Bill and Jesse

The Precipice III

2010-08-06T15:28:00.000-07:00

Written by Mel

This is in answer to The Tearoom Challenge.

The phone call I had been dreading came last night. Bill wasn’t coming home tomorrow as he’d planned. The magistrate had ordered a review of some evidence, so the appeal had been delayed and he had no choice but to stay in Winnipeg for another day or two. I knew he was sorry; there was no doubting the sincerity in his voice, but that didn’t change the fact that he wouldn’t be here. It didn’t change the fact that I was going to spend my thirtieth birthday alone.

He promised a trip to Quebec City when he got home, talked endlessly about the Le Château Frontenac and their wonderful amenities. He talked about long walks through the old city and dining in Le Champlain restaurant. It would be beautiful but it would not be on my birthday.

He spoke of love and tenderness and of taking care of myself while he was gone. He teased of discipline to be meted out if I didn’t; though the teasing held enough of an edge to it that I knew he would follow through with the threats if I failed to do what I should. He made me take the phone to bed with me and made sweet love to me with his voice before he said goodnight.

He is the best thing that ever happened to me, Bill is my world. But still I woke up alone on my thirtieth birthday. I had the day off work; it’s one of the perks of our company that every employee gets a day off for their birthday. I lay alone in our bed until the clock struck nine finally dragging myself up to answer the call of nature.

I followed my morning routine, cleaning up after myself as Bill always insisted. He’s a crazy clean freak, but he’s my crazy clean freak and I wanted him here. I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge and stared inside before slamming it closed it again having found nothing that appealed to me. I was alone for my birthday.

Bill’s parent’s called to wish me a happy birthday, we chatted for some time. When they heard that Bill wouldn’t be home today they wanted to come and take me out to dinner. I lied and told them I was meeting friends. Bill wouldn’t approve of the lie or of me spending the day alone, but I just didn’t feel up to putting on a smile and spending time with his folks. They’re wonderful people but I was in the mood for a pity party, not a birthday party.

I wandered barefoot out onto the back deck. Our property has a steep drop off at the back that slopes down to the property line at the top of a ravine. So the deck off the living room has a ten foot drop. We have a spectacular view of the heavily wooded valley beyond. I fell in love with this place the minute I saw the deck and view, it reminded me of the place Bill and I met. I think I frustrated the life out of my poor husband when I refused to look at any other house after seeing this one.

Bill couldn’t understand why I wanted a place that reminded me of a day that I was so depressed I was thinking of jumping off a cliff. But to me it wasn’t a reminder of that but a reminder of what I was looking at when he came along and changed my life.

I stood leaning on the railing staring at the valley below, trying to pull up the good feelings that this view always gave me and not succeeding very well. I’d been left alone too many times in my life to fully trust that it wouldn’t happen again. So even though my head told me that Bill would be home in a day or two, my heart just wasn’t listening. I was alone on my thirtieth birthday.

I don’t know how long I stood there staring but I was rudely yanked back from my sad reflections by the repeated ringing of the doorbell. Sighing in frustration I walked back through the house and opened the door to find a deliveryman holding a long narrow white box tied with a lavender bow.

“Delivery for Mr. J. McPherson.”

I signed for the box and brought it inside. I carefully opened it and there tucked amongst green tissue was a single perfect lavender rose, and a note on cream coloured stationary. It was Bill’s hand writing, he must have had it couriered to the florist from his hotel in Winnipeg. I just sat down on the hall floor holding the rose as I read the note.

The words immediately brought forth the music, and I could clearly hear Bill’s voice as if he were singing it to me.

You are not alone
For I am here with you
Though you're far away
I am here to stay
For you are not alone
For I am here with you
Though we're far apart
You're always in my heart

For you are not alone
For I am here with you
Though you're far away
I am here to stay

Happy Birthday my Darling I love you now and forever

Love, B.

