Go to Chapter List
CHAPTER SIXTEEN n chapter 15 I ended my autobiography, as I
have
a few times
over the years, and, once again, I have a new chapter to add. The
final
two paragraphs in chapter 15 read as follows:
Finally, I've told the story of my life, at least, all I intend to tell. My life nears the end, certainly I'm in my declining years. Where things go from here ... well, let others record it. Joan, perhaps, in her delightful journal. It has been a spectacular, epic. There have been challenges, triumphs, failures, adventures, pain and joy, sorrow and happiness, but mainly, there has been love. I am so fortunate to have had so many loving people in my life. So strange to me, in a world where people are so often alone, unloved, and fearful, that I, wretched pervert and an abomination to some, seem singled out for so many blessings. I am no better than anyone else, although I think no worse either. There are smarter people, stronger, wiser, more courageous, more compassionate, funnier, and, too often, they are miserable. I don't understand their misfortune, nor why I am more fortunate.The following epic interlude, I think, answers some of those questions ... Shayna came into our life, my life, in the beginning of 1998 in the month of April. One day, near noon the phone rang. Julia answered the phone and a voice on the other end asked how much it would cost to have a cape made. Julia loves to talk and Catkin (Shayna Gray) also loved to talk. They were on the phone over an hour. A few days later Catkin called again, late at night, in a panic. Julia said she sounded hysterical, so I took the phone. Shayna and I talked for about an hour during which time I managed to calm her. She had broken off with her boyfriend. She told me it wasn't something she had wanted to do, it was something she had to do because he was abusive! After a time we talked about her hopes and her aspirations for the future and about a book she had written. She pinned much of her hope for her future on whether or not she could get her book published. Publishing a book, even if it is a great book can be difficult to impossible. Her unrealistic expectations concerned me, but not wanting to dash her hopes I said nothing of those concerns.
After her accidental death, in one of her many notebooks, she wrote of a dream she had upon first meeting us ... she had an active and creative imagination. In her dream we were a coven of vampires and she was embraced by the vampire priestess in an act of passionate love. Her notation follows; Here, she began to disrobe herself and my excitement gained a dangerous tingling pitch as I saw her full breasts, her long thighs, and perceived the miracle that had happened in this mortal woman's body; fertility, redemption, and life ever fruitful, from the Gate of the Divine. She came to me and I was helpless to resist her desire, her fervent embrace of my body, and the wondrous enveloping descent into the mysteries ... the priestesses and wise women close around, were joining us in spirit, their voices encouraging us. The Mother of the tribe clasped me close, suckled my bosom and then my birthgate while continually chanting to me the ways and the knowledge of her priestesses, that I might be next in line to bear and pass on the wisdom. Finally the most awesome, most devoutly sacred union of all occurred between the priestess and myself. From out of her luscious clit came a long pale white organ, thinner and more sensitive than a penis, a sacred deformation of those who served the Goddess, and only revealed in the deepest, most profound rituals. The priestess penetrated me with this agile instrument and I knew a holy joy never felt before. It was then I heard the voices of the Elders ..."You must remember this sacred pleasure for the renewal of the green world may one day rest upon your own body and then it will be your time to take a lover and renew the earth."The theme of The Immortal Vampire was part of her deepest nature. Fortunately for us, and for her, it was a recognized fantasy of a lonely soul wandering through a world virtually incomprehensible to her. However I digress ... back to the beginning. I invited Shayna to meet us, to come visit, but she didn't drive and didn't have transportation. At that time, there were three of us in the main family of the Metro'on. Joan, my wife of eleven years, Julia, our wife of four years, and myself. There was also a close friend of the family, Helina Handbasket. The Triad and Helina, one bright and sunny afternoon, jumped in our white Sunbird Pontiac and drove to Sunset court to meet this young lady who found us so fascinating. How could we have known that the car we drove, a year and a half later, would be the instrument of her reckless and senseless death. In another of her notebooks, read after her death, there was a note which suggested what she hoped would come from her meeting with us.
SEW-FINE - Confide in them if possible! Ask if they can help me get fooling around in the gay lesbian world? To meet like minded people? And talk about the glorious stuff on their website!As it turned out she was too timid on these subjects to phrase them openly. What happened instead was that she saw we were happy, lived free and openly, and had brought our own meaning to the fabric of our lives. Later she revealed, to me in private conversations, that she had focused on Helina as the one who seemed most available and the one who most might need her. The Triad, she told me, seemed daunting, even a little intimidating to her, unapproachable. There is very little I want to write about the year she was with Helina. In the beginning they loved each other, and for six weeks they were quite happy. Certainly, at the beginning, Shayna sincerely loved Helina. Deprived of love and hoping for a real partnership she put her mind and soul into the relationship. Helina, unfortunately, didn't understand the intense commitment Shayna wanted and needed and, in oppostion to those needs, desired a relationship where two people live together each having their private life and only coming together when it was mutually desired. The animosity that Shayna came to feel for Helina and the reasons for it are something to be noted, but not dwelled upon. After all, she is dead and there would be nothing gained by going into detail concerning the emotional and verbal cruelty that turned her love for Helina into the the most profound hatred. Suffice it to say that Shayna repeatedly told everyone that Helina was the first and only person she had ever hated and that the world and our family would be better off if Helina were dead. As best I can determine Shayna had been inclined to depression from the age of five, a common trait, she informed me, in the women of her lineage. To make mattters worse, her family moved frequently and Shayna didn't make friends easily. In fact, she scared most potential friends away. Thus it was, isolated and alone, she drifted deeper into her fantasy world of vampires. In her life there were, of course, her siblings, her mother and her father, but mostly they were an isolated and insulated family, a family separated from the world around them. Consequently Shayna was a lonely little girl. She Dropped out of high school in her late teens. Shayna was suffering with depression. A factor which figured prominently in her illness was Shayna's father. One example of their interaction should suffice to shed light into her wounds. Shayna enjoyed writing and in her teen years, poured immense effort into her novel, often working into the wee hours of the night. The characters in her book became her friends, easing her feeling of loneliness. Alvis, her father, a man who protects himself from the evil emanations of space aliens by wearing a special made cap, admonished that Shayna was spending too much time in a fantasy world. He confiscated her writings, put them in storage, and forbid her to write anything further. It is strange how easily one can see the illusions of another, and be entirely oblivious to our own illusions. He was totally oblivious to the agony his decision caused Shayna, and, in his mind, most likely felt he was a caring parent teaching his daughter about the realities of life. A couple of years passed before Alvis rescinded his decision, only to repeat it a short time later. Shayna, he contended, had to live in the real world. Recognizing that Shayna's world of vampires was a magical matrix she herself had created, he was oblivious to the magical matrix of malevolent space aliens that he created. "My fantasies and fairytales are good and true, yours are stupid and illogical!" It wasn't that he was a mean man, nor that he wasn't a good father in some ways, he was a man who made some horrendous mistakes. He took away from his daughter her reason for living, the meaning she was trying to forge in her life, her defense against being alone, and so sent an already depressed young woman on a downward spiral into self-loathing