvia hedged. She leaned her head into her palm, propping her elbow on the back of the sofa. "I missed you," she smiled. "How was the weekly get-together?"

"Strangely empty without you," Beatrice answered, before she could mask the words with something far less honest and revealing. Made uncomfortable by her honesty, she cleared her throat and looked down at the coffee table, spying the book spread open there. Reaching down to grab it and inquiring as to whether Sylvia enjoyed the read, she jolted when the young woman's hand slipped softly over her own.

"Don't change the subject," she said, with a soft smile in her voice. Beatrice froze, unable to move, as she stared at the soft hand and fingers touching her skin. "You were telling me how much you missed me."

"Very much. I look forward to seeing you every week." It was now Beatrice's voice that was hoarse, as she fought to rein in her emotions. Ridiculous old woman! Stop this, stop it now!! This young thing would never look at you as anything other than a mother-figure! Get a grip on yourself!

"I missed you, too. Very much." Sylvia gently caressed Beatrice’s hand with her fingertips, and the older woman fought the trembling that was threatening to take over her body.

“You still have the flu? It’s been such a long time, now…”

“It went into pneumonia,” Sylvia answered quietly, withdrawing her hand and almost recoiling on herself like an animal retreating into a shell. Beatrice immediately wished to God she hadn’t spoken at all – but could not quite figure out what it was she might have said to produce such a reaction.

“I’m so sorry, little one… What can I do for you?” She turned and placed her hand on a blanketed knee, squeezing it tenderly, and Sylvia’s eyes came to stare at where the hand was touching.

“You can…you can stay with me a while, if you will… Please.”

“Of course. I would love nothing more.” There was a humming, electric silence hanging in the air between them a moment, before Beatrice offered to read to her. With a smile, Sylvia accepted the offer and leaned her head back to rest.

Post Thu Jan 08, 2009 7:18 pm 
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rainandblues



Joined: 25 Aug 2006
Posts: 116


As the daylight dwindled, the shadows in the room slowly, slowly, crept and piled upon one another, until it was finally to dark for Beatrice to read the words on the page. She quietly closed the book and looked over at her friend, expecting to find the woman fast asleep. But instead she only saw two beautiful but tired eyes gazing back at her.

"I feel so much better when you're around," she said quietly.

Beatrice only returned her gaze in the shadows. For a long moment, they didn't speak, leaving her to wonder again on the strange pull and draw she felt towards this woman. "You hardly know me," she said softly with a smile.

"I know you. Across time and space, I know you." Without thinking, Beatrice reached out and brushed her fingers against Sylvia's cheek. The skin that had been so soft just ten days before, now felt rough and coarse. Desperate for a way to break the spell that was settling over her, she pinched Sylvia's cheek and teased her.

"You need a bath," she smiled, wrinkling up her nose.

"I do. Only getting spongebaths every other day just doesn't quite cut it for hygiene."

"Has someone been coming over her to give you spongebaths? Lucky devil," Beatrice winked, before the dawn of realization slowly took her over. "Wait..."

Tiny pieces of the puzzle clicked together, but a very large one was still missing. Beatrice looked over at Sylvia. "You were in the hospital."

"Yes," Sylvia answered quickly, quietly, averting her eyes and reaching for a glass of water on the coffee table.

"Anne went to see you?"

"...Yes."

"Goddammit, why didn't she just tell me you had pneumonia and were in the hospital? Wait, why didn't you just-- Sylvia, I get that you're secretive, but Jesus."

"Beatrice, it's not that simple."

"What? Why? You were very sick, it turned into pneumonia, you had to go to the hospital, you're home now. Would that have been so goddamn hard to reveal? Or are we only close enough for the occasional fever-induced cuddle and a few conversations on human nature and politics?" Beatrice couldn't quite figure out why she was so annoyed, and hurt. Her emotions were reacting without her approval. But she couldn't stop it.

"Please, Beatrice...please....it's not that simple..." Sylvia covered her face with her hands, and took a deep breath. When she finally let them fall to her lap, her eyes were closed, and her face lost in shadows. "I have cancer," she said quietly. "I begged Anne not to tell. Not to tell anyone."

Stunned, Beatrice sat back against the cushions and stared at her, mouth agape. "Why?" She finally asked. "Why wouldn't you tell anyone?"

"Because...because this time I'm not fighting it." Sylvia closed her eyes and turned her face away, and suddenly Beatrice knew what Anne had been trying to tell her.

Post Thu Jan 08, 2009 7:49 pm 
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rainandblues



Joined: 25 Aug 2006
Posts: 116


The silence grew into a living, breathing thing, an angry and incomprehending thing, that took over the space between them. Finally, Sylvia sent it wisping into the air.

