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Showing posts with label #love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #love. Show all posts

Saturday, July 30, 2022

Nathan's Private E-Journal, April 12th, 2014 : "Fathers and Sons" Part - II

 

The words "You don't look like your sick or like or in any pain..." echo inside my head as I draw nearer to Ted's father.  

How many times had I heard those words?  And how many times did I want to lash out at the person who spoke them to me?  Of course back then I hadn't changed and didn't have the strength to strike back.  But these days I'm a different man.  The pain and limitations Fibromyalgia caused me are but distant memories, but I never forget anything these days.  

Oh it might take me a moment or two to sort through a century and a half of accumulated memories, but it's all there.  There's not a name, a face, or an event I've been part of or witness to that I cannot recall in vivid detail.  I can even recall things from before I was changed that were locked away in the deepest recesses of my brain, including the looks or hints of disappointment from my father for my apparent weaknesses.  They still sting as much now as they did back then, but I loved him nonetheless.  And now I remind myself that Ted loves his father, so I restrain my impulse to grab the man by one hand and shake some sense into him. 

Instead I stop just before the man and say politely, "Please, come inside with me.  Both of you.  There's some things I'd like to show you."


Without waiting for a response I walk towards the end of the building we're in front of that happens to house my private club "The Crypt".  Behind me I hear Ted's tired footsteps follow.  A second later, his father joins us.

In a few minutes the three of us are safely ensconced around one of the table inside the empty club.  It's a weekday which means the place is not open to the public.  Which makes it the perfect setting for a difficult but heartfelt talk.  Or at least, that's what I hope to keep things.  A part of me is still sorely tempted to unleash a portion of my mist form so I can enter Ted's father and let him experience my memories of what Fibromyalgia feels like.  The old saying about walking in another's shoes may be just what the fellow needs.  Yet, I restrain my impulse.  Ted is not aware of what I am and it wouldn't be right to risk revealing my 'unusual' nature to him by doing something to his father.  Still, if things don't go the way I think they should...
"So what do you want to show me?" Ted's father asks gruffly.  

Staring at the man I quietly take his measure.  Like my own father, he's tall and well-built.  His solid figure tells me he's a man who's enjoyed many sports and strives to keep in shape.  But now I'm sensing something else, deep below the surface... physical discomfort. 

Suddenly, everything becomes much clearer to me.  I begin by saying, "As I said earlier, Fibromyalgia is quite real.  And is it not just a condition suffered by women.  Men have it as well."

"Yeah, you mentioned you have it," the man snaps, but there's a trace of unease in his voice.  "Besides yourself, name one other man who has it."





"Morgan Freeman, the golden actor himself," I reply and wait.  The effect of my words has on him is clearly visible.  Before he can respond I continue by adding, "Michael James Hastings, another actor  who retired because of his struggle with the condition."


Ted's father looks stunned, "He played Captain Mike on 'The West Wing'.  I loved that show."

"Many people have it," I continue, "To differing degrees.  Some can be crippled by the pain, others find different ways of coping through exercise, nutrition, medicines to help them sleep better.  But the bottom line is that its a musculo-skeletal condition with no 'magic bullet' cure.  It's a condition where pain is your constant companion.  Many days you can get through the day, but others are harder.  And some are just so bad you can barely get out of bed."

The man looks at his son for a moment and then asks, "Is that true?  Those days you complain about getting up aren't just because you don't feel like going to school?"

Ted has the good sense to not be sarcastic and simply nods.

His father turns back to look at me.  "How do I know you're telling the truth?"  

"You can look it up online," I tell him.  "It's all there.  There's even sites by these men and others who can attest to how difficult it is to live with the condition."  With that I get up and retrieve my laptop and set it up for him.  As I do so, I give Ted an encouraging nod towards the piano.  Obediently, he gets up and takes the guitar case with him.

