There's a light shining on you.
And baby I'm trembling inside.

The first time I saw you, you had this glow about you. It was an inner confidence that made you the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. This aura radiated from your every pour and I was drawn to you. Perhaps, initially, it’d been the curve of your backside and the expanses of your long, delectable chocolate legs that gave my insides a lustful quake, but when you turned and smiled in my direction, the air snapped with electricity. I had rose-colored glasses on, and I had you in my sights.

You probably couldn’t have gotten away from me, even if you’d tried. I was a quiet and unassuming but persistent man and not accustomed to being denied the things I wanted, at least, as an adult. You would call me selfish but I said…well, I’d probably have said selfish as well. I hadn’t been allotted the finer things in life growing up, and what I did have, I had to fight to keep it. Being protective was in my nature.

My mother was a junkie and a prostitute from the wrong side of tracks. Luckily, by the time I was old enough to realize the Johns she brought home weren’t really my “Uncle Steve” or “Uncle Dave,” she’d gotten clean. This didn’t put her in the running for Mother of the Year but I was thankful that I didn’t remember much of my childhood before mom had gotten better. As the years passed, I’d forgiven her for it all but, unfortunately, it seemed fate hadn’t let her off so easily. When I turned 18, she was diagnosed with lung cancer due to a two decade long love affair with nicotine.

We decided moving away from the city would be our best bet and at least mom could die…live out her life in peace. For about five years, everything was peaceful and serene, as it was supposed to be, but something in me yearned to return to the hustle and bustle of the big city. Maybe it was some internalized compulsion to face those mean streets that had been my mom’s undoing.

During her final months was when we finally spoke. I knew you could feel my eyes on you every time you’d saunter into the room. The maroon scrubs you wore should have been the antithesis of a turn on, but nothing could make you look anything but sexy.

When mom gave my hand a weak squeeze, I was snapped back from my inappropriate thoughts.

I turned my head toward her ashen face. Her thin lips were quirked in a soft grin and her eyes twinkled with knowing. My whole face became heated and had probably turned a deep shade of crimson.

“How are you feeling, Ms. Edwards?” You asked, as you checked her chart quickly then moved to her IV where morphine dripped into her veins.

“Fine. I just wish that damn doctor would give me the good stuff,” my mother grumbled.

I shook my head in embarrassment.

You simply giggled. “You’ve got morphine pumping through you, woman. What more do you want?”

I think the thing I loved about you the most was your unwillingness to treat my mom as if she were something fragile. You were always honest with her. She needed someone who didn’t walk on eggshells. I couldn’t be that person for her. She was my mother, and she was dying. I wasn’t sure how to deal with that, but you took everything in stride.

“That fuckin’ quack would rather start me on a cyanide drip than give me anything that would keep me completely coherent,” Mom said as her eyes began to close slowly.

“Ma, just go to sleep,” I urged softly and caressed the back of her hand with my thumb.

“Okay, son. Because you asked me nicely.” With her eyelids heavy and a lopsided grin, she turned to you. “Noel, my boy is single, you know.”

“That may well be, Ms. Edwards, but I’m seeing someone.”

She waved you off lazily. “Bullshit, Noel. You ain’t married. There’s still a chance.”

Once she was peacefully sleeping, I thought it necessary to address you and apologize on my mom’s behalf. “I’m, uh, sorry about that. Ma can be…” I didn’t really have the words for what my mother was.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said dismissively without looking up, continuing to jot down on the clipboard.

“Still, I apologize.”

This time, she did look up. The soft smile that spread across your angular jaw made my insides melt.

“It’s really all right. I like your mom. She cracks me up.”

“She’s pretty jovial...considering.” I wasn’t sure if I were bitter or resented the fact that my mother could joke about her situation while I was a complete wreck.

Your thinned into a serious line and you gave me a sympathetic look. “Would you rather her be anything but? She’s dying. I think the best thing for her is to spend the time she has left being herself, no matter how vulgar or outrageous that may be.”

I nodded shamefully. “You’re right. I’m just…” For the first time since I’d found out about the cancer, I had to keep from letting tears cloud my vision. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I don’t know what to do to make this better.”

Quietly, you moved toward me. “You’re doing exactly what she needs. You’re here supporting her.”

You placed a comforting hand on my shoulder and I barely contained a shutter. The heat from your palm seeped through the material of my crisp white collared button down. I yearned to feel your skin on mine, so I made the irrational decision to place my hand over yours.

Months of imagining what your skin would feel like didn’t do justice to the creamy smooth texture. The comfort you offered me was more than I ever could have asked for and more than you were required to offer.

“Thank you, Noel.” I offered you a small grin.

Your smile returned and warmed me again. “You’re welcome, Matthew.”

That day was the beginning of something new for us. I knew — by just looking into your doe eyes — that I could trust you with my heart. I knew that I could tell you anything and you would cherish it like it was the most valuable of secrets.

As the months flew by, I found myself looking forward to walking through the doors of my mother’s hospital room to find you laughing freely at something she’d said. Then, as soon as I made my presence known, you’d turn that smile on me. Each time I could feel myself falling deeper.

But you weren’t free. And the day I found out was no ordinary one.

It was one of mom’s “bad days,' as I used to call them. It was a day when she was so nauseous and weak that she was barely able to move or speak without becoming sick. She didn’t have very many of those days, but when they occurred, they weren’t pretty. It should have been a sign to me that bad news was sure to follow, but again, I just chalked it up to one of those days.

“Oh, screw him, Noel.”

“Ma, stop it.” I couldn’t say I didn’t feel the same, having just seen the engagement ring sitting comfortably on your finger.

You were always so much more tolerant of her moods than I was.

“Now, Tammy. That’s not very nice. You keep talking like that and I won’t invite you to my wedding,” you joked while adjusting the setting on her IV.

After a while, the formal “Ms. Edwards” title dropped and she was simply “Tammy” to you. I know she would have been happier if you’d just conceded and called her “Mom” as she’d insisted.

“Psh. I’ll be dead and gone by that point.” Mom grumbled.

“That very well may be, but you won’t curse my fiancée’s name, Tammy.” You said pointedly. It was the first glimpse I’d caught of anything other than humor or compassion etched across your face.

I loved this side of you as well — maybe even more so than your usual happy demeanor. This was something new about you and it made it all the more exciting, even with the circumstance from which it had come.

“I’m sorry, honey,” mom sighed. “It’s just the meds talking.”

“Which is why I don’t knock you out for saying things like that.” You smiled and let it roll off your back.

You were so amazing.

That lucky bastard didn’t deserve you.

His name began with an “E”, I believe. I never could remember because the very thought of actually invoking his name made him tangible, even though I’d never met him. You told me he worked in the city, as I did. He was some kind of credit analyst, so we probably ran in the same circles. I was a technical report writer, and a damn good one at that. I could explain the most complex of financial reports in layman’s terms. I was highly sought after in the financial profession, having been offered jobs around the world.  We’d probably passed each other in the city or seen one another in a meeting a thousand times and had no idea we were in love with the same woman.

The problem was you had no idea I was in love with you either. I think you were the only one. Mom could see it clear as day, even though we never discussed it. She always had this grin on her face when she caught me looking at you. For a while, she was our only connection and I was afraid that once she was gone, you and I would never see each other again.

The day my mother was laid to rest was another milestone for us.