"I was diagnosed with lymphoma three years ago. I beat it. Through chemo that almost killed me faster than the cancer, I beat it. And...and it's back." Sylvia shivered, shuddered, coiled in upon herself again and kept her face turned away from Beatrice. "I don't want to fight anymore," she whispered. "I don't have it in me. I've been sickly all my life, I'm tired."

"You're giving up and waiting to die."

Sylvia retreated further, and Beatrice wasn't sure if she wanted to shake her or hold her.

"It will just keep coming back. And back. And back. I'm done, Beatrice. Please don't pass judgement on something you don't understand." She was silent a while, before continuing in a whisper. "It isn't as if I want to die....I'm so scared of it, Bea...I'm so goddamn scared..." She covered her face again, and Beatrice eased off the couch and knelt in front of her, pulling her into her arms.

"Oh little one..."

Sylvia let herself slip from the couch and onto the floor with the older woman, curling up against her. "It always feels better when I see you, when you're near me. I always feel so much safer and stronger..." Beatrice rocked her back and forth, trying to turn her eyes to steel so the tears within them would harden before they had the chance to fall. "Now listen you," Sylvia spoke more forcefully, pulling her head back to stare up into Beatrice's face, "no one is to know. Understand? No one." She wagged a finger for emphasis. "Be a good girl and keep quiet. And don't go treating me like an invalid. Treat me the same as you did before. This changes nothing."

"This changes everything," Beatrice's voice cracked.

"Oh....oh darling, I'm so sorry...." Sylvia reached up and stroked the woman's cheek, her eyes closing slightly. "I never meant to hurt you. It just is." Beatrice kissed the palm of Sylvia's hands, leaning into it.

"What can I do for you?" She asked softly.

"You can help give me a bath," Sylvia laughed, letting her eyes open once more and dance across her friend's face. "I'm so disgusted with myself, I can't stand it. But I don't quite have the strength yet to do it all myself. Please help me?"

"A bath?"

"Yes."

"Naked?" Beatrice's voice pitched into a nervous squeal at that word, and Sylvia broke into laughter.

"Well I could take one in my robe and pajamas, if you like, but that would quite defeat the purpose. ...does it...does it bother you, the idea of my being naked...?" A demure look passed over her face, and she looked away.

"Sylvia, you're half my age. You're like a daughter to me." She felt the woman stiffen in her arms, from shoulders to legs, body as rigid as if steel rods had been suddenly inserted into her body. "That bothers you?"

"No. No, it's very sweet." Sylvia cleared her voice, looking about the room. "Um, that bath? Is it alright, if you help me?"

Beatrice got to her feet, slowly and gently helping Sylvia to hers before leading her down the hall. There were a hundred questions she wanted to ask, and a hundred things she wanted to say. But she kept silent, choosing instead to listen carefully to Sylvia's breathing, discerning when she should slow her pace and let the woman catch her breath a moment. Sitting Sylvia down on the end of her bed, she then walked into the bathroom to run the hot water, finding some bath salts on the shelf and pouring them in. I shouldn't have made the daughter comment, she thought to herself, her mouth pursed as she listened to the roar of the bath water.

Of course you should have. The age difference is so immense, any romantic idea is laughable. If she has some strange Oedipus complex going, better to nip it in the bud.

That's not fair, you old bat. You're falling for her just as she's falling for you.

Falling?

Oh yes. Falling. Head over ridiculous heels. Falling.

She turned around and walked back to Sylvia, who was avoiding her eyes and holding herself tightly. Beatrice reached out and cupped her chin, lifting her face to meet her eyes.

"Hello," Sylvia whispered after a moment.

"Hello." Beatrice felt her heart begin to race with electricity that spread throughout the rest of her body in an instant. I want you, she thought. There's a line directly from my heart to yours, and I can't understand it.

Sylvia dropped her eyes and slowly got to her feet, leaning on her friend as they walked into the bathroom. She held out her arms as Beatrice slipped her robe from her body, leaned on her as the rest of her clothes were gently removed. Beatrice grabbed her right hand and wrapped an arm around her waist once Sylvia was naked, slowly helping her into the bath, smiling when Sylvia moaned with relief and bliss as she slipped into the steaming water.

"Feel good?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh my God. Better than sex," Sylvia groaned, and Beatrice slipped into easy laughter as knelt on the tile floor beside her.