Meanwhile I sit back down and watch as his father starts Googling the men I mentioned along with others.  For twenty minutes he says nothing, and I do not break the silence.  I merely wish that I'd had such resources to show my own father, back in the day.   Would it have made things better?  I don't know.  Maybe, maybe not.  As I said before, he did love me.  He just couldn't always understand why I was the way I was sometimes.  

Finally, Ted's father looks up at me with a pained expression.  "Okay, you convinced me.  It's real and men can get it.  But why do you believe my boy has it?"

I answer quietly, "Why can't you believe it?  You mentioned football earlier.  Was that your sport?  Were you simply hoping he'd follow in your footsteps?"

"NO!" the man thunders as his face turns crimson.  Then his expression softens as he explains, "I just want my son to have a chance at a good school."

Now things suddenly become clear to me. "Things are tight, I take it?" I say in a voice so low only he can hear me.

The man nods.  "Like my son mentioned earlier, his mother has Fibromyalgia and can't work.  So it's mainly down to me to bring in money, but she does try.  She does art and sells stuff on the internet.  And she's brings in some good money and we're doing all right..."

"But, the prospects for sending Ted to college aren't so bright," I supply quietly.

"Exactly.  We make too much to get him a Board of Governor's waiver, but not enough to really be able to pay for the classes over at the community college, much less a university."

Just then the strands of a guitar playing fills the air.  It's a sweet gentle melody, played with great tenderness and skill. 


The tune has an effect on my companion who closes his eyes and becomes lost in the tune until the song ends.  

"He's very good," I remark as the final strums fade away.

"I don't question that," my companion replies.  "But, is that going to be enough to get him anywhere?"

Smiling I turn to Ted, who is tuning the guitar ever so slightly.  "Are you up to a little 'Classical Gas'?"

The boy's face lights up as he adjusts the strap on his shoulder.  Meanwhile, his father is staring in shock.  "I love that song!  Can he really play it?"

Before I can answer, the familiar tune starts up with all the speed and skill it is known for.  Ted's father's eyes widen as his son's fingers fly over the strings with precision and dexterity that makes the instrument sing.  

Neither of us says a word until the song is finished, at which point Ted stretches his fingers and massages them slightly.  It obviously took some out of him, but he's grinning from ear to ear. 

His father begins to applaud and goes over to his son.  The two begin having a talk.  A real talk.  And although I try not to listen, I of course hear everything.  It lasts for several hours.  The results I'm pleased to say are better than I'd hoped. Ted doesn't have to give up the guitar.  However, his father does confess his concerns to help pay for his son's future education.  


At this point, I see the first rays of sunlight seeping through the window that peers out into the alley.  Although I'm quite safe here in the club, I'm certain Ted's mother is quite worried about what has become of her husband and son.  

Standing up, I wander over to the pair and casually mention some connections I have over in San Francisco with a certain music conservatory which has a wonderful guitar ensemble.  "I'm certain that if Ted keeps this up, he'd qualify for 'assistance'.  Plus, there's the money he can earn here at the club helping out at the turntables."

Father and son look at me questioningly.  

Smiling I explain, "Your son has helped out as a stand in DJ here at the club on a number of occasions.  I've been thinking about asking him to come on board regularly, provided it doesn't interfere with his schoolwork.  And before you ask, YES, he's as good at that as he is on the guitar."

Ted looks at his father questioningly, while the older man replies, "Let me think on it.  I appreciate what you're offering him, but I've had a lot to take in already tonight.  I'd like a little time to talk things over with my son and my wife."

I nod.  "That's fine.  It's a standing offer.  Take however long you all need."

"Thank you," the big man says and holds out a hand which I accept with feeling.  "By the way, I'm George."

"Nathan," I tell him, "And I'm very glad we had a chance to talk."

"Me too," he smiles and then says, "I think we've taken up enough of your time and we need to get home.  Ted, let's go grab your guitar.  I'm sure your mother will be worried sick about us."

Ted smiles and the two of them head over to the piano where the guitar and its case await.