and destruction. Loving and trusting her father she believed the negative things he said about her. In his attempt to give her a positive spin on reality, he knocked the fragile pins right out from under her. The self-loathing worked relentlessly on Shayna. She virtually stopped eating, and what food she did eat was secretly, vomited after every meal. One wonders how such a process can go on for five years without anyone catching on. But Shayna was clever at her deceptions and who wants to believe their daughters have been driven to suicidal desperation? It happens over and over in families of bulimics and anorexics ... the "not my daughter!" syndrome. Shayna had not always been a "difficult" child, but she became more and more perceived as a difficult child. Her anorexia and bulima began at nineteen. At twenty-four she was hospitalized for three months. Her liver had failed and she went into a week and a half long coma. The doctors told her parents to prepare for the worst, and predicted that even if she survived, brain damage would be almost certain. Oddly, as a result of her ordeal her hair had become thick, curly, long, and beautiful. Her teeth, on the other hand, were all but worn away from the years of stomach acid passing over them, and there was a crater in the side of her hip where she had dug at an abscess while not being fully in charge of her senses. She confided to me that she had horrid memories of doing disgusting things while semi-conscious and unable to rise from the bed. Even while some part of her struggled to survive, her self-loathing seemed boundless. Still with counseling, medications and an intense personal strength, this "difficult" young woman had begun the journey back to life. She shared another confidence with me, "I fought back because I didn't deserve a merciful death." I don't believe she knew what she felt. It seems more likely she had begun to realize that Shayna was a good person, while perversely still haunted by her many years of believing she was worthless. Such is the tenacity of belief, even destructive beliefs. They are hard to get at and hard to overcome. When we met Shayna, she was also a 'cutter'. Someone who made little and sometimes large cuts in her flesh, as secret penance when she thought she had offended someone or for some real or imagined infraction. In some strange manner it seemed to relieve some of her depression. When I met her I wondered about the nicks and scratches on her arms, but she laid the blame on her cats. Twenty-four of them! Yes, she kept two dozen cats inside a small trailer home. Amazingly everything was reasonably orderly and mostly, although not entirely, odor free. She loved cats passionately, all cats, and anything to do with cats. Yet she would get angry if anyone suggested she loved cats so intensely because she had never had friends or a real lover. The truth, however harsh, seemed obvious to anyone meeting her. She had never had close friends, nor, as yet, a real lover, and her cats provided unconditional love. For many people the limited love of a pet becomes a replacement for the love they have never had, and perhaps never will have, or worse, that they think they don't deserve to have, from a human being. When this happens the individual can love their pets with such intensity that they place the species on a pedestal making it equal to, or even superior to, loving other humans. Having so many cats was also a defense mechanism, a means of explaining to herself why she never had the kind of love for which her heart yearned. How could she know her intense, almost insane, love of cats would be a major factor in losing the very love, once found, that she had sought for all her life. It was this tortured and deeply disturbed young woman who came to Helina hoping for a relationship. And for a short while it was working. They were blissfully happy and travelling toward a promising future. At least that was how it appeared on the surface. At a later time, Shayna would relate to me that Helina was totally self-absorbed and incapable of participating in a mutually loving relationship. In fact, one of the main problems in their relationship was that Shayna needed a constant companion. Someone who could devote almost every moment to their relationship. Without this kind of intensive support, Shayna began to break down. And actually, I was to later learn, the relationship had started to come apart the day before they moved in together. Helina had bought a mobile home. He wanted to sleep at the house alone the first night, concerned that thieves could break in and steal those things that had already been moved in. Shayna, on the other hand, wanted him to wait so that their first night in the house would be together. Helina couldn't comprehend the importance of romance over the practical import of protecting his precious belongings. There was a tremendous fight and in the end Helina won. This set the tone for the rest of the relationship. Friction, discord, conflict of nature, spell it TROUBLE. For Shayna the worst period of her life with Helina was in August, when everyone she loved ganged up on her. Shayna had been raised in a family that saw her as "difficult!" Everyone who knew her, even those who loved her, found her annoying, troublesome, childish, and dramatic. They didn't see the troubled child with the immense imagination and creative mind struggling to survive, struggling to overcome her past. True, Helina was not as responsive as he might have been. Certainly not as responsive as this young woman with immense baggage needed. Perhaps if he had known the depth of her need he might have understood her better. However, as far as he was concerned, Shayna was acting crazy and out of control and without justifiable reason. During her troubled year with Helina, Shayna called her mother almost everyday reporting some new incident, some new conflict, some new dissension; often crying, almost hysterical, desperately needing comforting. One day, actually an early August morning, about 1 am, she called Richard, a friend of her Mom's, and begged him to come out to the house and intervene. He agreed to do so! When Richard arrived Shayna was laying in the grass beating her hands and feet on the ground and screaming. From what Helina told Richard, and later me, this was not the first time that Shayna had become totally hysterical. He made it seem there was no reason for her behavior. Shayna, intimidated, couldn't come to me and tell me her side of the story, nor anyone else ... not until much later. Shayna thought so poorly of herself that, at first, she considered herself to be the sole cause of their woes. According to Shayna, Helina's whole life was devoted to writing masturbatory fantasies about a place called Idyllia, ruled by a goddess called Tirena. Additionally, Helina had no desire to help Shayna with the chores needed to maintain their home. He openly admitted to being lazy and claimed it was his right because he provided the major source of income. Never mind it was inherited from his father and not a dime had been earned. Nevermind that he didn't work and had never worked for money a day in his life. Never mind that he had all the time in the world to both write and be a part of the life of the woman he claimed to love. Shayna also said that he never listened to any of her ideas, and furthermore that it was Shayna's responsibiltiy to second guess what Helina expected without Helina having to spell it out. "You figure out what will make me happy and then do it! I shouldn't have to tell you everything I want from you!" To that end, on that terrible August morning, he became furious when asked to help with the cat litter. Helina's attitude: "They were Shayna's cats. She brought them into the household. It was her responsibility to clean up after them." Since there were 43 cats and a total of 16 litter boxes, the attitude wasn't entirely unjustified. But it went beyond attitude, in a rage Helina emptied five of the sixteen litter boxes all over the mobile home. That was when Shayna couldn't take anymore, called Richard, and was found kicking her feet and bruising her fists on the ground. Helina blamed Shayna for all their problems and we, her Mom, Richard, and myself, believed him. He told us Shayna had no reason to do what she did, leaving out his part in the confrontation. Later in the month, we all joined together in a common front, supporting Helina, and told Shayna she was acting like a child. We conspired to tell her she was out of control, manipulative, abused their relationship, needed more counseling, and that she wasn't to call or visit any of us with her problems. She was welcome to visit only if she behaved herself and didn't act out. Shayna was contrite, and made an appointment for counseling. She believed what was being said about her. After all, everyone she loved and knew were in agreement, they must know something she didn't. After all, she already knew she was worthless.
