Unburying Hope Page 7

  They lay down on her bed, after she pulled the comforter back to make room for them. His shirt and pants and socks were strewn around the room before he threw back the sheets and she smiled as she pulled him tightly against her body.

  “You still have your boxers on,” she pouted.

  “You’re still wearing your bra and undies,” he said. “Stalemate again.”

  She laughed and he took her face into his warm hands.

  “Celeste, I want to have sex with you so bad. You have always turned me on. But I’m not a one-night stand guy. So if that’s what this is for you, I’d be pissed but I’d leave.”

  Celeste rested on her side, looking closely into his eyes. “Are you for real?”

  “I’m a gentleman,” he said. “Goddamn, I didn’t fight for so many years so I could push myself on someone.”

  “Years? That’s an eternity,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, you do what you feel you have to do in life.”

  “Why did you fight?” she asked, pushing herself against his body.

  “I thought it was the right thing to do.”

  The fullness of his lips brushed against her lips, teasing her. She’d never felt more naked, more visible and she looked at his face, his grayed tan skin. The emotional mask had slipped away and she could see the unbroken dreams of the broken man in front of her.

  “I’ll take mine off in a few minutes,” she said, “but first tell me something about you that no one else knows.”

  He thought for a few minutes, lying on his back to stare at the darkened ceiling, the room lit by the hall light outside the bedroom door.

  “No, you have to face me,” she said, gently poking his hard biceps.

  He turned to face her and she could feel his apprehension fade as he looked more deeply at her than she’d felt before.

  “Sometimes I’m scared shitless,” he said quietly.

  “You?” she blurted out, half biting her lips to pull back the word.

  His mouth opened into a sad smile. “Fuck, yeah. Me. Not now. But sometimes.” His eyebrow raised and he held his lips in an uneven smile.

  She looked at the dent in his forehead, the only clue of a simmering internal damage that Eddie held so tightly that it only flashed in moments like this.

  “What about you?”

  “There’s a lot about me that no one knows,” she said softly. Her mind wandered through her past, through so many moments of solitude, the stark difference between the hope-filled inner world in her heart and the unchallenging world of her empty days. “If I could, in a few days, I’d set my life up completely different than this,” she said, waving her arm towards the undecorated bedroom.

  Her bed was cozy, inviting, but it was the lone palpably conscious place in the whole apartment. Not so much for sex, she thought, because the sex was never connective and usually left her feeling more alone, but because it was the place of dreaming. Its comforter held her, its fluffy pillows supported her as she lay dormant, living other lives in her sleep.

  “I can dig that,” he said. “I don’t feel you grounded here. I used to garden with my grandfather, remember? I can tell when something hasn’t put down roots.”

  “But I’ve been here forever,” she protested.

  “Eucalyptus trees grow so tall, but their roots are just below the dirt,” he said. They can suddenly explode if fire is nearby, like they’re waiting for a way out. A eucalyptus can grow really fast, huge in a decade or two. Maybe this isn’t where you’re meant to put down roots.”

  She thought for a moment, her eyes still on him, about the lease she reluctantly signed each year, for only one year at a time, her pen barely able to form her signature, her inner voice screaming about escape while the muscles in her hand jerkily move to the bottom of the document, scratching out a recalcitrant autograph, trading her fantasies for the substance of her job, twelve months at a clip.

  “This isn’t my place either,” he said.

  “Don’t you military guys move every four years?” she asked.

  “I’m not in the service anymore,” he said.

  “You did your time?”

  “Nope. I got out.”

  She felt an unspoken seawall go up, the quiet lapped against it, threatening to drag their intimacy out in an undertow.

  Instead, she brightened. “So what’s with all the tree knowledge? Were you a tree in a past life?”

  He smiled, wryly. “You should have seen the trees in the Sofed Koh, the alpine mountains in Afghanistan. We were only there for a month or two at a time, but it was like a primeval Christmas tree farm, a huge forest with a million flowers growing underneath. The smell was incredible.”

