“How are things with Kara?” Gramma asked me, then, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation, and we were two perfectly normal people living a perfectly normal life. It was untrue. It was so untrue.
“They're good,” I told her after a long sigh.
“That’s good, honey.”
More static. More silence. She seemed…distracted.
“Gramma...” I began again, trying to figure out what to say to her. I breathed in and out and prepared to tell her everything. I would tell her I’d seen wolves. That I can’t stop dreaming about them. I would tell her…
But then I heard a man’s voice in the background. It was far away and distant, indiscernible; a low, gruff voice. She must have left her stories on the television again. Gramma cleared her throat and said, very firmly: “Megan, I have to go. It's been nice talking to you, dear.” And then there was silence on the other end of the phone, followed briskly by the dial tone.
I stared at my own receiver for a moment, open-mouthed. And then I started--there had been a knock at the door.
Kara, the dashing woman who made my heart beat faster, breath coming quickly, was standing at the door, a bundle of carnations in her hand, a brightly hued pinwheel of colors that brightened the kitchen the moment she'd entered, but I hardly noticed, for she caught me up in her arms, and she was kissing me, warm and sweet and scented of peppermint.
“Hello,” came her soft murmur, then, as we broke away. I felt breathless, but I still managed to take the carnations from her, still managed to find a vase to put them in, buried in the back of my glasses cabinet. I splashed water on myself as I filled it at the sink, as she leaned her hips against me from behind.
“What sort of movie would you like to see?” Kara murmured into my ear.
“Whatever you'd like,” I breathed out as her lips found my neck.
The filled vase languished on the edge of the counter as her hot mouth breathed a trail up to my ear, and I shuddered beneath her. The colors in front of me, in the vase, velvet soft petals brushing against one another were so lovely, so cheerful, in this dark, deep season. I stared at them a moment, absently running a finger along the counter’s edge as Kara sighed behind me. She took my hand, then, took it and kissed it, curling those fingers in towards palms, bringing me close.
“Megan...” she said, and there was a little uncertainty to that word. “How are you?” she asked me, then, turning me gently so that her hips pressed against mine, so that her body was against mine, and she was hold me close, tight.
“I’ve just…been having bad dreams,” I whispered, breathed out. I smiled, then, as she gazed into my face with wide eyes, her brow furrowed. “I’m all right,” I told her, which wasn’t the complete truth, but what else could I tell her?
“I want you to be all right, honey,” she whispered back, touching my nose with her lips. “You’re okay,” she told me, her long, warm fingers curling around my waist, holding me in place, holding me.
We drove in silence to the movie theater. I drove, holding her hand in my lap almost absent-mindedly. Kara sprawled in the passenger side, watching the world change outside the window. We arrived a little bit before the movie, paid our ticket prices and bought a large tub of popcorn to place between us. We split everything in silence, as if we'd been doing it all our lives. Then, when we were in the darkened theater, when I realized that I didn't even know what movie we were seeing...when we were all alone (in the back row, with the best view), she leaned across the arm rest between us, and she kissed me.
It was a desperate sort of a kiss. A “come back to me” sort of kiss that I understood without really thinking about it. She kissed me, and the popcorn was crushed between us, and the movie credits were rolling--or perhaps it was the trailers, I couldn't really tell. I was hyperaware of the scent of old soft drinks embedded in the cushions, and I heard music from the screen, and she pressed her fingers around my neck, pulling me forward.
After we’d broken apart, as she searched my eyes in the dark, her mouth curled up a little at the corners. She seemed to shine. And then she placed my lips against mine. And she whispered: “I love you.”
It settled between us like snowflakes, softly falling, resting between us. I stared at her, breath coming fast, and the lights in the theater dimmed, and then the credits were rolling, and we were still the only ones in the theater, alone—together—in the dark.
“What did you say?” I whispered to her, eyes wide. I watched her shrug in the black, place her gaze on the screen, as if she was paying attention.
But she wasn’t.
“I said that I love you,” she whispered back, after a moment, curling her fingers around mine in my lap. When I had turned my own eyes to the screen. When I thought that was the end of that.
I turned back to her, heart beating too quickly, breathless. “Do you mean that?” My chest was tight--it was all I could think about, as names paraded across the scenes of autumn and winter, and the music wound its way about our bodies, barely listened to. She nodded, once, twice, without taking her eyes from the screen.
She loves me. The title came up. She loves me. A man's face came into view. She loves me. Feet were running on forest paths. She loves me. There was an old barn.
In the darkness, she took my hand, gently cradling it in her own palm, pooling fingers together, so that they twined and merged, and I couldn’t tell, in that dark, which fingers were hers, and which were mine.
It was an art film, which explained the lack of people in seats. As the movie progressed, I realized how lost I was in the plot—I hadn’t paid enough attention in the beginning to even understand who the lead was. I’d stared at the flickering colors and shapes on the screen, and hadn’t translated them to images in my mind. My mind was full of...other things.
Gradually, as it went on, I was more aware of Kara, sitting to my left, her warmth pulling me in. The half-eaten bucket of popcorn was removed from my lap, and we were holding hands, watching a movie. How simple, really, I thought, continuing to stare at the screen.