Later, after her death, I would discover a note she had written to Helina the day after we had all "beat up on her": Helina - Need to be alone. I'm out in the desert walking. Where we drove. Don't call Waspie or Richard - I guess Laura will talk to you, she won't talk to me. I've been told I'm manipulative and have abused our relationship. I've called Bhaca Crisis.It had worked! She believed us! She was a wretched person and was seeking more counseling in hopes of becoming a better person. How desperate and alone she must have felt ... At about the same time, Helina had started to teach Shayna to drive. According to Helina it wasn't going well. Shayna, he said, was emotionally out of control and would never learn to drive. It was then I first began to suspect something was wrong ... driving wasn't that hard and Shayna, whatever else she was, was a bright young woman. I decided to find out for myself what was going on. During their first year together I kept my distance from Shayna. For one thing, I felt an attraction and I knew she felt it as well. It was my hope that by keeping my distance that her relationship with Helina would have time to develop and grow. It is true, I did want Helina to be happy, but it was also true he was becoming a problem in our household. His tendency to slovenliness, to lewd behavior in front of Joan's customers, and there was the beginning of a power play, allowable, he contended, because he had paid more for the house than we had. There was even a threat that he would withdraw support if things didn't go his way. Yes, I knew it was time to get him out of our household, if not out of our lives. Still, a year had passed, and I was no longer concerned about any feelings that Shayna or I might have for one another. Either Helina and Shayna were cemented as a couple, or they never would be. Besides, my sense of fair play was being insulted. I had to discover for myself if an intelligent young women truly couldn't learn to drive a car. And if Helina was lying about this ... what else had she lied to me about? Suddenly, I wanted to hear Shayna's take on her life with Helina. So far, all that I knew came from Helina and it was becoming more and more suspect. Thus it was I volunteered to finish teaching Shayna to drive. On the day we were supposed to begin, I drove the Sunbird over to Helina's and Shayna's mobile home on Thunderbird Avenue. Cat knew my reputation of not waiting if someone wasn't prompt, so she was waiting outside when I arrived. She was wearing a black pants suit liberally adorned with cat hair, but otherwise she was scrubbed, sparkly and bright. I drove us down to an area of Casa Grande where there were paved streets, but almost no traffic. I stopped the car and told her, "First things first,you drive and show me what you can do." Switching places Cat took over the wheel and drove us around the deserted paved streets. After a bit I leaned back and put my hat over my face, "Just keep driving!" "What are you doing?"she asked. "My dear, " I answered, "you drive okay. Helina's a little too jumpy to ride with you, that's all. All you need is a little experience and you'll do fine. You drive while I nap. We'll do this every day until you tell me when you think you're ready to drive in traffic. Okay?" "Okay! You're sure easier to drive for than Helina. I thought I was doing okay, but Helina would yell and then I'd do something wrong." Over the next few days Cat became more confident and eventually felt safe enough to drive in town on Florence Blvd, the main drag in Casa Grande. She did well, but kept stopping much too far away from the car in front of her. I laughed and told her, "I'm not the least bit worried about you running into anyone. In fact, you need to learn to pull a little closer." As it turned out the only thing I really needed to teach her to do was parallel park and that only took two lessons. She was, after all, a bright and intelligent young woman. During these "lessons" Shayna began to confide in me, telling me her side of what had been transpiring between Helina and her. She also told me that while she had loved Helina with all her heart at the beginning that her love had turned to hate. Loudly, vehemently, she informed me that if she wasn't moved out and away from Helina by the end of the year that one of them would end up dead. She continued that her plans were to give away her cats and then take her own life, but that there were times when she got so mad she thought of killing Helina. It was clear to me that intercession was necessary before something terrible happened. At this point I was more concerned for Helina than Shayna. A cold chill ran down my back when she had told me one of "them" would end up dead. The look in Shayna's eyes, the unwavering venom in her words, convinced me she meant what she said. I knew Shayna needed a place to go. However, I had no idea of where that might be. A week later Shayna had her license and wanted to celebrate. We bought some Cabernet Sauvignon and after a few drinks we went out to the edge of North Mountain Park ... just to talk. It was late evening, and we talked a lot and drank a little, and then talked a little and drank a lot. "Shayna," I said, "I'm having a problem thinking of you as difficult, or as a problem. You're carrying a lot of hurt and you lash out, but so far I haven't had a problem dealing with you." "I am a problem though ..." she replied, "everyone has always told me so. I am the darkness. There is no light in me. I'm evil!" "That's not true! I like myself and I'm a good person. I see you in light of myself, there is no evil in you." I told her, speaking in the clipped sentences she was using. "Well, if that's true, then you're the only one to ever see it. No one else does," she replied. Unexpectedly, I reached over and kissed her, slipping my arm around her waist. Surpisingly she pulled my other hand down and held it over her pubic area. Taking my cue I slipped my hand inside her panties and petted her pubic hair. That was as far as we went on that, our first night. A few kisses and a little patting of her delicate "birthgate" as she liked to call it. "We need to talk tomorrow when we're totally sober," I told her, totally amazed at the turn our relationship had taken. Until this very moment I had scarcely liked the girl, or so I had been telling myself. She agreed and we stopped petting. "We shouldn't start anything just because we're boozed up," I said. I had already started to regret this turn of events ... but not entirely. A spark had been lit and something was fanning that spark, giving it life. A few days would pass before we got together again. She and Helina had another vicious fight and the upset lasted three days. On the fourth day I called late in the afternoon, knowing she was a night person who stayed up until the wee hours of morning and then sleeping until nearly evening. "Would you like to visit tonight, talk a little, get to know each other a little better?" I asked. She said she would and we decided to meet at the house. Again the wine flowed and the hours passed. Julia and Joan went to bed and Cat and I talked. I realized more and more that the picture of their relationship as painted by Helina was not all there was to it. Helina wasn't the innocent victim of Shayna's manipulations. Shayna, on the other side, made it seem Helina was entirely to blame. I suspected there was a middle ground that neither of them were willing to own. Shayna wanted me to make love to her. At first, I refused. I tried to explain that if we were to make love, I wanted to be sober so I could enjoy it. She curled up against me, kissed me, and without much further incentive my resolve shattered. We necked for a long time and then we talked some more. I began to realize that this remarkable young woman was scared, scarred, lonely, and desperately in need of some one to love her. Someone who was willing to devote almost every moment to loving her. It was then I realized she had found the one person who could give her what she needed. Old, ill, and tired, I was looking for a project, something that was meaningful, something that meant something, something I could devote the last part of my life to bringing into being. I believed I could be that person, devote that much time and energy to her. In the heat of those early days, it almost seemed that everything in my life had led up to that moment, to understanding this one special woman. In my mind, I had already determined, Shayna, however "bad" she had once been, was now well within normal parameters of what it means to be a decent human being. I had "determined," as if I was a knight on a mission to rescue a damsel in distress, that I would breathe love of life, and love of self, into this self-destructive volatile volcano. To that end I dropped archery, limited my cartooning and computer games, and spent vast amounts of time in her company. To avoid conflict and confrontation with Helina, Shayna began to visit us, Joan, Julia, and me, everyday, only going home at night to take care of her cats. Then, with Julia and Joan's approval, she started sleeping in our bed. Having, a long time back, sewn two queen size beds together we had more than enough room in our bed. Julia slept along the far wall, Joan beside her, I beside Joan, and Cat beside me. Except on hot nights when, Cat and I would switch places so that I could be on the cooler outside position. Shayna returned to Helina's place only long enough to tend to her cats during the day. Helina seemed happy with this arrangement as it gave him all the time he needed to write about Idyllia. For a long time I had been missing sleeping with someone. Joan and Julia both needed a lot of covers, and I needed one or none. If I wanted to cuddle in the middle of the night it was next to impossible to burrow through the cocoon of nightclothes and blankets that Joan wrapped up in. But Cat was a delight ... she liked as little covering as I did. Both of us were readily accessible any time during the night. Since we had already started "dancing cheek to cheek" as it were, it was delightful to have someone to cuddle with in the middle of the night. Often, because of Cat's presence, I would sleep as much as seven hours instead of my regular six or less. Sometimes I would start to get out of bed and a hand would grasp my arm and I would hear a short sharp command, "Stay!" And I would comply! It felt good to be wanted with such passion. As days flew by, turning inexorably into weeks, the love between Shayna and I deepened. Often we would stay up until the wee hours of the morning, sometimes indulging our romantic and sensual vampire mythos, sometimes getting drunk and necking, and sometimes discussing Shayna's growth and development. I seemed to be the only one at that time who realized the immense strides Shayna had been making, and too many people gave too much credit to me. I made Shayna understand I was only a guide, it was her voyage, her journey, and her triumph. Lest anyone doubt how quickly this "troubled" and "difficult" young woman was growing I offer an essay she wrote for me concerning the movie Matrix. It was written the day before my birthday, as a birthday present. This was the woman I loved, that "strange" and "difficult" woman who needed to get her shit together. Uh-huh! My ass! I knew the mind and heart that I was helping back to life, and I was privileged and honored to be her friend, her lover, and her guide. She had another gift for me too, another writing, much shorter. These are my tenets:This from the woman with the "dark side" dominate over the "light!" How could I not love her, admire her, respect her? And yes, our battles to come, toe to toe screaming our lungs out, would be tremendous, would at times be terrifying to those around us ... but growth comes with a price. Both the student and the teacher must be willing to pay that price.
April ended and May began ... the love we had for each other kept growing. Together we discovered sex, that is to say she discovered how tender and loving sex can be when it's right, and I rediscovered it. Because of Joan's strict fundamentalist upbringing there was nothing I was permitted to do to help her orgasm. When Joan had needs she would manipulate herself, bring herself to orgasm, and I wasn't necessary to the proceedings. Even being in the bedroom proved painful at these times, since I could be of no assistance. Not that Joan wasn't sensual. She was! And she often pleasured me and enjoyed my ministrations ... it was just that I was denied participation in the most private part of her sexual experience. For all of that, there were times when sex had been good. Moreover our love in other areas was more than compensation for any lack in the bedroom. Still, because of Shayna Joan grew bolder and it came to pass that both of my ladies needed frequent loving ministrations. It's surprising what a little competition can bring out in a person. Cat was entirely different sexually than Joan ... she not only liked me to be with her, it was mandatory. She had no ability or desire to manipulate herself. Shayna had never had an orgasm. It became our goal. It became my goal for her. We spent many nights at North Mountain Park, a blanket spread on a table under a ramada, or even just in the car in some lonely part of the desert, trying to rectify that deficiency. We even managed a night or two in the living room, but Cat was a screamer and too often woke Julia and Joan who yelled at us to "Keep it down, out there!" When we broadened our sex life to include oral sex, Cat was ecstatic. Apparently, and to be honest I felt it too, I managed to do just the right things with my tongue. My tongue is much more sensitive than my fingers and I could feel where her pleasure spots were. The tongue work in turn guided my fingers when they returned to the task at hand. I remember her first orgasm as vividly as if it were yesterday. She shook and trembled, then in mighty moans screamed her success into the night. Then a great quiet would come over her, a radiance more brilliant than I had ever seen around her, and she lay still, smiling broadly, exhausted, happy. I cried with joy, tears streaming down my cheeks. It was thrilling! It had been such a long time, over a decade, since I brought that kind of pleasure to someone I loved.
