My Dear Stranger (3 page)

*****

  Reading the first lines, I’m struck with the strangeness of my writing as a teenager.  I was a 17 year old young girl, and I wrote such descriptive words within a poetic style.  I remember at the time NEVER wanting anyone to find this book.  I remember my constant hiding of this book until I found the absolute best spot ever for it.  I remember how much time and effort was spent keeping this special silk book out of the hands of others, and yet I also remember wanting it to sound adult-like and intelligent. 

  I remember that.  I remember looking up a few words to be very descriptive or dramatic.  I remember using my thesaurus.  I remember thinking I needed to relay this information intelligently, like an adult would so it would be taken seriously.  I remember wanting to sound like an adult with my words, but I didn’t know the actual reason why at the time. 

  It makes no sense to want to fake your own 17 year old speech patterns for a book that you never, ever want anyone else to read.

  But I remember now.  I remember why I faked an intelligence of speech that I honestly didn’t have at age
16 or 17. 

  I thought I was going to die
young. 

 
I was sure I would be dead within a few years.  I was sure I would die, therefore, I wanted to sound adult and intelligent when I described my relationship with Him- just in case.

  I didn’t want anyone (especially my parents),
finding my blue silken book to think I was a child living a bizarre life with an older man.  I wanted them to know I was an adult too, should my book be found when I was dead.

  I was sure I wouldn’t survive a few more years, so though I didn’t want anyone to find my book while I was living, I did want them to be impressed with it should it be found when I was dead.  I wanted my book to sound mature and poetic and beautiful when it was finally found after I died.

  Death.

  Again, I functioned almost exclusively within the realm of death.  The thoughts of, the reality of, the knowledge of… my death.

  I was sure my death would be young, and I was sure it would be an awful death. So I spent my reality surrounded by thoughts of my post-dead memories for others, and how to carry them forward positively to the few people in my life.

  I wanted to be loved, respected, and thought of fondly in my death.  Therefore I wrote in a romantic, poetic manner all which my young life tried to comprehend in my living world.

  Everything I wrote at the time was not
for
that time, or even for myself.  Rather, everything I wrote was for my post life non-reality which others might find and read after my death.

My Dear Stranger I
II
Last night, I saw my dear stranger again.
Slowly, gently He waved His ghostly hello from the dimly lit street below.  Strangely, I felt slightly threatened, though deeply loved, as I watched through my bedroom window as He approached.
Minutes later, I crawled back into my warm bed and fell asleep easily, once all the confusion, and memories of painful screams fell dead, immediately upon His arrival.
It’s so strange to me that my heart knows when He has come to me. 

Throughout this sleep, nightmares of loneliness and injury haunted my rest until I woke to my dear stranger standing over my bed.
  He greeted me awake with a warm smile and a gentle touch, as He had so many times before.  And in that moment I knew He would never harm me, but only love and fill my heart with the great love and security I have come to know only through Him.
The time He spent watching with understanding eyes, as my heart bled and tears fell, allowed me to know without words that He felt my pain.  Each time He has visited, His presence fills my heart with hope and wonder as to our future, because my stranger knows me, and He knows all there is to see in me, and still He loves me and returns.  Inevitably, I find sleep easier and peaceful when He comes for me. 
So again, I fell asleep with His eyes watching and protecting, only to awake in a bubble-filled bath of soothing relief.  Softly He bathed and massaged my body, as only He could.  And as each time before I felt no embarrassment nor insecurity with Him, I felt only pleasure from His gentle care of me.
Once bathed, He carried my damp body back to my bed, placing me gently under my soft sheets.  And then it happened! 

My stranger began kissing my body, softly, sensually, fil
ling my body with an ecstasy too rare for words.  His hands were so gentle and comforting as He touched me as I had never let anyone touch me before.  With His fingers He explored me and entered me until His body edged into mine.  His kisses lasted an eternity, while His embrace felt warm and inviting.  He touched me and kissed me, and I found myself bracing for more.
Staring up at my dear stranger I noticed for the first time He appeared to want to speak to me, though when open, no words escaped His lips.  Only a loving smile was able to reach me- a smile so beautiful I welcomed him into me, because my dear stranger was so new to me last night.
Hours later I found myself completely content as I watched His silhouette stand and easily walk across our bedroom to the same corner He always watches me from.  And watching Him, I realized the love I felt for Him in that moment was simply overwhelming.  I couldn’t contain my love for Him.  Crying gently, I felt myself falling asleep while He watched me from across our room.  Once again I found myself slipping into unconsciousness within my blood stained sheets, as His eyes watched me silently.
And though my dear stranger is still a mystery to me, as He waved his ghostly goodbye I found myself anxiously waiting for His return. 

