The Fundamental Things Apply
By MCarey
“You must remember this,
A kiss is still a kiss,
A sigh is just a sigh,
The fundamental things apply,
As time goes by…”
I’m the type of person who sees things in simple, clear terms. With that said, fourteen years old is proving to be a perplexing age for me.
It’s not because I keep on stumbling over my big feet; that is, when I’m not putting them in my mouth. Or the fact that my sister keeps pulling us BWGs into her shamus savant behaviour. Nor that I study like crazy for a test and make a “B”; but another time I don’t study at all and make an “A”. Then there is my tendency to spill food down the front of my shirts. A physical reminder to all and sundry of what I’ve eaten that day. The joking and teasing from friends or family doesn’t bother me because it usually involves a lot of laughter.
There are also many things I can talk about with my parents. As Trixie says, they’re pretty-good sports. They don’t over-react. Something I find rather surprising, considering some of the scrapes us kids have gotten into. Dad and Moms are calm, reasonable people who’ve always been there for us. Actually, I think the last time they got really excited, Bobby was born exactly nine months later. That’s enough to discourage anyone’s heightened state of emotions. And please, these are my parents I’m talking about, so I need to repress.
Ahh…repress. That’s from the Latin word reprimere, which means to press back, to banish thoughts and impulses that conflict with conventional standards of conduct from one's conscious mind. One of many words I’ve looked up in Brian’s “Introduction to Medical Terminology and Latin Derivations”. My Grandfather Johnson gave this absolutely ginormous tome to my brother a couple of years ago. It even has pictures. Of course, I'm a typical guy in the throes of puberty, so I did what any typical teenage guy would do – look up the Latin words for bodily parts and their functions. This is not information I would volunteer to disclose in “Truth or Dare”.
What does all of this have to do with my perplexity?
A little over two years ago, my brain and my body ceased to function as a democratic nation. My androgenic hormone began to produce a seemingly continual rush of testosterone through my system. Let me tell you, partisan politics is hell. It’s disconcerting enough that my jeans are constantly one inch above my ankles. But now, I have body hair growing in places any self-respecting guy won’t discuss. I have no control over any of this puberty stuff. To wit - I have Cirque de Soleil “Basorthosis” giving involuntary and seemingly continuous performances in my pants. I swear it even reacts to linoleum.
And that is just plain wrong.
Compounded by these morphologic changes are my feelings for Diana Lynch. After Mr. Lynch became so successful a few years ago, Diana slowly began to draw into herself. By the time school started this year, she displayed nothing but cool indifference to those of us around her. But Diana and I have been friends since our diaper days, making me look beyond her show of aloofness, and seeing someone that was unhappy and very, very lonely. I guess when you know someone well; it doesn’t take words to see the lonely places inside of them.
In the past couple of months, we have re-established our friendship. For me, being friends with Diana isn’t about her looks – but it isn’t a deterrent either. Diana’s face has all the typical features. A slender nose that tips up at the end, along with these magnificent amethyst eyes that are fringed with thick, dark lashes, high cheekbones, and waves of dark hair that falls to her shoulders. But that is where typical ends with Diana.
In spite of the yowser wrapping, that isn’t what draws me to her. It’s the gift of the person beneath the exquisite packaging that ties me to her in such a way that physical appearance doesn’t matter. But, other than us being friends, Diana is absolutely, irrevocably, and completely oblivious to me as potential boyfriend material. To be honest, most of the time I’m not sure if she’s laughing at me, ignoring me, or just wants to swat at me like a small and annoying flying insect. Maybe all three.
That is…
Until that night - that most wonderful, magnificent, fantastic, glorious, and superb night.
When Diana leaned over and swept that kiss across my cheek, my mind went to an enchanted land. Sweeping rainbows appeared against a bright azure sky lit by a silvery sun, as chunky little bluebirds tweeted and colorful fields of flowers danced in a halcyon breeze while pastel butterflies fluttered diaphanous wings above the diamond reflecting dew.
