Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Why I'm Crying [R.I.P. Whitney Houston]

I've been raped before.

What a way to start this post but literally my brain is stuck on a few facts right now and they keep playing repeatedly.

I was raped. And when I went into the hospital, Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You" was playing on the speakers. While I was questioned and examined, Whitney's voice sang and told me about how she wished good things for me and how she would always love me.

Yes, I know it was just a song and it wasn't directly for me but it helped make that whole thing bearable.

Every break-up I listened to Whitney Houston.

Every time I realized how miserable I was with my biological family, how much I hated hiding some part of myself I listened to or sang "I Want to Run to You."

When Christopher passed I listened to "Why Does It Hurt So Bad?" and when I finally accepted that he was gone I listened to "Exhale (Shoop, Shoop)" and "I Will Always Love You."

And last week when I was doubting that I could be in a relationship with Daniel, when I was thinking about breaking things off with him so that he could find someone good enough for him, Whitney's song "I Believe in You and Me" came on and then "Saving All My Love for You" right after that, even though iTunes was on shuffle.

Just like with Michael Jackson, listening to Whitney Houston got me through some of the toughest moments of my life. The first time I auditioned for American Idol, I sang Whitney Houston's "I Want to Run to You." And when I got ready to move to New York "The Greatest Love of All" was playing on my phone/iPod as I sat on the plane and in between connecting flights.

So while others may not understand why I'm crying over Whitney's death, seeing as how I never met her (although I did meet CeCe Winans and talked to her about Whitney, so I was almost there), but her death devastates me, because her music, her voice got me through so much heartache, pain and devastation in my life and while I knew that it would happen one day, her death makes me relive those moments. As irrational as it sounds, listening to her music, crying to her music, made me feel that she was going through them with me, her, Janet Jackson, Christina Aguilera and Michael Jackson were the ones who were with me, the ones who saw me cry, who heard my words, saw my pain and losing them means those moments become even more painful.

*Sigh* I was going to sing a song in tribute to Whitney and post it here, but I can't sing more than two lines without crying, so I'm just going to post videos.

RIP Whitney Houston, your voice came from the Heavens and now it returns there, but you will always be missed.


Thursday, December 29, 2011

Dear Justin

Dear Justin,

Did you know I got through yesterday without breaking down?

I didn't have a massive freakout.

I didn't break down in the middle of my therapy session and rage at the heavens that my best friend had been taken away from me because of AIDS and stupidity.

But today....the day after the 1year anniversary of your death....today I feel like I'm walking through a cloud. A haze.

I just realized that you were probably behind that nightmare that I had last night. You never were subtle about reminding me of what my true purpose is on this earth: Honey, you were created to clean up all the bullshit that everyone else puts out there. You're going to save the world. That's why you're here. It's your main purpose.


Thank you for reminding me. Thank you for loving me when you were alive. Thank you for loving me from beyond the grave. Thank you for leading me to Daniel, because I totally think that you and Christopher had something to do with that.

Thank you for being my friend. For being the unrequited love of my life (See? If you had only waited, I would have figured it out and been the gay man you always wanted me to be. But then I wouldn't have Daniel...does it make me selfish that I'm glad to have him?).

Thank you for telling me to make sure that I tell your story. Your story has changed lives. Saved lives. People are getting tested after reading about you. People are staying healthy. And because of you, I'll never stop talking about the horror of AIDS, of not being safe, of not being tested.

Because of you, I remembered why I'm here.

I'm going to save the world. Thank you my friend. I miss you and love you every day, but I know that you're looking down on me from above.

Save me a seat? Preferably next to Frank Sinatra....


Love You Always and Forever,

Vicktor Alesandr B.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Inconceivable: Part Fourteen

*So I hadn't planned on putting up another installment because "Unthinkable" and "Inconceivable" are both going to be published through Lulu.com (as will the entire Tate Pack Series) but since yesterday was so fabulous and today was EVEN BETTER and Lucy/Kat asked me for another installment, I'm going to post up part 14 for you all!  {HUGZ AND SQUEEZES} Vee/Vic*




Part Fourteen:


     Tommy swayed his hips in time with the music, his head thrown back as he sang "You and I" by Lady Gaga at the top of his lungs.  He wore a tight black leather mini-skirt, an extremely low cut silk white blouse, black high heels, his hair was pulled up into an elegant up-do, with tendrils of his black hair framing his face.  His flawlessly, make-up covered face.  He looked stunning and he knew that he did.  As he continued to perform for the audience he looked out over the faces that were there and saw that none of them seemed to be enjoying his performance.  They all seemed horrified by him.  He stumbled on the stage and looked around wondering what was the problem and saw a trail of blood all over the stage.  He froze mid lyric and gasped.  Who was bleeding on the stage?  Looking around he realized that no one was up there but him.  Was he bleeding?  But how was that possible?  He couldn't feel any pain or the loss of any blood.  Maybe it was a practical joke.
     Looking back out at the audience he saw that there were two men standing.  He squinted his eyes, the stage lights momentarily blinding him.  When his gaze cleared he saw himself looking into the hateful eyes of Adam Quinn.....Adam Quinn holding a gun pointed at Tommy.  Turning his gaze to the other man, he saw that it was Ton and he looked furious.  The only problem was he was looking at Tommy.
     "Ant?" he questioned as he stepped forward, his hand outstretched.  He heard Adam pull release the safety and felt fear ice his veins.  He heard Ton growl and he looked back at him, confused by his reaction.
     "Don't.  You.  Dare," Ton growled at him and Tommy took a step back.
     "Me?  Dare what?" Tommy asked, his voice frantic as he watched Adam take aim at him again.
     "Don't you dare let him take you away from me," Ton said angrily.
     Tommy shook his head.  Surely Ton understood that it wasn't his choice?  Adam was holding a gun.  How was he supposed to fight against a gun?  He wasn't a wolf shifter.  He wasn't big and strong like his mate.  He was a human.  A frail human.  A small, cross-dressing gay man.  How the hell was he supposed to fight against a bullet?
     "Love," he heard Ton respond and his shocked gaze swung to him.
     "What?" he croaked out and he watched with equal parts trepidation and hope as Ton walked up the steps to join him on stage.  The bigger man stopped in front of him and took his face in his hands gently.  He smiled down at him and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.
     "Love.  Didn't you say that you loved me?" Ton asked and Tommy merely nodded.  Ton grinned, "Well, I love you too and you can't leave me.  I won't survive with out you.  So if you really love me like you say you do then you'll fight to stay with me.  You'll fight for us.  That love will bring you back to me.  So don't you dare let him win."
     Tommy nodded and lifted up on his toes to kiss his mate.  That speech had been the most beautiful and eloquent thing that he'd ever heard the cowboy say.  Richard must have coached him.  He heard Ton growl and giggled when he realized that the other man must have understood his thoughts.  He opened his mouth when he heard Adam yell out and heard the gun fire.  His body jerked as if shocked and he clung to Ton's neck.
     "CLEAR!" he heard a distant voice yell seconds before another jolt of electricity shot through his body.
     "C'mon baby, don't give up.  Don't let him win. Fight!" he heard Ton yelling at him.  He nodded and tried to speak again.
     "CLEAR!" that voice sounded closer and Tommy felt another, stronger jolt of electricity shock through his system.
     "Come back to me!  Tommy please!" Ton was crying now.  Why was Ton crying?  And then Tommy saw it.  A bright light shone on one side of the stage and Ton stood at the other side.  The light felt warm, comforting and inviting.  But.....Ton was waiting for him and Ton was crying.  But the light felt so good, it was welcoming him home and he could hear his grandmother's voice.  Without another thought he took a step................


