Follow You Down (Farfalla Book 1)

by Ted Persinger

  “David, I would love to go, but are you sure?” My heart was beating fast now, thinking that it might really happen.

  “I’m sure, and it’s decided. Work out your schedule, tell me when you’re able, and then I’ll talk to the magazine’s travel agent and get our tickets.”

  “If you insist,” I smiled.

  “I do…I do!”

  17

  My father helped me pack, and he made sure I took sweaters. “It’s always cold in that damned country,” he said. “Felt like winter every day.” I felt him hovering as I packed. I knew he had things he wanted to tell me, but couldn’t just say it. He was like a teenager at his first dance, standing there awkwardly, trying to find the words.

  When I finished packing, he carried my bags down the stairs.

  I stood near the door waiting for David to pull up.

  “What’s wrong, Daddy?” I asked.

  “Honey, don’t take anything they say personally, okay?” He was looking away from me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, they don’t know you…don’t be surprised if they don’t take a shine to you right away. They’re nice people; it’s just that they view the world differently than us.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, it’s just different is all.” I heard his Georgia twang. “They never thought much of me, but I couldn’t hold it against them. Those were different days, you know.”

  I heard David pull up. “Okay, Daddy, I gotta go.”

  “I’ll carry your bags out.”

  The flight over seemed unbelievably long. I tried to sleep, but just couldn’t get more than a few minutes of shut-eye. David slept comfortably most of the trip, while I was alone with my thoughts. His snores aggravated me, and reminded me that I was still awake. I tried to read, but couldn’t concentrate.

  I had always wanted to see the old country with my mother. See where she was born. Have her show me the landmarks of her youth. Where she had played. Where she had first kissed a boy. I wanted to experience her life with her. Instead, I was disconnected from her youth almost completely, and my memories of her were already a bit distant. I would never hear her tell me, “This was my church growing up,” or “I was born at this hospital.” It was a void in my life I knew I would never fill. Yet here I was on a plane, flying to the land of her birth. My mind was a maelstrom.

  As I considered images of her, and the life I would never know, I began to cry. I cried softly so as not to wake David. But the tears were deep ones. I cried for the loss of my mother. I cried for the loss of our time together. I cried for the absence in my life, and the emptiness in my future. She would never cry at my wedding. She would never kiss her grandchildren, or read them a bedtime story. I felt the hole in my life as a deep wound that would never heal.

  So on this never-ending flight, I poured my heart out on paper. I wrote the poem that was to earn me the most recognition out of my collected works. It began:

  A mother’s tears fall to parched, barren land

  A man can never hope to understand

  What in the depths of her heart she sees and knows

  Summer sunshine, winter snows

  When we arrived, I was spent. I had written the first drafts of two poems, but hadn’t slept and was physically sore from sitting. When we entered the room of our hotel, I lay down for what I thought would be a short nap, but instead I slept through the whole night. While I slept, David sneaked out quietly and took the train to St. Paul’s and took some lovely images. We would add those images to his apartment walls, and several were published in multiple magazines. He was truly an artist, and I still regret not being present when he took those pictures.

  We hopped the morning train to Birmingham. I had the address of relatives I wanted to meet, starting with her sister Emily. But what I really wanted was to feel my mother and her life when she met my father. I hoped I would find a piece of her there, I guess. I had dreamed of cheery British cottage homes and loving hugs from cousins and aunties. I thought we’d sip tea while I regaled them with stories of America.

  I wasn’t prepared for the gloom of Birmingham. It was a factory town at this time, and smokestacks sent black clouds billowing skyward. The town consisted of brick factories and small, lower-middle class row homes surrounding them. Unkempt children roamed the streets. It was miserably windy and cold, even in summer.

  David and I stayed at a rundown hotel near the center of town. After seeing the city on our first day, we drove to my mother’s oldest sister’s house the next morning. It was hard to find…one row house in a forest of row homes.

