At last…my love has come along… 

It’s frightening how fragile our lives are.  How where and when we’re born and how our time on this earth traverses the lives of others, making us who we are, what we are.

One third of my current years had been spent with my brother Stacy and my father, my mother having died early in my youth.  We trued to stay together but circumstance forced us in different directions.  Stacy always wanted more than we had.  “A big dreamer,” papa said.  His need to have things led him into trouble.  Papa’s loneliness feed his need to provide for his children by working himself into sickness and disability.  Me, I became semi-visible.  

So when my brother phones unexpectedly, I did what was natural.

“Trac…my boss has a son and needs a nanny.”

“Hello, Stacy.  It’s been almost six months since your last summons. How are you?  Seen papa lately?”

“I don’t have time for your chit chat.  I need you to take the position.  I owe him.”

“I won’t keep taking on your debts.” 

“He bailed me out of jail and hired a lawyer…Trac?”

“I already have a job.”

“You have a dead end job and no life.  Besides with you living here we’d get to see each other more.”

“Is this legit?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.  Are you going to do this for me or not?”

œœœ

I took the job Mr. Gabriel offered because of his seeming graciousness toward my brother, but even more     for the tiny being crying in the next room.  I sat in Mr. Gabriel’s office, as he ignored the plea in the child’s cries.   The sound grew louder the longer I sat.  Then it stopped and I was out of the chair and into the other room without thinking, without permission.  Leaning over the edge of the large elaborately decorated bassinette.  I looked into eyes the color of a winter sky, cloudy and turbulent.  Angry eyes too focused to be those of a baby barely out of the womb.  Eyes that were suddenly calm and sunshine blue as I reached out my hand and stroked a cheek redden by rage.  I picked him up and noticed that his arms and legs were cold, skin blue veined by the cold air and lack of clothing.  Holding him close I took him back into the office.  My future employer stood with his back to us, his thin frame rigid, blocking the light falling through the curtained window. 

“He needs warmer clothing.” 

Mr. Gabriel never turned around.   Instead he pointed to an envelope on the corner of the desk.  “Purchase whatever he needs.”  I was to learn that the coldness in his voice was real.  That beneath the veneer of understanding was a master manipulator.  I started toward the envelope.

“Put him back in his room.”

I hesitated.  “It’s so cold in there.”

“You will have one time to disagree with my treatment of my son.  You’ve had that one time.  If you feel you cannot fulfill your duties here…”

I looked down at the still form.

“What is his name?”

“Julian.”

By the time I arrived back at the townhouse everyone was in motion.  I was handed the baby, sandwiched between four silent mountains of humanity and forced march to the closest vehicle.  A plane ride and we’re in another state, another city, and another house.   The constant arrival and departure went on for the first year of the Julian’s life.   

Let me digress a moment to tell you about the child who became my son; first through adversity and then through kindness, friendship and love.  Telling helps me to remember that we survived all the chaos and madness.            He was a good baby, a very aware human being.  He grew at an amazing rate.  Suffered when all his baby teeth came in at almost the same time; sharp insors that shredded box loads of nipples.  He sat up holding his toys at four months.  He took his first steps at six months and punished because his first spoken word was, “no.”  A curious child who possesses great emotional strength.    His skin was smooth except for the pads of his hands and feet, the skin there rougher and thicker.    Long blunt fingers with strong sharp nails that grew almost as fast as the hair on his head.  His face was angular with high cheekbones, his nose long, the bridge prominate, soft expressive lips, limbs muscular and slightly longer than normal. 

Julian’s first birthday party consisted of a bodyguard, a tracking implant and me.  There were no legal documents that identified him as Julian.  No little footprint on a hospital birth certificate, no dental records, no pictures, nothing.   We ate cake and played games and when the implant began to hurt I rocked him to sleep.  After cleaning the playroom I checked on Julian and found Mr. Gabriel standing next to his crib.  He never looked at me, I felt included because of proximity.  “Julian was given to me to fulfill his destiny, to guide him into greatness.  He shall control my empire and through him I shall transform this world.”  He stood looking down at Julian then as he walked by me he stopped his glance demanding that I return it.  “Tend to him well because one day he will need no man or woman.  I will see to that.”