As I watch them, a part of me wonders what it would've been like to have such a moment of acceptance from my own father.  Then as if in answer I feel a hand on my shoulder.  Turning I see no one's there.  But that's all right.  I know it was real, and who's hand it was.  Some things you never forget, and as I said before I never forget anything.  Especially not my father's way of letting me know when he was proud of me...

Sunday, April 10, 2022

Marisa's Musings -October 24th, 2019 "Red Fang" Part XII

As I was still asking myself that question I stared up at the Aurora Borealis over head. 


I could make out the stars through the swirling colors. It's an incredible sight. I can understand why Nathan comes up this way every so often. I don't think I'd ever tire of this sight. According to Lisa and Otto, Nathan also goes to Norway, Sweden, Finland or one of the other northernmost countries where you can see these lights. Those countries also tend to have open wide expanses of wilderness which allows him to 'cut loose' with his abilities. Those countries also haves long periods where the sun may not appear for weeks or even months, which makes it easier for him to be out and about even during the 'daytime' whether he's out in the woods or in a city. 

As I lay there I understood that the night, or those periods of long-nights, do have a lot to offer a person. But, to actually have to live that way most of the time? I mean, I know Nathan can ingest extra blood so he can go out into daylight for a few hours a day (then load up some more if he needs to in order to keep being out in it) but it's still physically uncomfortable (even painful at times) for him to be out in it. 

I shook my head. I wanted Nathan more than anything... but to be like him?

One of the wolves who was cuddled up to me must've sensed my distress, for he suddenly raised his head then nuzzled and licked my face as if to comfort me. At first I thought this was more of Nathan's doing, but he was no longer with us. I figure he must've silently got up and headed who knows where, leaving me with my protectors. Carefully I reached up and stroked the licking wolf's face and then scratched him behind one ear. He seemed to like it. Then one or two others took notice and they decided they wanted some attention too. Eventually, after I gave them all a bit of love, we all settled down and sleep quietly overtook us.


The dreams that followed were the most vivid I've ever had. I was in the middle of a greenish fog which slowly dissipated and I found myself staring at a woman I'd never met in my life, but who's face I knew quite well. 

It was Madeline, Nathan’s first wife and Lisa’s great-great grandmother. I recognized her from a number of paintings Nathan has done of her over the years. He keeps practically all of them in his art studio which is located on the top floor of the same building that houses his club “The Crypt” in the basement.

She was standing in the middle of a room with shelves with canned (meaning jars) of fruits and pickled items, a large mound of potatoes in one area, and carrots in another. I quickly realized this was an old root cellar. But instead of gathering any supplies located there, Madeline was simply standing in the center of the room looking down at the dirt floor. I caught the gleam of anticipation in her eyes. A moment later the ground began to ripple, as I had seen it do many times before, and Nathan rose to the surface.

He was standing upright as he emerged from the rippling soil with his arms open wide.  As soon as the ground became solid again, Madeline stepped eagerly into that waiting embrace, and I couldn’t blame her. Nathan was clearly as glad to see her, in more ways than one (since he was naked as usual when he came out of the ground). As they kissed, I swear you could practically hear their hearts pounding in unison.

Then the scene changed, I now saw the two of them curled up in front of a fireplace. Nathan was wearing clothing now and there was a little boy, from Madeline’s first husband who died during the war, fast asleep on a chair nearby. Nathan was holding Madeline in his arms as they were talking softly so as not to wake the little one. While I couldn’t make out what they were saying, I saw a number of occasional kisses and caresses being exchanged with genuine affection.



Feeling like a voyeur I turned only to find another scene playing out before me. The boy was now 8 or 9 years old and smiling as he watched Nathan and his mother dancing a waltz. They clearly had eyes only for one another, even though there were a dozen other couples around them. As I watched the scene seemed to melt and now the two of them were dancing alone in their bedroom. Madeline was wearing a white chemise, while Nathan was wearing what was then called a man’s dressing gown, which was basically a more elegant version of the modern bathrobe. As I watched them, I caught the first signs of crow’s feet in the corners of Madeline’s eyes. Her figure also seemed slightly fuller now, not that it seemed to bother either of them. I swear they were acting like a young couple about to celebrate their first anniversary.