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


     .........and with a deep breath opened his eyes to the sounds of a siren, yelling voices, crying and complete and utter chaos.  What the hell was going on?!
     "BABY!  You came back to me!" he heard Ton yell as he gathered him into his arms.  Tommy's mind was filled with images of the strange dream he'd had, the utter chaos surrounding him as pack members, ranch hands and the like all ran around barking orders at each other, and the events that led to him lying on a gurney.  Suddenly memories assailed him.  Ton talking him into riding a horse by riding with him.  He and Ton laughing and teasing each other.  The feeling of being watched.  The sound of gunfire.  The horse falling, the searing pain in his back and then the blissful feeling of nothingness.
     "Ant?" his voice croaked as his hands clutched his mate to him tightly.  "Am I paralyzed Ant?  Baby?  Answer me!  Please!" he pleaded with his mate when the other man stayed quiet.  He felt Ton's body shaking with sobs as he lifted Tommy and sat on the gurney before  pulling his body into his lap.  Tommy looked down and realized that he couldn't move his legs,  He felt tears roll down his face before Ton even responded.
     "They won't know until we get you into a hospital, but it doesn't look good," Ton answered ignoring the paramedics who tried to get him to move so that they could get Tommy into an ambulance.
     "Will you still want me?  Even though I can't walk?" Tommy asked in a small voice as he gasped for breath, his body convulsing in pain.
     "Sir!  We really need to get your...boyfriend to a hospital!" one of the paramedics yelled at Ton.  Ton growled at the man and gently lowered Tommy back to the gurney.
     "He is my husband!  My mate! My partner," Ton responded with an angry growl at the paramedic who jumped a bit at the aggressive tone before nodding and grabbing the head of the gurney to assist his partner in getting Tommy into the ambulance.  Tommy locked eyes with Ton, afraid that the man wouldn't be joining him in the vehicle.  Afraid that he wouldn't want him anymore.  He breathed a sigh of relief when Ton climbed inside and took one of his hands while the paramedic worked to make sure that he stayed stabilized.
     Ton leaned down, close to his ear, "Nothing in this world would ever make me not want you.  You are my mate.  For better or for worse.  In sickness and in health.  To love, honor and cherish.  For richer or for poorer.  Forever.  You are mine and I will never let you go," the bigger man told him, his words loving and thick with emotion.
     "Me too," Tommy responded with a smile before he closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing his thoughts and his pounding heart.  He had thought his life had been turned upside down when he'd mated a wolf shifter...but that was nothing compared to now.  Would he be able to handle being paralyzed and what about Adam?  Did anyone catch him or was he still out there...waiting for his next chance to finish the job?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Adam followed the ambulance with a grim smile on his face.  He hadn't meant to shoot Tommy.  Tommy was his baby.  His love.  He would never do anything to seriously hurt him.  Oh, he'd have to rough Tommy up a few times, so that he knew his place, but he would never want him to die or to be paralyzed.  The bullets had been met for the other man.  The one they called Ton.  The huge, hulking mass of idiot that thought he could take Tommy away from him.  He'd gotten off easy last time, but next time he wouldn't miss.  Next time Ton would be the one fighting for life while Adam took Tommy to France with him...where he belonged...forever...until death did they part.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Black History Month Day Two

Here is your Day Two of Black History/Our History Knowledge (see don't ever say that you didn't learn anything by reading my blog):








Crispus Attucks:



born 1723 – March 5, 1770. Crispus was killed in the Boston Massacre in Boston, Massachusetts. He has been named as the first martyr of the American Revolution.



Little is known for certain about Crispus Attucks beyond that he, along with Samuel Gray and James Caldwell, died "on the spot" during the incident. Two major sources of eyewitness testimony about the Boston Massacre, both published in 1770, did not refer to Attucks as a "Negro," or "black" man. The first was a report commissioned by the town of Boston, "A Short Narrative of the Horrid Massacre," which contained over one hundred depositions from locals about what they saw on March 5, 1770. The second source, "The Trial of William Wemms," referred to Attucks more than a dozen times as a "mulatto" or "molatto," and once as an "Indian", another as a "tall man," and yet another as a "stout," or muscular man. While 19th-century anti-slavery advocates later focused on Attucks' African heritage, Bostonians in 1770 considered him mixed-race.



Historians disagree on whether Crispus Attucks was a free man or an escaped slave; but it is widely agreed that he was of Native American (Wampanoag) and African descent. It is also unclear if his presence at the scene was intentional or accidental. There are some reports that he was not a participant in the riot but happened upon the scene at a tragic time and that he became collateral damage. Later he became an icon of the anti-slavery movement and held up as an example of the first black hero of the American Revolution. The other victims of the attack being: Samuel Gray and James Caldwell who like, Attucks, were killed during the attack; while Samuel Maverick and Patrick Carr died from their wounds afterward.



In the early nineteenth century, as the Abolitionist movement gained momentum in Boston, Attucks was lauded as an example of a black American who played a heroic role in the history of the United States. Because Crispus Attucks had Wampanoag ancestors, his story also holds special significance for many Native Americans.