The warmth I felt flooding my face, proceeded to spiral downward to my center for the performing arts. I silently cursed this physical reaction against such an innocent gesture. But then Diana’s beautiful eyes captured mine as I felt the whisper of a soft sigh escape from her lips.
For just a heart beat longer, the rest of the world ceased to exist. The pastel butterflies fluttering in my enchanted land soared around my heart, making room for something I can’t name or identify. For only a moment, there existed a magical bond binding Diana and me to each other, something far beyond what my heart was prepared to understand.
But the laughter in the room broke the spell.
“And when two lovers woo,
They still say, "I love you",
On that you can rely,
No matter what the future brings,
As time goes by…”
Waking up early the next morning was easy, since I’d spent my slumbering hours thinking about that shared moment between Diana and me. While my body had reacted with an adult response, I felt as if my heart was an abyss of empty spaces created by gossamer winged butterflies.
Later that morning, while everyone worked on setting up the antique show, it was disconcerting to realize that Diana appeared uncomfortable around me. When we did speak, she gave me vague but pleasant smiles, and the more I tried to draw her out, the more uneasy she became. I finally decided it was easier to concentrate on the work that needed to be done, than to concentrate on my growing bewilderment.
There are times when being Trixie’s “almost twin” has its advantages. It was because of her that Diana and I were able to alleviate our discomfort. I was putting the final coat of wax on the cherry end tables when Trixie yelled across the room, “Hey, Mart”. And in case she thought most of Sleepyside hadn’t heard, she gave a screeching whistle along with a wave of her hand.
I love it when my sister acts like dockworker. It’s difficult to realize that a couple of weeks ago she looked like the cover of a teen fashion magazine. Today her fashion statement was garage grunge. Everyone in the room paused to look up at us and chuckled. I swiped the oily rag across the wood grain one last time, asking, “You bellowed?” I heard the Hakaito brothers’ high-pitched giggles from behind their screens of silk. At least some people appreciate my humor.
Trixie glowered at me as she stood there fidgeting with testy patience, “Come help us with the clothesline.” Jim, who was standing no more than five feet away, began to speak up. Trixie immediately walked over, stomped down on his foot, grabbed his arm, and dragged him over to another part of the room.
Romance and dusting – those are two diametric situations unknown to my sister. Understanding her as I do, she probably sees them as synonymous. She could be exploring somewhere, stopping just long enough to point out to the others, “Look, there’s romance.” And we would shake our heads sadly, saying kindly, “No, Trixie. That’s a dust rag.” Poor Jim.
The room went from busy, to bustling with activity. I struggled to withhold my amusement because it suddenly seemed as if someone had picked up a large rock, and a bunch of small creatures began scurrying away. Brian hurried outside to help Regan and Tom unload more donations, and Honey headed to the back room to wash some china, while Jim dutifully obeyed my sister as he rearranged some furniture.
Diana’s hands were quickly unfolding a stack aprons when I approached juggling a ladder, twine, and a hammer, asking lightly, “All righty. How do you want me to hang this clothesline?”
Her hands stilled and she turned to me with a somber look. I got an unsettled feeling in my stomach, as she studied the display, and finally pointed to the far corner by the storefront window. “Run the lines from there to the top of these shelves,” She instructed me and quickly stepped aside while I situated the ladder.
Of course, I pounded my thumb first, and trying to see through the pain, I remarked behind me. “One should always do that first for good luck.” A strained chuckle was her response. I adjusted the nail and slammed it with the hammer, then knotted the line.
She called up to me, “I want the line kind of loose. Since the two top shelves are too high for most people to reach, we’ll leave those empty. We can show the aprons without blocking the toys and stuffed animals on the lower shelves.” Her feet danced out of my way when I moved the ladder to attach the line to the shelf top. “Perfect. Now, stay up there, and I’ll hand you the clothespins so we can hang up some of these aprons.”