Other scenes of domestic life rolled out before my eyes like a movie with the occasional fades which revealed a new scene. I witnessed walks, trips, travel to foreign lands, gatherings with friends, and a number of quiet personal moments. I knew time was passing, but the emotions and passion between Nathan and Madeline never seemed to diminish even slightly.

Then a new scene began, and for a moment I thought we were back at the beginning, for Madeline was standing in the root cellar again. Then I realized she was wearing a robe instead of one of her dresses. I also noticed there were traces of gray in her hair, along with a few extra lines here and there. But as soon as Nathan emerged she opened her robe and let it fall to the ground to reveal she was wearing nothing underneath. And although time and gravity had been at work on her body, she was still quite desirable. I became a little envious watching Nathan scoop her up in his arms and begin kissing her like a sailor who’d been away at sea for way too long.

As he spun her around in his arms, more time passed and her hair became more gray until nothing but long silver tresses crowned her head. But the thing that got me was the fact that Nathan’s attention and affection towards her never changed. He was still at attentive, flirtatious, and devoted to her as ever. And neither did their passion for each other.

Just then the Chainsmokers/Coldplay song “I Want Something Just Like This” started running through my head.

“Yes,” I murmured, holding my arms out as if to hug someone, “That’s exactly what I want.” Now I’m going to admit, I was so caught up in the tune, that it took me a moment to realize that I my arms were wrapped around someone because I could feel the warmth of that person.

‘But I’m asleep,’ I thought to myself in confusion. ‘Aren’t I?’ Instinctively, I began to grope around with my hands to try and figure out what was going on and awoke to a wolf licking my face. Sighing I muttered, “So much for waking up in the arms of a hot guy.”

“In spite of technically being a vampyre, I am not undead, so I resent that remark,” came Nathan’s voice from just above my head.

Looking up I found that I was lying in his arms. Glancing around I found the wolves had not only surrounded but covered us in a huge puppy pile. As I became more aware of our situation, I quickly realized that Nathan was naked, and that one of my hands was very close to a certain ‘region’ of his anatomy.

My eyes locked with his.

“Careful, I can be very ticklish,” he warned.

Instead of answering, I looked around and spotted our friend and his mate curled up together. Clearly she was very happy to have him back, Sangui-sapio and all. Then I thought about Madeline and all I had seen about her life.

Turning back to Nathan, I kissed him with everything I had. Then I moved my hand lower and took hold.

His eyes widened, but instead of admonishing me as he had in the past, he said, “Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“Why?” he pressed.

“Madeline,” I answered after a moment.

“You saw her memories,” he said and began nodding to himself.

Her memories?” now it was my turn to be taken by surprise.

He gave me a gentle smile. “You now know firsthand, that I remember everything that ever happened to me because of the Sangui-Sapio. And you know I have access to the memories of its previous, and currents hosts.” Here he gestured at me and our wolf friend. “But what I didn’t tell you, was that I also have the recollections of those who’ve ever had even ‘some’ of the Sangui-sapio in them.”

“Madeline had some in her?” I gasped.

Nathan sighed, “Yeah, I hadn’t realized it myself for the longest time but eventually I figured it out.”

“How did it happen?” I pressed.


He gave me a disappointed look, then sighed, “Someone wasn’t paying attention in biology class. Okay, when a man and woman are really into each other, certain activities can lead to an exchange of body fluids which…”

“You guys weren’t using protection?” I cut in.

Nathan shook his head. “She caught an infection after giving birth to her son, and wasn’t able to conceive after that, so we didn’t bother worrying about protection. And since I was still getting used to my new existence, I hadn’t realized what had happened until much later.”