Crispus Attucks, one of the people killed in the Boston Massacre which started the American Revolution, is a central figure in the development of independence in the U.S. He was the only African American that was killed. There is a theory that he went by a different name, Michael Johnson. In addition, with regard to his mixed heritage, during the colonial period, it was not uncommon for Native American and African-descent people to unite and have children together. Attucks in all likelihood had both Wampanoag and African ancestry. Because slavery and racial discrimination were conditions of life in the 18th century, few detailed accounts of ordinary people from the colonial period exist. The name "Crispus" was mentioned in some records from the period; without a surname, to determine if these refer to Attucks. Historians have speculated whether an advertisement placed in the Boston Gazette on October 2, 1750 referred to Crispus Attucks:



“ Ran away from his Master William Brown of Framingham on the 30th of Sept. last a mulatto Fellow, about 27 years of age, named Crispus, 6 Feet and 2 inches high, short curl'd Hair, his Knees near together than common; and had on a light colour'd Beaverskin Coat, plain new buckskin breeches, blue yarn stockings and a checked woolen shirt. Whoever shall take up said runaway and convey him to his aforesaid master shall have 10 pounds old tenor reward, and all necessary charges paid. And all masters of vessels and others are hereby cautioned against concealing or carrying off said servant on penalty of law.[5] ”





In the aftermath of King Philip's War in 1676, a Wampanoag man named Jean Attucks was executed for treason. Throughout the 17th to 19th centuries, the surname “Attucks” was used by Praying Indians around Natick and Framingham. The anthropological research of Frank Speck, as well as the work of Algonquian linguistics scholars Ives Goddard, Kathleen Bragdon, and Jessie Little Doe Baird, suggest that "Attucks" is likely an Anglicisation of the Wôpanââk word, ahtuq, meaning "deer", in combination with, ees, meaning "little."



Attucks has often been praised in writing meant to inspire Americans to work toward the ideals of freedom and racial equality. In 1858, Boston-area Abolitionists established "Crispus Attucks Day." In 1886, the places where Crispus Attucks and Samuel Gray fell were marked by circles on the pavement. Within each circle, a hub with spokes leading out to form a wheel.



Two years later, a monument honoring Attucks was erected on Boston Common. It is over 25 feet high and a little over 10 feet wide. The bas-relief (raised portion on the face of the main part of the monument) portrays the Boston Massacre, with Attucks lying in the foreground. Under the scene is the date, March 5, 1770. Above the bas-relief stands a female figure, Free America. With her left hand, she clasps a flag about to be unfurled, and in her right hand, she holds the broken chain of oppression. Beneath her right foot, she crushes the royal crown of England, which lies torn and twisted on the ground. At the left of the figure, clinging to the edge of the base, is an eagle. Thirteen stars are cut into one of the faces of the monument. Beneath these stars in raised letters are the names of the five men who were killed that day: Crispus Attucks, Samuel Gray, James Caldwell, Samuel Maverick, and Patrick Carr.



In 1888, leaders of the Massachusetts Historical Society and the New England Historic Genealogical Society opposed the creation of the Crispus Attucks memorial on Boston Common. Today, both organizations use Crispus Attucks’s name to foster interest in black history and genealogy.



The poet John Boyle O'Reilly wrote the following poem when the monument was finally unveiled:



And to honor Crispus Attucks who was the leader and voice that day: The first to defy, and the first to die, with Maverick, Carr, and Gray. Call it riot or revolution, or mob or crowd as you may, such deaths have been seeds of nations, such lives shall be honored for aye...



Martin Luther King, Jr., referred to Crispus Attucks in the introduction of Why We Can't Wait (1964) as an example of a man whose contribution to history, though much-overlooked by standard histories, provided a potent message of moral courage.



In an unsourced book that appealed to a wide audience, James Neyland wrote his appraisal of Attucks’s significance:



He is one of the most important figures in African-American history, not for what he did for his own race but for what he did for all oppressed people everywhere. He is a reminder that the African-American heritage is not only African but American and it is a heritage that begins with the beginning of America.



In 1998, the United States Treasury released "The Black Revolutionary War Patriots Silver Dollar" featuring Attucks' image on the obverse side. The reverse side of the commemorative coin shows a family of African-American patriots. Funds from sales of the coin were intended for a proposed Black Revolutionary War Patriots Memorial in Washington, DC.



In 2002, the Afrocentrist scholar Molefi Kete Asante listed Crispus Attucks as being among the 100 Greatest African Americans.



Places named for Attucks include the Crispus Attucks High School in Indianapolis, Indiana, the Attucks Middle School in Houston, Texas, the Crispus Attucks Elementary School in Kansas City, Missouri, the Attucks Theatre in Norfolk, Virginia, the Crispus Attucks Association in York, Pennsylvania, Crispus Attucks Road in Spring Valley, New York, and the Crispus Attucks Center in Dorchester, Massachusetts.



The first line of the Stevie Wonder song, "Black Man" is about Crispus Attucks.







Why Crispus Attucks is Important to Our History:



Blacks in the United States were only seen as property during the time that Crispus lived. Native Americans were seen as disposable people to be gathered and hidden away on reservations. Crispus was a disposable piece of property in the eyes of the majority of the American society. Crispus showed his worth by standing against injustice, by fighting on behalf of a country, a nation that did not see his own worth. Crispus truly was a hero in that aspect.



The story of Crispus shows us that we can't let hurt, wrongdoing, personal injury and injustices done to us, stop us from standing against injustices done to others. That we must stand for the greater good, we must fight against tyranny and slavery and oppression in all its forms. That is what the life and death of Crispus Attucks shows us. It also lifts my spirits to know that in a time where blacks and Native Americans were not noticed or appreciated, the death of this "mulatto" this "black man" was noticed, revered, remembered and praised for centuries.



Your thoughts?

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Thunderstorms

So, while reading a few short stories online, I came across a story about a couple who for different reasons are afraid of storms and their affects. It of course made me think about my own fear of storms, or rather my own sense of foreboding and hesitation over them. Like all fear it is connected to a memory, a bad one.

I was a young woman, a girl really and it was storming outside. I had gone to visit a friend of mine and was spending the night. She'd gone to take a shower and her brother, whom I found incredibly attractive, was home. He'd come into the living room where I'd been watching the Olsen twins in "Double, Double, Toil and Trouble" (yeah, this was a while ago). He'd asked me how long I'd known his sister, if she was my best friend, things like that. He was making small talk, putting me at ease, which didn't take too long. I was a lot more mature than my other friends by the time I was 10. Much of which was due to things I'd experienced earlier in my childhood. I remember that it didn't take long before I was smiling and laughing with him. I'd been raised in a very strict, very correct and upstanding "Christian" household. I put the quotations because while my mother was the embodiment of a true Christian, my father was only the shell of one. But that's neither here nor there.