I was not alone at all and my Bill was with me. I carried the rose outside and stood holding it as I look over the valley below. That evening I met Bill’s parents and brother for dinner and had a wonderful time. I missed Bill’s physical presence but knew he was with me. I was filled with love on my birthday.

The End

The Precipice II

2009-05-01T19:15:00.000-07:00

Written By: Mel

I hadn’t been back here since the day I met him, though little has changed in almost two years. You can still see over the valley, still see the town of Dundas where I used to live before we married and moved to Ottawa. The signs telling hikers that this trail is maintained through the efforts of the Bruce Trail Conservancy Volunteers Association are still in place. Even the little hut where he’d taken me to warm up is still here.

The only thing missing is my Bill. According to the Canadian consulate in Yemen, he is missing and presumed dead. So here I stand where he found me nearly two years ago, thinking the same thoughts I did then. No, that isn’t really true. This time my thoughts are much darker, my heart completely broken, my soul devoid of life.

I think back over the last two years, years that have been filled with a joy I never thought possible. We fell in love so quickly, life seemed to so good, too good I suppose, now that it’s over. The love and the happiness, my new career, our beautiful home, good friends, everything I could have ever hoped for. Bill and I had it all and now it’s gone.

It was to be a short trip as far as excursions to the Middle East go. Bill was to attend a conference on human rights and equality, to help spread the word of acceptance and tolerance in a very intolerant part of the world. But it had all gone wrong when the airport in Sanaa, the capital of Yemen, was bombed by terrorists. The plane Bill was on had landed at the airport less than an hour before the bomb went off. We were told that only three of the passengers from his flight had survived. Though they had not yet identified a body, all the survivors were identified and Bill was not amongst them.

Ten days passed with no further findings; it was time to accept that he was gone, or so everyone kept saying. His family wanted to hold a memorial service but I had been fighting them on it. I didn’t want to concede that I’d lost him, because once I did, it meant I’d lost my reason for living.

Five more days went by before I succumbed to the pressure and allowed the memorial service to proceed. I sat numbly through it, listening to friends and family eulogize the man I loved. Their words were hollow and meaningless; I accepted their condolences, their hugs and offers of support and felt nothing. I listened to my boss tell me to take all the time I needed before returning to work. And when it was over and they were all gone, I sat in that empty house and waited for him to come home.

I prepared the food he liked; it sat untouched. I watered his plants, paid his credit card bills, and took his suits to the cleaners. But still he did not return to me.

Then yesterday I answered a phone call from Bill's dentist with a reminder for his appointment later in the week. That’s when it struck me; that was the moment I knew he was gone. I politely informed the receptionist that he would not be able to make the appointment as he was most unfortunately dead. The poor woman tried to offer her apologies but I just hung up the phone and fell to my knees and began to cry. I have no idea how long I sat on the floor crying but when I was finally spent; I put on my coat, got into the car and drove. Not even thinking of where I was headed until I was almost there. I made the six-hour trip back to Dundas, back to where we began, stopping only for gas and the use of a washroom. I parked in the small lot at the base of the trail and hiked up just as I had done two years earlier.

Only this time Bill would not be here to save me, he would not be here to give me a reason to live. He would not appear in his oversized green parka to tell me, that throwing myself off would cause them to mess up the old growth conifers below when they had to get in to scrape up my remains off the floor of the valley below. He wouldn’t be here to ask me what my mother would think of me standing here like this.

He wouldn’t take me to the small first-aid station and warm me up and then guide me back down the trail. He wouldn’t be here to get me some emergency funds and help me settle my mother’s estate; he wouldn’t even be here to settle his own estate. He wouldn’t come back around to visit once it was all settled in the pretence to see how I was doing, when in fact he was just interested in me. He wouldn’t be here to make me laugh or show me the beautiful things in life or tell me he found me to be one of them.