  Celeste felt herself drawn to the conundrum of the wounded soldier, energized by the memory of a green Eden.

  He looked at her with side eyes, she saw and she grinned at him hugely, opening her arms wide. “Oh my god, you are adorable,” she said, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him close, feeling his tight chest against her soft breasts. She pushed away for a moment to whip her bra off, pulling it over her head in one piece, kissing him deeply, her tongue playing with his, enjoying his obvious delight at her interest.

  She ground her body against him, then reached into the covers and pulled her panties down both legs. She watched as he pulled his boxers off and she was aware suddenly of the very real existence of a bond that, while not obvious, was deep. Two lovers who could see each other with eyes closed and she met his aroused thrusts with her own kindled force, freeing her body to the throbbing passion, feeling the strength of her dreams like a tree, not needing deep roots, able to sway, get lost in the blinding orgasm that came forcefully, inciting the explosion that would incinerate the invisible hold that the physical world could have on a soul.

  Chapter Twelve

  She woke later in that hazy state where your eyes open but your brain doesn’t register the physicality of things like ceiling or pillow or even breath. She waited a few seconds, as if to let the world around her settle into solidity and she smiled when she realized she was warm in her bed, the day was dawning and her phone alarm had not clanged.

  It must be the weekend.

  Her brain started a slow recalibration, she stretched her toes out under her down comforter, deciding that this had to be the day to open the brown cardboard box in storage, to pull out the electric blanket so that waking up in the frozen months to come wouldn’t be so hard. Lifting her head an inch or so, she pulled the comforter around her neck, covering her chin and mouth and nose, so only her head was out in the cool apartment air.

  “Hey, baby, don’t steal all the covers.”

  Celeste nearly jumped out of her skin, because memories exploded together and she didn’t know whom she would find. She was careful not to let someone sleep over on a weekend night, because the weekend was her dreamtime, when she could stretch who she was, go for a long bus ride out of the city, where she could imagine a bigger life. In her sleepy fog, lit up by the brain blast of shock and confusion, she wrapped the comforter around her breasts and rolled over to face the voice.

  Eddie reached into her cocoon, “Good morning, sexy,” he ran his fingers through her long hair, releasing it from the confines of the wrapped bedding.

  She felt his arms, strong and intent, but he moved to her instead of yanking her out of her warm spot in the bed. So thoughtful, she realized.

  His eyes were half open and she watched as he came close and planted a few kisses on her cheeks and lips, comfortable and cozy, as though this was morning #98 instead of #1. His breath was slow and he half-whispered, ‘Can we sleep for a little while longer? Or”, she felt his body wakening, “Should we get up? Do you need to get out the door somewhere?”

  She didn’t want this moment, this embrace, to unwind, so she lowered her own excited voice to a soft whisper and said, “no, no, go back to sleep, we can sleep longer.”

  Without releasing her from his sure hold, his eyes closed, his face relaxed and she could tell
within a minute that he was again fast asleep.

  Sleep tugged at her brain too, but she lay there, fighting it, eyes as open as she could manage, looking at his brown-black eyelashes, his spiked bed hair, his thinned cheeks, the shadows of the receding night on the hollow in his forehead, seeing him as she never knew him, with his perfect face unmarred by a rocketed weapon. How must he see himself, she wondered, permanently damaged on the outside?

  She let her own body, with its now remembered sex memories of the passion of six hours ago, melt back into sleep, held in a strangely comforting embrace that she’d never felt before. As a child, she’d slept near her mother, sometimes snuggling up to her mother’s back, never her front. That was reserved, her mother said, for husbands. Her own one-night stands never ended in holding and the few short term boyfriends she’d had weren’t capable of closeness, leading her to wonder seriously if she was worthy.

