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Hopes All Things, Endures All Things
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Dark prism



Joined: 10 Dec 2006
Posts: 865
Location: California Dreamin, baby.


Just found this....

I think the mark of a great writer is when they can take you out of your world for awhile and entrench you in the one they have created. You know this has happened when you finish reading and are suddenly aware of your surroundings again when you weren't even aware of having left.

You do this easily and repeatedly, rain.

Your writing astounds me, but it also pisses me off. You should be published, rain, and it annoys the hell out of me that this talent of yours has not been realized by the right people. We should not be the only lucky ones to be graced with your stories.

Hell, I'm cheap, but I would absolutely pay to read writing this great. (Please don't send me a bill.)

I'll be checking back for more.....and remember..... I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Wink

((((((((((j)))))))))))


Dp
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"Fighting for this girl - on the battlefield of love."

Post Fri Jan 23, 2009 8:49 am 
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rainandblues



Joined: 25 Aug 2006
Posts: 116


I know I haven't updated in forever, and I'm so sorry - I'm going to post a long update tonight.

And my dear, crazy, wonderful El Dorko -- er, Dark Prism... your opinion of me (and my writing) is much higher than I deserve. But I love you. And I'm so grateful you're in my life, my friend.

Post Mon Jan 26, 2009 7:59 pm 
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rainandblues



Joined: 25 Aug 2006
Posts: 116


Sylvia did not respond. Instead, she closed her eyes and fought each tumultuous wave of emotion as, one by one, they crashed over her body. Exhaustion slammed into her, foaming over her skin, and curled past; then came fear, then pain, then anger. She rode each wave individually, forcing herself to breathe and keep her head above the water. But even when the storm had passed, the sea was hardly calm.

"Come inside," she finally said, wearily nodding towards the sliding door at the patio. When she met Beatrice at the glass, their eyes locked in the moonlight, but not a word was said. Beatrice stepped inside and went to the sofa, unbuttoning her coat, and Sylvia went to the kitchen, switching on the lamp as she passed.

"Tea?"

"Please." Beatrice sat and stared at Sylvia over the counter that separated kitchen from living room. She watched the woman's tired movements, observed her run her fingers through her short curls, pulling lightly on the ringlets above the nape of her neck. As if she could see the older woman watching her, though her back was turned, Sylvia gave a quiet laugh and spoke as she waited for the kettle to boil.

"I didn't used to have curls - never. Not even as a baby. I have a picture from back then - hair as straight as could be, what little of it there was."

"When did it become curly?" Beatrice imagined what it must be like to have only one old photograph to link you to your past.

"It just grew in that way. After chemotherapy. Bald one day, Shirley Temple the next." She turned around and leaned on the stove, folding her arms across her chest with a weary, almost forced, smile. But even that took strength she didn't have, and the smile quickly faded.

"You don't know what you're asking of me, Beatrice."

"And I might argue that you don't know what you're denying yourself."

"Is this where you launch into some well-meaning speech about how I can go on, travel, make babies, watch them grow?" Sylvia's sarcasm was biting, and so was the look in her eyes. "Where you tell me about all the sunsets I'll be missing?"

"You're being rude. And melodramatic. Neither suits you."

"And up until three nights ago, I would have said that being cold and callous didn't suit you, either. Just goes to show how little we know one another."

Beatrice shook her head, trying to figure out how they'd gotten to this point, so far off-track from the honesty and mutual understanding she'd come to love with this woman. "About that," she finally said, quietly, "Sylvia, saying I'm sorry wouldn't begin to cover it. But I am. I'm so very, very sorry. I just..."

"You pulled back. You were afraid, you pulled back and pushed away at the same time. It's understandable."

"Is it?"

"Why not." The kettle came whistling to life and Sylvia turned back around, both women sighing in audible relief at the break.

God, give me the words, Beatrice prayed. Give me the words and make this better.

Sylvia poured the steaming water into two mugs, before replacing the kettle and bringing the tea with her into the living room. She handed Beatrice her cup, and sat at the other end of the sofa, all without meeting the older woman's eyes. "Do you take anything in your tea? I never asked, the other day. Cream, sugar, honey?"

"No, this is fine." The silence returned, settling down between them on the couch, and with a stubborn and furrowed brow Beatrice shoved it out of the way and scooted closer. "Sylvia, what I did the other night - the way I behaved - was deplorable. But I moved here because I'd buried everyone I cared about in a year and a half, and I just couldn't breathe thinking about having to do it all over again."

Sylvia raised her eyes in shock, a look of empathy flitting through her pupils, but Beatrice did not give her a chance to respond. She was too afraid that, if she paused an instant, she'd lose the words that seemed to have come so suddenly. "And I watched my partner do exactly what you're doing, now. Only it was, I'll grant you, less understandable in her case. She just gave up and withered away, the moment we were given her diagnosis. Sylvia...I won't tell you about sunsets. Or sunrises. Or anything else that cliche and sappy. But I will beg you. I have no qualms about begging, I am not as proud a woman as I have been accused of being. Don't make me go through this again. Don't make me love you, make me adore you, make me....need you, only to tell me that it's all for nothing and you're leaving my life almost as quickly as you entered it."