He wouldn’t be here to give me his love and his guiding hand, even his discipline that was so often meted out with that hand laying into my backside. He wouldn’t be here to tell me that I was strong and capable and smart and so much better than I would ever admit to myself. He wouldn’t be here to ask me how I dare devalue the one he loved so much. As he had done not so long ago when I cursed myself for messing up design I’d working on.

As I looked out over the valley, I began to realize that he didn’t have to be here to do those things because he had done them already. I began to feel the warmth of the mark he had left on my soul. I soon realized I could not taint his memory by allowing all he had taught me, all he had shown me, to be thrown over this precipice. Bill was here with me in my heart and he would guide me back down the trail and help me live because he believed in me and I knew I must do all I could to honour that belief and all it stood for.

The drive home was slow. I stopped to find a motel to rest for the night, knowing that it was what Bill would have expected of me. He’d warned me many times about the dangers of driving when I was too tired.

I arrived back at our home in Ottawa mid-afternoon, still grieving my loss but knowing that I could and would go on. I would do it for Bill. I would do it for me because he taught me that I was worth loving. I let myself in through the side door that led to the kitchen and tossed my keys onto the table as I walked passed.

The sound of movement from the living room startled me, but not nearly as much as the voice and then the face that appeared in the doorway.

“Thank God! I’ve been worried sick, how many times have I told you to take your cell phone with you?”

Bill pulled me into his arms and held me with brute strength, to keep me from toppling to the floor. The warmth of his body against mine, the smell of his cologne, the tenderness of his kiss was real; he was real. I began to sob incoherently against him. I couldn’t make proper sentences but kept on and on about his being dead and how and where had he been and why hadn’t he called?

It took ages for him to tell his tale as I kept stopping him to kiss him and reassure myself that he was real. He explained that he’d been caught at the perimeter of the blast and knocked unconscious. When he woke a day later, he found he was being held captive by part of the terrorist faction. They had taken fifteen people hostage and were hoping to use them to obtain the freedom of some of their own people whom they thought had been arrested by the government. The Yemen government had mistakenly believed that all the hostages were Yemen nationals and had therefore released no information to the U.N. about the hostage negotiations. The government didn’t want word getting out that the supposedly captured terrorists were in fact all dead; for fear that the hostages would be killed in reprisal.

Bill said that though it was terrifying, they actually were treated fairly decently. They were given food and a toilet of sorts to use, though they were held in a single windowless room with no ability to move beyond its walls. At least no one was hurt beyond what injuries they sustained in the blast, which fortunately were all fairly minor. It was Yemen government troupes that eventually found their location and secured their freedom.

Bill said that once they were brought back to the government headquarters and officials realized there were foreign nationals amongst them. they were given access to phones and allowed to call their own consulates. Bill was picked up by the Canadian consular officials and put on the first flight that they could secure back to Canada.

Apparently the consulate had been trying to reach me ever since they had received word that Bill was alive. From the timing of the messages on the machine, I figure it was less than an hour after I’d left home. Bill arrived home several hours before I did and had immediately begun trying to locate me. He said his family had wanted to come to the house and be with him but he put them off, wanting only to find me and ensure I was safe and well. He said he’d made call after call to everyone we knew to see if anyone had heard from me.

It was at this point he finally asked where I had been.

I looked him in the eye and answered him in the best way I knew how. “I was looking over the precipice, my love, and I found you there to guide me home.”

The End.

The Precipice I

2009-05-01T19:10:00.000-07:00

Written By: Mel

Have you ever stood at the top of a precipice looking down and just wondered about jumping? Not that you would ever really do it, but just think about it even for a fleeting moment? I think I came here to do that; just to think about it and figure out if I have any good reason not to do it.

Lookout Point they call this place. You can see for miles over the valley below. I stood leaning against the metal rail staring straight down the cliff side. It was cold and the biting February winds felt like they could freeze your very soul. I’m not sure how long I’d been standing there, only that it had been early morning when I set out from my dank little apartment to make the hike up here and from the look of the sky it was now about mid-afternoon. A deep voice startled me from my reverie. “Awfully cold day to be standing here so long.”