We worked quietly for a couple of minutes. I finally stepped off the ladder to stand next to her as we examined our work. I thought the space looked spiffy. “Nice,” I complimented her, “Very, very nice.”
Diana offered a strained smile and inched a nervous gaze at the shelves. I saw the sad and unhappy person she used to be, and that unsettled feeling returned to my stomach. Finally, she looked up at me with troubled eyes. “Mart, I’m sorry about last night.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was miserable about last night. Had I been the only one that felt the magic? All of a sudden, I felt deprived of oxygen to keep my heart beating. I had too many unanswered questions and the empty places in my heart needed to be filled. I sensed my feelings were being denied. It hurt. I sightlessly looked around the space, and finally shrugged my shoulders. “No problem. You only did it to get your forfeit back, so it’s no big deal.”
She fixed me with a pointed look, and I felt a hum of tension begin to emanate from her. The silent shrill whistle of an invisible missile rang in my ears along with a voiceless shout, “Incoming”. “Here I was so worried about embarrassing you,” Diana’s eyes blazed up at me, “All for the sake of making my little brothers happy.”
Suddenly I saw myself as a cartoon strip character with a thought bubble over their head, and a lighted bulb inside of it. My dimly lit bulb was adequate enough to show me Diana cared. She cared I was embarrassed, and she cared about not disappointing her younger siblings.
Everything about me went soft as I realized this wasn’t all about me. I silently cursed my lack of emotional maturity. Seriously? How long was I going to be in adolescent stupidity? Then I heard a whisper that filled a space in my heart. Make this right, it said, become the man you want to be. “I’m sorry. I thought…you meant last night…the kiss…well…” Stumbling over my words like I do my big feet. I met her flashing eyes, and took in a breath of manly air, “I thought you were sorry about the kiss.”
I received a stunned look, as if she was trying to absorb my words. She blinked as a slow smile lighted up her face, and began to blush. “Not about the kiss…I mean…well…Larry made me do it.” The pink in her face begin to rise to her hairline, but her beautiful amethyst eyes held on to mine. “I’m only sorry I embarrassed you.”
I gotta tell ya now, there are times when it’s about what you’re feeling, and there are times when it’s about what you’re hearing. For me? This was about both. That voiceless whisper had buoyed my courage, and I returned her smile. “Actually, I’m going to recommend that when he’s old enough to drive, your father should buy Larry a Ferrari.”
The color deepened in her cheeks, and her smile surrounded both of us. It was a moment of perfect alignment as we stood under the silvery sun in my enchanted land. Her eyes widened in comprehension, “Mart Belden…” asking in disbelief, “…were you…are you…” her face turned a deeper pink asking in a puzzled voice, “Are you trying to flirt with me?”
Oh, yeah. “How am I doing?”
The look on her face made me lose my pubertal composure. In an all too familiar situation, I had to fight to keep my knees from buckling. My body hollered, “Show time.” The only thing saving me from abject humiliation was the oversized long sleeved tee shirt of Brian’s hanging past my thighs. “Well, I guess we need to get back to work.” I explained hurriedly, trying to stay upright as I began to walk away then stopped and pivoted to face her. “The kiss was worth the embarrassment, Diana Lynch.”
She flashed me another wide smile and blushed some more.
Butterflies danced.
“Moonlight and love songs,
Never out of date,
Hearts full of passion
Jealousy and hate…”
My buoyant attitude of the morning began spiral into a fathomless pit by early afternoon.
After lunch, the BWG males were outside unloading some more boxes and furniture from the truck. Tad Webster’s and Diana’s laughter floated back to us through the open back door of the shop. In spite of the club’s discussion a couple of weeks ago, I struggled to be nice to Tad, more so in trying to be his friend. Tad’s definitely a good ball player, and while I was upset about not making Pony League last year, I don’t talk smack about the guys who did make the team. I’m confident in my abilities as an athlete and I enjoy playing all kinds of sports.