"I just...Oh God, darling..." Sylvia closed her eyes and sank into the cushions. "I'm so goddamn, fucking, a hundred percent tired of slogging my way through this amazingly fucked-up world. It's always something, Beatrice. It's always been something. One obstacle after another, one trauma after another, one cruel and sickly twisted burden after a-fucking-nother. When they told me that I had this again, I just thought... I thought, Fuck it. I'm done. If God wants me home that bad, He can damn well have me. I'm so ready to go Home." She opened her eyes and looked at her friend. "I'm so sorry about your partner. About everything. I didn't know. Of course, not knowing is hardly a viable excuse for my lack of understanding, when you left."

"Of course it is -- what could you possibly have thought?"

"Doesn't matter. Everyone has a story, Beatrice. I think we forget that sometimes. I know I do." She ran her fingers over the handle of her mug, staring at the steaming liquid inside. "I should have understood that there was a reason -- that YOU had a reason. And I did, partly - but I deliberately chose to shove that rationale aside in favor of feeling wounded." She smiled, looking up from the tea, and her eyes were locked on some faraway land miles and miles deep inside of her. "Isn't the quicksand of self-pity absolutely astounding? From a physics standpoint, it really is a fascinating substance." She blinked, refocusing on the present moment, and cocked her head to look at Beatrice softly, tenderly. "I wasn't even aware it had sucked me in so deep."

"I'm not the sharpest tack in the box, but I have a feeling we're not only talking about your reaction to my sudden departure, the other night."

Sylvia chuckled, raising one eyebrow with a smile. "You're very perceptive."

"Does that mean you'll at least think about what I said?"

"On a few conditions. One, that you and I remain as we are -- friends, darling. As much for me as for you. I don't think either of us would be able to handle a lover's relationship, through all that's about to come." Her voice was grave and solemn, only a decible above a whisper. "Two, that I reserve the right to call off treatment, if it honestly appears to be doing more harm than good. I've thought about death, Beatrice -- more than most my age, and not because of melodrama but out of forced necessity. And I decided, after my last bout, that I will not go out like that. Too sick and feeble and ill to enjoy what little...sunsets," she smiled, "I have left. I don't believe that quantity of life outweighs the importance of quality."

"Those are both tall orders for me," Beatrice said quietly. "But I understand them. I...accept your terms. And the third?"

"The third," Sylvia said, bringing the mug up to her lips and taking a long drink, "is that you are not to be over here 24 hours a day, seven days a week. You are not to coddle me, baby me, dote on me, wait on me hand and foot."

"You don't do well with that waiting-on bit, do you? You've mentioned it once before."

"I don't. But not for the reason you might think. Anne called me today, before the get-together. She told me what she'd told you, at your behest. So knowing what you do about my life, my past--"

"--which still isn't much--"

Sylvia smiled and waved the words away. "Knowing what you do, you might think it's because I've gotten used to being self-sufficient, not allowing myself to use others as a crutch. And you'd be half-right. But the rest of the truth is... I'm afraid I'd like it too much."

"Come again?"

"When you've been on your own your whole life, always secretly craving another person to rely on, there's a danger of falling to heavy into that need when it finally does become available. I don't want to turn from an island into a sucking blackhole of neediness."

Beatrice burst into laughter, quickly apologizing and calming herself. "I'm sorry, I just... 'a sucking blackhole of neediness'. Lovely. Sylvia, I can't picture you fitting that description."

"I'd like it to remain that way."

"Alright. Anything else?"

"If something comes up, I'll let you know." They smiled at each other, enjoying the regained calm of the other's presence. One of the things that Beatrice appreciated the most about Sylvia, was that it wasn't necessary to engage in perpetual conversation. Always having been an introvert, spending most of her time within her own head, one of Beatrice's largest causes of social anxiety was her inability to make small-talk. It took a tremendous amount of exertion for her to simply converse back and forth with another human being - and she was always frantically trying to come up with something to say when silence settled down over the moment. It wasn't that way with Sylvia. It never had been. They could talk non-stop about everything from politics to gossip, and then sit in silence and simply relax in the quiet together. It was an easiness and peace that Beatrice had never before experienced.

She mulled over the things that Sylvia had ordered up from her, resigning herself to an acceptance of their necessity. They were not outlandish, her requests - in truth, they were nothing if not perfectly understandable. But as she stared into those green eyes, she found herself catapulting into the future and worrying about whether or not she could allow her those demands.

