Love, Carry My Bags

by Everett, C. R.

  “You’re acting like you know better than me. I don’t want my daughter to go to hell. I love you.” I seriously doubted it.

  “It’s just that I can’t see how physically nailing someone to a cross nearly 2000 years ago is going to make one iota of difference as to the fate of the axe murderer next door. They are totally unrelated.”

  “There’s an axe murderer next door?” Mother said, worried.

  “No, ugh! It was just an example!”

  Reese pretended to be engrossed in Guideposts, the only reading material around except, of course, for the Holy Bible. I’d nearly forgotten he was there, caught up in the heat of battle. I went on.

  “How can one man dying, ‘save’ mankind from their sins? Tell me.” I posed a challenge.

  “The Bible says so.”

  “The Bible says so.” I stopped. Could she give me no better explanation than that? “The Bible also says that believers will take up serpents and not be harmed. I highly doubt that you’d handle a rattlesnake and not expect to be bitten.”

  “Well,” she said, disgusted. To her, the difference was painfully obvious, but she couldn’t explain it. “You just have to have faith in Jesus and he will cleanse your sins.” She waved her hands around the sides of her face, synchronizing their movement with each word. And that was that. In her mind, she had made her point. End of conversation. She turned to Reese.

  “Oh! You like Guideposts too!” she said, delighted. I rolled my eyes. Our visit had been much too long.

  “We need to get going,” I said, before Reese could respond.

  Unfazed by our conflict, Mother gave me a swaying hug at the door as we left. She warbled, “I love you.” Then she turned loose.

  I said nothing.

  * * *

  “I’m so sorry,” I said immediately when we got into the car. “I shouldn’t have brought you over.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I was expecting worse.”

  “Worse?” Surprise filled my voice. “That was pretty bad. She was in prime form.”

  “So were you.”

  “I was?”

  “You were all feisty. Don’t let her get to you.” Reese was too kind, gently rubbing my shoulder to calm me down.

  “But she made no sense.”

  “Lots of things don’t make sense.”

  “I really don’t get the whole Jesus thing, the dying on the cross bit,” I said, turning on the ignition.

  “I’m not sure I understand it either.” Reese clicked his seat belt. “Why don’t you talk to your dad?”

  “I’m afraid,” I said. “How can I admit that after being a church regular my whole life, a minister’s daughter, that it makes no sense to me? He seems fine with it even though he’s a logical person.” I backed out of the drive. “I don’t see the logic.”

  Reese said nothing. His mere company was comforting.

  “Want to go to class with me tonight?”

  “No,” Reese said, like he’d feel silly and out of place.

  “You could listen in. See what it’s like.”

  “No. You go have fun and I’ll wait for you in the library.”

  * * *

  I settled Reese into my favorite, quiet corner, then spent the next three hours checking my watch every ten minutes while Professor Cobb told stories of the ancient Greeks and the inhabitants of Lesbos. Treating Reese to ice cream after class came to mind between tales of naked Olympians. After class, I passed by the corner of the library where Reese sat. From the dark outside I had a perfect view looking in on him. He looked like a saint, patiently sitting there, reading, and waiting, for me. I knew he was a blessing, but would never have uttered the ‘b’ word. It sounded too much like Mother’s Bible-speak. So I thanked God for him in my own way.

  * * *

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but, when are you going home?” Mr. Dahlgren asked. Reese and I smiled at each other, slightly embarrassed.

  “Reese goes back on Sunday. I’ll take him to the airport for you,” I said, expressing the favor.

  “Oh, Reese needs a ride?” He said in a deadpan drawl. “I thought he might walk. That’s what those service boys do, right? Walk a lot? Hut two three four.”

  Reese wasn’t amused.

  “You’re drunk again! No wonder mom left you!” Reese shouted. He took a whiff of Mr. Dahlgren’s drink, a cup from Subway, then poured it down the sink.

  “Wha’d ya go and waste a good rum and Coke for?”

  “You’re the waste!” Reese left me and his dad in the kitchen and ran upstairs. I looked at the stairway, then looked at Mr. Dahlgren, not sure if I should leave the drunk man alone or run to comfort Reese.

  Mr. Dahlgren made my decision for me, waving me away. “Git.”