The simplest and most wonderful part of my life had just unfurled:
She loves me.
I laid my head down on her shoulder, leaning, by degrees, until it rested there. She smelled of wood smoke and foreign spices, and she moved easily so that I was the most comfortable. She moved with me, and I was pillowed, gently, upon her shoulder. As if I had always been there. Comfortable, comforted, at home.
In the dark, there was only us...us and the movie chairs, and the movie, looping, for all I knew, before us, spinning stories that I didn’t listen to. Instead, I was listening to deeper stories--richer stories--all transcribed in the beat of her heart.
I could hear it here, even though I was pillowed on her shoulder, I heard it in her veins...perhaps it was my own. Did it matter? I shut out everything but the sound and sensation, and she tightened her grip on my fingers, but gently. I could hardly feel her squeeze. But it was there, and--just the same--I squeezed back. She sighed. It sounded happy.
I had never experienced these small moments, these seemingly insignificant times in a relationship when it is you, and it is her, and it is what lies between you. Nothing more. I was adding them together, spinning them like pearls on thread, so that I could keep the precious memories for later. I tried not to think about the future, there in the dark, with my fingers squeezed and my head pillowed, and my heart racing. I tried to think about this present moment, this clear moment, when there was us and what was between us. But I was human, and I wondered how long it would last. I couldn’t help it.
She had said she loved me. But Ledo had said “we go as the wind goes.” When would the wind go? And would Kara go with it?
She had said she loved me.
Surely, surely that would be enough...
The credits were rolling again, but this time, it was for the ending. Sad, soft strains of violin music surrounded us as we both stood, I clutching the popcorn bucket, Kara stretching, long and luxurious. She
bent her back and grinned, yawning. “That was pretty good! Did you like it?”
“Yes,” I whispered, staring at her, drawn to her.
I wasn’t talking about the movie.
I stood on my tiptoes, setting the popcorn bucket on the bucket seats. I slipped to the side, a little popcorn spilling out onto the floor as I wrapped my arms around her neck.
“I love you, too,” I whispered. The truest thing I knew.
When we came home that night, I whispered those same words to her again, saying them in the dark like a charm. We were learning things, we were learning each other, and my heart sang to say them. There was something different, between us. Something changed.
---
I was out of bread. Not that this was any sort of major surprise since it was one of my favorite things in the known universe, but I still sighed as I rummaged on the top of the fridge and found only empty bags. It’s difficult to have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without a vehicle to hold the peanut butter and jelly, so I sighed, put on my parka and walked down to the corner store.
Last night…last night had been magic. And I didn’t have a single dream.
Everything seemed to be a cause for celebration.
Entering the corner store, the bell dinging overhead, I made a beeline for the tiny baking section they had. I grabbed a box of instant cake mix, cream cheese icing and picked up a loaf of white bread from the end cap. I wandered through the rest of the aisles, wasting time, until I came to the line of coolers. I needed milk, too. I opened the door and took a half-gallon of two percent off the shelf.
In the reflection of the glass was a wolf.
I stood there for a long moment. I almost didn’t react. I stood and I stared and I knew it must be a dream, or it couldn’t possibly be real. A delusion. I turned very slowly, my heart thundering in spite of myself and saw a tail and legs disappear around the corner. There had been a wolf there.
Not possible. Completely not possible.
“Megan!” Kara came around the corner, basket in her own hands. There was nothing inside of it. A quick smile blossomed on her face, and I put the milk down, feeling stupid.
“Hi,” I said, voice small.
“What are you getting?” she asked, curious, looking over my shoulder. “You’re making a cake?”
“Yeah…for you,” I said, feeling the blood begin to calm down in my body, feeling the rush of pulse subside. It had been a teeny, tiny delusion. Nothing more.
Nothing more, I thought, as Kara put an arm around me and steered me toward the cash register.
I thought I saw wet paw prints on the floor.
Chapter 8
I turned on the library coffee maker with a flick of my thumb, listening to the comforting whirr of power as the hot water began to drip onto the grounds. I watched the colored water drip out into the pot. Drip, drip, drip.
I had such a headache.
“Good morning, Megan.”
I turned to nod to Sally, stepped out of her way as she moved past me in the tight space. Since I’d taken the time off, since I’d started to see Kara in earnest, Sally had completely stopped approaching me in any other way but purely business. It was a welcome change, and I was beginning to warm toward my boss.
“How are things?” she asked, leaning against the counter with a pin-stripe clad hip as she watched the coffee drip out, too. It was much too slow for the both of us.
“Wonderful,” I told her, realizing I was blushing a little as I ran my thumb over the edge of the counter.
“You look really…content,” she said, her mouth turning up the corners as she watched me. “I wanted you to know I’m really happy for you.”
I glanced up at her in surprise. “You are?” I asked her, voice small.
“You deserve to be happy,” she told me firmly, softly, as she grinned a little.
I was so surprised, so delighted, that I did something I might normally not have done to Sally.
I gave her a big, tight hug.
“Megan.”