I started to frown. “But she never became like you.”

“She never wanted to. And as I learned later on, the Sangui-Sapio respected that and simply gave her a healthy long life,” Nathan explained at gazed out at our wolf friend and his mate. “Just as it will with him.”

I thought briefly about how good Madeline looked and moved during her later years. “Can the Sangui-sapio that’s in me, do what it did for Madeline?” I began.

Nathan nodded. “I already asked it to. Not that I had any idea what you were about to decide, mind you. It’s just, I like to make sure those I care about are ‘taken care of’ so to speak. Especially if there’s the possibility of them one day contracting something serious.”

I knew he was referring to my father and his fight with cancer. I’ll admit, I have wondered and worried from time to time, if I might develop that same form of cancer one day. So hearing that  Nathan had already made ‘arrangements’ for me, was a huge relief.

“So, the Sangui-Sapio will have to remain in me, but I won’t become like you,” I asked, just to be clear.

“Only if you wish to. Whether it be now or one day many years down the road, you’ll have the option,” he told me reassuringly.

“And if I choose not to?”

“It will return to me, and I will have a bit of you to carry with me always,” he smiled.

Feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders I relaxed into his chest and kissed him deeply once more. I knew where I wanted things to go next, but my stomach had other ideas and started to growl.

Talk about a mood killer.

A couple of the wolves who’d been keeping us warm raised their heads and gave me a funny look.

“You haven’t eaten since before we met up last night,” Nathan observed and slowly sat up. “And you don’t strike me as the type of person who’s into raw bison.”

“Definitely not,” I replied, doing my best not to look over at the remains of last night’s kill.

“Luckily, I know of a nice place less than an hour from here, where we can get you a good meal and I can hide from the sun for the day,” he continued.

That made me do a doubletake. “We’re in the middle of the tundra, how can there be a place to stay that close by?”

“I never said it was close by,” Nathan corrected. “I said we can get there in less than an hour.”

“But it took us a few hours to get where we are from the airport,” I pointed out.

“That’s because we were trying pick up the pack’s scent and then zero in on their location,” Nathan replied reasonably.

Apparently, him having an answer for everything was one of those little quirks I was going to have to get used to. Still, as much as I wanted him in that moment, I was sorely tempted to smack him on the arm. But I resisted and pulled out my cellphone. I knew there probably wouldn’t be any reception here, but since it was still kind of dark I was curious to know that the time was.

You can imagine my surprise to see it was 7 in the morning. Then I reminded myself where we were and that the nights were longer here. However, I could see the first hints of the coming dawn way in the distance. Nathan then informed me the sun would not be up proper for another 2 hours, which meant we needed to get him indoors as well get me food.


Around us the wolves began to meander amongst themselves, while our friend and his mate came over. She came to a stop just out of arms reach, while he came right up to me. Bending down, I ran my hands through his ruff once more and gave him a hug which he readily accepted. “Take care of yourselves,” I told him, knowing that a part of him understood my words perfectly.

He in turn, nuzzled and licked me. Then he looked at Nathan and gave him a short bark. To which Nathan smiled and said, “Thank you, I will.”

Then the pair returned to their pack and slowly moved on.

“He invited you to come and run with them again sometime, didn’t he?” I asked Nathan who was already transforming back to his own wolf form. Once shifted, he nodded, then gestured for me to climb onto his back once more.

Obediently, I climbed on board and felt the fur stretch and wrap around me once more. And boy was I glad for it. When we took off, we were moving way faster than last night, and I couldn’t help but keep a death-grip on Nathan as we went.

But as he promised, we reached our destination in just under an hour. Although, I was more than a little shocked by what we were looking at as I climbed off him.

“Are you serious?” I asked Nathan as he began putting on the clothing I had been keeping safe for him since the night before. “I thought you said there was a ‘nice place’ we could go.”

“It is a nice place,” he protested.