It was a worry that grew exponentially over the next few weeks. Sylvia's oncologist had recommended a combination of radiation and chemotherapy, and Beatrice was often baffled during the office visit that she sat through as Sylvia and her doctor threw terms about like "monoclonal antibody therapy" and "relapsed non-Hodgkin's lymphoma." At the end of the visit, she only knew that Sylvia was unhappy with the oncologist's verdict and recommendation. She drove the woman home and listened as Sylvia spoke, alternating between anger and fear, about what was about to come. But it hadn't really prepared her. Not for the vomitting, the loss of hair, the weakness, the agony that Sylvia was in from the burn of the radiation, the trips back and forth, the fear that grew into a thick and gaseous cloud that permeated the entire house. Beatrice had discovered that Sylvia's "close friend" living down the street, who had driven her to the doctor before, was actually a neighbor whom Sylvia paid to taxi her around when she was too ill to drive herself on errands, and so she'd rearranged her class schedule to fit Sylvia's appointments. It hadn't been too difficult - the last three periods of her day were study periods or Citizenship Class, and those were easily covered. Every day she watched as Sylvia grew weaker and more frail. She watched her eyelashes fall out, her eyebrows grow sparse and then nonexistent, those dark curls came loose in chunks and handfuls. And even though Sylvia continued to repeat her third and final demand, even she had to give in and allow Beatrice to eventually come and stay with her.

As they grew closer to Sylvia's last cycle of chemotherapy, Beatrice took off from work completely. Having lined up a sub and written out enough lesson plans to take the woman through several months, Beatrice left the plans in her desk drawer and left the parking lot, stopping at the video store on her way to Sylvia's house. She feared the younger woman's reaction when she told her what she'd done; but there was no way around it. Despite the "rules", Beatrice had come to accept the fact that she was utterly devoted to the young, dying woman whose home she'd come to call her own. She was in love with her, needed her, wanted her. And she simply couldn't focus on anything but her, any longer.

She let herself in with the spare key Sylvia had given her, and wandered down the hallway. "Hello there, Sunshine," she smiled as she came into the bedroom. Sylvia was having a better day than usual, sitting up in bed with her laptop in front of her, her head wrapped in a burgundy and gold scarf. Sylvia beamed at her, before her eyes trailed down the bag Beatrice held in her hand.

"A movie?"

"You are keenly observant."

"If that's 'Steel Magnolias' or 'My Life' with Michael Keaton, you can kiss my sickly ass."

Beatrice laughed and took out one of the DVDs, slipping it into the player across the room. "Have I told you how lovely it is that you have a tv in the bedroom?"

"Mm. I do like to cover all the bases. What is it? What'd you get?"

"The third season of the L Word."

Sylvia laughed, closing her laptop and setting it on her nightstand. "You told me you hated The L Word. You said it was....'culturally demeaning.'"

"Did I? My, how 'pretentiously dyke-ish' of me," Beatrice winked, recalling Sylvia's response to her statement so long ago. "Truth be told, it's a guilty pleasure. If for nothing else, because I enjoy watching women fuck."

The statement was so unexpected that Sylvia burst into laughter which eased into a peaceful smile as Beatrice crawled into bed beside her. She rolled over and snuggled into the older woman's arm, and hardly made it through the second episode before she was sound asleep. Beatrice watched her, worrying, fearing, loving, hurting. She turned off the television and leaned down, kissing Sylvia's scarf. "I love you," she whispered. "I love you so fiercely. You have no idea the depth of my love for you."

Sylvia kept her eyes closed - as much to keep the tears inside of them as to continue to feign sleep. I do know, she thought to herself. I know because, the depth of mine for you is the only goddamn thing that keeps me trying.

It only grew worse. And on the last day of Sylvia's treatment, Beatrice drove up and down San Pablo Dam Road, begging a God she did not believe in for a miracle she had come to believe in even less. The progress had not been good; while Sylvia grew weaker and weaker, the cancer had remained almost unscathed - as if it drew a healing power form Sylvia's own strength, depleting her all the more quickly. Every time they'd seen her oncologist, Beatrice had expected the inevitable conversation. She sat in the room expecting it, as Sylvia gathered her things following the doctor's report. She drove them home expecting it, her stomach in knots. She helped Sylvia into the house and laid her down on the bed, expecting the young woman to take a deep and rattling breath and say, "Beatrice, I'm done." But those words had never come, and Beatrice was too afraid to ask why - lest she break the tenuous barrier that kept those words at bay.

"Teach me to pray," she had asked Sylvia the week prior, as she held the woman in her arms and rocked her gently.

"Silly woman - praying is speaking, just to an unseen listener." Sylvia had rattled and coughed, and pulled away, pushing the blankets away from her body. The heat of the radiation burn was killing her.

"Teach me," she had implored. "How do YOU pray?"

"Most of the time? In Hebrew," Sylvia smiled. "So perhaps you're asking the wrong teacher - for a beginner."

"You still remember?"

Sylvia shook her head, closing her dark rimmed eyes - it still looked so strange, just lids beneath a ridge of flesh. "I kept it alive any way I could. Reading, mostly. At the orphanage, at libraries. I had a therapist once who told me that was my way of trying to keep my parents alive. He was an idiot. It wasn't that."

"What was it?"

Sylvia leaned back, eyes still closed, breath still rasping. It was a long while before she answered, but Beatrice had become used to that - used to Sylvia taking the time to gather the strength to speak. "It was the only God I knew. And God was the only family I had left. I had to have something to raise me."

"How do you pray?"

"I take bits of prayers, I praise the Lord and thank Him for life and earth, I beg His peace..."