I turned to see the source of the voice. The figure was tall but buried deep in with in a dark green parka, with the hood pulled up and sunglasses hiding his eyes. The crest on the parka read ‘Bruce Trail Conservancy Volunteers’. He must be one of the do-gooder naturalists that maintain the trail along the escarpment.

“Yeah? I hadn’t really noticed the cold,” I lied, as I turned back to look over the cliff hoping he would just wander off and leave me to my thoughts.

“Wind chill is minus thirty. Your exposed skin could suffer frost bite if you stand here much longer. There is a heater in the first-aid station just a hundred yards up the trail. Come on, you’ll warm up there before we head back down,” he replied.

God, it sounded for all the world like this jerk was giving me an order. Who the hell did he thing he was?

As if he could read my mind, he stuck out a mitten covered hand. “Bill Lumbrook, and you are?”

“Staying here, thanks for your concern. I’ve got some thinking to do, so if you don’t mind...” I again tried to ignore this uninvited intruder.

“Actually I do mind,” he said as he walked over and leaned against the rail beside me. “I saw you up here when I was making my way up to the point, that was nearly two hours ago and you’ve not moved since. Last person who stood here alone for this long had to be scraped off the valley floor below when she jumped. We had to take out six old-growth conifers to get the equipment in to cart what was left of her out of woods. I’ll not have such happen again on my watch. So let’s go get warm and you can tell me what’s so terrible you’re considering the fast way out.”

I was momentarily dumb struck with the audacity of the man, but I’m nothing if not quick with sarcastic remarks. “Wow! Conservationist and Crisis Councillor; your mother must be proud.”

He touched my hand causing me to make eye contact. He’d removed his sunglasses at some point and a pair of piercing blue eyes stared into mine. “How would your mother feel about where you are right now?” he asked.

He could have asked any question in the universe and I’d have easily come up with a sarcastic or off putting reply, any question except that one. Fuck, why did he have to bring her into this? ‘Idiot’ I thought. ‘You’re the one who brought up mothers.’ I closed my eyes tightly and turned away. I was not going to let this man see me cry.

This man, this, Bill wasn’t it? Yes, he’d said his name was Bill. Bill put a hand on my shoulder, patting as if to comfort me. “How about we go get warm now?” he suggested.

I found myself being turned around and lead along the trail, to a small wooden hut. A small voice inside me was asking where my backbone had gone and why I was following a perfect stranger into a building on a deserted trail in the dead of winter. However, I chose to ignore my inner voice over that of this stranger, this Bill, talking to me in deep melodic tones about old growth trees and indigenous species along the trail. Before I knew it I was seated on a small bench inside the heated structure, cap and thin gloves being pull off as if I was some small child his was helping.

“Let’s get your coat off. You’ll warm up faster without it,” Bill instructed as he stood me up long enough to help me out of my old ski jacket. I sat again and watched him hang the coat over a wooden peg by the door and then he divested himself of his own outerwear.

The man who stood before me was tall, well built with a face that I would not have called handsome but still he was attractive in a slightly rugged, craggy way. His hair was dark and wavy, slightly on the long side it curled up over his ears and around the back of his neck. He wore insulated snow pants with suspenders and an old plaid shirt open at the neck with a button-up thermal shirt showing under it, reminding me for all the world of some movie image lumberjack. I would have guessed his age around thirty-eight, I would later find out that guess was spot on.

The warmth of the place caused my nearly numb hands to regain feeling, but it was painful as a burning sensation spread through them. I rubbed them together trying to ease the discomfort.

I felt his presence beside me on the bench and my cold hands were drawn into the large warm ones of my benefactor and he examined them closely; then checked my face and ears just as carefully before he declared, “No frostbite, you’ll be fine once you warm up. Now,” he paused to look me in the eye, “I’ve told you my name, it would be only polite if you were to share yours with me.”