From that day on I called him Chandler.  See, I believe names aid us in becoming who we are meant to be and I was determined that Chandler would not become the Julian Mr. Gabriel meant him to be.  At night I would whisper it to him in his sleep, say it while we played hide and seek.    I called him Chandler as a way to remind the cosmos that he had been borne and loved by a woman he would only know in his dreams.  Chandler, because I had overheard Dr Brown, Gabriel’s private physician and his nurse whisper of his mother’s death and his father’s banishment and I learned that Mr. Gabriel was not Chandler’s father but his kidnapper.   I continued to call him Chandler but never in front of Mr. Gabriel.  

œœœ

Chandler saved my life, protected me from Gabriel’s fury by living.  He’d become ill after his first birthday.   The details are fuzzy now.   Chandler remembers that time as an unending burning.  I remember long hours of walking around his room, holding him, reading to him.  No medical treatment worked.  Days passed and when it seemed he was closer to death than life, he awoke whole, stronger that before. 

Shortly after his illness my brother was found dead of an overdose.  He died alone and was buried by strangers. I think he was buried.  I was told he was.  I couldn’t let that happen again.  I found my father in a hospital.   Cancer and loneliness had wasted him away to bones covered with brittle skin and large rheumatic eyes.  We talked from day into night of past times when we were all together, all healthy.   As I watched his oxygen levels lower and his breathing grow more labored, his eyes close, I knew that soon I’d be alone with only memories to acknowledge my family’s existence.   

Dr. Brown entered the room.  I wasn’t surprised, simply resigned to the fact that someone connected to Mr. Gabriel had found me. 

“The child is being difficult, you are to return now.”

I sat still holding papa’s slowly cooling hand, listening for each breath I begged.

“Please, explain to him, he’s almost gone.” 

Dr. Brown moved closer to the bed.  Pulling a penlight from his pocket he checked papa’s eyes, his hand felt for the pulse at his throat.  “There is nothing to keep you here.”

I walk out into the corridor to the visitor’s waiting area.  Chandler stroller is pushed into a corner of the large room his small body strapped down.  He whimpers in his sleep.

“My brother died alone; I couldn’t let my father do the same.”

Mr. Gabriel nods at the bodyguards, who walk towards my father’s room.  I pray that Dr. Brown was right and papa died before I left his room.   But I’ll never really know and that is my punishment for disobeying.    Kneeling before Chandler I unbuckle him and pull him from the stroller hugging him to me.  He snuggles close, his head against my neck.  He smells of urine.  Anger fills me but I’ve learned to control my outbursts, Mr. Gabriel has made his point.   In the car I change him.  My tears fall on his skin and I dab them away.    I’m not allowed to leave the car when we arrive back at the house.   Instead we’re on the move again.  There are more guards with guns in view, a warning to someone.    Chandler stands up on my lap his arms wrapped around my neck, his face next to mine.  There is no fear in his eyes.  I’m proud of his strength, overwhelmed by his ability to blossom in the stagnant atmosphere that surrounds him.           

We are freed from Mr. Gabriel before Chandler’s third birthday.  We had moved back to New York and immediately the rumors began that a new manager was siphoning off large amounts of Gabriel’s funds and territory, his offices visited by both the FBI and investigators from the New York Attorney General’s office.   Gabriel’s grip on our lives was slipping. 

As we settled into a routine Chandler become a different person.  His eyes constantly searched the spaces around him.  He took to positioning himself near the closest door or window.    The night we left for good, I found him sitting on his bed clutching a bag of his favorite things.    After his bath, for the first time since his illness he asked me to, “stay,” was all he said.  Though it was contrary to Mr. Gabriel’s rules and we’d both pay for my weakness I laid down with him.   We slept fitfully. 

Chandler felt the stranger’s presence first, the sudden tensing of his body bringing me to full awareness of the large shape shifting in the darkness.  Chandler made no sound as the figure moved to the side of the bed and picked him up.  My hand tapped the bedside lamp and a soft glow filled the space around us.    I sat still finally listening to the instinct I’d ignored most of my life.  He, I could tell that much, was covered in a long coat with a hood that shadowed much of his features.    My mind refuses to acknowledge the strangeness of his features.  The look on Chandler’s face lessened my fear.   I’d been expecting something to happen.  Chandler’s change in behavior had signaled that.  What I hadn’t expected was the arrival of a savior.