  Aunt Emily was a dowager, living alone after the death of her husband a decade before. She was several years older than my mother. Her little home smelled of mothballs and ammonia. She was squat and a bit humped, but her face and eyes were definitely my mother’s. When she met us at the door, I explained to her who I was.

  “You’re Veronica’s daughter then?” Her accent was very thick. Her eyes flicked up to mine, over me, and then to David behind me.

  “Yes, Aunt Emily. I flew all the way here to meet you. I had always wanted to come back to meet Mom’s family. Sorry I didn’t call first…it’s just…”

  “She died some time ago…why are you visiting now? I wish you would’ve called, you see...”

  “I wanted to, but I thought it would be better to meet in person.” I flushed.

  “You know, it’s not that I’m not happy to meet you; it’s just that Veronica and I weren’t very close.”

  “Oh, she never mentioned that.”

  “She wouldn’t have, I’m sure. I never approved of yer father. I didn’t approve of English ladies marrying the darkie Yanks that were running around here…mixing our blood like that…making little half-darkies…” and her pale eyes shot up at me.

  “Oh…” I was slapped by her words, and couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “You’re a pretty gal and all, but us Whartons are pure Anglo-Saxon, goin’ back a thousand years or more. I never understood why she’d want to bed that beastly father of yours.”

  David began to tug on my arm, but I was rigid now. “My father isn’t beastly, Aunt Emily. He’s a very nice man. He took very good care of her…”

  “During the war, there was lots of them blackies running about. Many local girls had a fling with them…you know, because of their size and they had money from Roosevelt. But they were always careful not to get pregnant…no good girl could raise a darkie child like that…”

  David interjected, “Rachel, we need to go…”

  “Aunt Emily, I can’t believe you’re not happy to see me…”

  “Don’t take it personal, love…I just hadn’t heard from yer mother in twenty years and then her half-breed daughter shows up on me doorstep…”

  The tears were burning out of my eyes. I couldn’t register these words from my own flesh and blood. I had flown all this way for this?

  “Aunt Emily, it was nice to meet you,” David said, loudly, this time insistently pulling my arm. “Rachel, we gotta go right now.”

  With one final look at my mother’s sister, I turned and walked back to the car. The door shut behind me. I never saw my mother’s family again.

  In the car, I started sobbing openly. David drove with one hand on my shoulder. He offered comforting words, but to little effect.

  “Don’t you dare let them judge you, Rachel. You see now why your mother left and never came back. Don’t let ignorance define you.”

  But I just sobbed. I had always dreamed of meeting my British family. I had grown up without them. Now I did indeed know why she had left. I now knew why she didn’t speak of them. They had left because of the ignorance and hatred of a small community in a poor neighborhood in a factory town. I was glad to be rid of it…but the sting was deep. I was a mess even as we checked out of the hotel, turned in our car, and took the train back to London.

  To cheer me up, David booked flights to Paris. Instead of spending a few day
s feeling sad and dejected over my mother’s ignorant family, we flew to the City of Light and spent three nights just off the Champs-Élysées. We shopped, brunched, and strolled the beautiful streets of Paris. The pain of Birmingham and the beauty of Paris put more words in my mind, and poetry flowed from my soul. Darkness. Light. Contrasts and colors, shade and morning sun. Out of my heart poured words I didn’t know I could write. Pain is definitely the best teacher, I suppose. I was producing some of my best work. David knew when I was “in the zone” and would leave me to my words and verses. I felt so fortunate to have someone who understood my need to create and my need for solitude when I worked.

  What most impressed me during our time in Paris was that David never once talked about or even mentioned the life. He was attentive, and treated me beautifully. We slept in, ate amazing food, drank too much wine, shopped, and strolled through this beautiful city. We saw every detail. The Louvre took my breath away; I wanted to create art like the masters whose work adorned those walls and halls. Paris was and is an inspiring city, and several of my best poems through the years owe themselves to her. The seeds that city planted in my heart still produce flowers to this day.