I hesitated for only a second then decided that a lie would not do here. “Jesse McPherson”

“Do you live near here Jesse?” he asked.

“In Dundas,” I replied my home town of Dundas was the closest to this part of the trail.

“I presume you parked at the foot of the trail and hiked up?”I nodded.

“Well, I’m parked down there as well so we can hike back out together. If it weren’t for the big thaw we had last week no one would be up here now. The snow was really deep along the trail.” He rambled on about the weather for a few minutes with me giving short but appropriate responses. When he suddenly hit me from out of the blue with, “so what’s got you so despondent that you stood at the lookout for the so long considering the leap to the bottom?”

Not at all prepared to share anything that personal with this stranger I replied with a snarky, “What’s it to you?”

“Let’s just say I’ve looked over the edge myself and I want to let you know that things can improve if you want them to.” Deep, rich, blue eyes met up with my own washed out gray ones; they spoke of a kindness and understanding that I did not want to give into.

“Look I appreciate your concern but I’m fine, okay? Thanks for the warm up but I think I’ll head on home now.” I stood with determination and retrieved my coat from the hook and pulled it on, I put the two parts of the zipper together and tried to pull it up, but it stopped only two inches from the bottom. I tired pulling it back down but it was jammed in tight. I could feel by temper boiling the more I struggled with the thing, but it seemed the harder I pulled the more stuck it got and the more my feelings got away from me. “Why the fuck does nothing work in my life?” I yelled out to no one in my frustration. I turned and slammed my fist into the wall of the building, causing the entire little structure to shake.

I let out a yowl of pain, tears of embarrassment, hurt and anger burned at my eyes as I put my now throbbing fist to my mouth. Arms quietly engulfed me and I was led back to bench and seated firmly. Bill took my scraped hand up and tenderly examined it. I hissed with pain as he tired to straighten it. I attempted to pull it away but it was held fast.

“I think you may have cracked your knuckles,” he said with a sad shake of his head.

“Of course I have,” I spat out with disgust. “What are a few smashed metacarpals except to add another layer to the misery that is my life?”

“Jesse, you need to have your hand checked out at the hospital. I’ve got the things here that I can splint it with and put it in a sling so it will be better protected while we hike down. It’s going to be harder for you to keep your balance with your arm restrained, so we’ll need to go slow.” He gathered a splint, tensor bandage and sling from the first aid kit and proceeded to care for my hand. “Talking to someone about those layers of misery might help, you know. I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener,” he suggested while wrapping the bandaging around the splint.

I sighed deeply. The pain from my hand seemed to be pounding a staccato in my head and I so did not want to talk to anyone about her or how much losing her was killing me. So why were words coming out of my mouth? ‘Shut the fuck up,’ I told myself. ‘You don’t know this guy from shit and you’re not telling him about her.’

“My mother died three weeks ago. She was my only family. I lost my job cuz I was off so much time taking care of her. My mom’s estate is tied up in legal shit so I can’t even get any money from it to help me. And now I’m about to get thrown out of my lousy apartment cuz I can’t pay the rent. Those are the layers of misery in my fucked up life, Bill. Happy you asked?” I offered with as much sarcasm as I could muster.

Bill finished putting my hand in the sling then looked at me with his compassionate eyes. “I’m very sorry to hear about your loss and I just might be able to help you with a couple of the layers of misery you’re dealing with. For instance, did your former employer know that you were off work taking care of your dying mother? And if so did they inform you that you had the right to apply for compassionate leave under the Canada Employment Insurance Act?”

“Yeah they knew why I was off but they never said nothing about getting a leave. They just told me either come back to work or I was outta work. That was two days before she died. I just told them to fuck themselves and of course they fired me after that.”

“Well, they were negligent in their responsibility to you, Jesse. You can take legal action against them for that,” he informed me.