  Reese was lying face down on his bed, his head buried in the pillow. I crept in. Instinctively, I touched his shoulders as I sat next to him, quiet, not sure what to say.

  “I wish you wouldn’t have seen that.” He sniffed away some tears.

  “I didn’t know . . .”

  “Nobody knows. I didn’t want you to know.”

  “What are people going to think of me? Son of a drunk.”

  “But you’re not like that. You’re not like him.”

  Reese continued. “It’s one of the reasons I wanted to leave this place, get out of this town, so I wouldn’t have to deal with him. I’m sorry you saw me angry. You don’t want to see me angry.”

  “You had a right to feel that way,” I said, trying my best to be supportive. “It’s okay.” Alcoholism wasn’t something I was intimate with. We held each other, the only answer we knew.

  Mr. Dahlgren, stumbling up the stairs, broke the sound of silence. He uttered, “Aw, shit.” A tumbling noise and a thud suggested he missed a step and fell back down. We heard him drag himself back up the stairs. His bedroom door clicked shut. Muffled sounds of a flop on his bed followed. The bedsprings squeaked, and then nothing.

  * * *

  “Eleven-thirty!” Reese checked his watch, surprised it was so late. “You have an early class tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, I do.” I yawned. I kissed Reese a long, slow kiss goodnight. “Goodnight,” I whispered, closing his door behind me, then padded across the hall. Exhausted, sleep came quickly, but I woke to the antique doorknob grating against itself at 2 a.m. Reese crawled on top of the bed, lying next to me.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he said.

  My fingers stroked his thick hair, examining each strand against the moonlight. After my eyes adjusted to the post-midnight glow, I took his face into both my hands, tracing his cheeks, his nose, his lips. Our eyes grew big, dark. Our lips drew together. Our tongues parted two hours later.

  “I’m glad you couldn’t sleep,” I said. Reese smiled, pushing aside the disheveled hair from my face.

  “How did I get so lucky to find you?” he asked.

  “I’m the lucky one.” I kissed him again, taking his lower lip between mine. I felt his warm breath on my cheek. He reluctantly pulled away.

  “You have to get up soon.” The sensation of Reese’s tender touch lingered on my skin. He returned to his room and I returned to slumber, happy with the interruption.

  * * *

  Mr. Dahlgren had already left for work when I woke, refreshed. An Indian summer breeze blew through the upstairs, birdsong on its tail. Wearing just T-shirt and undies, I slipped into Reese’s sheets, a cozy fit in his single bed. Barely awake, he snuggled me like a teddy bear. I summoned the nerve to ease my hand into the front of his shorts, briefly holding what was inside. We kissed, picking up where we left off.

  “I have a surprise for you,” I said, propping myself up in his bed, modesty taking a break, scarce clothes apparent. I handed him a small gift box.

  “What is it?”

  “Open it.” I knew he would love the surprise and couldn’t wait to see him light up.

  “RAW tickets? We’re going to see Eddie Murphy?” He beamed.

  “Yup, tomorrow night.”


  “I can’t believe you did that.” Reese was psyched.

  “I thought it would be fun to go, and besides, it’s your last night here. I didn’t want to be sitting around thinking about it.” I noticed the posters on Reese’s walls, mostly rock bands and PADI stuff. When I saw the blonde in a wet suit poster, I felt the same unease as the first time I had seen it. I had hoped Ms. Blonde would disappear. Someone fired up a lawn mower across the street. Early birds weren’t the only ones up. I checked the alarm clock. “I need to get ready.”

  Reese’s eyes followed me out of bed where my T-shirt and underwear met. The window in the bathroom adjacent to Reese’s room was wide open, but I wasn’t worried that Mr. Stiles, pushing his mower, would see me. The scent of newly cut grass wafted in. I thought of last night as the shower rinsed off my sweat. Images of Reese joining me now sailed across my mind. I hugged myself, but they weren’t my hands I felt. I kissed my palm then rested it on the shower wall, the wall of Reese’s room. What was he feeling in there?

  “I'm going," I said as I walked into his room. Startled, Reese flipped over in his bed, facing me at the door. I hugged and kissed him goodbye. He hugged me with his left arm, his right arm concealed underneath the sheets.