Because of my upbringing in this staunch Christian household, my parents had pretty much glazed over the whole sex talk thing. I do believe that when I started my monthly cycle at the age of 9, my father took me out for ice cream, told me that now I could get pregnant. That sex was where babies came from and that sex was only for married people. So when my friend's brother asked me to come to his room and then asked me if I wanted to play a game called sex, I was of course, reticent, about the whole thing.

"My mommy and daddy said that sex is only for married people and that that's where babies come from." I'd told him with sincerity and innocence, completely trusting.

"Oh no, they got it wrong. Making love is for married people. And babies come from inside of the mommy's belly. But you can't get a baby from playing sex and anyone can play it," he'd responded, sounding so sure, so certain, so knowledgeable and HELPFUL that I believed him almost instantly.

Well, anyone can deduce what happened between me, a 10 year old girl, a P.K. (Preacher's Kid) and this 16 year old "man". After getting me to take off my clothes and lay down on the bed, after hurting me, after ignoring my please and cries for him to stop, after he'd finished with me, told me to get dressed and then pushed me out of the room, I was afraid of storms. You see, it had been storming really hard in Meridian, Mississippi that day. Oh I can sleep through some of them, if I fell asleep before the storm started and I've taken the right "painkiller cocktail" I can sleep through almost anything, but if I'm awake when the storm starts, well, I stay awake through the entire thing, my hands slightly shaking, my throat tight, my mind struggling not to remember.

As I read this story, I struggled with my own memories of that night. Then I struggled with memories of the two men that I'd shared that story with and of their two different reactions. I'd shared that story with Christopher, my fiance, shortly after seeing a senior citizen get mowed down by a vehicle in the middle of the street (I still remember that incident with clarity) and with Brandon, someone I still cannot identify even after all this time (was he my boyfriend, my friend? What the hell were we to each other?). And just like the two of them, their reactions were like night and day. Brandon listened to me as I shared with him this painful story, said "Aaww baby, I'm so sorry. C'mere" and pulled me into his arms, rubbing my back as I jumped at every sound of thunder, falling asleep way before I did, forgetting the entire incident in the morning. Whereas Christopher, my knight in shining armor, listened, pulled me roughly into his arms and then demanded the name of the boy who'd raped me. When I refused to give it to him, because really, it had been 11 years by that point, the statute of limitations was up and honestly, I'd gotten past it....for the most part. Realizing that I had no plans to tell him, he'd sat down on the bed and pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me. We sat there for almost fifteen minutes just holding each other. Then he'd laid down on the bed and held me in his arms, then he began to talk to me about our future together. How many children he wanted us to have, the house he wanted us to live in, how he'd be the man behind the woman when I took over the world with my writing, acting, singing, dancing and non profit organizations.

Christopher whispered words of love to me, cherishing me as I relived the painful memory. Then he held me in his arms, singing softly to me (off-key and out of tune) until I fell asleep.

People will always have different reactions to your life story. Everyone has one, everyone has a special sort of "life hell" that they'll have to endure and people around you will respond to it and to you differently. You'll lose people from your life when they're unable to handle it or to understand you or the situation(s) you'll endure. People will enter your life because they see you going through hell and it makes them feel better about themselves and their own lives. Then there are those people, the Christophers, who want to fight on your behalf, who love you, who draw you through the thunderstorms, protecting you, loving you, until the hell, the storm passes or until you find peace.

It's the difference between those people who are temporary dwellers in your life and those who are etched into your life. In a year or so, a few months Brandon will be completely forgotten by me (and not a moment too soon), but Christopher will be remembered by me forever. He, I will never forget, and will never want to forget.

I may have met Brandon after Christopher passed away, but it's Christopher who is freshest on my mind. He is the reason why I only shake a little when I hear a thunderstorm rather than fiercely shaking and crying silently when one hits. I will remember him forever. I will love him forever. And that's just something that you don't ever forget.

Is there something in your life that's tied to a painful memory? How can you tie that thing to something positive? Who is the person in your life who can help? Think about this today.

Have a great weekend all!