"Teach me," Beatrice had repeated, softly.

Again a long time passed. But when Sylvia finally spoke, she did not rattle or wheeze. Her voice was almost a song - a breath of a song, a golden quiet. "Blessed are You, O Lord our God and God of our fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob, the great, mighty and revered God, the Most High God who bestows loving kindnesses, the creator of all things, who remembers the good deeds of the patriarchs and in love will bring a redeemer to their children's children for his name's sake. O king, helper, savior and shield.

Blessed are You, O Lord, the shield of Abraham."

Beatrice felt the energy in the room shifting, folding in upon itself, reforming. Her hands and arms tingled with electric pulses she didn't understand.

"You, O Lord, are mighty forever, You revive the dead, You have the power to save. You sustain the living with loving kindnesses, You revive the dead with great mercy, You support the falling, heal the sick, set free the bound and keep faith with those who sleep in the dust. Who is like You, O doer of mighty acts? Who resembles You, a king who puts to death and restores to life, and causes salvation to flourish? And You are certain to revive the dead.
Blessed are You, O Lord, who revives the dead." Sylvia's voice caught on the words, and Beatrice felt her heart constrict even as the tingling currents in her body grew stronger. She felt it. She felt something in the room with them and of them. She wasn't sure if it calmed or frightened her.

"Keep praying," she whispered. And Sylvia had.

But as Beatrice drove the length of the Bay Area, all those days later, her prayer was a scream and her voice was raw. "Don't take her," she rasped. "I'm begging You. Haven't You done enough? Let her live, let her breathe!! Why do You always TAKE?!"

All at once, her arms began tingling again with that same current from before, only this time it made her angrier, her rage growing and boiling in her veins. "Am I supposed to bow to You and praise You like she does?! Is that what You want?! What do You want in exchange for her life?! Do you even fucking care?!" Her face grew flushed and hot, as if a fire was burning under her skin, and her car felt as if it were full of life instead of only holding her screaming form inside of it. "What do You want?" She screamed again. The thrumming in her body intensified. "Let her fucking live!!" Her head ached and pounded, and she pulled over onto the shoulder, crying and sobbing. "She's going to die," she croaked, a whisper, a defeated acknowledgement. But the thrumming electric life only grew stronger.

Post Tue Jan 27, 2009 6:47 am 
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MysteryGirl
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Joined: 02 Jun 2007
Posts: 3419
Location: I come from a land downunder


...............No words Rain..............just respectful silence.







Noni
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Be yourself.............everybody else is taken!

Post Tue Jan 27, 2009 12:28 pm 
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Onyxia



Joined: 01 Jul 2006
Posts: 156


*sits with Noni in silence*



O

Post Wed Jan 28, 2009 2:18 pm 
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Dark prism



Joined: 10 Dec 2006
Posts: 865
Location: California Dreamin, baby.


*breaks the silence with the impatient rhythmical tapping of fingertips on a table top*


Dp
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"Fighting for this girl - on the battlefield of love."

Post Tue Feb 10, 2009 7:41 am 
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PipSqueak



Joined: 04 Jul 2008
Posts: 987
Location: S.W. England


Oh, I'd missed the update, thank you rain.

Post Wed Feb 11, 2009 12:02 am 
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rainandblues



Joined: 25 Aug 2006
Posts: 116


The next two weeks were spent alternating between sadness and futility. They went back for another round of tests after the first, which only added to Beatrice's powerless anger. She wanted to spit in the doctor's face when he requested another batch - wanted to ask him what the point was of prolonging the inevitable. But she kept her seething silent, every moment of every day.

The weather had grown warmer, the days longer, since Sylvia's diagnosis months before. And on a particularly warm, enveloping evening, the two women were sitting on Sylvia's back porch enjoying the comfort to the best of their ability. Beatrice stroked Sylvia's hand, which had rarely left her own lately, and tried to prepare herself for the conversation she knew they were about to have. A hummingbird dipped into her view, poking at the now empty feeder hanging from the eaves, and Sylvia finally spoke.

"There are things, that need to be taken care of."

"I know," Beatrice croaked.

"I've already put the house on the market--"

"What?!"

"Beatrice, stop. Please. This will go so much easier if you just listen." The words came out exactly as Sylvia felt -- tired, snappish, spent. Beatrice fought the hurt that washed over her and simply whispered an apology. "I know this is hard for you. But it's hard for me to say," Sylvia said with a sigh, her voice kinder and softer as she turned to look at her lover/friend. "So please...let's just get through this bit?"

Beatrice nodded, surprised to find that tears weren't coming to her eyes. Perhaps they're all spent, she thought; spent just like the two of us.

"I've put the house on the market, and there's already a prospective buyer. They came to look at it last week when we were at Dr. Markham's appointment. I'll know in the next few days if everything was approved. If not, if this saga drags on... Beatrice, I need to make someone the executor of my estate. Not that it's much of an estate," Sylvia chuckled, but the laugh was dry and tight. "If you could do it, I'd rather it be you...."

"I'll do it."

"Thank you. The money from the sale will go to you and the charities you'll find in the top desk drawer."