  I fell in love with David over and over again on this trip, and I felt I wanted to give him more of myself, and more of what he wanted. I wanted to give him the joy he gave to me. He was such a noble person: he stood by me; he protected me—physically, mentally, and emotionally. His strength made me stronger. He was a great stone foundation, and I wanted to build upon it: a life with him, a future with him. His foundation would hold up much, I knew.

  On the flight home, I told David, “I’m ready to take the next step with you, David.”

  “Next step?”

  “You know…the things you need.” I used code, as I didn’t want anybody nearby to hear.

  “Oh, okay then. Great! So what do you think you’re ready for?” His dark eyes looked into mine as I considered.

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind something with that football player we saw at the club…” I spoke in a low voice.

  “Mark?”

  “Yeah. Him and his lovely wife. Do you think you’d be able to set something up with them? Or should we just try our luck at the club?”

  “Well, I can call them when we get back.”

  “You have their number?”

  “Yeah.”

  I wasn’t really surprised. “Okay, that would be great.”

  He was still looking at me, and his dark eyes regarded me. “You sure you’re okay with moving forward?”

  “I am; are you?”

  “I am always ready.”

  “Okay. I can’t make too many promises…this is all still so new to me…but I promise you I’ll try.”

  “That’s all I can ask.”

  “I love you, David,” I said and we kissed.

  Later, he fell asleep again, leaving me to my thoughts. No poetry came out of me this time. I looked out at the white clouds and blue water.

  18

  I have to admit my heart was racing, and when the doorbell rang, it fluttered. My hands were visibly shaking, palms clammy. David answered the door, and in walked Keiko, followed by Mark. David wasn’t a small man, standing around six feet tall. But Mark towered over him, and was immensely broad in the shoulders. He was physically intimidating. Keiko was dressed in a black miniskirt and beautiful silver top. She wore a demure smile and her eyes sparkled. Mark wore jeans and a dress shirt with the sleeves partly rolled up. Summer was here, and the humidity was making everybody dress lightly.

  “Mark and Keiko, you remember Rachel, right?” David asked as he introduced us. Keiko gave me the “girl hug” and kiss on the cheek. Mark took my hand and also kissed me on the cheek. He was strong and manly, and as a woman I had to say I was again struck by his physical presence. His light copper hair and light eyes were in stark contrast to David’s dark jagged features. They were a study in contrasts, those two. “Please, everybody, sit down…I’ll bring the wine,” David said, as he led us into the living room.

  We sat, and David began working on the cork. I was dumbly smiling at this beautiful couple. She sat close to her husband, and his large arm was around her shoulders. Keiko had very majestic features…long, straight hair, slender in the waist, and very feminine curves. To me she looked like a princess. I initially tried not to consider that David was probably going to have sex with her tonight, yet I couldn’t help but think about it. I was already feeling the sting of jealousy. Next to her petite body and features, I felt giant and gangly. Yet when I looked at Mark, he was looking at me and smiling. His look made me blush. His size and physical power were intriguing to me. While David was a hawk, Mark was a lion.

  David returned with the wine. “Well, you’re all so quiet,” he said.

  “We were waiting for the wine,” Mark responded. His voice was very deep and resonated through the small apartment.

  “Well, here we are then.” David poured out four tall glasses, which nearly finished this first bottle. He had a nervous excitement, and his smile was broad. He held up his glass, “To old and new friends.” We clinked glasses and drank. I was so keyed up I nearly finished my glass in the first swallow. I put the glass on the coffee table, as I was afraid everybody would see my hands shaking.

  “David, I absolutely love your photos on your walls. Rachel, have you seen the pictures from Buenos Aires?” Keiko’s voice was very soft, and she was smiling with her eyes.

  “Which ones are from Buenos Aires?” I had spent the night several times, but I hadn’t really devoted a lot of time to admiring his photos. I was surprised that Keiko would know them better than I did.