A muffled gunshot and Chandler scrambled out of the strangers arms and into mine.  Deep-set eyes filled with anger stare at me, the enemy. 

“We need to leave,” hands with a thick layer of hair and sharp nails reach out for Chandler. 

Even afraid I’m enticed by the deep tones of his voice.  Something about him stirs me, fills me with the idea that I am safe with him.

Chandler refused to remove himself from me and I understood.  We had been each other’s protection.  Neither of us was quite ready for the change overtaking us.  My eyes move between the two.  I pull Chandler close knowing that I’m going to lose him, maybe never see him again.  I look over his head to meet eyes the same steel gray as Chandler’s.     Pulling his arms from around my neck I kissed the palms of his hands.

“Is this who you’ve been waiting for?”

Chandler loosens his grip.  We heard more gunshots closer to our section of the house. 

“Do you remember how we would sit in the window and day dream of being in a different place, meeting different people?”

Chandler smiles and I kiss his forehead.   Sitting him on the bed I scrambled to the other side and pull his bag from under the bed.  Turning I hand it to…

“Who are you?”

“His father.”

I step away as the man picks up Chandler.

“Your name?” I ask.

“Vincent.” He replies.

Chandler’s eyes fill with tears and I make myself believe that the lost he was feeling wouldn’t last.  That time with his father would help him to forget our time together.  That being loved and nurtured would help him to become the person he is meant to be.  Placing Chandler in the harness across his chest he moves to the corner of the room where he first appeared.  Looking up I see that a section of the ceiling is gone.  He throws Chandler’s bag up into the darkness.  Giving me a last glance he pulls the night table into the corner and steps up on it.  Gripping the supports he hoists himself and Chandler upwards.  His lower body covered in soft leather pants and boots dangle for a second then disappears.   I look upwards saying a quick prayer for father and son.   Seconds pass and I’m still unable to more.  The sounds of men struggling and more gunfire move closer and my brain suddenly functions again.   I hurry to the door making sure it’s locked.  After several tries I have the bed somewhat blocking the door.  Breaking down the door and getting past the bed I think will give Chandler and his father more time to escape.  Shouts and gunfire move closer and I wait for my death.

“Take my hand.”

I look up into the darkness and without thinking with nothing but the clothes I stand in, I start a new life.

œœœ

I found a dream…that I could speak to…a dream that I could call my own…I found a thrill
to press my cheek to…a thrill that I have never known…well

I’ve lived in the tunnels below New York with Chan…no his name is Jacob.  That’s his name now and Vincent and the tunnels are his home, his family for almost sixteen years now.  It’s time I left.  Jacob is eighteen and his plans are to enroll where his mother began her post-graduate education.  He will live in both worlds as she did.

We…no I stepped into Vincent’s world expecting…my life to become different.  But the circumstances that formed my life before meeting Jacob and Vincent is still the same obstinate puppet master.    Their world is a mixture of fantasy and cold reality.  Filled with the heart-breaking beauty of underground caverns and tunnels.  And for those of us outside wanting in it’s a claustrophobic enclosure of loneliness and echoing reminders of wanting what you cannot have. 

My first moments in the tunnels…I stood trembling from the cold in borrowed shoes and clothing.  Watching strangers crowd around Chandler and his father.  Watching them become his family.  A circle is called and my fate is decided.  I can stay because of the child.  Finally alone with Vincent and Chandler who is asleep in his father’s arms, I stand in Vincent’s chamber still unsure of what will happen to me.  Time crawls around me before he finally speaks. 

“No matter how many times you moved him I knew.  I could feel him.  Feel his fear, his joy.  His growing awareness of himself.”  Vincent looked down at the child sleeping in his arms,” he can speak to me also.  He loves you.”  Vincent places Chandler in a crib by his bed.

“A place will be found for you, should you decide to say.”

He doesn’t look at me as he speaks and the cold sinks deeper into me.

“I’ll stay until he doesn’t need me.”

During the first years the cold filled me.    The people around me were polite but distant; their distrust expected because Vincent did not trust me, and they follow his lead. 