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

His Story

He was born Justin. Half French, half Italian, he was gorgeous. He IS gorgeous, atleast he was the last time I saw him. Now his body is being covered with black sores, his body, usually a hard mass of muscle and physical perfection is losing its definition as he loses weight during this hard time of his life. We met in high school, he was just another addition to my ragtag bunch of friends, all of us different, gay, transgendered, straight, bisexual, Wiccans, Atheists, Christians, Buddhists, Agnostics, Spiritual, Hermaphrodite, Cripple, we were a bunch of people who became friends because of our love for the theater, drama, music, sex, alcohol, and amazingly enough our mutual love for Brad Pitt.
Justin, Ryan, Angel, and I naturally gravitated towards each other. We were far and away the most dramatic and flamboyant of our little makeshift "family" of 15. We were all outcasts, the black sheep, who just happened to be the most popular people around. All for different reasons. Angel, the gorgeous Puerto Rican boy who women desperately wanted to turn straight and for whom men were willing to turn gay, was always known as being the life of the party, with his flair for fashion, he was Lady Gaga before Gaga existed. I was the chameleon, able to blend in with my surroundings yet staying true to who I really was. I was popular because of my talent, my ability to accomplish whatever I truly set my mind to and because while I wasn't considered "beautiful," guys were still drawn to me. Ryan, the hermaphrodite of our "family" was popular because of how smart he was, his sarcastic wit, and because he was one of the few open-minded, TRULY loving Christians that existed. Justin, however, was a force to be reckoned with. A hulking mass of sexiness, he was popular because he was beautiful, his smile could stop traffic, he was the biggest sweetheart in the world and while girls were often brokenhearted when he told them he was "a flaming homosexual" they were only too happy to consider him a friend.
Justin was free-spirited. Then again, we all were. Spending our days skipping class or daydreaming about moving to Los Angeles and becoming "Super-Celebrities" in our own ways. Justin wanted to be the highest paid porn star in the world and be President of the United States....simultaneously. He dreamed big and often. He was also one of my biggest supporters/fans. Justin could never understand it if a guy didn't find me attractive, or if someone told me "no," or if I got turned down for anything. He always seemed truly shocked. That was Justin's thing though, he believed that all of his friends were the best thing walking and could never believe it when someone disagreed with him.
Justin grew up in a family where his parents were just as free-spirited and flighty as he was. They changed ideals, beliefs, religions, and values about as much as they changed the furniture in their house. Perhaps that attributed to Justin's restless spirit, or perhaps it was always there, regardless, Justin was not one for committing to anything, not a job, not a place, and especially not a relationship. So it was to the shock of all of us when he told us that he had not only been in a committed relationship with the same guy for a year but that he was in love with him. Being the type of friends that we are, we immediately teased and berated him for it before asking to meet the guy in question, Isaac.
Isaac was your typical rich boy, spoiled, entitled, arrogant, thinking he was God's gift to men AND women and I of course had a problem with him dating my best friend, especially when he hit on me one night and told me not to tell (which of course I did). Isaac and Justin's relationship was fraught with violent arguments and fighting, excessive drinking and drug usage, and other addictive behavior. Isaac also cheated on Justin....repeatedly. Justin always took Isaac back, much to the chagrin of the rest of us.
So I wasn't too shocked when Justin called to tell me that Isaac had confessed to having an affair for four months, not even when he told me that Isaac had been cheating on him with a woman, I wouldn't have put it past Isaac to cheat on him with a dog if giiven the right motivation and circumstances (gross I know, but hey, I'm being honest). However, I was shocked when he told me that Isaac had gotten this other woman pregnant and the two of them had decided to keep the baby and to try to be together.
Justin was devastated and rightly so. So, being the family that we are, we all pitched in and helped to fly Justin from New York over to London, England where Angel and James lived with their own house, thinking to help Justin heal over his harsh breakup by indulging in the life of a British man. It seemed to work for a while, Justin began laughing and smiling again, returning to a glimpse of his former, vivacious self.
So I was shocked when he called to inform me that he'd had to go to the doctor....again, to get bloodwork done. Then when he told me why, my heart stopped.
You see, our family started off with 15 in 1997, and now in 2010, we are just 5. Losing the other 10 to drugs, jail, and AIDS. So when Justin told me that he was having another "outbreak" of sores, weakness, and feeling sick, I felt the air in my world being sucked out.
Justin is a big, huge, important part of my life. The results of his test came in and when he called me, sobbing openly on the phone, my heart broke. I am so afraid of losing him and so angry that he didn't get tested sooner, earlier, yearly. He knew his partner was unfaithful and yet chose to remain in denial rather than face reality and get tested. His partner put his life on the line by sleeping around and yet Justin is not completely innocent because he didn't use protection and he didn't get tested.
Now, our days will be filled with nostalgic memories, hospital visits, medicine, attempts at trying to cram as much of Justin's "bucket list" into what remains of his life, trying to be hopeful, and all of us will spend our days with this black cloud looming over our heads as we try not to focus on the fact that we will be losing another family member to this horrible disease soon.
We have a responsibility, not just to ourselves but to our partners, our loved ones, the world and our family to get tested as often as possible, to stay healthy, informed and aware.
Justin hasn't lost his vivaciousness or his flair for life, he's wiser now, he's sicker, but he's still the same guy who tossed me over his shoulder and carried me to my Drama class, one day, our freshman year in college, because he said that "Divas don't walk."
His story has motivated those of us who remain to get tested but to also tell his story so that through his life and impending demise, we might save the lives of others.

By the way, Justin's favorite movie is "Rent" and his favorite part? The restaurant scene where the cast sings "La Vie Boheme." Favorite line: "Actual reality, Act now, FIGHT AIDS!"

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Chapter One of My Book "Whole Pieces of a Broken Heart"