  “Over here, let me show you.” We stood up. She took my hand, and led me over to the far wall, which was on the opposite side of the room. Her hand was soft and cool. When we reached the wall, she turned and regarded me. “Are you okay, honey?” She was looking up at me with caring in her eyes.

  “Yeah, sorry…I’m so nervous.”

  “You’ve never done this before, have you?” She turned and pretended to be pointing out a picture to me. She kept a hushed tone. I appreciated her candor and her quiet voice.

  “No, nothing like this.”

  “Oh dear. You’re not being forced to do this, are you? Sometimes people feel trapped into it…”

  “No, I want to…it’s just that I’ve never done it before.” She was pointing to another picture.

  “Well, if you don’t want to do anything, just give me the word. We girls have to stick together. If you feel awkward or want to stop, tell me and I’ll put the brakes on, okay?”

  “Thanks, Keiko. That does make me feel better.”

  “We could always start with watching or a ‘soft swap’ if that would make it easier for you.”

  “What’s a soft swap?”

  “David hasn’t told you much, has he? Well, a soft swap is when you play with the other person but don’t have sex. Some kissing, stroking…whatever people feel comfortable with. If this is your first time, you could set the parameters. Or we can just not do anything. It’s hard the first time…we’ve all been there. Nobody is born doing this. It takes some practice to work through it.”

  “Maybe if we started really slowly that would help me. I think just thinking so much about it is making me more nervous.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean….but that’s also part of the fun…the anticipation…”

  “How long have you and Mark done this?”

  “We met at a swinger’s party. We’ve always done it. For me, I have about seven years in the life…”

  “You don’t get jealous?”

  “Sometimes. It’s important to discuss boundaries and address jealousy in an honest way.”

  “What are you girls doing over there?” David shouted from across the room.

  “Oh David, girls need to talk! That’s what we do! Leave us alone!” Keiko playfully scolded. I looked back and saw David and Mark talking softly and regarding us. “Okay, let�
�s go back, Rachel. I’ll make sure we take it slow, okay? Remember: tell me if you feel uncomfortable about anything, okay? I don’t have a problem shutting these boys down at any time.”

  “Okay. Thank you.” She took my hand and led me back to the boys. “Okay, boys, Rachel and I have talked and we’re going to take things very slowly tonight.”

  “Yeah, we’ve already talked about that a bit, Keiko,” David began to protest.

  “David, no offense, but men don’t understand a woman’s needs. I’m going to make sure we think about Rachel and make sure nothing goes where she’s not ready to go, okay?”

  David flushed a little, but for me, Keiko’s interest in my feelings was immensely strengthening. I felt more empowered, and I instantly felt a bond with her. How sweet of her, after all, to put my feelings first. I began to relax a bit. The control I was feeling slip away suddenly returned, and I felt more confident right away. I mean, I was still very nervous, but I did feel my heart rate slow some.

  And I relaxed even more when David opened another bottle of wine. Soon we were talking and laughing. David loved Rod Stewart, and put on his latest album. The music loosened us up more, and we found ourselves talking.

  We talked about art, movies, music. Keiko was very well educated in the arts, and she knew about aspects of culture I never knew existed. We shared our backgrounds, if superficially. Keiko shared her upbringing, being born in northern Japan and emigrating to the US as a small girl. She understood, as did I, that being in two societies was difficult. Mark discussed his Midwest upbringing, and then being drafted by the Giants and moving to the Big Apple. David told a few stories from his trip to Tanzania.

  As the wine flowed, our mood lightened, and we began to giggle. Mark told some humorous stories from his college days, and the pranks athletes played on each other. I couldn’t stop tittering. His deep, resonating voice was immensely attractive, and his dry sense of humor turned me on. I still love a man who can make me laugh.

  David put on some Earth, Wind, and Fire, and soon we were moving around the room. Laughing. Eating snacks. Talking about silly things. Laughing at nothing. Admiring David’s photos and library.