Post Thu Jan 08, 2009 9:28 pm 
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rainandblues



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The scent of the lavendar bath salts wafted in the air around them as Sylvia slipped deeper into the bath, and Beatrice tried to look anywhere but at the woman's naked body beneath the water. So many emotions were swirling in her chest, and so many logical reprimands fighting at all of them but one: fear. Fear of loving a woman so young, fear of loving a woman who was dying, fear of death itself. Beatrice closed her eyes and willed herself back to the moment, the moment where nothing existed except for her, her friend, and the bath water.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you," Sylvia finally said quietly, and Beatrice opened her eyes. "It's just not exactly something a person goes around revealing. Even when... well, I'm sorry."

"How long?" Beatrice asked, her voice breaking as she looked down at the porcelain wall of the bathtub.

"Let's not talk about such things right now -- please? I feel so good when you're with me... I feel things I can't put words to, can't even completely understand. I just want to feel them right now. Not the fear I'm used to."

Beatrice looked up at her, trying to ignore the urge to touch her again. The time had come to bring the obvious into the discussion. "Sylvia."

"This is the part where you tell me I'm very young, or you're very old -- which, for point of fact, you're not."

"No, I'm not -- but I am considerably older than you. It isn't...normal. To feel this way."

"Oh really? Well, I agree with you there. In my experience, it isn't normal at all to feel so intensely about a person, from the very first moment you meet them, that all you have inside your ribcage feels as if it's tethered to their existence. It isn't normal at all to think on a person so hard that it hurts inside. No, quite extraordinary, actually."

"You can't possibly feel that way about me," Beatrice whispered, unnerved by how desperately she wanted to be wrong. "Sylvia, you're a beautiful young woman -- an amazing young woman. What could you possibly see in me?"

"Everything. I see all of you. And I am enamored because of all I see."

Beatrice felt the blood rising in her cheeks and neck as she broke away from Sylvia's eyes and looked down at herself. "I'm out of shape, I'm old, I'm frumpy."

The sparkle of Sylvia's laughter echoed in the bathroom. "You're not frumpy at all, you silly woman. You're elegant - I never see you with a single hair out of a place or a muss to your clothing. And you're not old. My God...you might just be the most fascinating, beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. I can feel you, did you know that?" She shifted in the bath water, turning her head to look harder at her friend, and Beatrice felt her eyes cast down in a stolen glance at the soft, porcelain breasts that rose just a touch above the water. With a catch in her breath she blushed harder and looked away. "I can feel your spirit, your presence, the essence of who you are. You're frightened, like me, of so many things. You live behind your walls, venturing out only in humorous anecdotes or sympathetic musings to another person's plight. So much like me. You are strong but so vulnerable, so easily hurt by the cruelty around you. I see all of that. I feel it. I understand it."

Beatrice met her eyes again, feeling herself drawn inside of them. "We can't do this," she said quietly.

"Right now, we're not doing anything. Except giving me a bath." She paused a moment before saying, her eyes dancing with mischeif, "I suppose I shouldn't ask you to help wash my body?"

"No little one, that probably would not be a good idea."

"I confess a touch of disappointment, at that." A smile twitched on Sylvia's soft red lips, before she slowly reached for the loofah that was hanging from a hook above her on the shower wall. "Then would you be a wonderful dear and put on the kettle for some tea, while I take care of this?"

"Of course." Beatrice rose stiffly with a groan, pushing on her knees as she stood. "You see? Don't tell me I'm not old," she laughed.

"And don't use that as an example. I've had hip surgery three times, and I'm 29. I sound just like that when I get up from the floor."

Beatrice looked down at her, more questions floating to the surface of her mind. How could she know so little about someone, and yet feel them so intensely? She turned and walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her, trying not to dwell on the terror of what was slowly spinning out around them. The house was dark, now, and she switched on lights as she walked, finally making it into the kitchen and taking the kettle from the stove to fill with water. Lovers, she mused -- impossible. Perhaps friends with a splash of something odd, but never lovers. It was still too... far too... strange. She set the kettle back on the stove, hearing the water splash down the hall and trying not to imagine Sylvia's naked body. But it was too difficult, when so much of her did want to imagine just that. Those soft breasts, so small and round and perfect... She shook her head and clicked on the burner, watching the blue of the gas flames turn to yellow, sputtering to heated life.

Dying....

It wasn't possible. Surely, there was a way to convince Sylvia to change her mind. It wasn't too late. But then she flashed on something Anne had said to her several months ago, just after she and Sylvia had met. "That young woman has been through far too much," Anne had said softly, when she noticed Beatrice's eyes following Sylvia as the younger woman walked out of the room. "She doesn't have any fight left in her."

"Fight? For what? About what?"

But Anne had shrugged it off, and changed the subject. That moment came flooding back to Beatrice as she stood in the kitchen, along with everything else... how she had always been sickly, that she was tired, three surgeries by the age of 29, lymphoma, chemo, lymphoma again.