  CHAPTER 11

  “I was a spiritual dyslexic, lost in the Sunday-school system, abandoning anything having to do with church, but now was found. Years of confusion, incomprehension, and knowing there was something wrong, vanished. I never understood until it was explained in a way in which I could understand, explained in my quiet mind when I was at rock bottom and had nowhere to look, but up.”

  —Henry T. Viceroy

  Dear Megan,

  Here I am, writing to you again after Reese’s departure. You and I will have to stop meeting like this! Ha ha ha. We had absolutely the best time. I surprised Reese with tickets to the Eddie Murphy RAW concert. It was hilarious and we laughed our asses off, a nice diversion from his imminent adieu. I spent every night with him at his dad’s place. Not with him, with him, but we’re getting there. He is so awesome, and kind, and gentlemanly, and . . . Did I mention awesome?

  My dad found out that we went to the RAW concert. He heard on the radio that it was raunchy and foul, so he made the mention that he was disappointed in me. How exactly low can I feel? It’s not like we go around talking like that or anything. The concert was just funny. I felt bad anyway.

  Did I tell you my dad isn’t working at all anymore? He had been doing some part-time fill-in stuff. No more midnight phone calls asking him to come along with the cops and tell people their kid has just been schmucked in a car accident and stuff like that. What an awful job. I don’t know how he did it. Oh, well, he’s still doing the odd funeral here and there. Sometimes he does funerals for homeless people who don’t have any family. The funeral home calls him up and asks him to come do a funeral for John Doe. He actually said he prefers doing funerals to weddings because weddings were too hectic—frantic people rushing around making sure everything was just so. The chaos agitates his frail heart. Funerals, people just want to get it over with.

  Speaking of dads, Reese’s dad isn’t doing too well, post-divorce. I saw him drunk. Reese said the drinking problem is nothing new, but he hoped I’d never find out about it. He got really upset with his father. I want to help, but I feel helpless.

  How are things with you? Anything happening on the romantic front? Write soon!

  Love, Camryn

  * * *

  Dear Camry!

  So great to hear from you! You know what? I saw E.M. in concert too and had a blast. Don’t worry about it. We know you are a nice girl. Sorry to hear your dad isn’t up to his old schedule. That must be difficult for him, forced to retire before his time. But I’m more sorry to hear about Reese’s father. I wonder how long his drinking has been a problem. Poor Reese. He must be really torn up. He’s fortunate to have you to lean on.

  I met a guy. His name is Eugene. Yeah, I know . . . but most people call him Russ. Where you get Russ out of Eugene, I don’t know, but anyway. He’s an older man of twenty-two, in his third year at Uni. He wants to go on to be a cardiologist, so that will be a lot of schooling ahead. I’ll let you know if he’s any good with my heart (or other parts.) We’ve been out to a few clubs together. So far, so good. Maybe I’ll be a doctor’s wife someday, who knows!

  School is going well, just getting the basics out of the way for now. I’d better run. Miss you!

  XO Megan

  * * *

  Dear (my darling and sexy) Reese,

  I cannot wait for you to come home at Christmas. I have a handful of letters from you in my purse. (I carry them around with me.) Can you believe you have been in the Air Force a year now? I hope it is going better for you and that they give you more challenging work than KP. I know how disappointing it was for you not to be in the pilot program. You are halfway through! Halfway through to freedom and then you can go to college and do what you really want to do. I love you so much! Have I told you that? Just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget.

  I have a tough load this semester and am very busy with school work and work work. I’ll be even more busy at my job for the Christmas season. You know how it is, everybody in to buy cards and ornaments and stuff for the season. Well, at least it makes the evenings pass quickly.

  How is your mom? Do you see or talk to her much? How about your dad? I stopped to see him once since you left. He was polite, but seemed like he wished I didn’t come. The grass was all grown up like he hadn’t bothered to mow it before winter set in. Do you hear much from Ryan? I scan the sports section each day to see if I spot anything on him even though he is kind of a jerk. He’s still your brother, so that makes him special in spite of himself. I did notice that he’d been set out a few games.

  I must go, my love. Keep safe.

  Love you with all my heart.

  Only yours, Camryn

  * * *

  Dear Camryn,

  Yes, I will be home again soon. Can’t wait! To see you that is. Dad is still a lost cause. I’m going to spend Christmas Day with my mother and then fly out to see you the next day. I have to be back on the first though, but we can ring in the New Year together.

