I had sort of a cry baby day today.

Just really tired and everything’s getting to me.

But at least the writing’s gone well today. I should probably have the novel finished by the end of the month. For some reason, that feels kind of scary. Not sure why. It’s my 6th novel – 8th, if you count a couple that were sort of early disasters and didn’t get published.

Here’s a section of Chapter 23 in Blessed By Light. Approx. 3 pages.  Have a good night, gang. Sleep tight.

*****

23.

Presumed Innocence

I BELIEVE THAT I AM INDEBTED TO LOVE. And indebted to you, for bringing me love. Who could have guessed that this year would become so hard? Who knew I was gonna need so much love? Who could have known that the world I had become comfortable in was no longer going to be enough? A world too full of conversations with a wife who was dead and who had died way too young.

But there you were. Just a girl in the night. Not even looking for love. Not to give it or to receive it. And yet. You were a light to me. A beacon just guiding me up to an unexpected shore.

And now I can’t imagine not loving you with everything I am.

I lost both my parents within a few months of each other, but I was on the road so much back then. I barely remember the loss even though I know I felt it. I have songs from back then to prove it – hit songs. Songs that half the world knows all the words to now – 30 years later.

Some of it was rage. Some of it was just plain tears. You know.

I was surprised that my mama, a woman who was filled with such innocence, who combatted my daddy’s drunken shit with so much grace for so many years; I was surprised that she ultimately found the world unbearable without him in it. And here, I would have put money on it that her best years were still to come once he was dead.

I was so wrong. She didn’t last 3 months.

I understand loss a lot better now, of course. I know that no one’s gonna ever guess who anyone loves in this world or why. Life just comes at you and sometimes love comes with it. And the years happen; they just unfold and go on.

I never dreamed George was gonna die before me, even though he was a couple years older. I just never thought about him dying at all. It doesn’t make any sense to me that he could be gone.

The last thing he said to me was when we were out there on the porch, after my heart attack. He was talking more about you, actually.

He said, “Take your fucking pills, man. She doesn’t want you to die.”

I told him, “It’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who can’t get it up because of all those goddamn prescriptions.”

He thought that was funny. I guess, me not getting it up. And me getting so angry about it that I threw all those fucking prescriptions away.

I kind of wish that woman would have pled not guilty, so that she’d have to maybe get up on that stand and talk about George.

Did she really know him? Were they really having some sort of affair there in New York that he never said anything about? Not even to me? If they were, my god, when did he find the time?

And what could he have done to her that could make her so mad she’d want to shoot him?

He was 70 years old; still chasing skirts. Maybe that was it. He’d been married way too many times. He was just not gonna commit anymore to any woman. He said that all the time. And some of those gals he fucked weren’t that much older than some of his kids. You’re not even that much older than one of his kids. And he fucked you like nobody’s business…

You can smile, honey. It won’t hurt my feelings. We’re just talking; throwing the truth out there. He made you feel good. I know it.

He was like a kid, too, though.

Driving that Hellcat.

But he knew how to love life. That’s for certain. Boy, do I have some memories.

✽✽✽

The last time I saw my mama, she looked like an angel. She was so fragile, though, and so filled with grief.

My daddy had just died.

I didn’t attend the funeral because all my presence did back then, in public places, was cause chaos. So I just visited her at home.

Sat on the couch in the front room, of all places. We always used to sit in the kitchen. Her grief, I guess, made her feel formal. The kitchen table was for her laughter, or all those years of singing along to the radio.

That was my mama in the kitchen.

So we sat together on the couch, stiff and sad. She talked so quietly.

I hated to keep asking her, “What did you say?” So I missed most of what she had said. And then I kissed her goodbye. And then I went back on the road.

Now I wish I hadn’t worried so much about her feelings, about making her repeat herself, because she died 3 months later and I never did find out what she had wanted to say to me about my daddy.

I know now that she saw him so differently than I did. I hated that man.  I really did.

When he died, I found room inside myself to forgive him, or to make allowances for his wasted dreams. I understood it better, him wanting to sing in bars and then me coming along and spoiling his plans. But, still. He was brutal.

At least he never hit my mama.

Just me.

Then sometimes my brother.

Never my little sister, though.  He never hit her. I had once thought that by the time she’d come along, he was just worn out. Or his belt was.

But really I think he just thought girls were special – you didn’t hit ‘em.

He never hit her.

My little sister, she was just the sweetest thing. Just like my mama. Soft-spoken. She liked to laugh. She wore little dresses that made her seem so prim, even when the 60s were well under way and girls started to wear blue jeans everywhere.

Not my sister. Half the time, she looked like she was on her way to church.

I was so shocked to find out that she was not a virgin. She was only 15.

She was dating this guy who was a good friend of mine – another guitar player. We sometimes played in the same bands, you know. Just kids.

I went up to his room one afternoon. I knew he’d skipped school. Both his parents worked. They were gone all day. It was easy for him to skip school. We used to hang out in his room and drink beers that we’d swipe from his old man’s private fridge in the garage. You know. Smoke cigarettes. Play records. Hang out.

I went over to his house; the kitchen door was always unlocked. I went straight up to his room and there he was in bed. Fucking some girl!

I mean, really fucking her. I could see.

But then, in shock, he rolls off her because I’d walked in, and it was my little sister!

That was funny.

She was so embarrassed.

I was just stunned. I didn’t know she knew about sex. She sure found out earlier than I had.

She was scared that I was gonna tell, but I didn’t tell anyone. Except my brother, you know. We still shared a room.

That night, I said, “You will never guess who was fucking Joe today…”

And when I told him, you know what he said? He said, “Was she pretty with no clothes on?”

I couldn’t believe he asked that! She was our little sister. But, you know. I sort of thought about it then and I said, “Yeah. She’s pretty without her clothes on.” She was.