"We're doomed before we even began," she said to herself wryly. Not that we would ever truly begin, anyway.

The water splashed again, and Beatrice willed herself to remain where she stood, not walk back down the hall and into that bathroom, where that naked beauty lay waiting. Her pulse was quickening and her breathing becoming irregular. She began doing simple arithmetic in her head, a trick she'd discovered when trying to change her focus. But it wasn't working. Only the shrill whistle of the kettle was able to break through the increasingly passionate need she was feeling in her chest, and she gratefully picked it up and moved it over, turning off the burner and searching the cupboards for mugs.

"In the one to your left," came a soft voice behind her, and Beatrice jumped with a yelp. She turned around and looked at Sylvia, who was clad only in a loose robe and leaning against the doorjamb. She looked pale, but better than she had before the bath.

"You should have waited for me -- you shouldn't have gotten out on your own."

"I didn't want you to feel you had to wait on me hand and foot."

"It isn't something I mind," Beatrice replied, her voice quiet. The robe was barely hanging on her body, and soft, white skin was peeking out tantalizingly from the maroon of the cloth that covered it. "I like being here. I want to.... I want to take care of you."

The look in Sylvia's eyes was one of hunger, peace, and need, and Beatrice knew it was mirrored in her own. She turned around, clearing her throat, and opened the cupboard to her left, pulling out two mugs and setting them on the counter.

"What sort of tea would you like?" Sylvia asked, walking slowly and stiffly into the kitchen. "I have ginger, chamomile, Earl Grey, jasmine..." She had opened another cupboard and was standing before it, scanning the boxes in front of her. Beatrice could hardly stand it, so strong was her urge to pull Sylvia to her and hold her. Kiss her. Melt with her.

"I don't want you to die," she croaked, a different need entirely seeping out of her mouth. Sylvia froze, closing her eyes and remaining silent. "I'm sorry." Beatrice quickly turned around and walked out of the kitchen, kicking herself as she went. She made it to the hallway before the ache in her chest turned into burning tears. Just as the first of them slipped down her cheeks, she felt Sylvia's arms wrapping around her waist from behind. Gentle, soft kisses were placed on her shoulders, her spine, and she smiled when she felt Sylvia strain up on her tiptoes to kiss the back of her neck. "I didn't mean to say that," she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks as Sylvia nuzzled her.

"Yes you did. Don't apologize."

Beatrice covered Sylvia's hands with her own, but did not turn around to face her. It was easier, somehow, to not face her in this moment.

"You never told me what kind of tea you would like."

"Jasmine."

"That makes two of us." But when she tried to pull back, Beatrice held onto her, and Sylvia stayed.

"I'm here. I need you to know that. For whatever you need, however long you need it...I'm here."

Sylvia didn't respond immediately, and when she finally did, her voice was quiet and strained. "That's a tall promise, my dear. I will wait a while and give you time to retract it." She tried to pull her arms free again, but Beatrice still hung on.

"I have no plans of retracting. Remember, love, I am older than you -- I know what I'm getting myself into." She closed her eyes as she felt Sylvia relax, and begin lightly stroking her stomach with the tips of her fingers. Oh God, she breathed, my God I want you. Forgive me, but I want you...

"Beatrice," the young woman whispered behind her.

"Yes."

"...Will you please...please...oh God..." Sylvia buried her face in Beatrice's back, and the woman slowly turned around in her embrace to face her. She lifted Sylvia's chin again, and stared into a pair of burning eyes. I know what you are going to ask me, she thought feverishly. And I'm so frightened of it -- and I so desperately want it....

"Kiss me, please kiss me... My god I think I'll lose my mind if you don't kiss me!" Sylvia hissed, her voice desperate as her eyes searched the other woman's. But as badly as Beatrice wanted to comply, the fear within her grew to an immobilizing point. "Don't think, goddamn you -- just bring your soft mouth down here and let me taste you!"

Feeling herself burn and melt in unison, Beatrice slowly leaned down and brushed her lips against the younger woman's, silk against satin, moaning when Sylvia nibbled her lower lip and gently slipped her hot, fluid tongue inside of her mouth. Needhungerlovelustfearfearfearneed emotions firing in all directions inside of her, Beatrice shivered and lifted Sylvia into her arms, carrying her down the hall and into her bedroom.

Post Thu Jan 08, 2009 11:28 pm 
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MysteryGirl
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OH MY!!!!!! I dont know whether to be sorry that you left it hanging at such a crucial point, or be glad that you have given me time to release the breath I have been holding from the first sentence. I feel this story, these two women, so strongly.

Well done my friend, .................dont wait too long to give us more.