Chapter One
Six months earlier
Dr. Matthew Bailey smiled and waved good bye to Mrs. Escaban as she waddled out of the front door of his private obstetrics office. Chuckling softly to himself at the thought that he was the palest Dr. Huxtable in the world, Matthew turned to his last patient of the day and found himself staring….he also found himself not breathing and when he finally took in a breath, it sounded like a gasp. When she looked up at him, Matthew found that his entire body was enflamed with heat. Trying to shake off his weird reaction to the expectant mother, he pasted a smile on his face and tried to ignore his libido.
“Mrs. Riley?” he questioned as he stepped forward with his hand outstretched for a handshake.
“Ms Riley. But please call me Kyra, I mean you’re going to become very intimate with the most private part of me,” the beautiful mother-to-be stated.
Chuckling at her too true statement, Matthew briefly allowed his eyes to take inventory of the treasure in front of him. She was taller than most women, but shorter than his own six foot three stature. He’d put her around 5’8”. She had the most beautiful dark brown skin color, like milk chocolate, his favorite dessert. Her body was curved in all the right places, she wasn’t model thin, but she wasn’t too thick either, she was in a word…perfect, even with her stomach distended with pregnancy.
Seeing her head cocked to the side, with her shoulder length black and brown streaked hair falling over one shoulder, he realized that he was standing there holding her hand and gawking at her like a horny teenager. At least the teenager part is wrong, he admonished himself, as he coughed before showing her into his examining room. She didn’t waddle like the rest of his patients, but that could be because she wasn’t as far along as the rest of his patients. However, she was still very graceful to be pregnant, she walked gracefully even if she weren’t pregnant, she must be a dancer or took ballet at some point, Matt reasoned. Barely glancing at her chart as he asked her to have a seat in the chair in front of his desk, he replayed all that he knew of her case.
25 years old, 14 weeks pregnant, moved here from another base in Virginia with her husband who had that fatal accident a few months back, living in a suburban area right outside of Boston, here for her first sonogram, looking at her face as she looked over the paper he’d placed in front of her about her diet and admitted to himself, and stunningly gorgeous. When she looked up, he hastily looked down as if perusing her chart and ran his fingers through his thick black hair before looking back up at her, his erratic hormones finally under control.
“Well Ms Riley, are you ready to hear your baby’s heartbeat?” he questioned, his friendly doctor smile back on his face.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, and I thought I told you to call me Kyra?” she smiled.
“Okay, well Kyra, let’s go meet this little one.”
The two of them stood up from their seats and walked into the examining room. Matt helped Kyra up onto the examining table and placed the Fetal Doppler on her stomach to listen to the baby’s heartbeat. Trying to focus on his job, Matt began to smile as he heard the baby’s heartbeat.
“Well Kyra, your baby is healthy…wait, I mean your babies are healthy,” he said.
“My what?” Kyra screeched.
Matt turned to Kyra. “Ms Riley, you’re having twins,” he stated a smile on his face.
Matt watched in amused silence as Kyra’s eyes closed in shock and then widened in awe. Her mouth opened and closed as if she was talking but no words were forthcoming. Finally her hand touched her baby bump and she swallowed hard.
“I’m having twins? That’s amazing! Not improbable, twins run in my family, on both sides, but I just never thought….I mean…I never figured….this is just incredible! I mean it’s a good thing right? I mean I can handle it financially. I mean, oh my gosh! That‘s why Maria said I was showing really early huh? This is so great!” Kyra stated in a stuttering manner.
Matt just continued smiling as Kyra slowly came to the realization that she was indeed having twins. Turning to him, she threw her arms around him and hugged him with all of her might.
“Oh thank you! Thank you Dr. Matt!!” she exclaimed.
Laughing outright, Matt went against his usual protocol and hugged her back. As the two hugged, the hug slowly changed from one of friendly excitement to something infinitely more intimate. Even though he knew that it was wrong, Matt could not make himself pull away from her. When the two of them finally did separate they were both very much aware of the other. Clearing his throat, Matt smiled nervously at Kyra and opened his mouth to say something about her diet and pregnancy and what to expect when she shocked him by speaking first.
“Well, I guess my libido isn’t dead huh? I haven’t been that attracted to someone for a long time,” she stated matter of factly, pulling her shirt down and cocking her head to the side in wondering amazement.
Matt spluttered in shock. He couldn’t believe that she’d said that! I mean, a person would have to be blind, deaf, dumb, and half-dead to not notice the sexual tension and attraction that was flowing between the two of them, but he’d never remark on it.
“Ms Riley-”he began.
“Kyra,” she corrected.
“Kyra,” he amended, “It is perfectly normal for a pregnant woman’s sexual urges to increase as the pregnancy advances, sometimes it disappears all together. Every woman is different.”
“Dr. Matt,” she chuckled as she started to slide off of the examining table, “I don’t care about other women that you’ve dealt with, I know me and I know my body. What I experienced wasn’t because of the pregnancy; it was because of me finding you extremely attractive.”
Matt could only stare as she stood before him, an angelic smile on her face, making her almost ethereally beautiful. His heart pounded in his chest as he considered that for just a moment she might actually kiss him. He thought about that as his eyes alighted on her full thick lips. He’d seen some big lips, but hers weren’t just big, they were shapely and…..juicy. He could imagine feasting on her lips all day long. As his eyes began to close he watched as her head lifted to receive his kiss. Hearing someone clear their throat had him jumping back quickly and trying desperately to hide his burning red face and calm his pounding heart as he went to respond to his assistant.
“Yes Mrs. Eslinger?” he asked.
“Mrs. Bailey is on the phone for you,” Mrs. Eslinger stated.
“Mrs. Bailey?” he heard Kyra whisper behind him, her words sounding hurt.
“My mother,” he stated to her before turning back to his assistant, “Can you tell her I’ll call her back.” Not daring to look into why he felt that he had to explain himself to his patient…..that he’d almost kissed.
“Yes doctor,” his assistant smiled, and he knew that she’d be grilling him about Miss Riley when the office closed.
“Well doctor, I better let you go,” Kyra said, and as he turned to her, he was shocked again as she kissed him lightly on his lips.
“See you next time doctor,” she smiled as she walked out the door.
Matthew stood in silent shock as she walked out his door before giving into the weakness that had settled into his limbs and collapsed into his chair. The woman was forward, brazen, blunt….in a word, amazing.
“You did what?” her best friend screeched on the phone.
Pulling the phone away from her ear at her best friend’s squeal, Kyra walked around her kitchen collecting all of the things that she needed for her special meal: apples, strawberries, oranges, grapes, chocolate syrup, bananas, pickles, kiwi and sliced turkey mixed together in a bowl. Hmmm, I’ll be glad when this pregnancy thing is over, these cravings are killing me, she thought to herself before turning off the light in her gourmet kitchen and walking on bare feet to her breakfast nook. Sitting down with her legs stretched out on the window seat where she sat, Kyra waited until her best friend Marie finished her Spanish ranting. Hearing her tirade draw to a close with “stupido,” Kyra swallowed the mouthful of her “special” salad and spoke.
“Mi amiga, I couldn’t help myself. He was muy caliente! I felt as if he were mi Corazon, mi amore. He was standing there, looking at me and all I could think about was kissing him to satisfy my curiosity. I think he may be the only man capable of giving me le petite morte,” smiling widely Kyra spoke in Spanish, Italian and French.