She died kinda young. One of those female things. Ovaries. Cancer. I was on the road then, too. I talked to her on the phone long distance, though, whenever I could. And she’d always get concerned because long distance was so expensive back then. But she was the baby girl, you know? Anything for her. I miss her, too. She had the sweetest laugh. Just like my youngest daughter. They sound the same.

✽✽✽

© 2019 Marilyn Jaye Lewis

It was a really productive day. I finished Chapter 22 in Blessed By Light, and now Chapter 23 awaits.

I’m not sure where it’s going to go but I know I only have about 20-40 more pages left to write. And probably closer to the “20” side of things.

It makes me sad because I have really loved writing this novel.  I know it needs to end and I need to move on and give my play, Tell My Bones,  110% of my attention, but I’m still a little sad.

Okay. Onward. I’m gonna do yoga, then study my Italian and probably practice on the guitar until the sun goes down. Another storm is fast approaching and the lights keep threatening to go out.

Here are the final pages of Chapter 22/d. Diamonds in the Fire. Approx. 3 pages.

Have a great evening, gang. I love you! See ya!

Excerpted from Blessed By Light, Chapter 22/d. Diamonds in the Fire. These are the final pages of this section. This is still during the night that they're trying to have sex for the first time after his heart attack and after his best friend, George, was killed. 

✽✽✽

No, just turn over. Come on. I’ll do the work now. You’ve gotta be worn out, girl.

Don’t you worry too much about me.

When I’m with you like this I stop listening to my heartbeat, stop wondering if this is the moment when it will stop for good. Because all of life and everything I’ve lived and felt and put out into the world and received from the world and felt overwhelmed by and grabbed by the horns and got to the helm of and learned how to manage, to ride, to flow with, to orchestrate and to sort of control –

All of those people.

Thousands of people.

My ego just rises to the rafters. Or flies out into the night.

So many people.

Singing the songs.

Songs I wrote while closed up in some room, thinking too much, working it out on my guitar. Making it rhyme.

All of that was underscored by a beating heart that I never once noticed, never once heard or consciously listened to; and I’m gonna trust that heartbeat now; that it’ll keep on beating until it knows its rhythm has come full circle and is finally done.

What’s done is done for a reason, honey.

I know for sure about that now.

I’m not gonna walk on eggshells around my own heartbeat, especially when I have you underneath me like this, taking in all this love.

It still feels so good, you know? Being inside a girl. My dick, a slave to your pussy, honey.

Forever and always. It just feels so good.

What is it about that rhythm? The sex rhythm. It just takes over my dick. And you meet me every time, with every thrust – with so much abandon. What is that rhythm, honey?

The heart beats. Our sex beats. My music beats. Like the waves pound that shore. Rhythm everywhere.

Why is that and where does it come from? And, honey, where is it gonna lead to when I leave here? Someplace incredible, I bet.

I think George will tell me about it. Some night when I’m alone in the kitchen.

He already knows. Isn’t that something to think about?

He already knows.

What sex is meant to be – before we got here, what was it? And after we’ve gone, what does that rhythm turn out to be? It’s gotta mean something big, don’t you think? Sex has got to mean something more than just bringing more people here – babies, I mean.

It feels too good.

Why does it feel so good if it isn’t meant to be pointing us in the direction of something so much more?

What is it that’s really happening when I’m inside you like this and your pussy just feels so goddamned good?

Christ.
Oh. Fuck. Just like that.

✽✽✽

That kind of thing. That’s what I’m talking about. Where did you learn to do that?

Or are girls just born knowing?

✽✽✽

Here comes that rain. Listen to it, honey. Isn’t it the prettiest sound? It’s comforting when it sounds just like this and the wind dies down and the thunder’s done.

Have you ever been somewhere where there was a tin roof and the rain came?

My grandma had a house like that. Almost a shack, really – now that I think about it. But she was real happy there. And we’d always go over and see her, stay overnight; me, my little brother, and then my sister, when she came along.

My grandma spoiled us something fierce. She was sweet and she was fine. She’d let us stay up so late. She didn’t have TV. She taught us how to sing songs. “She’ll Be Comin’ ‘Round the Mountain” - oh we just loved that one. Sang the heck out of it, me and my little brother. She told us stories, too – claimed they were true. About the family. In the real old days. My mama told me later that the stories were a little bit “enhanced” but that, for the most part, they were true.

And we didn’t know that Grandma was sort of poor; that she didn’t have much. We didn’t notice any of that. We always just had so much fun.

But she had a little house with an old tin roof and when the rain came we were all in there together – me, my brother, my sister, my grandma; safe, happy. My drunk old man far, far away somewhere, keeping his belt on for a change, or at least not using it on us.

It was nice. So safe. Just like how I feel here with you, right this red-hot minute, honey.

Where does it all go?

You gotta wonder.

✽✽✽

You are a greedy little thing tonight.

No, don’t stop – I was just teasing you. I can’t resist your mouth. I wouldn’t even wanna try. 

And if I can get it up again, nothing would make me happier. You know that.
   
Go on.
 
Leverage my flaw a little bit, honey. Let’s play the man and not the odds. See if we can’t turn this situation around.

✽✽✽

This is just like that dream. My god. Just like it.

Your mouth feels so 
soft
Whoa.
Whoa.
Who are you, honey, really? 
Who taught you to suck dick like this? Don’t tell me you were born knowing how to –
Oh Christ.
No no no no – No. Honey. Don’t. 
Don’t.
I wanna fuck you again. Come on. Get up here. 
Don’t!

Shit. 
Well, that was nice.

But you don’t play fair, you know that?
I love you, sweetie.
Just so much.
Wow. Look out there. The sun’s coming up.

© 2019 Marilyn Jaye Lewis