Years passed and we’ve disagreed about everything concerning Jacob.  Vincent was adamant that he be home schooled.  Maybe he was right.  Jacob’s special abilities could have been a hindrance for him with children with little knowledge of the unusual.  I used to imagine that he may learn to tolerate me one day, or that we’d become friends connected because of a child with extraordinary gifts and love to give.  Gabriel had tried to teach Chandler to hate but the love within him, bequeath to him by his mother and father made his heart bigger than the scars left by a cruel stranger.    He did agree to allow me to take Jacob and the other children on field trips.  We visited the museums, concerts in the park, children’s theatre.  We even went to the places that afforded him a different type of education.  He needs to see the good and the horrible that his world contains. 

I’d often see Vincent sitting alone in the dark after Chandler is asleep.  I believe deep in his memories of Catherine.     The almost constant tears in his eyes pain both Chandler and me.  He still blames himself for not saving Catherine though his revenge was complete. There was nothing left of Gabriel’s empire, including Gabriel.  Burch inherited the contacts, money and increased in status while Vincent realized his heart’s desire, Catherine’s son.  The deepness of their connection surprises both father and son.  Jacob can be in one of the tunnels miles from his father, stub his toe, get angry or just feel blue and his father is at his side.   They often walk together the father talking of his great love, the son listening, learning about a mother he’ll never meet.  There are pictures of Catherine in Vincent’s chamber and Chandler often sits as his father sometimes does at the whispering bridge, remembering her.   At five he could recognizes her features staring back at him from his mirror. 

Shortly after our arrival to the tunnels, Vincent and his father conducted a naming ceremony.    We stood in a room filled with candles, flowers and people.  I couldn’t help but be pleased when they allowed me to attend and Vincent declared his name to be Jacob Chandler Wells.  I tried to blend into the crowd but Jacob held out his arms for me. I would not ruin the day for him so I stood on his father’s left in his mother’s place.  The weight of one hundred plus eyes made me ill but holding Chandler in my arms helped erase the dread.

My life in the tunnels with Chandler could have been good, satisfying but I fell in love.  I formed a connection to someone that despised me.  It wasn’t something that happened over night or over a period of months.  It took years.  It took an unexpected meeting in an empty corridor.  It took all the nights we put Jacob to bed together.  It took sitting across the room from each other listening to a music or poetry recital.  Every naming ceremony or christening, every time he rocked his son to sleep or played a game of tag with him; it happened gradually.  I should have been more aware.

I knew he could never allow himself to see me as a lover or friend.    At first I fought.  Scrubbed mind and body until it was numb, functioning at an unhealthy level but I couldn’t stop the need filling me.  I couldn’t suppress the need to be near him even as he recoiled from my presence.  I couldn’t stop the pleasure that filled my body and thoughts at the sound of his voice.  The smell of him, the feel of his eyes on me caused such sweet agony and deep pain.

It was when I began to wake from my dreams body tensed, the throbbing between my thighs just fading, my hands buried deep within my body that I knew I had to leave before the damage became too much.  I was no longer a young woman in her twenties with urgent dreams and aspirations but I could still live the remainder of my life in a satisfactory manner with a purpose once I left distancing myself from my obsession.    Leave before I became those girls I remember from high school.  The derision we heaped on them for hanging onto some male for a little attention.  Budding young women who let themselves be used because they thought they were in love.  I understand their need, but a high school infatuation this is not.  Nor would I allow myself the delusion of thinking that the man who lost Catherine Chandler and produced the miracle that is their son would ever see me as worthy of being loved.

Two weeks for me to talk myself into packing up my belongings.  There was nothing on the tunnel walls to take down.  Only a few pictures to pack.  Some bedding and clothing that fit into three large containers.  So what took me so long, well letting go is never easy.  Especially of those you love.  They can release you with a small, hug and a brief smile.  But leaving them, dear God how hard it is to leave them.

Another two weeks to find an apartment in the city that I could afford and it was time for Winterfest and Chandler’s eighteenth birthday.  He stands eye to eye with his father.  His shoulder’s broad.  His strong chin covered in straw colored fuzz.  His arms still longer than the average young adult but they fit him perfectly.  His fingers thin, delicate but his grip can crush bones.  The color of his eyes still shift between storm grey and hot summer sky blue.