"You keep charities in your desk drawer? Isn't it a tight fit?"

Sylvia, not expecting humor, not used to it anymore, blinked for a moment or two until realization slipped over her features and she started laughing. "Dork."

"I try."

"I'll need to get to my lawyer's office this week, sign a revised will to make all of this legal. I'll make that appointment tomorrow."

"You have a lawyer?"

Sylvia smiled, her eyes slightly twinkling which Beatrice found disconcerting for a reason she couldn't name. "I have a lawyer. I have many secrets, my darling. Not the least of which is that I'm actually rather loaded. But we'll get to that in a minute. The furniture, dishes, all of that -- it's being donated, and I just need you to call and tell them to come pick it up. My car, everything. I've listed what's going where, it's stuck in the tight fit with the charities."

"By the way, I'm not taking your money."

"Tough shit. I'm a dying woman. The Rulebook of Life says you have to go along with whatever the dying want."

"I live to break the rules."

Sylvia turned and looked at Beatrice, her eyes softly moving over the woman's face, before she finally raised her hand and motioned the older woman to come closer. Beatrice leaned over, but Sylvia shook her head and pointed at the ground in front of her. "Close," she whispered. "Come close to me, woman, for a moment." Feeling volcanic emotions in her body, Beatrice slowly slipped from her chair and came to her, kneeling in front of her tiny frame, staring into Sylvia's dark eyes as the young woman leaned forward and cupped Beatrice's face in her hands. A soft thumb trailed over her cheek, fingertips kissed Beatrice's lips, as Sylvia committed the woman's flesh to tangible memory. "You live to break rules..." she said in a hoarse whisper. "Then break one of mine... Kiss me, woman. Kiss me, for God's sake..." Beatrice raised herself up and closed the distance between them, hesitating just a breath before Sylvia's soft lips. I'm an old woman, and you are dying, she thought to herself. But that was the only thought she had before Sylvia tired of waiting and pulled her closer, their kiss startling both of them with the electric waves it caused inside their bellies. It only lasted a few moments, just long enough to taste, to touch, to softly moan, before Sylvia fell back in her chair and Beatrice pulled away, both shaky.

"I love you," Beatrice said, her voice like leather on wool.

"I love you, too." They stared at each other for an eternity, before the ringing of the phone startled them back to reality. Beatrice struggled to her feet with a groan, walking inside to silence the intruder. Within moments, all the pleasant sensations of that kiss, that moment, were shattered completely, and she brought the phone out to Sylvia as lead poured into her veins to replace her blood.

"Dr. Markham," she croaked, handing the woman the phone. Sylvia closed her eyes and paled, before finally taking the call.

"Yes.....What?.....No...Oh God..." Sylvia began to shake, her skin growing whiter, and Beatrice fell to her knees begging to be clued in on what was going on. Shaking her head, Sylvia thrust the phone back at Beatrice, before covering her face with both hands as her shoulders began to shake.

"Dr. Markham?"

"Beatrice?"

"What did you tell her?! My God, what could possibly be worse? What's happened that could possibly.... Oh God --- how long does she have?" Her throat closed up, as she tried to reach for Sylvia. "You originally said four months --- it's worse than that, isn't it? How long?? How long does she have?!"

"Beatrice, you're a fairly fit woman for your age. But I'm still pretty confident that Sylvia might outlive you."

It was Beatrice's turn to blink without understanding. "Excuse me?"

"You are looking at a miracle, Beatrice. I've heard of this sort of thing, I have. But I've never witnessed it first-hand. It's gone -- the lymphoma. No trace. I can't say I understand. It just disappeared."

"But the tests--"

"Haven't shown any decrease in mass of the cancer, correct. Not a damn bit. I can't give you an explanation, Beatrice. It's why I ordered another round of tests after your last batch -- because when I got the original results, I thought, this can't be right. Must be an error. A cruel error, but still an error. But there you have it. You are looking at the luckiest little woman alive."

"Gone," Beatrice croaked, her eyes staring at Sylvia as the little woman dropped her hands from her tear-streaked face. They looked at each other in bafflement as the same torrent of emotions that had overtaken Sylvia now rose up within Beatrice's chest.

"Gone. Schedule an appointment with Jane sometime soon for a follow-up. Right now, I've got to go - I have to let the two of you process this, and I have to go online and find the biggest basket of flowers and chocolates in the world to send to your little lady. You two have the best day of your lives, and that's an order."

Beatrice didn't look away, couldn't look away, from Sylvia's eyes as she let the phone drop to the ground and the weight and lift of reality settle inside of her. "This can't be real," she whispered, and Sylvia shook her head. "We must be dreaming," she whispered, and Sylvia nodded. And then all at once, as if on cue, both women began crying, falling into each other's arms as tears became hysteria became joy became grief became sobs. The two clung to each other fiercely, their breath coming in gasps towards the end as they tried to reattach themselves to reality. Beatrice rained soft kisses on Sylvia's forehead as the woman burrowed into her neck.

"Oh my fucking God!!!" She suddenly groaned, pulling back from Beatrice with a look of panic all over her features.