HugZ, Noni
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Post Fri Jan 09, 2009 12:39 am 
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Onyxia



Joined: 01 Jul 2006
Posts: 156


Yea, I'm with Noni.....*lets out breath*

what an amazing start....

O

Post Sat Jan 10, 2009 6:07 am 
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rainandblues



Joined: 25 Aug 2006
Posts: 116


She gently laid Sylvia down upon the bed, flashing back to ten days prior when she had gone through the same motions - only then, Sylvia had been limp and sleeping. Now, the woman was clinging to Beatrice and bestowing the fieriest of kisses upon her neck.

Beatrice was frightened - so frightened. Afraid of what she was doing, afraid of doing it wrong, afraid of doing it at all - afraid of not doing it, and shutting the door on possibly the most intense love affair of her life. To combat her sudden panic, Beatrice closed her eyes and thought of music. She played four instruments, one of which was the guitar, and flamenco was her specialty - perfected after spending six years in Madrid. But whenever she played flamenco, she had to focus on anything but the fact that she was playing. Stay in the moment, remain where her fingers were, focus on each strum, each string, each plucked piece of harmony. If she strayed even a moment into looking at the broader picture, she would panic, and the panic would lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy of failure. Really, the two situations weren't all that dissimilar.

"What are you thinking about? Where did you go?" Sylvia asked, having noticed the woman's distance.

"Flamenco," Beatrice answered, embarrassed. She looked down at Sylvia's body with a shy smile.

An expression passed over Sylvia's face - part mirth, part adoration. "Remind me to ask you why, at a time when I'm not so intent on making love with you." She reached up and cupped Beatrice's face in her hands and pulled her down, down into liquid fire and molten peace. She, for her part, was not thinking about flamenco - and when Beatrice let her lips trail from her neck to her jaw to her hands, Sylvia closed her eyes to blot the tears of gratitude. She had prayed for this so hard. From the moment Anne had first led Beatrice into Carol's living room and introduced her to the group, Sylvia had Known. She had felt it deep inside of her, in her soul, in the root of her being. And she had done nothing but pray that this woman would belong to her, ever since. Some might be surprised to find that Sylvia still believed in prayer, in God, after the life that she had lived. A childhood spent in foster homes, when she wasn't in hospitals; abuse of every kind at every corner; learning so quick, so young, that the only way to stay alive and to stay sane, was to curl up behind the wall of darkness where nothing and no one could find you. But Sylvia not only believed in God - she knew that God existed. She knew there was a heaven. And she knew that every time she wept, God wept harder. So she had prayed. Prayed that God would give her just this little bit of heaven, before she finally met Him face to face.

It was not something that could have ever been explained, her feelings for Beatrice; so Sylvia had never tried. They would have been foolish to some, and downright bizarre to others. So she had simply kept them quiet and hidden, nurtured only by a warming light shining from her own heart. Until recently. Until now.

Beatrice kissed her gently on her collarbone - so light and soft that Sylvia could hardly feel it. It was the whisper of a hint of intention, and her kisses went on like that - upon Sylvia's neck, her chest, her hands. Till Sylvia felt she wasn't a sick woman upon a bed, at all, but an angel floating in the clouds high above where pain could touch her. She called out her lover's name, not in passion, not a plea... but in prayer. And Beatrice responded by grasping Sylvia's hands and burying her own face within them, covering the palms with kisses.

"You are so lovely," Sylvia murmured through her tears. Beatrice raised her face from the other woman's hands with a soft smile. She wanted to say so many things; but as soon as she looked at Sylvia's worn, pale face, reality came crashing down all around her and buried her words in the rubble. "What is it? Oh love, what's wrong?" Sylvia whispered. But the older woman only shook her head, choking on the smoke and cement-dusted air of the destruction. She moved up the bed and laid beside Sylvia, gathering the woman into her arms and holding her tightly, desperately. For a long while, neither woman spoke. Long past the dusk became darkness, and the shadows of the room coalesced into a single mask of the unknown.

"I can't...I can't, I'm so sorry," Beatrice whispered. And Sylvia murmured words of comfort and love into her neck, as she softly caressed her cheek with her fingertips. But the loving words and motions only increased Beatrice's panic, her frenzy, her fear; until she felt as if she would scream or suffocate if she remained there a moment longer.

In her defense, it must be said that Beatrice had watched every last thing she had ever loved, wither and die before her. Her parents, her brother, her best friend -- and, just two years ago, her lover. It was why she had decided to move back into town; why, at 57 years old, she had sold the home she'd lived in for fifteen years, quit her job of twenty, and moved halfway across the country to a place she swore she'd never return. In a sixteen month span, she had lost everyone. And when she finally buried her partner after her illness had won, she also found that survival skill of walling onself up behind the safety of the darkness, and never venturing out too far for too long. Only this little woman, this sickly angel-elf, had simply shown up one day beside her in the shadows, a shy and knowing smile the only clues that she understood the reasons, and benefits, for Hiding.