She and Maria were both multi-lingual and relished learning new languages just for the heck of it. Maria was born in Madrid, Spain and moved to the States when she was 10. She immediately met Kyra at school and having a heart of compassion and selflessness, the young girl took Maria under her wing and showed her the ropes of attending an American school. The two of them set about teaching the other different aspects of their own culture and their biological languages. Maria taught Kyra Spanish and Kyra taught Maria Italian which was what her father spoke. When they entered high school they both chose to learn French since they knew they would be cheating if they chose Spanish or Italian. After taking four years of the language, for their graduation presents they both asked their parents for a trip to Europe. They backpacked around France, England, and Spain. It was there that they both came to a realization of what they wanted to do with the rest of their lives. Maria loved art, art history, and the culture of the arts and promptly took up Art History in college to become an Art Curator. Many people felt as if she was overlooking her own artistic beauty, at 6’1”, Maria stood out in a crowd, but it wasn’t only her height that got her noticed. With her tan skin, thin frame and beautiful Spanish features, Maria’s parents had pushed her to model. Maria hadn’t wanted to be known for her looks, however, and had gone on to become one of the most successful and well-known authorities on art and artists. She hadn’t regretted one minute of her decision since she made it. She and Kyra took every summer to go to some foreign country and learn some of the language and the culture; it was their own special tradition.
Kyra’s story was a little different. She was raised by her aunt and her grandmother from the time she was eight, since her parents were both killed in the line of duty while serving in the military. The government sent her two checks and she received two Purple Hearts to honor the passing of her parents. Her aunt and grandmother were wise, however and invested the money that Kyra was sent by the government. By the time that Kyra was in high school she had so much money she was known as the “rich girl.” Her aunt married Kyra’s Chemistry teacher when Kyra was a junior in high school and they, along with her grandmother, really hammered into her the importance of being independent. So when Kyra and Maria went off to Europe for the summer, Kyra had no problem navigating her way through the country. Very proud of her African-American & Italian heritage and her culture, Kyra’s family was very pleased when she told them that she was going to become a chef. So when Kyra and Maria returned to the states she set about to become the most sought after chef in the country. To the delight of her family and in the honor of her parents, she’d succeeded. Kyra’s mother was African-American, a dark skinned, sized 10 woman with an amazing singing voice that she’d passed onto her daughter. Kyra’s father was an Italian man, the typical Italian man, he was very smooth and cool and very into his family. Kyra was his pride and joy and he’d spoiled her rotten while he was still alive. He’d taught his daughter Italian and also how to cook. Kyra’s skin color was a beautiful dark brown milk chocolate color, her mother’s African-American pigmentation coming through more dominantly, although Kyra’s hair and cheekbones attested to her father’s Italian influence. The Gargulas had taught her daughter that color didn’t matter and that if she found true love she shouldn’t but a color requirement on it. Kyra had taken that piece of advice to heart.
The two women were inseparable and shared everything with each other. Kyra was there for Maria when Maria got married and then a year later when she had her first child, Kyra’s godson Ricky. Likewise Maria was there for Kyra when she’d married a drill sergeant in the Army, SFC Riley, and then when her husband died tragically when a new soldier, a very eager one, accidentally shot her husband when practicing cadences with his buddies during Basic Training. Maria held Kyra’s hand and stayed with her for two months as she’d grieved and then as she’d found out that her husband had left her a very special surprise….
Kyra turned with wide eyes to Maria. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered. Maria’s eyes had widened also.
“What?” she’d croaked out. “I’m pregnant Mare,” Kyra repeated flopping onto the side of the bathtub.
“What? How?”
“The usual way, Mare,” Kyra chuckled, “Landon and I made love everyday, even the day he was killed.”
Maria turned from the sink where she’d been examining the tests and knelt before Kyra.
“You know it figures that Landon would find some kind of way to leave his mark behind,” Kyra laughed.
The two women had laughed and like that the cloud of grief that had been hanging over Kyra lifted. She still mourned her husband’s death but she knew that he’d want her to move on with her life and it seemed as if fate had chosen her OB to help her do just that.
“Cara mia, you can’t just go around kissing men though,” Maria said furiously.
“I don’t mi amiga, it was only this once. Mi dispiace,” she apologized.
“You have to stop switching languages in the middle of sentences chica,” Maria laughed.
The two women laughed heartily and spoke of pregnancy matters before moving on to their plans for that summer.
“Make sure you check with your doctor that it’s okay. I mean you’ll be six months when we go, but with it being twins... who knows if the rules are different,” Maria advised.
“I will. I have another appointment with him in a few weeks, I’ll ask him then…” Kyra stated. Then she teased, “Or I could just show up to his office and ask him.”
“Kyra!” Maria exclaimed.
“Okay, okay. I’ll wait,” Kyra acquiesced.
The two talked for thirty more minutes before Ricky cried for attention from his mother. They said goodbye with plans to talk the next day before they hung up. Kyra sighed as she absently rubbed her distended stomach. Standing up she walked back into her gourmet kitchen, which looked as if it had come directly from an Italian kitchen, with garlic hanging over the stove and sterling silver pots hanging above the island. The color scheme of the room boasted of an Italian upbringing, with the red cabinets, white countertops, and green appliances. Placing her now empty bowl into the almost full dishwasher, Kyra’s mind drifted to her husband. The choking tears that usually came with his memory didn’t come this time, she saw his smiling face and the conversation that they’d had one week prior to the accident.
Landon flopped onto his back after exploding his seed deep inside of his wife’s womb. Smiling as he heard her gasping for breath, he rolled over onto his side and pulled her to him.
“I want you to always be happy,” he’d begun.
Kyra had begun to giggle because she’d thought he meant sexually.
“Well honey if you keep doing the same moves that you did tonight, you might just get your wish,” she’d said as she ran her hand over his chiseled, hairless, olive colored skin. Landon was a full-blooded Greek man with black hair and blue eyes whose body looked as if he lived in the gym. The two had run into each other at the supermarket that was located just off base. They were instantly attracted to each other and shocking family and friends alike were married within six months of meeting each other when they eloped in Las Vegas. They’d gone back and had a wedding six months after that, in an effort to appease bruised feelings, but they always celebrated the first wedding as their anniversary date.
Landon laughed and tickled Kyra lightly, he stopped when he saw that she was losing her focus and starting to yawn.
“No, honey, I mean that I want you to always be happy in life. I mean sex is a part of it…with you it’s a BIG part of it,” he chuckled when she playfully smacked his shoulder, “but I mean, if anything should happen to me, if I should die or something, you have to promise me that you will do your best to be happy and as quickly as possible.”
Kyra had looked at him confused as to why he would be talking like that, but when he persisted she agreed and in an effort to drive the haunting look from his eyes, she’d made love to him, slowly and thoroughly. She’d forgotten about that conversation right after but soon after the funeral it had come back to her with sudden clarity and hadn’t stopped running through her mind.