"What?! What is it?!"

"I've sold my fucking house!!!!" Beatrice burst into laughter. "It's not funny!" Sylvia shouted, slapping her arm. "I sold my goddamn house!!! I'll be a bag lady!! I'm disenfranchised! Homeless!! I'll be like that woman on Alpine Blvd who stares at you from under her Yankees cap and asks you if you have any Spam!"

"Sylvia."

"My house!"

"Honey, I think this is definitely a case of being unable to focus on the momentous and therefore switching all energy to the miniscule. Stop. You'll be fine. You were just telling me you had more than enough money."

"Shut up, I was finally having a breakdown. I needed a breakdown," Sylvia pouted.

"Besides, you hate this house."

"Not the point."

Beatrice smiled and slowly stood up, putting out her hands for Sylvia to take as she pulled the woman to her feet, steadying her as she helped her walk inside. "Take it slow, now," she said softly. "I've got you." They gently made their way into the house and down the hall, stopping at letting Sylvia catch her breath more often than usual -- the energy of earlier hysterics having taken its toll. When they were finally at the bed, Beatrice helped her in, pulling the covers down for her. She massaged Sylvia's legs as was her habit, which the younger woman had grudgingly, finally, given up fighting her on.

"Will you sleep next to me tonight?" Sylvia whispered.

The older woman refused to look up, keeping her focus on the flesh and bone in her hands. For a reason she did not want to go into, she feared that this little love-affair-that-never-quite-was had suddenly run its course. "Silly girl. You'll sleep just fine on your own, as you have this whole time." She felt guilty immediately. She knew Sylvia, knew the younger woman would retreat, hurt, rejected. But she didn't feel there was any other way, now.

"You're pulling back from me."

Shocked, Beatrice halted her massage and looked up into Sylvia's eyes. "I--"

Sylvia silenced her with a raised eyebrow, pointing her finger at the woman. "Don't think you and I aren't going to have a conversation about this, just as soon as I figure out how to not be a bag lady. Now get in this bed. Period."

"Sylvia--"

"I know, I know. You're an old coot, I'm a young whippersnapper, it will never work, blah blah blah. Different when I'm dying, isn't it?"

Beatrice reeled back, but Sylvia shrugged her shoulders. "It's the truth. Different, when I was dying, and we were free to be the way we wanted without promise or future worries. But now... Now you feel just as restricted as before. I get it. And we will get into a long and heated argument about it, just as soon as I recover and get things squared away. Until then, get in this bed and shut up." Laughing, Beatrice stood and walked around the bed, crawling in beside the younger woman. "Find something good on television," Sylvia commanded, snuggling up to the older woman and sighing contendedly.

"What am I going to do with you, girl?"

"Love me, keep me, and be my lover."

A shiver ran over Beatrice's body as she tried to keep the mental image at bay. She flipped through the channels before landing on some underwater diving expedition, realizing it didn't matter what the hell she turned on, the two of them would be asleep in a matter of moments regardless. The day had been packed with every emotion in its most extreme state; and they were exhausted.

Post Fri Mar 06, 2009 5:38 pm 
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PipSqueak



Joined: 04 Jul 2008
Posts: 987
Location: S.W. England


Very Happy Yay, yay, yay!!!! Very Happy
That was beautiful, Rain, thnk u!!!

Post Fri Mar 06, 2009 6:00 pm 
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rainandblues



Joined: 25 Aug 2006
Posts: 116


The moments became hours became days became weeks, and Sylvia slowly regrew and reawakened. The mess with the house could not be sorted out, and Sylvia took it as a sign - a sign to move on and finally live. To live where she wanted to, do what she wanted to, be who she felt the urge to be. She looked for, and found, another home -- a "project house" she called it, out in Marin. Closer to her job. Closer to a life she longed to lead. She took up running and weights, she bought a kayak, went hiking. And for every change that was instituted, she dragged Beatrice along for the ride.

"Old women don't hike," Beatrice grumbled as they drove up to Mt. Diablo in Sylvia's newly purchased Prius.

"Do I look like I'm going to have you on a 90 degree incline? Thank you very much, but this cancer survivor takes things in easy doses. Think of it as a nice, pleasant walk. With trees. And slight hills."

They'd gotten through that with relative ease, but when Sylvia showed up at Beatrice's apartment and ordered her to accompany her into the Bay, handing her a wetsuit on the drive, Beatrice tried to draw another line in the sand. "Old women don't kayak."

"Old women should stop calling themselves old lest the young ones promptly box their ears."

"I mean it."

"So do I. Look, I've been thinking -- living keeps us alive."

"Oh. My god. How profound."

Laughing, they climbed into Sylvia's car and she started the engine. "I don't want to go through this again," she said quietly. "I don't want to die young. I don't want to die without ever really living. And that also means I need to get you active, too -- you need to stay young with me."

"Why."

"So that I have a good couple of decades left with you."