Beatrice felt as if the room was coming down upon her, the panic rising in her chest as the love she felt for and from this woman came closer and closer to the Devastating mark. Not again - no, not again. I am not going through this again, she screamed in the cavern of her mind. It would be one thing if this little woman was fighting, trying, grasping at survival. That would make it so entirely different. But to watch Death claim another one -- without even having enough time to hold onto her in the first place... She couldn't stay - she had to run - had to get up and flee and go before this had a chance to root itself any deeper. And all at once she felt her body and mind go numb, cold. She extricated herself from Sylvia's arms without a word, quickly rising from the bed and walking past it in the darkness.

"Where are you going?" Sylvia cried out, sensing the sudden winter in the air.

"We can't do this. This is ridiculous. I don't know what I was thinking," Beatrice said, her voice stiff and brittle. In her mind, all she could think about was the terror of going through it all again.

"I don't understand - darling, wait. Stop. Please!" She rose on shaky legs and flipped the light on beside her bed, her face and outstretched arms imploring.

"Sylvia, the bare facts are, I am old, you are young, and you are dying." Blunt. Straightforward. Much kinder to plunge the steel in quickly, rather than draw out the agony with a softer kill. Oh why the HELL couldn't Anne have found the words to warn her, that day?!

The younger woman only stared at her, disbelief and agony washing back and forth through her irises. This wasn't happening...God wasn't cruel. Not like this. Not cruel as this. She reached for Beatrice, but the other woman only quickly turned away. "I'll see you in a few days, at Anne's."

"Please don't go."

"I am not your security blanket."

Sylvia reeled back, stung and shocked. She did not recover quickly enough to speak again before Beatrice walked out of the door and down the hall.

"You wouldn't do this to me," she whispered in the empty silence, after she heard the front door slam. "I know You wouldn't. You've always given me what I needed, even then. Even back then. I know You wouldn't break my heart like this. Please help me understand -- help me see. What is it You want from me?!?!"

Post Sat Jan 10, 2009 7:34 am 
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MysteryGirl
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Sad Sad Sad

Oh.......if I was holding my breath at the end of the first instalment, now I cannot breathe at all. This is so sad.....................




HugZ, Noni
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Post Sat Jan 10, 2009 10:25 am 
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Onyxia



Joined: 01 Jul 2006
Posts: 156


*Sits beside Noni*

This is sad...but I find my self wanting to read more...


It's a very interesting story



O

Post Sun Jan 11, 2009 9:09 pm 
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rainandblues



Joined: 25 Aug 2006
Posts: 116


They didn't speak for three days. Many times, each woman picked up the phone - but she only stared at it, agonized, screamed out silently, and set it down again. Sylvia, for her part, eventually pulled the proverbial covers over her head and shut out the world. Another thing she had become quite skilled at, over the years. She had always told herself it was because she preferred to deal with pain alone; to handle the process behind closed doors, not being one to cry on another person's shoulder. But this was a lie - a deception that it took Beatrice to unmask and reveal as a charlatan. Sylvia needed other people as much as everyone else - she simply didn't have any.

You learn, when you walk through the doors of dozens of strangers as a child - and out again, almost as quickly - that the only person you can truly rely on is yourself. You learn to mimic the actions of others, without ever letting them in to teach you. You learn to keep the world at arm's length, so repetitive is its action of abandonment. You learn this so well, in fact, that one day you awaken to a life that is completely devoid of human love and interaction.

Oh, she had the group - the women's get-togethers, the dinners, the playdates in the park. But that was born of accident, when she and Carol had been roommates. And every week that Anne, Sheila and the others got together, Carol had dragged Sylvia along. A move that she always suspected Anne was behind. It was Anne that had set her up with Carol for a living situation when she was in college, it was Anne that had always pushed and prodded and challenged her, over the years. And of the entire group, it was only Anne that even knew a hint of who Sylvia was. When Sylvia had moved into her own place, and thought she would cease attending the little gatherings, she'd had her suspicions confirmed when Anne practically ordered her to change her mind. "You need this," she had said, "whether you like it or not." In truth, Anne was the closest thing Sylvia had ever had to a friend. And that hadn't been born of her own choosing.

She sat in her bedroom, knees up to her chest, with a pain so great that she could hardly stand it. There are times when we experience such profound and piercing agony, that we find we aren't even able to cry. It is the deepest level of pain - deeper than even the level where tears are born. And that's what she was feeling, as she stared hard at her bedroom walls.