And this morning I don’t care that my virginity is gone, and I don’t care about all the pain I had to endure for Him.  I barely remember it now.  I don’t even care about all the pain between my legs this morning.  I remember when I cried out in shock and pain He gently covered my mouth with His mouth to take in all my pain.  I remember how He took my pain into His body as I struggled with His size thrusting inside me.  What an amazing thing to do for me.  He loved me enough to force my pain into Him as I screamed and fought His painful intrusion.

October 1997

17 years old

*****

 
Well, that was the beginning.  That morning I was never going to be the same.  I couldn’t possibly know then what I know now.  I couldn’t even comprehend what was to become of my life.  I don’t think a 17 year old virgin is able to understand the complexities of a sexual relationship.  I know I wasn’t able, though at the time I honestly believed I was. 

  R
eading my words now, I still don’t honestly understand our beginning.  There are words floating in my mind.  There are labels for the act.  There are bad words associated with what happened that night, but I still can’t say them or think them because of what became of us afterward.  I find our lives were never easily labelled.

  I can’t help but wonder
about us now though.  I can’t help but wonder; if the start of a relationship is forced but the situation of the force changes, is the relationship still tainted forever?

CHAPTER 3

  Standing, I feel cold.  Its afternoon on a cool day but I
still feel very cold.  My limbs are achy and my skin feels tight.  Maybe the sun is no longer beating down on the garage brick.  I don’t know, but I think it’s time for another hot coffee.

  Entering my house, I
suddenly feel like something’s wrong.  Turning and checking the front door, it’s locked as it should be, but I jiggle the locks and double check anyway. Turning to the windows I begin making sure every single one is locked on the main floor.  Walking into my kitchen, I pull on the sliding glass doors, but they don’t budge.  Pulling out the metal door safety bar, I place it in its slot against the bottom of the glass, and feel better.  Looking, I decide what the hell, and pull out my huge butcher knife to rig above the glass doors, just in case.  Surely the knife will fall on an intruder and if not impale him, it will certainly scare him into not entering my home… I hope.

  Walking down to the basement
next, I check the bars on every window to make sure they’re secure as I reengage each lock.  When I’m done I know the main floor and basement are totally secure.  Upstairs, I turn off quickly and reengage the alarm system for everything, including the garage glass-break sensors, except for the actual garage door into my house.  When each of the 42 panels, minus the garage door are red, I exhale. 

  I’m not sure why I feel like something is wrong, but
even after checking everything is as it should be, I still do.

 
In my kitchen I place my second coffee in the microwave and decide a bathroom break is needed, and my teeth definitely need a good brushing.  I have that awful smoky, coffee breath nastiness going on and my tongue feels thick with it. 

 
I wonder why I’m smoking.  I mean I
do
smoke once in a while, like when I’m super stressed, or nervous about something, I might have one or two, but that’s usually every couple months, and certainly not frequent enough to think of myself as a smoker again.  Today is different though.  Today feels like I need the nostalgic comfort I once gained from smoking, so I’m happy my husband isn’t around to see me.

  Oh!  My husband.  That’s what I’m forgetting.  Crap.  After grabbing another sweater to fight off the cold I
feel deep inside, I run downstairs to the answering machine.  Shit!  There are 6 messages.

  “Hi Mommy, I’m good and safe.  Daddy says hi.” Oh, his voice.  God, I love my baby’s voice.

  “Hi Mommy, I’m done skiing for now, but Brady and Tyler say I can go again later with them and the big kids.  But Daddy and Aunt Mary and Aunty Kim will be there to.  Where are you? 
What…?
  Oh, daddy says hi again and wants to talk to you… but it’s not mom, dad.” Still listening I hear the shuffle on the phone.  “Hi honey, we’re good, and Jamie’s having lots of fun.  Mary wants you to call her later about a food trick she learned for Jamie because He. Wont. Eat. His. Veggies…” I can almost hear Jamie groan. “Anyway, we’re going to go into town soon for an early dinner, but I’ll call you after.  We miss you.”