Beatrice felt her body tighten. This was The Topic. The Discussion. She'd been waiting for this for months, since the miracle moment. She knew it was coming, knew she'd have to put her foot down and tell Sylvia no, absolutely not, cannot be done, too old too young. She knew that Sylvia was biding her time, waiting for the moment to pounce and have it out. But so far they'd both sidestepped the issue. Sylvia had backed off, opting for the friendship Beatrice offered with just an occasional look of intensity or hug that lingered too long and felt...too good. But lately Beatrice had begun tightening and tensing at every hint of emotion, preparing herself.

Still, it didn't come -- again. Instead they made it through a day that Beatrice was surprised to find she thoroughly enjoyed. Being out on the sparkling water, looking up at a sky so blue it hurt her eyes, the hills of San Francisco all around them and this young miracle beauty sitting in front of her...It was the closest to heaven she felt she would ever come. When they got back to shore, they changed into dry clothes and went for a late lunch in Sausalito. It was a lazy summer day that just poured through you, maple syrup over cornbread. The content and joy inside of her was addicting, it felt so good.

When they at last drove back, Sylvia surprised Beatrice by taking the older woman home with her, parking in the driveway and giving a strange smile before nodding towards the front door and exiting the car. Beatrice followed, a mix of nerves and need inside her belly, watching as Sylvia slowly unlocked the door and led the way inside.

"You have a look on your face."

"Mmm," Sylvia smiled wickedly, raising an eyebrow as she closed the door behind them.

"What's the look."

She didn't answer, winking only before walking away. "Tea?"

"No. The look."

"Make yourself comfortable."

"Sylvia."

"Wine?"

"The look." She followed the younger woman, trying not to stare at the seductive sway of her hips, trying not to stare at the glowing tan of her skin, the short hair now so beautifully grown back -- though without curls -- the elegant neck she hungered to taste though never would allow herself to.

"Darling, I'm going to have a glass of wine. I'm going to pour you one, too. Now sit down."

"You're up to something." Without thinking, she placed her hands on Sylvia's hips -- only to stop her, only to halt her walk-away, to prove a point...but instead she felt heat beneath her palms, soft silken heat, and her fingers took on a mind of their own as they curled around the woman, laying claim to her, saying "These are mine, these hips -- they belong to my hands." Sylvia moaned quietly, and Beatrice's eyes fluttered closed as she resisted the urge to pull Sylvia back against her own body fiercely. Letting go, she quickly pulled away, and after a moment Sylvia continued her walk into the kitchen.

Post Fri Mar 06, 2009 7:43 pm 
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rainandblues



Joined: 25 Aug 2006
Posts: 116


The wine uncorked with a loud ringing in the kitchen, and it gurgled into the glasses the same way. It was the only sound to cut the tension, the only break in the silent still heat that had erupted when Beatrice had reached out, touched, clasped, owned those hips, then pulled away. She stood without breathing and watched Sylvia pour.

"We - we need to talk." Beatrice's voice was scratchy and forced.

"Mm-hmm." She poured the second glass, her lidded eyes and quiet smile driving Beatrice crazy.

"Sylvia, I don't know what you're thinking, exactly..."

"Oh? Don't you?" The lidded eyes looked up and the smile became a crooked, winding thing. She handed Beatrice her glass of wine and slowly brought her own to her lips.

"Alright -- alright, fine. We - we needed to do this. Talk. About this. We - so here we are. Right? Yes."

Sylvia chuckled, the sound echoing in her wineglass, before taking a slow sip. "Nervous, darling?" She teased.

"You -- you're not helping. Stop it."

"Stop what?" Syvia breathed, winking, the crooked smile becoming more mischevous as she took a step closer to Beatrice and Beatrice took a step back. "Why my lady, are you scared of me?"

"Cut that out. Sylvia. I mean it. This can't happen."

"Oh, but yes, yes it can." Sylvia set her half-finished glass on the counter and continued her slow, cat-like advance as Beatrice continued retreating.

"It's laughable, Sylvia. Really. I mean it. Stop -- oh my god--- oh my god what are you doing?" Beatrice halted, her eyes opening wide, as Sylvia slowly began undoing the buttons of her white linen shirt, revealing warm tanned skin and a soft camisole beneath. "Nooo," Beatrice groaned into a sigh, "oh dear God you can't do this to me..." She felt her body quake and shiver, felt the need erupt inside of her as the magnetic force of Sylvia's body begged her forward. She reached out, her hands wanting, as she felt her legs weaken.

"I want you. I love you. And we're not having this conversation ever again," Sylvia commanded, her voice bronze and definite as she removed her shirt completely. "We're going to take the moments we're given. Period. Stop giving a damn about anything else."

Beatrice lifted her eyes and met Sylvia's fierce and ferocious look. "I'm about to turn 60, Sylvia."

"And we'll have a party."

"You--"

"Should never have seen another birthday. So shut it. And love me."

Beatrice opened her mouth to respond, but couldn't. She let her eyes trail down the woman's body, back up to those eyes, those beautiful eyes.... And all at once it was done. She was down and hadn't even put up a fight. The moment she stepped out of the way of her emotions, it was as if the floodgates opened, pouring through her in a storm. She closed the space between their bodies and wrapped her arms roughly around Sylvia's waist. "There's something you need to be clear on," she growled at a startled Sylvia, before slowly nibbling on the woman's lower lip.