“It’s an ICE place!” I cried gesturing at the white curved structure. “It’s a frickin’ igloo! It’s going to be freezing inside.”

“No, it’s not. Take a closer look,” he instructed.


Frowning, I did as he instructed and got closer. Now I could see that it wasn’t made of ice but was a geodome partly covered in snow and frost. I could make out a chimney of sorts and as I moved around I spotted a wooden section that acted as the entrance to the structure. I was slowly becoming less annoyed and more impressed. I’d seen pictures of such places on the internet. Most of them were found in the Nordic countries. However, I had heard there were some here in Alaska but those were located way north of where we were.

“I had it built by some friends from Norway a few years ago,” Nathan explained.

“So you own this land?”

He nodded. “I went the ‘homestead’ route back in the 1960’s. I own several pieces up here in fact, and before you ask, yes, I do have cabins/homes built on them too. And all of them are well stocked with food, warm beds, and heating materials.”

Taking another look at the dome I could see there was a huge window looking out onto the tundra and the sky. Having slept under the Northern Lights outdoors, I started thinking about being able to do it again but inside a nice warm place with a bed.

My mind suddenly switched over to sharing a bed with Nathan all alone up here under those lights…then I started thinking about Lisa. My best dearest friend, who also cared for Nathan every bit as much as I do. While she and I had talked many times about one of us being with him, we hadn’t really…

Suddenly, my phone started to vibrate. I had a signal? All the way out here? Pulling the phone out I saw that I had full bars and a message. It was from Lisa. “It’s your time. Go for it.”

“What?” I stammered, staring at the message in confusion. She knew? But how?

Nathan came over and placed a hand on my face. “Open your mind and listen,” he told me.

Then I heard Lisa’s voice inside my head saying, “Welcome to the family, Bestie. And remember, I love you too.”

“The Sangui-Sapio,” I whispered in shock, “She has some in her as well?”

Nathan nodded. “I only do it with certain people who are very dear to me who I want to keep a close eye on. This way I can be there all the faster in case I’m… needed during an emergency.”

The way he said that last part told me it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss right now. And I was fine with that. Just knowing that my bond with Lisa had become even stronger and made us closer than ever, made me extremely happy.

But not as happy as Nathan did over the next few days and nights…

THE END - as promised







Friday, August 20, 2021

Nathaniel's E-Journal, August 2005... Beginning A New Chapter Part-II

                                                


Another night and I stand once more in my artist's studio located on the top floor of the building that houses my club "The Crypt".  No one's allowed up here unless I say so, and tonight I wish to be alone with my thoughts.  For two days now I've been wrestling with the idea of trying my hand at writing novels.    

In some ways the idea seems ridiculous.  Me? An author?  

Then another question comes to mind in the form of one word, why?

That's the sticking point for me.  Why would I take up writing?  Because I'm bored and want to try something new that I've never done before?   It wouldn't be the first time.  When I joined vaudeville, it was simply to keep myself busy and working behind the scenes as a stagehand at night seemed ideal.  But then I started to get to know the performers like Julius, Arthur, Herbert and Leonard... better known as the Marx Brothers.  Their range of talents fascinated me.  The number of instruments they could play, or the snappy patter they should spout on a moments notice never ceased to amaze me.  Plus, they seemed to sense the feeling of being 'lost' and 'adrift' in me, which made them reach out so I could be a part of their comeraderie.  But it didn't stop there.  Others in the troupe welcomed me as well, like "Fatty" (Roscoe Arbuckle), the Keatons, Harry and Bess Houdini, the lovely and sweet Mae West and so many others...




Before I knew what was happening they'd be teaching me all kinds of skills and even dragging me out on stage to help out in their acts.  I could write endless stories about those days and the ones that came before.  