Early in May we were driving along in downtown Casa Grande, the following conversation took place, slightly paraphrased because human memory is a faulty thing.
"Shayna, this isn't working. We can't go on like this!" I informed her, my heart pounding because I didn't want to go where this conversation would take us, but I felt it necessary.Next morning I called her early in the morning and asked if we could get together, that I had an idea if she was agreeable. I picked her up in the Sunbird, and we drove around town while we talked. "Look," I said, "I don't know if it will work, but we could approach Julia and Joan about your idea. I doubt they will accept all forty-three of your cats. You have to consider giving some of them up. And you'd have to promise that by attrition the numbers would go down. If you can do that, maybe I can convince them. Perhaps we can join your two worlds into one." "How many of them would I have to give up?"she asked, a bit startled, but hopeful. "I don't know, ten maybe, a token number to show good faith. Remember they don't know you the way I do, they still think you could be a big problem." "Could we try for eight, maybe just eight?" she begged, and so I agreed. We would cut her cat population by eight. I talked to Julia first and she surprised me ... if we kept them all outside she didn't see any difference between keeping forty-three or thirty-five. Either way it was still a lot of cats, but it was okay with her. That left Joan to convince. I told Joan what we had been talking about ... and Joan was resistant. At first, she didn't want Shayna moving in at all, no matter how many cats. Finally she agreed Shayna could move in if she showed good faith by getting rid of eight cats. I went to Shayna with the proposal and she started making lists, trying to decide which of the eight it would be. It was driving her crazy. "You know these cats have been exposed to feline leukemia and feline aids? Whichever ones I select will die ... it's a death sentence." I held her, kissed her and asked her to let me talk to Joan once more. "I have an idea how to explain the dilemma."
We, the four of us, all gathered together at the table in the dining
room and I asked Joan the following; "Joan, Shayna will do as you ask.
Eight cats will be eliminated. But all of her cats have been exposed
to feline leukemia and feline aids, so the ones that are selected
will be put to death. Shayna can't bring herself to pick the ones
to die ... so she is asking you to do her a favor. You do it?"
On May 14, 1999 the decision to bring Shayna and ALL of her cats into
our lives was finalized. The conflicts between Helina and Shayna had
reached explosive levels, and Helina had many times said it would be
a relief when Shayna was gone. Thus it was that this decision seemed
the right way to go for all concerned. Oddly though, when we told
Helina, he seemed, at first and for some little time after, offended
that we were taking Shayna in. I was to learn much later that what
upset him the most was that he wasn't consulted about the move prior
to it being a fait accompli.
Nevertheless, we went ahead with our plans. Helina had given Shayna 1300 dollars to help with the down payment on a government home, if Shayna could qualify. It was that money Shayna would use to move and build the Cateau (Chateau for Cats).
Actually the reconstruction of the shed, and the construction of the
outdoor section of the Cateau would run over 300 dollars extra.
Joan, Julia, and I, agreed to come up with the over run. It was an expensive project even with Shayna and I doing most of the work. James helped too. He dug 14 holes for the red wood poles, and a bunch more for trees that Shayna wanted replanted from the Susan house. Joan sewed Arizona screening together for the roof. Both were difficult jobs and two jobs that neither Cat nor I could do.
Cat (with some help from Joan) scraped the paint from the inside of
the shed. A two room affair that would be ... yes, the "Cat House!"
Cat also was in charge of spackling the walls and floors. My job was
bringing in the lumber, the heavy gauge chicken wire, cement, and
then building the exterior. Cementing in the poles, constructing a
framework roof, rolling out and securing the wire, covering the roof
with Arizona screening, and clean up afterwards.
There were a lot of difficulties since neither Cat nor I had the
slightest idea of how to do what we were doing. Additionally, Cat,
had osteoporosis, 85 year old bones, and delicate health from her
years of anorexia and bulima. At night, when I would hold her,
even after painkillers and a couple of glasses of wine, her muscles
would periodically twitch and she would winch in pain without waking.
Often I would stroke her legs, or back, and it seemed to ease her
discomfort, allowing a more peaceful sleep. I, of course, was 60 years
old, had cardiovascular disease, emphysema, was 90 pounds overweight,
had an orchiectomy, and among other meds was taking female hormones.
More than once the effort of the day brought a certain amount of chest
pain. And Cat, sensing my distress even as I sensed hers, would take
me to bed, lay me down, and put a hand over my heart hoping to
send some healing energy. We weren't exactly your typical construction
crew.
Still we worked like construction workers. Long hours! Mine began as
early as 4 am and ended at 1 or 2 pm, when the sun was too hot to
bear working outside and Cat, a night person, would start
at noon, or later, and work sometimes until long after the sun
went down. Literally we would bust ass, play ourselves out,
and then collapse together in bed for an entire day before starting up
all over again. Often, late at night, I would make love to her. At this
point in our relationship I devoted myself entirely to her pleasure.
Lovingly I would caress her body with my fingers, a feather, a fur ball, and then, carefully, my fingers would tease her birthgate. Writhing and moaning she would come close to fever pitch, almost reaching orgasm but not quite. Meanwhile Joan, who had to be alone to orgasm, was still taking care of her own needs. She had not yet
learned the satisfaction of having someone else bring you to climax. Thus it was I had the time and energy to attend to Cat twice and sometimes three times a week. My own pleasure, having eliminated the major source of personal desire when I had an orchiectomy, was of little or no concern. Still my arousal in bringing Cat pleasure was as sexual, senusous, and powerful as any I had when my body was fully functional ... perhaps even more so.
Sorry, I digress again ... shoulder to shoulder, both of us working
ourselves past exhaustion, we tested each others mettle. Her mind
was fast, her wits were sharp, her thinking crisp and clear, and
her mannerisms were sometimes about as genteel as an offshoreman. I
could see why she intimidated some people, annoyed others, and yet
left others entirely bewildered. As for me, I loved her, baggage
and all! And mercy sake, she loved me and our love just kept growing.
Of course we had our spats! One spat was over the dimensions to make
the Cateau. Cat wanted the Cateau to extend over all of the side yard
and a large part of the back yard. I had visiualized considerably smaller dimensions. Cat snapped at me, but a few moments later was apologizing. I laughed and said, "Shayna, before we're settled with each other we're going to have some monumental fights. It's all part of getting real with one another."
That irritated her all over again and she bristled, "Stop laughing at
me. It's not funny!"
"Sure it is! I know what's coming. It has to come before we are totally real. With each fight we''ll grow closer."
"That doesn't make any sense!" she stated flatly.
"Sure it does, but what's important is to remember the rules of fair
fighting," I replied, noticing I had a smile on my lips. For her it was
annoying.
"What're the rules of fair fighting?" she snapped, now more curious
than annoyed.
"First of all, never get so mad that if you're asked the question, DO
YOU STILL LOVE ME?, that the answer would be, NO! Second, no name calling. Third, no bringing up the past, or past arguments, argue about whatever's got you steamed, nothing more. Fourth, don't let the sun go down on an argument. In short, you can shout, be forceful, just nothing unfair," I informed her.
"What if I forget and break the rules?" she asked.
"You lose that argument. I'll remind you, if you break a rule, and if I do, you remind me. None of us is perfect ... just try to remember that you're fighting with the person you love."