Tad’s insecurities, plus trying to follow in the footsteps of a much-admired older brother, has made him feel as if he needs to compete against the people who threaten to displace his big man on campus attitude. Other than his talent for baseball, he’s a mediocre student, with limited social skills. He tries to appear smarter than what he actually is by surrounding himself with a bunch of evolutionary dead-ends.
Quite a few of the girls at school have crushes on him. Something I just don’t get. He has a triangular shaped face with wide set light brown eyes that protrude beneath lids of seemingly transparent lashes and brows. His broad thin-lipped mouth falls below an upturned nose, as if it can’t stand the words that come out of it. He reminds me of a hog-nose snake. I admit that Tad’s an excellent ball-player and very talented on the diamond. Mine is on the basketball court, a place that Tad has tried to rule, but evidently, his talent is better served on the ball field.
Basketball is a fast game requiring speed, dexterity, and teamwork. But today, I wasn’t having sportsmanlike thoughts about Tad. Earlier, he’d slithered in with some old baseball cards to donate for the sale. It was now an hour later and his slinking vertebraed presence was still around. I considered trying one of the samurai swords on him – just to make sure they were sharp enough. I finally determined what part of Tad I would cut off first. I was in my happy place.
Puberty compounded by jealousy is not a good mix.
Brian and Jim interrupted my blissful thoughts, as they began to serenade me, “You must remember this...”
I used my shirt to wipe my face as I shot them a withering glance. They stood on the bed of the truck, looking down at me with their goofy grins. “Funny.” They’d been teasing my all day, humming a bunch of love songs in my presence.
“Oh, lighten up, Mart.” Brian said cheerfully. “The girls are only being nice to Tad because they’re trying to be his friend.” Brian looked around ensuring it was only the three of us outside. He lowered his voice, speaking confidentially. “I myself feel impelled to give the guy an atomic wedgie. But then I stop and ask myself, ‘is that the right thing to do’?’”
Let me pause and explain.
Earlier, Loyola Kevin and her grandfather stopped by with some donations for the antique sale. Lately, I’ve been under the impression that Brian has somewhat of a crush on Loyola. Even though he danced with Honey and some of the other girls at Diana’s Valentine party, he spent most of his time paying a lot of attention to Loyola.
So when Loyola and her grandfather arrived, Tad Webster did an immediate serpentine crawl over to Loyola. It was not a ‘right thing to do’ look I saw on my brother’s face. From the disapproval on Mr. Kevin’s face, I was waiting for Tad to receive a whole lot of whup ass from grandfather dear, too. Somehow, Loyola gracefully extricated herself from Tad’s coils, seeking Brian out about an assignment for chemistry class.
I guess a sword and an atomic wedgie were well deserved in this situation. It was assuring that Brian and I shared similar thoughts about Tad, and I was intrigued by Brian’s statement. “Really? And what does your ‘right thing to do’ self answer?”
Brian’s dark eyes danced down at me, “It might not be ‘the right thing to do’, but it could be fun.” His lanky form jumped down from the truck’s bed, wiping his hands against his jeans with a wide smile on his face.
“Oh, give the guy a break.” Jim spoke up, jumping down beside Brian. By his tone, you’d think evil thoughts were a bad thing. “Tad has issues. Hopefully he’ll outgrow them.”
Brian picked up a chair to take inside, then stopped at the doorway to tell us, “Yeah, maybe by that time he’ll stop hitting on my sister.”
Jim and I glanced through the opening. Since there wasn’t a snake charmer with a flute and basket in the room, Tad was probably hearing music through his internal ears. He was doing a perpendicular sway while trying to swing Trixie under his arm in some kind of dance move. Trixie’s focus was the show, so she wasn’t going to let Tad sidetrack her. She flashed him an apologetic smile as she quickly walked away to help Tom and Regan.
Tad undulated for a moment, and finally side winded towards the front door. There was an afternoon winter sun. I figured a rock called his name. Jim kept his green-eyed glare lasered on his retreating figure and I’m surprised Tad didn’t start to shed skin.