  When the phone suddenly hangs up, I miss them terribly.  I’ve never been away from my baby, and besi
de the very infrequent medical conference, I’m rarely away from my husband either.

  “Hi Sadie, its Randi from Dr. Marlott’s office. I’m just calling to remind you of your dentist appointment on Wednesday.  I hope you have a great week-end.  See ya next week.”

  Yuck, I hate the dentist.  Even though my dentist is a nice older man, it still feels gross going to the dentist.  I hate the feeling of being trapped in a chair with a man over me, in my mouth, while I struggle to not obsessively gulp and
gag as he fumbles in my mouth- especially when I want nothing more than to push him away from me.  I really hate the Dentist.

  “Hi Sadie, its Meg.  I’m not sure what you’re doing later, but Mike and I have decided to have a last minute get together tonight.  Bring Jamie if you want, Melissa and Morgan will be home to play with him and to watch him while the adults have a little fun.  Anyway, let me know if you guys can make it.  Sorry for the short notice, but I needed to do something tonight, and I decided a small party was what I needed.  I hope you guys can come over.  Call me and let me know either way.  Thanks.”

  Um, nope.  No little get together with the
‘4 M’s’ as they call themselves.  To deal with all her sickeningly perky and all her imaginary competitions with me over everything, I need my husband for sure.  I think even my 6 year old realizes Meg is just too much for anyone, but especially for me.

  “Hi honey, where are you?  Jamie says hi again, and he’s so hopped up on junk food, I don’t think he’s gonna sleep at all tonight.  We’re back from our dinner and I thought I’d check in.  It’s weird that I haven’t heard from you all day.  Usually you call me all the time, even when I’m around the corner, so this is a little weird for you.  Are you okay?  Call me Sade.”

  And
he’s right, I usually do.  I love my husband’s voice.  I don’t know why, but I always call my husband to hear his voice.  I call him when he’s at the store.  I call him when he’s at work.  I call him sometimes if I’m upstairs and he’s downstairs.  I don’t know why, but I always need to hear his voice.  I love my husband’s voice.

  Grabbing the phone, I sit at the kitchen table and dial my guys.

 
“Hi, honey.  How are you?”

 
“Good.  Where’s Jamie?” Suddenly, I’m just desperate to talk to my son.

 
“He’s right here.  What’s wrong?”  He’s right there.  Good.  Okay. 

“Nothing.  Sorry… I just miss him.  Are you still having fun away from the old ball and chain?” I grin.

 
“Yup.  It’s been great without
her
around,” he laughs at me.

 
“I can see that.  But can your old ball and chain speak to her son now?”

 
“Sure.  But I want to talk to you before you hang up with him, okay?”

 
“Sure.”

  When I hear Jamie called, I finally relax.  Everything is okay now.  J
amie is safe.  And hearing him talk in the background, I smile.  My son can talk and talk when he’s excited.

 
“Hi, Mom!”

 
“Whoa.  Hi.  How are you?  Are you having fun?”

 
“Yes!  Brandon and Brady and Tyler are taking me outside to build the world’s biggest snowman, and I’m not tired at all.  So I don’t have to go to bed yet, Aunty Kim said so because she’s making a big fire in the fireplace with real wood.  Not like ours with the button on the wall, but a real fire and we have long steel sticks to make s’mores, and I ate all my dinner, but I’m really hungry, so I think s’mores is a good idea to fill my stomach before bed like you always want me to do so my stomach is full when I sleep, so I don’t ever feel hungry, right?” I can’t help but grin as he tries to justify s’mores as his bedtime snack.

 
“Um, I don’t think s’mores before bed is the same thing as toast to fill your tummy, but for tonight it IS okay.  Just don’t think this will be your new bedtime snack, okay?”

 
“Okay…” And I can almost see his pout.

 
“Have fun making the world’s biggest snowman, but make sure you tell an adult if you start to feel cold, okay?  I love ya to pieces, Jamie.”

 
“I love you too.  Daddy wants the phone now.” And that’s it.  I hear the phone placed on maybe a table from the clang, and I hear his little voice running away.

 
“Hi.  What are you up to?”

 
“Nothing.  Cleaning,” I lie.  “He’s pretty jacked up, huh?”