Kyra closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. It was an old meditation trick that her mother had taught her in order to keep her emotions at bay. Whenever she thought about Landon she instantly thought about her horrific experience when she was four. She hated thinking about that, it always stirred up what she saw as being unnecessary emotions. Exhaling slowly and raising her arms slowly in the air, Kyra was shocked out of her meditative pose by the sound of her doorbell ringing. Who can that be? She wondered as she walked through the hallways of her home to the front door. Smoothing her hands over her ponytail, Kyra turned on the porch lights and looked through the peephole to see who her late night visitor was. She gasped as she saw that Dr. Matt was standing outside of the door holding what looked to be her attaché case. Smiling at his generosity, she opened the door and leaned against the doorjamb.
“Well…Dr. Matt, it’s so nice to see you again,” she smiled.
“Um, yes, it’s nice to see you again also,” Matt stuttered.
Aww, that’s so cute, he’s all nervous to talk to me. What can I do to ease his worry? Kyra asked herself before having a brilliant and hilarious idea.
“Would you like to come in Dr. Matt?” she questioned.
“Well…I don’t know…I mean, it’s late and-” Matt began.
“Don’t worry I won’t attack you and kiss you like I did earlier, I promise…not unless you ask me to,” she laughed.
Matt blinked before he realized that she was trying to put him at ease. Laughing good-naturedly at their earlier meeting, Matt nodded his head and followed her into the door. Walking behind her to the living room, Matt tried to pay more attention to her home décor than to her beautiful derriere swaying before him. She lived in a very nice home. It was a two story home, with each room having a different color and theme. The hallways were a golden color and were filled with figurines of Greek mythology and paintings of Greek gods and demi-gods. As they passed the dining room and the kitchen on the right, Matt quickly glanced in and saw that the dining room was very classically elegant with cabernet carpet and maroon paneled walls and a huge table that looked as if it could seat a third world country. The kitchen was fit for a gourmet chef and looked as if it came directly from an Italian restaurant. On his left they passed what looked to be the formal living room which was completely white. Raising his eyebrows, Matt promised himself to ask her about that room. The next room on his left seemed to be a ballet studio, with ballet bars, mirrors on both walls and a desk with a boom box sitting on top of it. Following her around a corner on the left, Matt stopped when he saw the informal living room. It was every man’s dream room. With a bar on the left, a refrigerator on the right, what looked to be dark green felt carpet with lines as if the carpet were a football field, Matt could see why footballs were kept in a case on the side beside the refrigerator. His eyes took in the pictures on the walls. They contained Kyra and another man at different sporting events. He stopped perusing the walls completely when his eyes came upon one picture, his breath catching in his lungs he walked closer to the picture.
Catching where he was headed Kyra tried not to laugh.
“Y-y-you met the Boston Red Sox?” he whispered in awe.
Kyra laughed as she took his hand and brought him over to the large photograph on the wall next to her 64 inch television screen. While the first picture showed her, David Ortiz, Manny Ramirez, Pedro Martinez, and Johnny Damon this photograph showed her standing in the middle of the Boston Red Sox at two of the greatest times in their recent history, when they won the World Series in ‘04 and then again in ‘07. Matt turned to stare at her with a look of admiration in his eyes.
“How?” he questioned.
“My mother knew “Papi” from when he was a kid. His family kept in touch with me after my parents died. So when he started playing for Boston I got season passes. I’ve always been a huge BoRSo fan and Papi introduced me to Johnny, Manny, and Pedro,” Kyra stated rolling her r’s as she said Pedro.
“BoRSo?” Matt asked.
“It’s what Maria, my best friend, and I call the Boston Red Sox. Anyway, Papi introduced me to the fellas, I started cooking for them whenever they were in the same city as me, they came to my wedding,” Kyra stated and then pausing she whispered, “they even came to my husband’s funeral.” Then shaking herself out of her reverie she finished with a smile, “I make them promise to not discuss their teams or baseball when they’re all around me, to me they’ll always be BoRSo players. These pictures on these walls remind me of that.”
“I’ve never met a woman who liked sports, much less liked the Red Sox and knew the players. I mean, they’re my favorite team of all time. It’s one of the reasons I asked to be transferred out here, I’ve always loved Boston,” Matt turned to Kyra and got down on one knee while holding her hand, “Will you marry me?” he teased.
Kyra laughed heartily and asked if he wanted a drink to which he accepted, forgetting that he’d come over with the express purpose of delivering her attaché case and leaving, not wanting to be alone with her for fear of his hormones spinning out of control. Following Kyra through the house Matt was consistently amazed at how peaceful her home felt, and how much it felt lived in already. He tried not to smile like a big kid when Kyra poured him a beer in a Boston Red Sox cup, but failed miserably.
“Why do you have beer in your home? You’re pregnant,” he questioned after taking a few big gulps.
Kyra laughed again before answering and he felt his groin stirring to life at the sound. What was it about this woman? He asked himself before focusing back on her.
“I checked online Dr. Matt, they said I could have one beer if I’m craving it, and I’ve been craving beer since I’ve gotten pregnant. Plus, I have family and friends who come by a lot and they all like to drink, so I always make sure that I have some beer in the fridge for them,” she explained before pouring herself a glass of ginger ale.
“Nauseous?” he asked, making a mental note of the symptom.
“Just a little, it comes and it goes,” she replied before taking a sip.
“Well, that’s perfectly common,” he stated although his eyes were cautiously aware of everything.
“I know that, Dr. Matt, my best friend, Maria, explained just about everything when I found out I was pregnant.”
“Oh, really?” Matt asked amused. “So, you really don’t have a need for a doctor like me then huh?” He chuckled softly when Kyra looked as if she were contemplating the idea.
“You know something? You’re right! I don’t need a doctor…” smiling mischievously at him she teased, “but you’re just too cute to fire, so I guess I’ll let you stay on as my doctor.”
The two shared a laugh and then drank their beverages in a friendly silence. When his pager went off, Matt was surprised, for a second he’d almost forgotten where he was, who he was, and his relationship…his professional relationship with Kyra. Looking at the number he sighed, someone was going into labor which meant that he had to go.
“I’m sorry-“ he began.
“Don’t be,” Kyra interrupted, “you’re a doctor, you’re a ‘baby’ doctor, of course you’re going to get paged.” She stood up with him, taking his glass and placing it beside hers on the counter. She turned to walk him to the door and he tried his hardest not to stare at her posterior as she walked but found himself failing at that as well.
“Dr. Matt? Are you checking out my butt?” Kyra’s voice laughed at him from in front of him.
“I’m trying not to,” he answered truthfully and was rewarded with a healthy laugh from her.
“Don’t feel bad, she has a tendency to hypnotize men. That’s how I got my husband Landon,” she said.
The room suddenly got very quiet, this time not a pleasant quiet like from before, but a silence that was thick with emotion and pain.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Matt whispered when they got to the front door and she opened it. “I wish there was more comfort that I could give you, but I’m afraid that I can’t.”
Kyra placed her hand on his arm before she spoke, “It’s okay, your desire to comfort is more than enough. Thank you.”
He nodded his head and turned to walk back out of the door. Stopping suddenly, he turned back to her, “What’s up with the all white living room?” he questioned.
Kyra’s eyes blinked in confusion and then crinkled at the sides as if remembering a very pleasant scenario. “I’ll tell you all about it when you come over for dinner this weekend,” she hinted.
“You want me to come over for dinner this weekend?” Matt asked in confusion.
“Aw! Thanks for asking me Dr. Matt! I’d love for you to come over for dinner this weekend. Let’s make it Saturday at 7pm okay? Okay. G’night!” Kyra smiled before leaning up to kiss the very confused doctor on his lips and pushing him out the door. Closing the door on his still shocked face, Kyra started laughing when she heard his soft but still dazed reply.
“G’night.”