  Her head lay on her pillow near Eddie’s soft breathing and she suddenly realized that maybe her mother had meant this kind of embrace for herself, for a man that she might meet after Celeste grew up, more than she meant it for Celeste in her own adulthood. Her mother hadn’t had this kind of holding, Celeste realized. Her heart torn between sorrow for her mother’s emptiness and her own current shock at the loveliness of being held, she let her eyes close and she matched her breathing to Eddie’s until she lost herself to a delicious, warm, held sleep that felt safe, deeply safe.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I see what you’re attracted to,” Frank said. “He’s good looking, has those smoldering eyes and those baby cheeks, he’s a perfect combination of boy with manly intent.” He leaned in, “But he’s too agitated. When he walks into the office, he goes to your line because you’re on the right. Our right, his left. He walks against the wall until he gets to the front of the line. He’s super solicitous of the old ladies in line but he’s on edge if he’s near men, like he thinks everyone could be carrying a gun.”

  “He spent years in Iraq and Afghanistan,” Celeste defended.

  “Maybe that’s it. He thinks crowds are dangerous. I went out with a soldier once, but it was too crazy making. Every little sound set him off. He went to work at 5 am so he wouldn’t have to drive in traffic. He wouldn’t leave his desk at lunch and he’d go straight home to sit in front of his TV. That guy was shell shocked.”

  “Did you dump him because he was no fun?”

  “No, I have a heart. I cared about him. But he was on more meds than I’ve ever dreamed of, for muscle spasms, migraines, a couple different sleeping pills because he couldn’t get himself to sleep, pills for depression, for anxiety. He had about eight pill containers he’d pour from several times a day. And I couldn’t reach him, you know, emotionally.”

  “What made him so messed up?”

  “He couldn’t admit he was broken or the Army would have released him with no benefits. They can put you out for an ‘Emotional Disorder’ even though you’re fucked up because of your time IN the Army. So he let them redeploy him three times and they kept him for a year or two extra each time, extending his tour. Each time, he said, was worse for him. He came home from the first deployment on migraine meds and sleeping pills but came home the third time on anti-psychotic meds. You know I like my men a little crazy, but real, mental illness crazy? Honey, my heart bleeds. I was so sad for him.”

  “Do you ever see him?”

  “No, I bought him groceries for a few weeks so he wouldn’t have to go into a busy supermarket. Then he moved back in with his folks. He said they didn’t know he was gay or crazy but he could no longer hide the crazy. So they are taking care of him.”

  “Eddie’s not that bad,” Celeste said, balking. “I do see him hug walls, and his eyes dart. He’s watching everything that goes on.”

  “How many meds is he on?” Frank asked.

  “I’ve never asked him.”

  “You should give him these,” Frank said, putting two yellow gel capsules on the counter in front of Celeste. “They’re omegas, great for your immune system and evening out your mood.”

  Celeste screwed up her lips into a cockeyed smile, “Are these your fish oils? That’s weird.”

  “No, it’s natural. And it won’t screw up your brain when you drink. You could use them too, they help with reverbs from drinking too much.”

  “I’m thinking of not drinking anymore.”

  “Bite your tongue, young lady!” Frank laughed. “Who else would muddle mint with me for mojitos after a long work day?”

  Celeste laughed. “Yes, what was I thinking? You do know that Eddie and I don’t drink when we’re together though, right?”

  Frank needled her, “And how’s non-alcohol-fueled sex?”

  “Oh, it’s amazing,” she said, “You can feel everything.”

  “Hmmm,” Frank rubbed his chin like a wise old man. “I may have to try that. Someday. But not today.” Frank pointed at an article in the morning newspaper on his lap underneath his workstation. “I am freaking out about the drug wars. I’ll need a couple of cocktails just to calm down.”

  “I know it’s getting worse. I’m scared too. But how could we ever leave Detroit?” she asked.

  “They’re asking all Detroiters to uproot, to move into one third of the City, so they can use the other two thirds for gardens.” Frank’s voice betrayed his shock.