Softly, almost inaudibly, she whispered, "Go away, I'm not fit to be around when I'm like this."
For a long time I held her, talked to her, soothed her, assured her, and stroked her forehead and hair gently. "No matter what we fight about, or how mad we get, I would rather be with you, than somewhere else with someone I didn't love."
Whispering again, she said, "You're strange! This isn't how people are supposed to react!"
"Hmmm ..." I said, pulling her close. "I'm here and I'm not leaving unless you tell me you don't want me here."
Quietly, by far the softest whisper yet, so soft I almost didn't hear it, "I want you here."
Later, I was to learn that she was extremely grateful I had remained, and that I had been the first person to stay with her when she was acting weird, the only person who had ever cared enough to ride out a "tantrum" with her.
Helina seemed resentful of losing control over Shayna. To keep him from getting angry, we agreed to do whatever was necessary to keep the peace. So long as it accomplished our ends. One thing he demanded was that Cat concede it was entirely her fault they couldn't get along. He also demanded she respect him. "After all," he said, "I still have my dignity!" Privately Shayna and I chuckled at his audacity. Here was a man, dissheveled, smelling of sweat, filth, and cigarette smoke, his pants hung down showing the crack of his ass, his undershirt was covered with food stains from his late night snacks, his face unshaven and scruffy, his remaining hair uncombed and standing out in all directions ... and he thought he had diginity to protect. Of all people we had ever met, Helina had the least dignity one could conceive possible in a still living human being. To successfully get Cat and her cats away from him without major war breaking out, I asked Cat to lie, to tell Helina that she felt they shared equal responsibility in the failure of their relationship, and to tell him she respected him, just that they couldn't live together anymore. I couldn't, I wouldn't, ask her to comply to his ludicruous request to take all the blame. Cat understood the necessity of placating Helina while we were moving her cats and plants, but once everything was safe she hated it. She absolutely despised him. Later on, on the rare times when he would visit (smelling like an ashtray, dirty in appearance) she would smile and be pleasant, even cordial, but as soon as he left she would rush to the toilet and throw up, screaming how much she hated him. Time after time she warned us that one day he would cause us, her family, major trouble. She cautioned that he was unbalanced and dangerous. For the most part I came to believe her, but still thought surely, even if the majority of the fault was his, some of the fault was hers too. After all, the Helina that Julia, Joan, and I knew had, at the start of our relationship, done a great deal of good for us, and for many others in the family.
Shayna, potentially, was what I call a shaper and maker. A person who is creative and innovative, tending to dedicate that innovation to making life easier, better, for their own. There was no doubt she was a clever lady. She used clothes pins to seal bags of open food, bottles turned upside down in the refrigerator to drain the last of the good stuff (poverty inspired, she claimed), metal clips on the end of tubes of toothpaste, an open top basket for a purse (which I've imitated and modified for my own use), copious notes through out the day to remind her of chores and record her thoughts, and on and on. Her innovations were much like mine, not something other people couldn't do, often simply things other people didn't bother to do. Too much trouble, or it would mar their public image. And she fretted over me. If I got up in the middle of the night, restless, to work or play on the computer, or to draw a cartoon, not fifteen minutes would pass before she was by my side asking if I was okay and when was I coming back to bed. She had turned her whole life upside down to be with me. From going to bed in the wee hours of the morning and sleeping until late afternoon, she started going to bed, with me, at nine or so, so that we could hold each other through the night. "I'm only going to live as long as you live," she would say. "So drink your water," she demanded. She'd sit a big glass of water beside me every hour or so through out the day and was never satisfied until she saw I had finished it. I tried to tell her she would learn over the next ten years or so, that life could be good even without me. That she could recover from my death when it finally happened and have joy, laughter, and even love again. She'd answer, "I've waited all my life for you. It took 28 years to find you. If I can't have you, I don't want anyone." Strange, now it's my turn to understand. Is a small piece of cake, after all, better than no cake at all? There was something about the love Cat and I shared that makes it hard to go on without her. Still, I would endure a thousand times the pain I'm feeling, and more, to have had those few brief precious months. There is little doubt in my mind that Shayna would feel the same.
We also visited the San Diego Zoo ... Shayna was enthralled when we came to the big cats. As we approached the tiger enclosure she stopped, frozen in her tracks, looking much like one of her own cats stalking prey. Her eyes grew large, her pupils dilated to the size of quarters. A sense of awe oozed from every pore, every sense alert to take in these larger representatives of her favorite species. She was always like that; a flower, a single bead budding on a new stem, an animal she had never seen before, noticing details of life around her where ever she went. It was as if, in answer to her lost years, she was attuned to the fiber of life. Tragically, she would teach me the difference between being attuned to and being in tune with. The latter was something I hoped she could become because the former made it seem possible. Still, I would listen to her intently, hanging on every word. Her fresh joy allowed me to experience each new thing with her, a smile on my lips at her innocence. That night at the motel I was tired, but she wanted to get into our vampire mythos. It had been a long day, tiring, and my brain sometimes gets funny late at night (ever since I died.) I snapped at her that I didn't want to play vampire twenty four hours a day, which startled her and she started to freeze up. Suddenly, instead of being petrified and acting hurt, she was standing in front of me and screaming back. She wrote the tale in her Book of Shadows. So I quote:
FROM SHAYNA'S BOS: (Book Of Shadows)Later that night, midnight really, a bit after our argument, we slipped out to see the Fourth of July fireworks. From our balcony we could only see rockets exploding high in the air, but it was pleasant seeing them together for our first time. Afterward we walked around the outside of the motel, her in a black dress with white stripes on a flared skirt, and me wearing my long, midnight blue cape over a simple dress. When we wandered into the swimming pool area, deserted at that time of night, she wanted to go skinny-dippying. I laughed and told her that I was too old, sick, and fat to run if we got caught, but that if she wanted to go in I would watch over her and run intereference. She slipped out of her dress and was in the pool in the blink of an eye. Shortly, a black man came out on to the balcony to watch. It was obvious he had seen her slip out of her clothes and into the pool. At first she didn't know what to do, then, after circling the pool twice she decided she would just get out and put her clothes back on and ask, "Hey, weren't you ever young once?" I laughed and said, "Oh, we can do a little better than that. Just come to me. Walk tall and proud and I'll wrap you in my cape." As she climbed out, fully visible for a moment, I wrapped my cape around her. Then, with a bottle of wine and her dress and shoes in one hand, I hustled her out of the pool, back the way we had come, and into our room. We laughed, and slept holding each other through the remainder of the night.
We began to practice in-line skating. Of course, with her fragile, 85 year old bones, a fall could have been a disaster. We had all the appropriate padding and we went very slow. I also made four sticks out of PCB pipe, tennis balls strapped to each end end which we used like ski-poles, insuring there would be few, if any, falls. We rode our bikes, walked in the desert, went swimming at the health club, used the steam bath and the jacuzzi. We went to a brewery or two, bookstores galore, clothing stores, restaurants, and the CAB (Central Arizona Bowhunters) archery range. We saw movies, museums, the Phoenix Zoo, the San Diego Zoo, the Pacific Ocean, and the Boyce-Thompson arboretum a number of different times. Once we went at night and, for the first time, she saw Mars, Jupiter, and Venus through a large telescope. Another evening we went for a field trip and pot luck. Then there was the Society for Creative Anachronisms, and the events we attended there, sometimes in costume. With all of these things Joan and Julia were almost always with us. The four musketeers! But Cat usually managed some excuse for sitting beside me in the car and staying close to me at all times. Ah yes, and then there was her vampire leanings, and many a night we participated in a world of our own creation, or, perhaps, I should say, her own creation. Sharing little tastes of blood, large hickeys, and passionate love making. We were learning Spanish together, and come summer, I was to teach her how to use a foil, epee, and saber. In these things we were alone. Once, close to the time she would die, and an important memory for me, she told me that she had experienced more life in her time with me than in the rest of her entire life. I promised her that this would be the way of it for the rest of our lives together. "We only live once," I said, "and we have to live like it will all be over too soon." That hurts to remember, now! For her, it was so very true.