 
“Totally.  Every time I turn around he’s eating something sweet, or drinking juice.  I finally had to give him the mommy look about a half hour ago when he picked up another brownie.  I think that’s it though until his bedtime s’more,” he laughs.

 
“Uh huh.  You know he’s going to try for that bedtime snack every night for the next week, don’t you?”

 
“Yes, I do.  What are you doing tonight?  Anything good?”

 
“I think I’ll pamper myself in the tub, then watch a movie.”

 
“That sounds good.  I’ll call you when Jamie goes to sleep so you can say goodnight, but I’m warning you it’s going to be much later than 8:00.  And as his dad I’ve given him permission to stay up late and reckless with his cousins.  Okay?”

  Smiling, I know he’s teasing me. 
“Okay, but just remember you get to deal with the cranky tired kid tomorrow.”

 
“Done.  I love you, Sadie.”

 
“Love you, too.  Have fun.”

  And that’s it.  My son is fine. My husband is watching him closely, and they’re having fun.  I can relax a little.  I want them to have fun, and I want them to be safe, but a small part of me hates the fact that they’re having fun there without me.  It’s like I’m expendable, like they don’t really need me to function like I thought they did.  I feel like they don’t need me anymore.

  Okay, I’m being stupid.

  Grabbing my nuked coffee I make my way back to the garage. 
And settling in, I light a smoke, lift my knees to tuck my sweater around my legs for warmth, and I begin again.  It’s time.

                                             
*****

  My life during these years was almost a
 bi-polar existence. 

  During the day I lived life like a typical teenage girl.
  I survived by spending all my extra money on clothes and makeup.  I had the best shoes and killer purses.  I bought endless CD's and I went to the mall every week-end with my girlfriends.  I was normal... on the surface.
 

 
But then I had my other life.  I had a male lover who greeted me in the night.  I had a man who came to me and taught me the act of being with a lover.  He was a man, and I was his girl.  He loved me and I waited every night to be loved by Him.

 
Every single night I showered, shaved, and wore only my best pajamas to bed while I waited in the night.  My parents probably thought I was vain or too obsessed with cleanliness, but I didn't care what they thought as long as they didn't know the truth of why I had a marathon shower every single night before bed.

 
  If I went out with friends I always came home and did the same thing.  I kept my nightly ritual, whether I crawled in at 2:00am drunk, or was home on a school night going to bed by 11:00 for an exam the following morning.  I didn't care what time it was, I showered, shaved, and dressed for him each and every night before bed.

 
I was lucky that my parents really didn't care what I did.  I was lucky that their bedroom was across the upstairs landing, with the bathroom on my side of the house so they couldn't hear me hop in the shower every night regardless of the time. I was lucky they weren't that observant, but I wouldn’t have cared anyway.  My only concern was making sure I was always physically ready for Him to come to me.

 
I was half crazy with the need for Him, and I was always edgy at bedtime waiting for Him. 

  I remember when I had my period I would freak out every night.  I was lucky that my period was
always very light, usually lasting no more than 4 days, but for those 4 days I could think of nothing but my period at night.  I was so scared He would come to me when I had it.  I was so scared He would come to me and I wouldn’t be able to do anything with Him.  I was young enough that my period was still embarrassing to me, and not something I could easily discuss with anyone, but especially with Him. 

  For years, I HATED my period because it had the potenti
al to stop me from being with Him.

  In hindsight, I realize He
only came to me maybe once a month, or sometimes even less frequently than that, but my anxiety for Him was so great I couldn't imagine not being prepared and ready for Him should He actually arrive on any given night. 

 
And so I obsessed with my personal hygiene, and I always prepared my body for Him to love, in case He came to me in the night.
 

My Dear Stranger IV
Last night my dear stranger came to me again.  It had only been a few weeks without Him, yet His arrival was just as thrilling for me as each time before.
When I awoke to His shadow standing over me, I couldn't help but notice His disappointment as the companion beside me lay asleep completely unaware of my visitor.

Quietly, I stood and took my stranger’s hand
, leading Him outside.  The cold, soft breeze sent shivers up my spine and though it caused my nipples to grow instantly erect, I wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed.
I looked into my stranger's eyes- the eyes I had come to love and worship, but they were new to me.  They looked so sad and betrayed, and for the first time I felt I had truly hurt Him with my actions.