  “What? No one is going to understand that,” Celeste said.

  “Your graffiti isn’t enough, Celeste,” Frank looked straight at her. “Missy, it’s time. We’ve got to leave. My condo closes tomorrow, I get funded, pay back my mortgage and I’ve got just enough to relocate and put a down payment on a little house outside of Beaufort. Come with me.”

  There would be so little to take, Celeste thought. She’d leave the furniture, since the apartment came furnished. She’d specifically avoided buying anything, except her new clothes recently, and some cooking utensils and spray paint over the last few years. She could probably fit all of her things into two suitcases and ship a box of her kitchen and bedroom things. She could buy new bedding, she could actually buy new kitchen things. She shook her head at how lightly she inhabited her world. She could probably leave with one suitcase of new clothes. She could drop off all her home furnishings at the local donation center where she’d dropped three bags off of her clean, neatly folded old clothes.

  Eddie was right. She had not put down roots.

  Eddie didn’t talk a lot.

  Frank was the only person who could get her to laugh and go on and on, but that’s because Frank was a force of nature. She could hear him coming down the street, she knew when he stamped his time card, she could feel the office air change palpably. A smile rose and by the time he sidled in to sit near her, she found herself with a full-blown grin.

  It’s not that she was a dud, she thought. It’s that no one had physically catalyzed the energy around her before. She felt naturally buoyant in Frank’s electrical charge. Her happiness had echoes of newly awakening memories of her childhood when there was a man around, when she was very, very young. A strong sense of the presence of a happy man who loved her.

  With Eddie, it was less fireworks, more stamina. A steady charge. She didn’t have to think of things to say. Not that she had to with Frank, because being with Frank naturally juiced her up.

  But Eddie. He was on edge. His mood was often heavy with a back-story that she did not know. He second-guessed his thoughts and actions like she did but his military training helped him slog forward through any doubts he might have had.

  He always asked her what she wanted to do, with the decision delayed until she weighed in, her opinion was considered, then a choice was made to eat at a certain place, watch a certain TV show or movie. She suspected that the negotiating machinations helped him feel that he was accomplishing something, analyzing options, moving forward.

  When they were watching TV, Eddie didn’t say anything when she moved around on the sofa. He put his arm around her and pulled her c
lose, or released her when she moved, waiting for her to settle before reaching for her again. Sometimes, she’d jump up and rearrange pillows before sitting back down, just to feel him, still staring at the TV show, moving himself to fit back in with her. It was the opposite of sitting with the old lady, where any tiny movement by Celeste caused trauma. She smiled at Eddie, he’d smile back, squeeze her and put his forehead to her forehead, touching skin to skin at her hairline, then he’d check his phone for texts and settle back in.

  It could be exhausting, this being called to an excitable sense at work with Frank, and a happy, settled self-awareness with Eddie. She wondered if she’d have the energy to sustain both relationships. Maybe the new skirt and dress and jeans were magical, they had turned her life inside out within a few weeks. She was living the life she had played out in her head all these years: animated, connected, awake. No sleepwalking to and from work. No impotent workday dreaming of a house and a man, no wondering what would have to erupt in her life to bring any of those imaginary conversations to life.

  She noticed, for the first time, honestly, how gray the neighborhood was. There were ‘For Lease’ signs on broken store windows, the detritus of dead businesses. The corner market was the only storefront where people still entered and exited, and many of those customers were ragged homeless souls carrying out brown paper bags of liquor to drink a few blocks away at the unfriendly, dirty remnant of a park where mothers and fathers no longer took their kids to swing and slide because dogs and humans used the playground to defecate.

  She’d walked into her corner market after work the other day, hoping to find fresh lettuce for a salad and wandered through the aisles to the back table where a few sorry potatoes sat, pushed aside by stacks of sugary juice substitute in large bottles. She rotated the potatoes absent-mindedly, then carried one to the front counter. “No lettuce?”