French Kissing: When I first met Cat, she didn't like french kissing. It had never been good for her. One night, I took the liberty of slipping my tongue past her lips ... it was electric. For both of us! A few days later she announced, "That's strange! I love french kissing you. I used to hate it before ... you know?." Love making was that way too ... she told me sex had been okay at times with Helina, but it was often more of a chore than a pleasure. Helina had named their organs; "Drenda and the two dolls" was the name for his penis and balls, and "Maggie and the twin peaks" was the names he gave Shayna's sexual parts. Sometimes "Drenda" would try to do "Maggie" but Helina couldn't keep an erection, so it was rather lackluster at best. Their sessions always ended with Shayna masturbating "Drenda." When we fist got together, one of the first questions Shayna asked was, "You don't name your sex organs, do you?" I looked at her puzzled and replied, "No, why!" She gave a sigh of relief and explained. Shayna had established rules for Helina, letting him know when she was and was not appoachable. Creatively, Shayna incorporated lots of soap and water into their sexual excursions, just to be able to touch Helina's none too hygenic equipment. Even with all of that, she admitted, they did have a little fun together at times. There were no rules between Cat and myself. Quite the contrary, she made it clear that anytime I had even the slightest urge to touch her, play with her, have sex with her, or make love to her, I was to do so. No matter where or when or who was watching. Even if it meant waking her from sleep. It was a sheer joy to see her blossom into a sexually active woman who knew what she wanted, one who was bound and determined to make up for lost time. Not to mention immensely flattering to an old warrior who lacked some of the niceties a girl had a right to expect. Still, there were never any objections to my ministrations and the evidence of her pleasure was loud, reverbating from the walls of the room, and, at times, to the consternation of Joan, through them.
Another time I had to tell my ladies not to be moody when I was making the other one happy. Hell, I enjoyed taking care of their needs, but it was spoiled for me when afterwards I walked out to see the other one, face long and drawn, looking miserable. And they both did it! I told them to work it out or I wouldn't make love to either of them ... although I rahter doubted if I could make that threat stick. Still, whether because of the threat or just in deference to my displeasaure, they did manage to work it out and became closer friends in the process. I spent many late nights with Cat, talking, myth games, cuddling, sometimes more. Cat had changed her schedule entirely around. Even when she was a little girl she had slept days and stayed awake at night. Her mom confirmed that Cat had always been a night person. But now she was going to bed at nine, and only drinking one or two glasses of wine a night, so that we could hold each other during the long hours of sleep. Often, during the passage of the night, I could sense the ache in her legs, her arms, her pain wracked body, and I would stroke her gently to soothe away the involuntary twitches. She took sleepy time meds, a little alcohol, and, at least, four aspirin before going to bed. It was a routine to ease the pain and allow sleep to come. Sometimes when I held her, noticing the intensity with which her legs and arms would jerk and spasm, sometimes even her whole body, I would find myself with tears in my eyes. Such a lovely young woman, and yet her body had been physically abused to such a degree it was like it was three times older than her chronological age. My fragile little sweetheart, my vulnerable tender love, and so little I could do to help her. Sometimes at night, when it seemed she was sleeping comfortably, I would become restless. I'd slip off into the living room to write on the computer, or answer E-mail, or even to make a cartoon or play a computer game. No more than fifteen minutes would pass and she'd be at my side wanting to know what I was doing and how soon before I'd be back to bed. And, if what I was doing wasn't something important, she'd want me to come back to bed NOW. Pleased by her desire for me to return to bed, only rarely would I refuse her. On one of our Friday night adventures I took her to a gay bar where there were female impersonators. We both wore our "cloaks of night time invisibility", which made the trip extra special for her. We pretended to be vampires out on the town. She was especially enchanted by the lip-sync artists. "Oh my, they look so gorgeous," she said, "It isn't fair that men can look better than me. I hate them!" But she didn't hate them. She enjoyed the show and could scarce contain her exuberance. I gave her a fistful of dollars to tip the performers. One of them kissed her on the check. She came back from that kiss with stars in her eyes and a smile spreading from ear to ear. We stayed through the first half of the show and then I thought we should go home. There has been enough smoke, booze, and excitement for one night. So, we started home. I drove us out of Phoenix proper and then she wanted to drive. I had my doubts, but it was always difficult for me to refuse her. I stopped and we changed seats. As I suspected she was far too drunk to drive safely. Using one finger on the lower portion of the steering wheel and unknown to her I thought, I steered the car keeping us safely on the road. When we finally got home and out of the car she threw her arms around my neck and hugged me, then kissed me, and thanked me. "Anyone else would have kicked my drunken ass out of the driver's seat. You are so fucking cool! Thank you!" My guiding the car had not escaped her attention. We had some "mildly" wild, and romantic, adventures from time to time. Frequently we went to North Mountain Park on our Friday nights. Often we stripped naked and then, laying on the table top, we cuddled, kissed, and made love. And there were mellow times too, reflective times. She had a great passion for nature. I remember how she noticed the details of the landscape after a rain, or the buds on the bushes, or a bug, or the lay of the land. And she would point all these things out to me, as if I was her student and she my teacher. Then too, we often simply talked about life, love, and the wicked, wicked ways of this sad little world. Still, in particular, the one adventure I recall most from North Mountain Park was a rainstorm where we were naked except for our cloaks, holding each other close as a blinding rain poured down. Lightning periodically flashed and thunder rolled, surrounding us in an awesome display of nature's violent mood ... what else could we do? We made love and, afterward, curled up together in our cloaks. We watched the storm slowly fade. Wrapped up in each other and the moment, we didn't speak a word. None were needed.
Finally An Orgasm: After the first time, it became easier and easier to bring her to that fever pitch, to provide the release she had so long been denied. One time, after she had rested and enjoyed her mellow, I was preparing to leave. She pushed me back onto the bed and said, "Now, I understand why lovers want to please each other. I never understood that before. I want to make you as happy as you've made me." And she did! My "poor little penis" may not be of much use to anyone else, but she, as Joan had always done, managed to make me feel wonderful. "Dis ole' eunuch ain't dead yet, Matey!" GriN!
Cat expressed her love of nature with an exuberance I had never known in anyone else. When it rained and we were driving she would beg me to stop at the larger puddles along the road. Taking her shoes off, she'd jump out of the car and dance in the puddle, a happy smile spreading from ear to ear. Or she would ask me to stop at other times, running up to a bush or a tree to touch, or smell, or collect some buds or seeds. Sometimes she would tromp through bushes and briars coming back scratched and bleeding with her trophies. If she planted all the seeds and cuttings she had collected our yard would have been a jungle. Often she would ask, almost seeming a little ashamed at her own enthusiasm, "Do you think I'm crazy?" And I would invariably answer, "No, sweetheart, you're just passionate and it's beautiful to watch." Then she would beam, like a burst of golden light. Sometimes, often in fact, she would spontaneously throw her arms around my neck and kiss me. From a woman who thought she hated life and wanted to die, came this strong will to live and squeeze every last drop of goodness from every last facet of life. Truth be known, the two sides of her nature were intimately related, connected in a mannner that could end only one way ... in her death. Before Cat met us her emotions were, with hard work and determination, coming under her control. However, during the time she lived with Helina, who smoked heavily, had devastatingly poor hygiene, and seemingly was disinterested in Shayna's needs, it set her back emotionally. The relationship was unhealthy, and because of Shayna's previous history, at first, she put too much blame on herself. Later she came to realize that Helina Handbasket was a controlling, emotionally stunted, personality with no capacity to have an ongoing relationship with anyone.