Coat and gift in hand I sought out Jacob.  He is deep in the tunnels with the others gathering decorations.  Unsure what to say, I stand watching chilled by wind.  It’s taken years for my body and mind to accumulate to the natural coolness of the tunnels and to rid myself of the fears I’d arrived with.  Now all that old stuff flows is back.  The coldness fills me and may never leave.    I listen to his tones moving easily under and over the other voices. His laughter so much like his father’s flows upward until I’m surrounded and I’m both proud of the man he is becoming and sadden by the thought I will miss watching him become the man he should be.

He turns noticing me his smile is welcoming.  It disappears as his eyes focus on the coat and box in my hands.

“Do you have a moment?” I ask.

“Yes.”

He walks away from the others to the stairs leading further downward.  I walk with him aware of the staring, the wondering what the stranger wants now.  We sit the cold slightly less, the light around us dimmer.  I give him the box. 

“Before my family dwindled to just me, we had a sort of tradition.  Papa used to say that when a child left home a box of memories would be gathered and given.  I had no one to do this for me; that’s old news.  The point is this is for you.”

He opened the decorated box, his face unreadable as he looks inside.  It contains small things really.

“Maybe something will be good enough for your child.”

I stand then lean over to kiss his forehead.  He grabs my arm, his fingers dig inward, painful to old bones, I gasp and he releases me but slides his arms around me his head resting against my barren.   We look at each other memorizing everything.   He sits next to me so different from the child I once held.  I struggle to put together the words to explain to him that I need the sunshine, to find a life that is mine, that I can no longer be a piece of space dust orbiting his star.  

“You want to leave.”

“I promised myself to stay until you were safe.”

“But …” He waits his silence forcing me to fill in the blank.

I do because we’d always been honest with each other, understood each other.    I would not lie to him now.  “Between you and me, I’ve done something really asinine.   I’ve fallen in love with your father and I’m sick of wanting something I cannot have.  So I’m making a change.”   I turn so that we are face to face.  “Do you understand it’s not you I’m leaving?”  I hug him close.  My face buried in the soft curls of his hair.  I release him, embarrassed by my tears. 

Steps can be heard and I look up into Vincent’s eyes filled with concern for his son.

“She’s running away.”

I look back at Jacob betrayed by his words.  But I can understand.  I edge my way around Vincent’s unmoving form, keeping my hands, arms to myself.   My self-esteem screams at me to leave even as the need clinching the bottom of my stomach reminds me that I’ll never know the firmness of his body against mine.  Never experience the texture of his hair against my flesh.  It is enough to make me scream.  This need to be with him.  To hold him.  Sleep next to him.  Wake up to find myself wrapped around him, beneath him.    I hesitated for a breath then hurry upward, into a brilliant winter afternoon.  Out into a world of countless people who will never know I’m there.  

œœœ

Time passes and I become use to my routine.  I’ve learned to be satisfied with my life.  Today is my fortieth birthday.  Sitting on the toilet seat I apply a handful of lotion to skin drained by summer heat ignoring my reflection in the vanity mirror.  The nagging feeling that I’m being a coward compels me and I look at myself.  The changes caused by living are there.  A few new lines crossing my forehead and skin slightly blotched beneath them.   I grayed early so looking at more gray than black no longer bothers me.   My features disappeared, as I looked deeper, searching… “You’re still alone,” I whispered and I quickly remind myself it not a world ending condition unless I make it that way and I wouldn‘t.

Finished I exit the room and make my way to the bed where I’ve laid out my present to myself.    The ensemble is completed with strapped low heal sandals.  I take down my hair loosening the curls with my fingers.  In the dresser mirror I apply what I can in the way of make-up.  Mascara, light brush of powder to kill the shine and lipstick.  I add tiny diamond studs earrings.  Turning slowly I look at my reflection, pleased.   Feeling almost ready I walk to the living room, to the stereo.  With a couple of movements of my thumb I replace the iPod in its dock and the sound of Etta James’ At Last fills the room.

Yesterday I had placed candles around the room and on the dinning table.  Tonight I take my time, lighting each one.  Sitting at the dinning table I fill my wine glass from the bottle given to me by the reference desk librarian.  She had jokingly told me not to drink it alone.  “It’s a wine made for lovers,” she’d whispered.  I’d smiled thanking her for the thoughtful gift.

Pulling the cake I’d baked earlier in the day close I cut a piece for each place setting.  Cake and wine in front of me I sit down and wait.  Earlier in the week a helper had delivered a note from Jacob.   Opening the envelope I remove the card and read his words again. 