My happy place was filling up. I love it when there’s a consistency in solidarity. I chucked Jim on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, Petruchio. The guy has very small fangs. Very, very small fangs.”
Jim turned to me, saying sourly. “Now explain to me what an atomic wedgie is.”
Ahh…the brotherhood of man.
“Woman needs man,
And man must have his mate
That no one can deny…”
My father is fairly understanding about what it’s like to be a guy. When I was eight, he sat me down and began what would be one of many discussions about the facts-of-life. But that initial conversation was somewhat traumatizing for me, because my mind was more on baseball than about little fishlike creatures swimming upstream. It took a while before I got over my fear of swimming in bodies of water containing any type of non-tetrapod craniates (aka fish).
When I was nine, I’d sneak over to the old gatehouse to read some of Mom’s historical romance books. My literary adventures required adequate provisions, so I crowded my pockets with apples, cookies, candy, and a bottle of water. I had everything a man needed to survive in the wilderness – just like the men in the stories. These men were strong, stalwart individuals with names like Roc, Gilmichael, or Giffard. From my nine-year-old point-of-view, and in spite the uniqueness of their names, they seemed identical to me. I thought of them as RocGilmichaelGiffard.
The women were feminine and independent, and eventually fell into the heroes arms with love and gratitude. But only after RocGilmichaelGiffard had killed a bear or some other nefarious threat, thus proving to their beloved they were deserving of the heroine’s love and devotion forevermore. The action usually occurred halfway through the stories, so I learned to bypass the first part of the books.
My covert ways lasted all of two days. That was when Dad discovered my hiding place.
“Mart.” Holy, moly! The dark shape blocking the doorway startled me, and I must have moved five feet while still sitting down. I thought it was a bear, but the bear spoke with Dad’s voice as he came in and brushed at some low hanging cobwebs, “We’ve been looking for you. How many times have we told you not to wander off by yourself?” The firmness of Dad’s tone did nothing to disguise the relief in his voice.
“I’m sorry.” I stood up on shaking legs, “Trixie went to play with Diana, and Brian was at scouts, and Bobby’s taking a nap, so I though I’d come here and read.” Flashing the novel in my hand at my father who gave it a glance then turned his attention to the stack of novels at my feet. Crouching down, he examined the book covers, and fixed me with his Dad look, “Did your mother give you permission to read these?”
My parents can see through our petty little lies – and I know from first hand experience, those only serve to upset them. I figured confession after the fact might be better than my oversight of asking for permission. “No. But I’ve read all my Cosmo McNaughts and I wanted to read something different. I didn’t think Mom’s would mind if I tried reading these, since she already read them.”
Dad studied me carefully and sat back on his heels. “But these are your mother’s, and you know you’re not supposed to touch anything of ours without asking our permission.” Reaching over, he picked up a book and read the back cover. He cleared his throat saying carefully. “I know that you’re growing up, but I’m not sure you’re ready for these types of stories. This is fairly adult stuff they talk about.”
I’m a sucker when my Dad he talks to me like this – here I was a year away from a two-digit number to my age, and instead of reprimanding me, he was open for discussion about why I should continue to read these stories. I guess that’s what makes my parents such good sports – they haven’t forgotten what it was like to be a child. As if they still remember that even though you’re a kid, you still have a voice. “Yeah, it kind of is big people stuff.” I confessed. “But they’re different from what I’ve read, so I just wanted to see if I like them.”
“And do you?”
My father is a straightforward guy and no matter what the question is, he expects an honest response. This was a mano-to-mano time for honesty. I scrunched up my face, shrugging. “They’re okay. And there was this really cool scene when Roc killed a bear; but it made him so hungry that Charity gave him her Oreos.”
Everyone knows I’m a food-oriented guy, so my nine year-old pre-pubescent thinking was intrigued in reading the analogies about a woman’s areolas. Hey! I had to sound out a lot of the words. Made sense to me they were referring to my favorite food group. I had also gained a glimmer of understanding why men were fascinated with the females of my species. They were a real, live Candy Land game.