Cat's words:Some, perhaps most, people who knew Shayna knew she needed constant attention. It was little to marvel over. She felt lonely and isolated for the majority of twenty-eight and a half years. Her physical condition was not good. Pain was her constant companion and she was aware, for entirely different reasons than it turned out, that she could die at any time. Liver failure was just one of the possibilities. Sure, she wanted to make up for lost time, both past and future, so she and I were inseparable. But, if she was fixated on her constant need for love and companionship, I was equally fixated. I needed her too. Before Cat came, I had slipped into a life where I played computer games, had my daily routine at the archery range, and had started fiddling with cartooning. My own sex life had come almost to a screeching halt. Precluded from helping Joan with her masturbations rather deadened any desire in me. Before all the physical changes I had needed to be wanted and desired. With Joan, not needing me for sexual release, I had almost stopped desiring sex ... perhaps once every couple of months or so. Cat's almost insatiable appetitie changed all that. It changed me, it changed Joan, and from having hardly any sex for many years, I was now in demand. Two women wanted me as often as I could summon up the strength and energy. My own desires leaped to answer the call, but the body was old and tired and, for the most part, I could only manage two times a week for each, and not always that. Even more important than the sexual aspects was the communication between Cat and I. She, like me, had things to talk about, and she needed help with various interests and studies. It was my privilege, great joy actually, to put all these other, essentially meaningless things of mine, on hold. All that I was doing anyway was just trying to find some interesting things to make staying alive interesting ... now, I had a reason, something important to do, something that energized me. I had someone who needed everything I had learned and knew in a life time. And maybe even that wouldn't be enough! I didn't know for certain! It was a heady challenge ... and then three weeks before Cat died we had the worst fight of our life. Afterward we knew with absolute certainty all the ghosts, hers and mine, had been put to rest for the last time. We knew we had made it. We had reached a state of perfect love and perfect trust, the kind of love Joan and Julia and I already shared, and, we believed, Shayna and I, that we still had a few precious years ahead to enjoy each other.
Our Last Fight; Around 8 Julia and Joan went to bed, leaving Cat and I alone. I only drank one glass of wine that night because I really was exhausted and needed sleep. I told Cat how tired I was and asked if she would mind if I went to bed. She reminded me I had promised to stay up until nine, so I did and beyond. It was a pleasant, cozy evening, but eventually I had to go bed. Cat had about four drinks when I finally couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. She told me she was going to read a bit and would be in shortly. I kissed her, gave her a big strawberry on her neck at the same time she was giving me one, (a neat trick we had learned to do that was quite exciting) and trundled off to bed. The time was 10:30pm! A little before eleven I woke up as she crawled into bed beside me. I tried to snuggle up to her, but she was tossing and turning too much. Off and on she kicked the bed, shaking it, and she was talking, although completely asleep. Her talking, while not loud, disturbed Joan so I shook Cat and told her to come in the living room with me. I intended for her to sleep on the sofa and I would sleep on some giant pillows right beside her. We had done this on other occasions. Exhausted, hardly able to keep my eyes open, I made it into the living room and laid down just as she came out of the bedroom with her blankets and pillow. "What's wrong?" she asked. "You were talking in your sleep and keeping Joan and Julia awake. You had too damn much wine, honey," I replied. A look of anger crossed her face. Taking her blankets and covers she went out the kitchen door to the back porch, careful to slam the door on the way out. Joan heard the slam and came out from the bedroom. "What was that noise?" she asked. "Just Cat going out the door all pissed off," I replied, "Go back to bed. I'll take care of it." Joan returned to her slumbers and I, after quickly dressing and grabbing the car keys, went out the back door to discover Cat fast asleep. "Cat," I called out, "Come with me. We've gotta talk." Shaking her gently awake, although my tone was gruff, she woke and followed me to the car. Once in the car and a short way from the house I started my rant. "Damn it, Cat, we just solved the problem you had with Julia and Joan but now you're fucking with me. Don't you give a shit if I live or die?" "What'd I do? I just went out on the porch to sleep," she replied plaintively. "What'd you think I'd do? How'd you think I'd react? I'm exhausted. I've been exhausted since six o'clock. But I stayed up with you anyway, because you needed me. Now you pull this fucking stunt. Hell, my heart is thumping and my head is spinning and you're fucking with me. You knew damn well I'd be in a stew if you went out on the porch. In the morning, lady, we get you a place. I can't live like this ... it'll kill me. We're history!" "We're History! What do you mean, we're history? If we're history, you think I give a fuck. If I can't have you then I don't want to live," she screamed, opening the car door and throwing herself out. The car was travelling at over 60 mph. I had never been so grateful for quick reactions, reactions I have bragged about and took pride in all of my life ... my hand shot out and grabbed her full luxurious head of hair. I dragged her bodily back into the car. "Let me go! Let me go! I'll kill you, if you don't let go. I don't want to live without you. Don't you understand nothing?" Steering the car with one hand, holding her hair with the other, the car door still open and Cat struggling violently to free herself and finish what she had begun, I pulled the car to an orderly stop. White as a sheet, the cobwebs suddenly gone from my mind, I pulled her to me and held her. "Oh Jesus Cat, I didn't mean it ... that was a horrible thing to say. Cat, I was tired. You know my brain gets messed up late at night, especially when I'm tired. Please honey, when you went out on the porch I was worried about you. It was cold. Some asshole could stumble by and you could have been hurt, raped, or killed. I couldn't sleep and I thought you knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. It seemed like you didn't have any regard for my health or your own. I went nuts!" "That wasn't what I was thinking," she explained, "I was drunk, causing a disturbance, and I just wanted to remove myself from everyone so I wouldn't bother any of you. I never had anyone care enough about me to worry where the hell I slept before." "Oh Jesus, Cat, if I needed convincing that you love me, it happened tonight. I swear to you honey, never again. No one, not Joan, or Julia, or me, will ever threaten you again. You have my word of honor. Honey, you were drunk and I was out of my mind with exhaustion, that was the reason this happened. I didn't mean it, anymore than you meant it when you said you'd kill me if I didn't let go of your hair." Our relationship, our love affair, our marriage, had been a series of plateaus, each one more solid than the one before. With this final plateau I realized I could no more put Cat away from me, cast her out from her new family, than I could Joan, or Julia, or myself. The realization that she didn't want to live without me, made me realize that I didn't want to live without her either. How true that was, would become all too clear after she died. She loved and needed me with all of her heart and I needed her as much as she needed me. Oh, I won't be throwing myself out of the car, and, with the passage of time, survival is a little easier, but there are times, moments when it seems I can scarcely contain the agony. And if it wasn't for certain key people, a support system, there is no way I could have made it through. I wouldn't even have cared to try.