She'd hardly moved since the evening Beatrice had left. She wanted to reach out, to throw her hands into the dark and find solace in someone else's reaching back to her. But there was no one. Not since she was five years old had she so suddenly realized that she was utterly and completely alone.

"God, please... what do you want from me? What have I done? What sick lesson are you trying to teach me now?"

It was eight o'clock on Tuesday night, and Beatrice was slipping on her sweater as Sylvia was praying across town. She was trying to prepare herself for the women's night at Carol's; trying to prep herself, as she did every week, for the few hours of socializing and interacting that were always so painful for her. Just like with Sylvia, it had been Anne that had pulled her into the fold; Anne who had insisted that she come, be a part of, benefit from this experience of communal conversing. She had said it was because she was new to the area, and having gone through so much, so recently, she could use the newfound support. But sometimes, Beatrice wondered if that was really Anne's intention. She wondered this every time she'd caught Anne's eyes shining and smiling when Beatrice and Sylvia finished having another amazing connection over a cup of coffee.

She slipped her shoes on and once again wondered which she was more afraid of - that Sylvia would be there tonight, or that she wouldn't. Every time over the past three days that she had picked up the phone, desperate to call, the guilt and pain washing over her in waves of torment, she would throw it down again, unable to come up with a single outcome to this situation that was positive. As great as the desperation was to make that call, to tumble all over herself with apologies, to beg and plead for forgiveness, to explain - it was the explanation itself, or rather the reasons behind it, that kept her from calling.

"You did nothing wrong," said an apathetic, if slightly sneering, voice within her mind. "Come on, old girl, do you honestly believe this is love? You know better than that. You hardly know her."

But a softer voice replied, "I Know her. I Know her, I See her. I love her."

If Sylvia would fight - if she would only fight, if she would just do anything other than give up and die... Beatrice's partner had done that. The doctor had said cancer, and Lorraine had simply closed her eyes to life. Beatrice couldn't go through that again. "Burying someone," she had once told Anne, "is hard enough. But burying them before they're even gone..." She had shaken her head and let her voice trail off in agony.

The night before, as Beatrice had paced the floors of her home and mentally tore her hair out, she had finally been unable to stand the arguing voices in her head a second longer. She picked up the phone and called Anne, ordering her to divulge everything she knew about Sarah Schuberman.

"It will be a short conversation," Anne had sighed. "Especially if you're looking for facts. Most of what I've gathered about Sylvia is pure assumption."

"I don't care. Start talking."

"What happened, Bea?"

"I went over to her house with flowers. She told me she was dying. We almost made love. Barring the emotional details, including the bit about me possibly being in love with her, that about sums it up."

Silence followed, punctuated by a long exhalation on Anne's end of the phone line. "All right, old friend. But I don't know what good it will do your heart."

She proceeded to explain what she did know - that Sylvia's parents had emigrated from Germany, that her father had been a rabbi, that her mother was very fragile and sick. "At some point, they passed," Anne said. "I believe Sylvia was only five or six at the time."

"How?"

"I don't know. She never said. I only know this much because she had to write about her family as an assigment in my class. She went into an orphanage, then to various foster homes. That's about where my concrete knowledge ends. I assume that her childhood and adolescense were rather hellish - by the time she got to me, in her sophomore year of high school, she had the look of a feral cat crossed with a lab animal."

"Jesus."

"You asked. She was sick, quite often - I at first thought she was simply a hypochondriac, but I've come to ammend that particular assumption. I took...well, it wasn't quite a liking to her...I suppose she became my pet project. Something - well, you know that there's something about her. She just - she isn't like the rest of us, Beatrice. Even back then. I tried my best to take her under my wing. I thought - I don't know, I suppose I had this beautiful, if arrogant, idea that I could save her life and change her world. Inspire her to go on to great things and that we'd become lifelong friends." Anne gave a strange laugh. "But you can't domesticate the wild; not really. And though we're closer than she is with most people...still. In truth, I've never seen Sylvia truly calm and contented, except for with you. When the two of you are talking, even sitting side by side... It's almost as if she becomes a different person."

Anne explained only a little more - Sylvia's determination to go to college, the jobs she worked to put herself through, her career choice. When the conversation was winding down, Beatrice was left with more questions than answers.

"I told you I didn't know what good it would do," Anne had sighed.

"I don't understand. I don't understand any of it. And I especially don't understand why she won't just fight!"

"Really? You don't? I don't like it, either, Beatrice, but I get it. She's been doing nothing but fight, her entire life. She's done. She's tired. Flowers wither and champions grow weary, honey. And our little Sylvia is weary, indeed."

Beatrice shook her head and pulled herself back to Earth. Her stomach was flipping end over end, and she wasn't even sure why she was going, tonight. With a deep breath, she grabbed her car keys and headed out the door.