My sugar motivated deviant behaviour ceased to exist when Dad began to cough. I figured a bug flew into his mouth. He grabbed my bottle of my water and took a long gulp. His face was kind of red, and in between gulps, he looked at me, like I was some kind of puzzle that was missing a few pieces. He took another long drink, then splashed some water on his face, saying in a voice I’d never heard him use before. “You read that in your book?”
“Yep. Says it right here.” I stuck the book under his nose and pointed with a grimy finger. Since he looked like he was going to start choking again, I offered helpfully, “Do you want me to read it to you?”
He coughed again, and held up his hand. “Oh no, that’s okay son. It’s just…” Taking another long drink of water, he became kind of squirmy. It was a déjà vu moment when I suddenly envisioned fish swimming up stream. That was when I realized there just might be some other meaning to the words other than my interpretation.
I wasn’t ready for the trauma. Nor prepared for the disappointment. “That’s okay.” I told him scooping up the books, waiting for my father to stand, explaining. “I kind of told a lie. These books aren’t really that good. Besides, these guys are kind of dumb to work so hard to get those silly girls to like them.”
“You think so?” I thought Dad was going to start choking again in spite of the water he already drank.
“Yeah, I do Dad. They’re girls. They’re not worth it – the girls, that is – I mean it isn’t like its baseball or something like that.” Since Dad was old, I let him keep his hand on my shoulder so he wouldn’t fall, as we began our walk back home. He gave it squeeze, saying in an agreeable tone, “I understand.”
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
After the show, Diana’s attitude towards me began to change. I admit, it was subtle, yet I didn’t get the impression she wanted to swat at me like an annoying insect. When she spoke to other guys, I even withheld my petty jealousies. She had chosen me to talk about her classes, the latest news around the school, the BWGs, or just life in general.
Those times were wonderfully tortuous, and I began to carry my books in front of me to hide my traitorous body. I struggled to be casual. I was in immense physical distress, and severe pain. It’s downright embarrassing how my body was betraying me.
I was in desperate need of solutions – other than the obvious ones.
I would have gone to my father, but I couldn’t get past our previous talks about sex. Although I have to admit, they had gone from traumatizing to amusing. For me, that is. Then there was that unnatural thing about my parents even having sex. Too much information; way, way, too much information. I even considered going to Jim for advice. Except he thinks my sister is perfect. To be honest, I think there is more than one reason he clutches his hair. And I was in enough pain as it was.
I finally decided to approach my eldest sibling. I struggled in making that decision, because he’d never displayed any type of pubescent struggles. Heck, I don’t even recall my brother having any uncontrollable urges, much less a mood swing. And we share a room. I finally determined Brian woke up one day, said, “Oh. I have a pain.” Then took a shower, shaved, and voila! Instant adulthood.
It was about two weeks after the antique show and Brian and I were in our beds with the lights out. He’d returned home earlier after a study session with Loyola, but every couple of minutes I heard the rustle of bed covers, as if he was having trouble falling asleep. I waited until I heard him moving around again.
I took a deep breath tasting of desperation. “Say, Brian?”
“What?” He barked.
Sheesh, forget about the mood swing comment, because I was sharing a room with Oscar the Grouch. “Well, if you’re going to get all John Hughes teenage angst on me, never mind.” I grumbled, turning my back to his corner of the room.
“Sorry.” Brian let out a loud sigh, “Go ahead – but if it’s some trivial crap, I’ll brain you. I have a chemistry exam on Monday and I need to get some sleep. I want get up early so I can do my chores and then go study at the lab.”
I would have felt more comfortable if he’d confessed something like accidentally giving Loyola a boob graze and it was driving him crazy just thinking about it – or wish he could do something about it. Preferably with Loyola present. Of course, this example serves to demonstrate my state of mind – the other day I got knocked on the head with the basketball, and instead of seeing a bunch of stars, I saw penises.