The male voice was so very familiar. I turned as I straightened, as Sally remained, leaning against the counter. Clyde stood in the entryway to the library, across from the little alcove that held our library coffee pot. His dirty baseball cap was in his hands, twisting it. His face was contorted in anger, but as I looked at him, it softened.
“Megan,” he repeated, and coughed a little. “I apologize--am I interrupting something?”
“Hi, Clyde—and no—this is my boss, Sally,” I told him, brows up. “What brings you down the mountain?”
“Supplies,” he muttered. Then: “I came to see where you work. Your gramma was saying nice things about it.”
“It's a nice libary.” I moved past Sally and took my station behind the front desk. “Do you want me to give you a tour? You could tell Gramma about it.”
“I don't want to be imposing.” He shook his head. He still looked angry, which was very strange. I’d never seen Clyde angry—I didn’t even know he could get angry. “I just wanted to see you. You’re looking real good. Happy.”
I blinked and stared at him, at his giant hands, crushing the cap, at his face, contorted and changing. I watched him swallow, watched him turn. “Stay well, Megan. Take care of yourself.”
He went out, and through the fogged window, I saw him get into his tow truck, start the engine, drive away. Sally came up behind me, coughing a bit. She had an unlit cigarette in her hand, lighter in the other. “Who was that?”
“A family friend,” my skin crawled.
---
That night, Kara had invited me back to her and her family’s home in the abandoned factory. There was to be a party of sorts—it was Nedra’s birthday, though no one would tell me how old she was. The older woman winked at me when we finally came through the entrance after all the steps and the paths that led us to that place. Kara brought me there, then darted away for a long moment to speak with her brother, Ledo.
She left me with Nedra.
“You're the light of her world, you know,” she muttered after a moment. We both leaned against the far wall as I watched the fires being built up, as I watched Ledo and Kara’s dark heads bent together in conversation. I turned to the woman in surprise, but her brows were up, and she was shaking her head. “Kara can’t eat or sleep or walk without thinking of you or how it will affect you.”
There was warmth in her words, a certain kindness. I turned to her, eyes wide, but then she leaned forward a little, her voice low.
“Megan, much will change very soon,” she said quietly, quickly. I had to lean forward, straining, to hear her. Her eyes burned. “Kara…Kara loves you and protects you more than you could ever know, more than I could ever tell you.” She breathed out, searching my eyes. “You must stop concentrating so hard on what you fear, and think more on what you love. You have all the answers you need,” she gazed toward the assembled people, the fire, Kara talking with a young man with a broad smile on her face.
As she walked away, I thought on what she'd said…it had touched me in such a strange way. I watched shadows flicker along the wall, and I listened to the distant murmuring of many voices. When the fiddle finally began playing again, I rose and walked stiffly toward the firelight.
Had there been this many people when I came before? I didn't remember much from that night, but I seemed to recall very few, not a great crowd. A multitude. But a multitude stood now, in a rough circle. At the center was Kara and Ledo. They stood back to back, Ledo cradled his violin to his chin, and Kara's lips brushed against a flute. Together, they began to make a music that was wild and fierce, and entirely captivating. I wrapped my arms about myself to shield myself from the cold, and stepped closer to the circle.
The people began to dance. It was slow at first, it didn’t startle me, but their bodies began to move. From statues to flickers, they changed, becoming firelight themselves. They whirled faster and faster, becoming a blur of bright colors and muted shapes. I watched them move, step
ped closer and closer to the whirling circle.
It stopped. The cobweb of light and energy silenced as Kara stepped forward and put her arm about my shoulders, bringing me close, kissing me with a mouth that tasted of metal and myrrh. I felt the energy within her, still spinning, still dancing. I kissed back.
I took her hand, took the slim fingers that had moved over the flute, coaxing rhythm and harmony from them, and placed them on my skin, over my neck, sliding down my shoulder, over my heart. I pressed it there, pressed it until I was absolutely certain that this was physical, this was real. This was happening.
“It was beautiful,” I said with fierceness, then, gazing up into her face. “It was wonderful,” I reiterated. The people were breaking apart, were talking and laughing together.
“We’re a little…wild…” said Kara, her head to the side as she smiled, as she gazed into my eyes.
“You forget where I come from,” I whispered, then. “I was born in the woods, I will die in the woods...I’m part wild.”
Her eyes grew dark for half a heartbeat, as she shook her head. “I was born in the woods, I will die in the woods...” replied Kara, then, sadly. “But I’m all wild.”
It made no sense to me, but in some small place deep down, it did. I drew her close, and kissed her again, a long, slow kiss that made my hands grasp her hair, made her hands go about my body. The flute dropped to the ground, made a metallic clank against the boards.
This was a private place, a bed of cloth and rags behind propped up boards. Kara’s bed. Kara touched me there with a quiet reverence. I was part of her wild world, as I placed my own fingers upon her skin, learning patterns, writing language with kisses and tracings of tongue and words I murmured into her secret places as she laid back upon the rags and whispered my name. Somewhere, a violin was playing; somewhere, a circle was dancing.
We were one with it.
---
No dreams.
Big, Bad Wolf Page 10