Wait for us.  Written in his bold cursive.

I slid the card back inside the envelope and place it next to my plate.

Wait for us.  The implication scares me.   I want Jacob to celebrate the day with me.  We’d eat cake, talk about his plans school or the woman he was currently interested in.  And I admit I’d secretly fantasized about Vincent being here with us.  We’d sit at the table, be a family.    The realist sitting on one shoulder states the obvious.  You’re wrong.  He won’t come here.   The little devil sitting on the other snickered.  “Well just in case.  You’ve prettied up for him. Even dabbed on some perfume and makeup.”

“No.”  Rising from the table I carefully place the cake stand on the kitchen counter.  At the table, I recorked the wine and placed it next to the cake dish.   I almost run to the bedroom to check the time on the clock by my bed.  Slowing myself I lean against the doorframe, 11:30.   At the window I pulled back the heavy curtains.  There’s no one on the street and the occasional street lamp or apartment doorway security light only touch the long sections of darkness.  The night is safe enough for Vincent to travel.

“I’m not running away.“ I lie as I changed out of my clothing and into a tracksuit and tennis shoes.  “I need to let off some steam.” A half-truth.   Grabbing my purse I leave the apartment heading for the nursing home I volunteer at one or twice a month.  The staff there graciously allows me to use the home’s exercise equipment after hours.  It’s become my escape when the apartment walls closed in or when I can’t sleep. 

I’m tired and achy, my legs weak by the time I finished and decide to head back home.  I glanced at the large clock above the wall of mirrors, 3:00.  The click of the electric doors behind me signaled that there is no room for avoidance.  The walk back to the apartment felt like I was hiking up the Bear.  It takes twice the normal time for me to get home.  I walk on the opposite side of the street most of the way feeling like a secret agent as I looked around to make sure that I do not meet Jacob or Vincent.   I hope I have either misinterpreted Jacob’s message and the “us” was someone other than Vincent.    I feel like a coward.  But I have done what I’ve done.  On the landing I stand staring at a beautifully wrapped gift blocking my apartment door. 

Showered and feeling saner that earlier I sit on the floor, glass of wine next me.  A sip and I’m feeling light enough to read the card.  It’s signed by many of the tunnel residents as well as Jacob, Vincent and Father.  A sip and I open the carton and removed a carved miniature carousel.  On each seat or animal sits a replica of one of the tunnel’s citizens.  Across the top in each of the mirrors is etched the words, “So that you never forget us.”  I turned the carousel around and around until I’ve found and named everyone including myself standing near Jacob, Father and Vincent.   Jacob sits astride a winged dragon while Vincent holds the reins in one hand.  The other is held outward towards me.  

œœœ

The gift demands a face-to-face thank you but it is months before I am able to face them.   I found Vincent first.  He was in Jacob’s chamber.  I walk away from the entrance then back again trying to decide whether to say something or leave.   “You disappointed him.”

“Where is he?”  I ask chastised.

“In the library.” 

He sits slightly slouched in a large chair, his legs stretched out, ankles crossed.  “I’m here to thank him for the carousel.  It’s so beautiful.”

His eyes never leave the book in his hands.

“Why did you leave?  We waited.”

“I wasn’t prepared to meet you.”

Closing the book Vincent points to a chair.  “You can wait for him here?”

I want to run, but even more I want to share this moment with him. 

“Please.”

I sit pulling myself into a corner of the chair as far from him as possible.

“Jacob says it is time his parents know each other.”

I can say nothing.

“I spent years of Jacob’s…Chandler’s childhood hating you.  Because you were doing what Catherine could not?  Gabriel took her from us and replaced her with you, a stranger.  And the more Jacob loved you the more I could not.”

I stop staring at the carpet between us to find him staring at me.   It’s taken him years to be able to look me in the eye; un-clinch his fist in my presence.  Years for the anger in his voice to evaporated into indifference then disinterest and now kindness.

“Jacob has become a good man.  Because of you.”

“And you,” I say softly.

“He’s decided to live on campus.  I think he’s interested in the track team.”

We sit speaking of everyday things, letting the past evaporate away.  And I know that maybe he will never love me in the way I do him, but more importantly he no longer hates me.

At last…my love has come along…my lonely days over…and life is like a song… 

The end