Cat's novel, "Forever Live" is on her mother's web site. In time I may spell check it and break it into chapters for convenience. If I do, I want to do her justice, to make her proud, but the wound is too new, too fresh, I've exhausted what energy I have left. When the healing comes, maybe I will be able to return to this page, maybe not. For now, I direct you to Joan's tribute and story of Shayna's end time. One thing, Cat was a good driver, too fast, but competent. I don't believe, can't believe, she just fishtailed and lost control. In my mind and heart I believe she swerved to avoid hitting something, an animal maybe. She had always told me that she would swerve if an animal ran in front of her and I told her it could get her killed. "You don't swerve for an animal. It's too dangerous." But she was a determined young woman and this time, she made a dreadful mistake. All my life, as a skeptic, I had, in moments of "extreme skepticism", privately called out to the Mystery that I am most determined doesn't exist, "Convince me, make a penny appear in my hand and I will know there is more to reality than reason and logic can explain." Cat's death was devastating, catastrophic. I cried uncontrollably, almost constantly. I couldn't, wouldn't, let her go. Shayna's brother Paul, visiting and comforting Serena, had placed a small pine tree at the site of the accident. A few days later I added a wreath, with a black banner across it. I looked around the scene of the accident, at the pieces of shattered glass, car fragments, and torn up earth. She had been going eighty miles an hour on that dirt road when she "lost control." The car hit a deep ditch, flipped once, twice, maybe three times, and smashed into a metal utility pole. Cat died instantly. There was very little blood pumping from a heart that had already stopped beating and what blood there was, was uncongealed. Nor, thankfully, was there any sign of blood at the scene. A few days passed and I returned to the scene again, Serena, Joan, and Julia came along. Julia found an ice scraper that had been thrown from the car, an ice scrapper that had belonged to Joan that had travelled all the way from Joliet, Illinois. I wondered around aimlessly, in immense self-pitying agony. Suddenly, there on the ground was a bright, glistening penny. My heart skipped a beat ... silly as it sounds it was like a gift. Before picking it up I knew the date on the penny would be 1999. A chill did go through me ... all my life I asked for a magical penny to appear in my hand ... and here, at the crux of my life, suffering more torment than ever before in my life, a penny appeared as if from nowhere. In times of stress, even a most rational mind sometimes grasps for a straw, or in this case a penny. True, not magically in my hand, but as close to it as empirical reality can allow. I wanted to believe it meant something, even though I knew it was only my wounded mind reaching for the impossible. So yes, my bicameral mind took this to be a sign ... I needed it to be a sign, for a little while. While I healed! Joan and Julia thought, and were, of course, entirely right ... I made too much of finding a penny. On January 16, 2000 I needed a break from my misery. I bought some Bloody Mary mix and vodka. I slowly drank four over the course of the evening. Silently, tears still streaming down my face though more than a month passed since she died, I called to her, "Cat, I'm a skeptic. You too, had become a skeptic. I know you're dead, and dead is dead. I need something! A part of me wants to believe otherwise. Please, some sign, something, anything that gives me a little hope that we might meet again, love again. Cat, I can't survive without something. I won't be able to help your Mom, or Joan, or Julia. Cat, I am grieving to death here." And I was, my heart weakened by lack of exercise, by emotional stress, had never felt so weak and thready. My emphysema had never bothered me quite so much. Worst of all, I didn't give a shit. I not only didn't care if I lived or died, a part of me wanted to die. Not in the forlorn hope of seeing Cat again, just to escape the agony. The next day, January 17th, 2000 Julia and I went shopping. We went to a place called Virgin Records in Arizona Mills Mall. While Julia was looking through classical CDs I leafed aimlessly through a couple of books. One was on "Man in the Moon" about the Andy Kaufman movie. For a moment I recalled he too had died prematurely, from lung cancer. I thought, "Cat, I've got to put you to rest. I'm just not sure how." Leaving Virgin Records after Julia had made her purchase, she mentioned that someday she wanted an old-fashioned traditional rocking chair. I replied, "Let's go find one." She started to argue with me, but I was firm. When you want something, really want it, then you should get it as soon as possible. Tomorrow could be too late. First, I took us to Costco, but they didn't have any rocking chairs. When we returned to the car I drove across the street to a Krause's Furniture Store and a Penny's. I decided Penny's was more likely to have what we were searching for and we went in. We looked all over the furniture section and there weren't any rockers. There was, however, a museum replica of the Three Graces. It was gorgeous, the three women holding each other, so obviously in love. It was marked down by half, so we decided to buy it. It was meant as a present for Joan, although we would all enjoy it. We were getting ready to make our purchase and leave when a salesman approached, "Can I help you?" "We were looking for an old fashioned rocking chair, but you don't seem to have any." I replied. "Oh we did have at Christmas time but they are all gone. I could order one for you," he suggested. Julia didn't want to order one, but I insisted we look at the catalog and see what they had to offer. When the salesman opened the book there, for a decent price too, was the exact chair Julia was looking for. It was also the only traditional rocker they offered. What was an amazing coincidence, an incidence of low probability, was the name of the rocker. It was called, CATKIN. Catkin, Shayna's special name, a name she had invented and claimed as her own because of her love of cats. A name, I might add, none of us had ever heard before. And yet here it was on a rocker found in a Penny's. It was Joan who came up with the assocation with the previous penny I had found at the site of her death. No, these things aren't proof of anything, except that a mind in pain will grasp at straws. Is my Cat waiting for me? If I thought so I would rush to her waiting arms. I know better, but somehow, even though knowing it is not so, there is comfort in imagining that the universe might be a little forgiving. And, even, if as I perceive, there is no god, no after life, it is enough to see and embrace an odd little bit of coincidence ... a little comfort for a still primitive mind. Once healed, these thoughts will leave me. They tell me more about myself, then they reveal anything about reality. They tell me that a bit of the primitive mind still exists in me. A part of me shall always love Shayna, always miss her, and regret, to the end of my days, that we only had seven months. But too, I shall always celebrate and take joy, as I know she would do, that we did have those seven passionate, glorious, monumental, dare I say, even epic months, filled with passion and growth. If we knew the outcome at the beginning, and knew the ending was inevitable, with absolute certainty, I know we would both have chosen the same course. It is better to have known love and suffer the loss, the greater the love the greater the loss, then never to have known love at all. And still there is Joan and Julia ...and our sex life is more interesting now, as a result of Shayna having been part of our family. Sex, however, is a small matter against the love shared between the three of us, love that transcends sexual titilation. Nothing in this new chapter of my life has invalidated or altered the love the three of us share. Indeed, it is a sign of the perfect trust and perfect love we all share that allows and encourages adventure and even misadventure. Our love is not the stifling, limiting, agonizing love dictated by a religious mores that has long ago outlived any usefulness it might have once served. Fourteen years with Joan, as of this writing, always near, working together, helping me with projects in the home and outside, and seven years shared with Julia, Joan and I gifted by her support, her charming wit, her warmth, her even temperament, could hardly be challenged by a mere seven months with a reckless young woman who had too little awareness of what life had in store for her, had she but lived to drink deeply of that draught. Yes, Shayna had potential unrealized, but my Joan, remarkable, dearly beloved Joan is able to allow room in our family for growth. It was one thing to bring Julia into our family, a woman who fit so well that it seems we were always a triad, and another thing entirely to allow a young woman to join us who was annoying, irritating, and kept pushing for more and more time with me, giving Joan less and less time. And through it all our love for one another, Joan's and mine, and with Julia, was never diminished, was never once threatened. And more so than with Shayna, our love has been of epic proportions, bigger than life, and grander than I had ever dared to dream was possible.
AFTERMATH: Within a week of Shayna's death, Helina launched a lawsuit against us over the ownership of the house. Frothing at the mouth, drunk and hurling threats, he came to the house and began wrestling some of his stone statues around. We had to put a peace bond on him to insure he wouldn't come over again. He is a strange man, and because he is totally incapable of admitting his shortcomings, and that he caused Shayna to hate him, he has convinced himself I stole her from him. Apparently the only reason he didn't initiate the lawsuit while Shayna was alive was because he hoped she would return to him oneday. Would that he had heard the nights when Shayna, a little too much wine, would beg me to help her kill him. Not because she wanted revenge, but because she contended, oneday he would bring disaster down on the family. More than once I had to talk her out of acting on her hatred. Of course, to keep peace, I asked Shayna to not let him know how much she hated him, to act as if, perhaps oneday, they could be friends again. She complied, but under protest. It was for this reason, when she died, that neither Serena (Shayna's mother) nor I, felt we should invite him to the viewing of the body. However, he called up and invited himself, so we reluctantly agreed. What disrespect he showed. He reeked of cigarette smoke, body stench, his jeans hung halfway down his ass, his shirt was wrinkled, his hair uncombed, and he was unshaven. Shayna would have hated knowing he was there, let alone looking worse than any homeless person off the street ... when I kissed her on the forehead, he bent down and did the same. Then, knowing she would have hated that, I kissed her lips and, if he had bent to do the same, I was prepared to shove him away. Thankfully, he did nothing more. Helina had revealed the full extent of his abusiveness once, before Shayna died, when he told me that he expected to have Shayna under his complete control by the end of the year. Helina had been withholding affection, support, and love, as a means of goading Shayna into obeying his rules. And apparently he actually believed what he was doing would have worked. It was his intention to break Shayna, the way one breaks a horse or trains a dog. That he could goad her right into suicide never entered his head. Then he complained to me that he had everything figured, calculated, except that he hadn't expected me to step in and help her. Thankfully, his diabolic machinations were foiled. I pity his next victims. I am adding these few words to the last chapter of my book as a gift to Shayna. She is dead and will never know, but I know she would be pleased. She hated so much having to placate "the great beast" just to keep the peace. Finally, the truth is out ... whether Helina ever reads it or believes it, no one really gives a damn. It has taken time, but I am mostly recovered and have been able to review and polish this chapter and now ... I finish it. Goodbye sweetheart, I know we will never meet again, but our time together was enough. Is not a butterfly more beautiful because of its brevity and rarity? So was our time together. You will be a part of me and of my family, for so long as any of us live. |