  Mom’s fine. Ryan hasn’t quite been himself for some reason, been nicer. Imagine that.

  Work is not much better. I keep thinking of Christmas break . . . and you. You keep me going. I love you so much.

  Reese

  * * *

  Reese arrived on the 26th just as he said he would and we spent time together much the same as we had in the fall.

  “We’re seeing Bruce Hornsby this time,” I said. “It’s your Christmas present.” I flashed the tickets. “He’s playing at the Coronado. With Crowded House.”

  Reese kissed my forehead in thanks, pulled out a pen-sized box and handed it to me. “Here’s yours.”

  I tore the plain white wrapping and lifted the lid. “I love it.” I kissed Reese on the lips, a thank you kiss which lasted fifteen minutes and caused juices to flow.

  “Let me help you put it on,” he said.

  I held my wrist still while he fastened the clasp.

  “I’ll wear it to the concert . . .” I said, admiring the baby-fine gold bracelet, “and to bed, and to work, and to school . . .”

  * * *

  During the entire concert, we held hands, swooning, as “Mandolin Rain” poured down. And when we got home and settled in on the couch, something ravenous and urgent took hold, laying us down and causing us to sweat, but when I felt Reese’s hands underneath the back of my waistband, touching my skin, heading below, taking my pants down with them, I said, disappointed and apologetically, “Mmm. Not tonight,” which he respected. I could only think of two things—what if I got pregnant, and Reese’s father upstairs.

  We went our separate ways to bed, my body throbbing, unsatisfied.

  * * *

  Between New Year’s and Valentine’s we exchanged letters, continuing the conversatio
n we’d had going for years. Megan wrote too. Eugene had petered out, couldn’t handle her independence. “Why don’t they get that I can change my own flat tire?” she had said.

  On Valentine’s Day, Whiskers raged at the mailman, then licked his face as usual when I opened the door. “Here you go,” he said, handing me the bundle of letters. I eagerly flipped though, anticipating a card from Reese, only to come up empty. Maybe he sent flowers instead. I tried to console myself with the unlikely thought. By five o’clock I’d given up hope, immersed in guilty disappointment. Maybe I had upset him. Maybe he didn’t want me after all. He never said he wanted me forever.

  But at five-thirty when the doorbell rang and Whiskers raged again, my disappointment disappeared. The delivery man handed me a crystal bowl filled with a white daisy and pink rosebud arrangement. The note read:

  Happy Valentine’s Day –

  Can’t wait to see you again.

  I love you, Reese

  * * *

  Dear Reese,

  Thank you so much for the surprise flowers. I love them! I cannot wait to see you again either. I’m crossing the days off on my calendar until I come out there for spring break. Yeah!

  Hugs and lots of juicy kisses,

  Camryn

  * * *

  Reese emerged from the base gates, bag in hand, weekend off. I picked him up in my rental car before heading to Brad’s. As he grew larger, approaching the car where I stood waving, I danced a happy dance inside, my soul burst wildly, hopping around like an excited puppy. Thirty feet out, the puppy bust loose, running to jump Reese, kissing him all over.

  “It’s so good to see you,” he said, hugging me like I was his favorite pet, the only friend who understood him in the whole world. I felt so home, ready to curl up peacefully in his lap.

  Brad made no suggestions for sleeping arrangements when we arrived, so that night we covered up with a throw and fell asleep on the floor, in our clothes, in front of the living room TV—the first time we had ever slept together. Reese cuddled me teddy bear style, which had always looked the epitome of romance in the movies, but in reality made for a bad night’s sleep—his sleeping weight crushing my stuffing, coupled with the hard floor and intermittent unexpected snores. All of that was easily overlooked early Palm Sunday morning when he started kissing me, not as a teddy bear, but as a lover. Somewhere in the night, I had removed my bra, tossing it next to my shoes, which gave him easy, unencumbered access to my skin. If there had been hay, we’d have been rolling in it—first lying side by side, turning to Reese gently on top, then me madly straddling him, just like at the beach house last summer; but instead of a pounding unknown desire just out of reach, it came: an exhilarating climactic tremor, taking me by surprise and taking my breath away. I knew then what Dr. Ruth’s fuss was all about—and if it was that wonderful fully clothed . . . .