She was the last to arrive, and her eyes searched frantically for Sylvia when she walked in the door - as they did every time, only tonight it was with panic rather than hope. Not seeing her, she felt her nerves grow worse as Anne crossed the room to greet her.

"Where is she?"

"She called and said she still wasn't feeling a hundred percent," Anne said quietly. "But she's probably hiding. You know that." She stopped talking as Sheila came over to hug Beatrice hello, resuming only when the woman was again out of earshot. "Bea, just go to her. Go, talk, make it better."

"I don't even know how. I don't know what the hell to do - Anne, none of this makes sense."

"Oh damn that crap to hell! Beatrice, do you know what I saw the second the two of you laid eyes on each other? Lightning bolts. Hell, we all saw them."

"What?!"

"Oh get over yourself. This is the Bay Area - nothing gets past us or surprises us, here. Besides, you'd have to be deaf, dumb and blind to not notice what's been happening between the two of you. Don't get so hung up on the logistics of it all. For Christ's sake, the most beautiful things in life are the ones that don't make a lick of sense."

"It still doesn't--"

Anne turned and grabbed hold of Beatrice's arms, unnerving the woman with her sudden intensity. "Beatrice do you want to know what I think? Honestly? I think that Sylvia may be ready to go Home, but I don't think God's ready to take her. And I think the only person on Earth who can reach her and convince her to try, one last time, is you. It doesn't have to make sense. It's better that it doesn't, really. Just go to her. Go. I visited you often, while you were with Lorraine. And as good as you two were together, I never saw half the quiet understanding or intense emotional connection as we've seen between you and Sylvia. For fuck's sake, go see her."

"You cussed. I'm telling your students."

"And I'll tell yours that you're a lecherous old lez. Now go."

Hesitating only for a moment, Beatrice finally turned and walked out the door without a word of explanation, leaving that task to Anne. There was no game plan; she had no words scripted inside her head. She simply drove as fast as she could across town to Sylvia's house, finding it completely dark when she arrived. She walked to the front door and rang the bell. No answer. She knocked, and still nothing. After several repeated tries, she set off in a stubborn if nervous huff for the gate at the side of the house. She searched for the clasp, letting herself in the back yard and hoping her memory wasn't faulty as she walked around to what she thought was Sylvia's bedroom window. When she rapped on the glass, she almost laughed at the loud and frightened yelp that came from inside.

"I'm sorry - it's me. It's Beatrice."

For a moment there was nothing, and then a figure appeared in the darkness as Sylvia pulled the curtains aside and slid open the window. Neither woman spoke for a moment, instead rolling the words they were thinking around in their mouths a while before choosing to either say them or swallow them. Finally, Sylvia looked out at her backyard and back at Beatrice, saying, "Is this where we play out the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet?"

"I don't believe in Romeo and Juliet. I think you need to know that."

"Pardon?"

"I don't believe in avoidable tragedy, Sylvia."

Sylvia let the meaning sink in before she replied. "This isn't exactly avoidable, Beatrice."

"Yes, it is. You've beaten this before. You can try again."

Sylvia raised her eyes and pled - with God, with Beatrice, she did not know for certain. "What do you want from me?" And when the answer came, she still wasn't sure which being had given it.

"I want you to fight. I want you to try. I want you to live."

Post Mon Jan 12, 2009 7:53 am 
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Onyxia



Joined: 01 Jul 2006
Posts: 156


I don't know what to say. I'm speechless....which does not happen often... Smile




I look forward to the next section Smile



O

Post Mon Jan 12, 2009 3:18 pm 
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MysteryGirl
Moderators


Joined: 02 Jun 2007
Posts: 3419
Location: I come from a land downunder


Intense.................................that is the only word I can think of to describe this. In some ways Im glad there is a break between sections cause it gives me time to compose myself.

Well done rain, this is unbelievably real.
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Be yourself.............everybody else is taken!

Post Mon Jan 12, 2009 10:36 pm 
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Stormchaser



Joined: 04 Aug 2007
Posts: 95
Wow

It's been a long time since I've read a story that's hit me quite as hard. It was strange when I read Noni's comment about letting out her breath, because that was the same moment I realized I'd also been holding mine.

I'm in deep, keep going please.
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"Life isn't about the number of breaths we take. It's about the moments that take our breath away."

Post Tue Jan 13, 2009 9:44 am 
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DanceofSorrows



Joined: 29 Aug 2004
Posts: 2837


Rain,

I don't read the story section often but I stumbled on this. This is excellent! I love your writing style.

Dance~

Post Mon Jan 19, 2009 5:26 pm 
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