I gave a small laugh at that statement. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I can’t even pay my damn rent. How the hell could I pay for a fucking lawyer?”

It was Bill’s turn to offer a laugh. “Just so happens that I’m a fucking lawyer, and before you go saying you can’t afford me, let me explain a few things.” He reached up and touched the lapel of my jacket. He fingered the pride pin I wore there. “If you were looking you might have noticed I have one of these on my coat as well. I do Pro Bono work for the C.L.G.R.O.* and I would be more than happy to help you with your former employer and look into your mother’s estate to see if I can’t get it moved through probate and get you some much needed cash as quickly as possible.”

At that point I didn’t know what to feel or think. My hand was still throbbing and my black mood still hanging over me, but this man was offering me something to grasp at. My fear was if I started feeling hope again that I’d only be let down and just how much more down could I take?
“You don’t even know me,” I replied, stating the obvious. “Why would you want to do all that stuff for a stranger?”

Bill sighed. “You’re a fellow human being and I am presuming a fellow gay man. The reason I became a lawyer was to help people with troubles such as yours. I realize my profession doesn’t have the best reputation in that area, but we’re not all out to steal the last penny from defenceless widows and orphans.”

That statement struck me as funny in an ironic sort of way. “Mom was a widow and with her gone I guess that makes me an orphan.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “That was a poor example given the circumstances.”

‘Was it?’ I thought. ‘Perhaps it was perfect. Perhaps it was just what I needed to hear, that he wasn’t out to get something from me.’ Of course that’s when the other voice in my head yelled out, ‘Yeah right! Isn’t that just what someone who is out for himself would say?’ Then the first voice yelled back, ‘The guy is a volunteer conservationist and works with the C.L.G.R.O. that all speaks of a good person.’ I felt like one of those cartoon characters with the little angel on one shoulder and the little devil on the other each arguing for a different action.

What made me decide to believe the little angel over the little devil? I can’t say for sure, but if I had to formulate a theory I’d say that it was mom’s influence that pushed me. She always believed in the intrinsic good in people. She was a trusting soul. Not that she was anyone’s fool, but she always gave the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise.

“It’s okay,” I replied. “I’d really appreciate your help.”

I allowed him to help me down the trail that afternoon. It was a difficult trip but along the way his strong arms helped me keep my balance and help me find my way. That stranger, that Bill, insisted not only on driving me to the hospital but he stayed with me for the five hours it took to have the two bones I’d broken in my hand set and cast.

He brought me home, talked some sort of magic to my landlord and got me an extension on my rent. He even brought my car back from the trailhead parking lot the next morning. Five days later, he sat in my living room with papers and a cheque from my former employer. Whatever he’d threatened them with worked well. I got a severance cheque equal to six months pay and a glowing letter of recommendation to put in my resume.

It’s been a year since that fateful day on the Bruce Trail Lookout. I’ve got a new job in my chosen career as a graphic designer. Mom’s estate was finally settled and I got enough money to put a dent in the mortgage. Oh I guess I should say that I don’t live in that little apartment anymore. We bought a house, that Bill and I. We moved in two months ago right after we got home from our honeymoon. Did I mention we got married?

He’s still a bossy son of a b****, that Bill. Takes charge just like he did that day we met. About three months after we met, he introduced the idea of having a discipline relationship. At first I thought he was nuts or some sort of control freak (okay, I actually do think he’s a control freak but that’s another story) but after we talked and I did some reading it began to make sense. It’s not an easy lifestyle but it’s a good one. I think we’re closer and communicate better than any other couple we know. I certainly know we argue a lot less and never allow bad feelings to carry over after a disagreement.

Tonight I’m taking him out to dinner to celebrate the one year anniversary of the day I met that Bill; my Bill.

The End.

Note: C.LG.R.O. is the Coalition for Lesbian and Gay Rights in Ontario