My days on the battlefield while serving in the Union Army.  So many stories were lost there that only I know about.  The hopes and fears of my brothers in blue, as well as some of those who wore the rebel gray.  In 167 years of walking this world, I've not forgotten a single person who I've met, good or bad, I remember them.  I also remember the stories they shared, the sweethearts they pursued and the outcomes.  

So many stories to choose from, but where would I begin?  

I brought up the idea of my taking up writing to Brian and his family last night at dinner.  Much to my surprise no one laughed.  Instead they eagerly supported the venture.  Brian in particular urged me to take a couple of creative writing courses at the college where he teaches history.  "We've got some really good instructors there and they could really help you hone your skills?" Brian pointed out.  "I've taken a couple of them and they were really helpful.  Of course, you'll need to decide on a genre to write in.  Agents and publishers like to represent someone who has a specific kind of novel."

"You should write romance," his daughter Lisa suggested with a twinkle in her eye as she looked at me.  Even though she's only a child I have a feeling she's developing a crush on me.  I've seen that look before in girls her age and even younger, over the decades.  But only one ever managed to land me, but she was extremely persistent.  

Even now I can feel her eyes on me after seven decades.  Looking up I find myself staring into a pair of dark eyes, forever captured in oil.  Dark hair frames those eyes along with the lovely face and strong chin.  "Magda," I whisper and smile.

Our time together was not nearly as long as either of us had hoped, but it was magical.  Our first meeting and her prolonged pursuit for my love could fill several volumes.  Her persistence paid off and after three years she became my wife at the young age of sixteen.  

As I stand there lost in thought, the sounds of music reaches my ears from several floors below.  The Crypt is now open and is already filling up with the usual crowd.  Even from here I can sense the whirl of emotions and life down there.  Laughter, sorrow, broken hearts, lust, hopes for love...  

A flash of light through the window catches my eye.  After several nights of gathering clouds it looks as rain is finally drawing near.  I make my way up the stairs and onto the roof of the building to watch the approaching storm.



I see lightning in the distance over my hometown, it's going to be a good one.  But instead of retreating back inside, I stay where I am and feel the breeze on my face and close my eyes.  I can feel the storm's energy on the wind and without thinking, several lines of words describing the feeling come to mind.  Some of the words are trite, but they still help paint a picture within my head.


Suddenly my eyes shoot open as realization sinks in.  Painting a picture, but with words instead of oils or acrylics!   No pencils, no paintbrushes, just words that form an image or a scene within the readers mind.  That's what an author does. But they don't just paint one picture, they paint a whole series of images, coupled with emotions and thoughts.  Yet, I can still use my skills as a painter as well.  Illustrations and book covers... yes.  

And I have so much material to draw upon.  My own experiences as well as those of people who's memories lives I keep alive within me.  I've shared their stories countless times with descendants so they are never forgotten.  

But what kind of stories to write? 

From down in the alley I hear the sound of raised voices.  Looking over the edge I see a young couple having a heated argument.  The boy is obviously breaking up with the girl and leaves her in the alley alone.  But she does not remain that way for long.  Three others, friends of hers arrive and comfort her.  One of them is a young man who obviously has feelings of his own for her.  But instead of being foolish and declaring his affections, he merely gives her the support and comfort of the friend she needs right now.  

But I can sense a change in her.  It's not big, but her gratitude to him and the two girls with him is obvious.  I hear her say she wishes more guys were like him as they step inside.  Perhaps something will come of it eventually.  

However the thing that gets me most is the image that forms in my mind.  Just like the other night down in the club, I could see other figures, superimposed over the trio.  Their outfits changed several times within the span of a few seconds.  I saw flappers, soldiers, suits, gowns, hippies, but their actions were all the same and leading towards one thing... romance.

"Love Across Time..." I murmur as the first drops of rain start hitting my head.  

Why not?  I've seen and experienced it so many times in the last fifteen decades.  Oh, the settings and ways one behaved have changed over time, but the feelings never do.  

Feeling elated at the idea, I spread my arms wide and let the rain and story ideas pour over me.