"Ohh...oh God.... W-what?"

"I will be the one to take you to bed. Not the other way around." She let her hands roam over Sylvia's back and bottom, cupping her as she kissed her deeply and the younger woman melted in her hands with a moan. Sylvia's tongue tasted of sweet white wine, her mouth was hot and desperate as Beatrice entered it and explored. She could feel her own body growing more and more feverish by the second, aching to get this young woman naked and beneath her. The butch in her was waking up and growling, and Beatrice had to smile at her sudden change of attitude.

"Sylvia," she whispered, pulling away from the woman's mouth to trail kisses over her jaw and to her soft neck.

"Y-yes?"

"Still think you're in charge of the situation?"

The woman only moaned as Beatrice bit down on the tan flesh at her lips, and she smiled, her hands still kneading and caressing the woman's ass. "I'm in love with you, you know," she confessed into Sylvia's neck. And that confession brought hot tears to her eyes and a tightening to her chest.

"Good. Dammit," Sylvia hissed. "About time you get past your silliness."

Grinning, Beatrice closed her eyes and tasted the flesh as she bit, sucking it lightly into her mouth, hands roaming to Sylvia's hips to Own them again. She grasped them tightly, fiercely, pulling them hard into her body as her tongue ran fire all over the younger woman's neck.

"Bea -- please -- God! I have a bed, woman! Dammit, the bed!"

Laughing, Beatrice pulled away from her and took Sylvia's hand, leading her around the corner to the bedroom. She made Sylvia stand in the setting sun, letting her eyes drink her in, before slowly removing the rest of her clothes for her. She slipped the younger woman's jeans down over her hips, tugging them in her fingers as she knelt in front of her, her mouth bringing fire to Sylvia's thighs as she kissed and licked her skin before standing. The camisole and panties were the last to go, slowly and artfully peeled away before Beatrice laid her lover down on white cotton sheets. Naked, twisting, alive, moaning, hot and wanting beneath her --- Beatrice couldn't believe the intensity of all she was feeling as she soaked in the almost agonizing pleasure of experiencing this woman.

"You -- you can't leave," Sylvia whispered hotly, clutching Beatrice's shoulders as the woman hovered above her.

"Oh little one -- I won't leave. Not ever," Beatrice said softly.

"No -- I mean, I'm trapping you. You have to live here. I'm never letting you out of this house or this bedroom again."

Laughing, Beatrice rained kisses on Sylvia's face before lowering her body to meet the other woman's. But Sylvia pushed at her. "You're overdressed for the occasion," she whispered, taking Beatrice's earlobe into her hot mouth and letting her tongue play with it. Moaning, Beatrice reluctantly pulled away and began slowly removing her clothes.

"I'm ---"

"If you say old one more time, I'm liable to send you to bed with no dessert." Sylvia winked at her, biting her lip (a habit that, for some reason, always made Beatrice weak when she did it) and watching Beatrice set her shirt and bra aside, before stepping out of her pants. "Come to bed, woman...my body needs yours...." Sylvia whispered, reaching for her and moaning as Beatrice slipped into her arms. The feeling of heated flesh on heated flesh sent both women into another dimension as Beatrice pushed Sylvia down on the bed and pinned her arms on the pillow above her. She slowly moved her hips against the other woman's, making Sylvia moan as she flung her head back on the pillow. "God make love to me!" She called out, and Beatrice did. For hours, the two of them swam against each other, their bodies fusing and igniting, churning, as they absolutely devoured each other. Dusk turned to dark turned to night, and their bodies became moaning, crying shadows of heat. When at last they were sated and spent -- for the moment -- they lay tangled in each other, hearts pounding wildly in their chests.


"Now, can I ask you what took you so damn long to do that?" Sylvia said breathlessly. Laughing, Beatrice held her tighter.

"The silly, crazy thought that I was too old for you."

"Damned fool."

"I know."

Post Fri Mar 06, 2009 9:29 pm 
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MysteryGirl
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Joined: 02 Jun 2007
Posts: 3419
Location: I come from a land downunder


Rain, Rain, Rain.................it's been the longest wait, almost interminable, but it was finally worth it. That is so beautiful hon, thank you.




HugZ, Noni
_________________
Be yourself.............everybody else is taken!

Post Fri Mar 06, 2009 11:32 pm 
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Dark prism



Joined: 10 Dec 2006
Posts: 865
Location: California Dreamin, baby.


Ahhh, thank you.



Dp
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"Fighting for this girl - on the battlefield of love."

Post Sat Mar 07, 2009 6:13 am 
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Laurian



Joined: 19 Jan 2009
Posts: 174
Location: Belgium


Respect!

thank you for this story. Had me in tears...

Post Sun Mar 08, 2009 6:33 pm 
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aidyl



Joined: 11 Nov 2007
Posts: 173
Location: Trinidad


Beautiful story.

Post Sat Jul 02, 2011 12:49 am 
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