Distressing times calls for desperate measures, so I chose to ignore his snarky comment about my trivia knowledge. “What do you do when you…when...” I let out a puff of air, still not believing I was even asking this question. “How do you control…uhm…keep from corpora cavernosa.” I finished hurriedly. You’ve heard the expression, “quiet as a tomb”. Here I was dying a thousand deaths in my own coffin, because the bedroom became eerily still.
It felt like eons until Brian cleared his throat, asking, “Can’t you talk to Dad about this?
That would be a no, Brian. “Well, I would, but you know how Dad gets…”
“It goes back to the swimming with the fish thing doesn’t it?”
“Give me break – I was only eight.” I defended. “Besides, the way Dad was telling it…” I was getting off course here, and needed to refocus. “Anyway, it was scary stuff – especially the way Dad told it.”
“Don’t get your shorts in knot, bro,” Brain said, “Dad tries. It’s just that he manages to lose something in the translation.”
Ya think? I was working with a narrow focus, and my anguish demanded answers. “Seriously, how do you stop from...from…you know?”
“You need to promise first that you won’t say anything to anyone else.” Huh? Was he going to demand a pinky pledge, too?
But I had my priorities, and besides, if Brian trusted me with his secret, it had to be good. I sighed, “I promise.”
“I review the periodic chart.”
I lay there dumbstruck. I definitely wasn’t anticipating the answer. What I mean is – I didn’t believe he would say things like cleansing thoughts, think of our grandparents, and if one is truly desperate, think about Bobby. Besides, those don’t work. But the periodic chart? Once again, that Latin dictionary came in handy, as I quickly recalled information about the female reproductive system.
In a weird and diabolical way, it made sense to me. Considering my sister and her mood swings, the concentration of counting days in the course of the menstrual cycle would certainly serve to block any biological urges. Of course being me, I required details. “So do you review the phases…?”
“What?”
“You know, the phases. Proliferative, ovulatory, luteal, blah, blah, blah; or, do you just count slowly to twenty-eight?” Hey, leave it to my brainy brother come up with a viable solution; and I was already feeling more relaxed. This just might be possible.
A pillow landed on my head.
“What?” He asked again. “No. Not that chart.” Muttering to himself, he gave an exasperated sigh, “Look you goofball. I’m talking about the chemical periodic chart. You know hydrogen, lithium, sodium and so on.”
The chemical periodic chart?
My brother. The player. I don’t see a future Mrs. Brian preparing bear meat for the dinner table. If Brian encountered a bear, all he’d do is chant the chemical periodic chart. Even the future Mrs. Brian would outrun the bear, and he’d be running so fast his paws wouldn’t even make tracks. If Mr. Brian is counting on enjoying Oreos, he will most definitely have to buy them at the store.
You think he could have elucidated about the periodic chart, before I embarrassed myself. I was chagrined as I tossed his pillow back. From the “oomph” I heard, I’d scored two points. “Oh, okay.” I determined if Brian’s solution works for him, maybe it would work for me, too. “That makes sense.” The absurdity of the situation made me laugh. “But, if you think about it, either subject would be enough to keep your mind off sex.”
Brian was trying to stifle his laughter, then punched his pillow a couple of times. “Mart? Go to sleep.” He muttered to himself then I heard him snicker. “Menstrual chart. Mercy.”
“It’s still the same old story…”
That evening of my enchanted land alerted me to things I have yet to understand. And given time, and maturity, I will. I already know when Diana gazed into my eyes that night, we began a journey taking us far beyond our child-like affections.
Simple. Easy.
“A fight for love and glory…”
It’s about what my heart is saying, not my body.
Fundamental.
“A case of do or die…”
The heart is the only thing that matters. And when it spoke to me the day before the show, I realized I liked that person. I saw the man I can become.“The world will always welcome lovers…”
Sodium… magnesium… aluminum… silicon… phosphorus… sulfur… chlorine… argon…. one… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight…
“As time goes by…”
Amo… I love.
Amat…She loves.
“The fundamental things apply…”
Amamus…We love…