#3. being very likely physically incapable of walking to the coffee shop

[bladeofthestars]

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[elsb-hrngtons]

The Seaside Blues Cafe

Hello Lovelies so this was an absolutely gorgeous prompt form Rhythm_Smith 

so i received this absolutely gorgeous prompt from Rhythm_Smith for HfBLM:

Several years after cannon (with a s3 divergence where Neil is the one possessed by the mind flayer ) Steve and Billy own a cafe by the beach called The Sea Side Blues Cafe and Billy proposes.

i really hope you like it, its given me all the warm fuzzies writing it!

please call see this wonderful moodboard @gideongrace made for it <3 

links to Ao3 in the notes.

June 1995

Somewhere just off of the broadwalk near Santa Monica Pier is a little cafe, inside there are a mismatch of tables and chairs, bean bags and bookshelves that line nearly every wall, fairy lights strung across the ceiling casting the cosy interior in dazzling colour. Chalkboards take up the wall behind the counter, with the daily specials scribbled on in a  multi-coloured scrawl, where there are not bookshelves there are posters with sayings like ‘Love is Love” and “respect the rainbow”. Outside under where the awning casts much needed shade from the relentless Californian sun are two sets of tables and chairs, each complete with an ashtray and menus, between them is a black A-board that reads with big fancy letters “ALL ARE WELCOME” “Live Music Every Saturday”. Business was booming.

Billy and Steve have worked hard to get where they are, it hasn’t always been easy, but then they both know more than anyone else things worth having rarely ever are. They’ve been together since Starcourt, when Neil possessed by the mindflayer almost killed them all, and Billy in a blaze of glory risked everything to take him down. When the dust had settled and Billy was left lying on the cold tile floor of the food court, impressive wounds to his sides and chest, miraculously having missed any vital organs, blood pooling around him, Steve couldn’t help but chastise him for risking himself like that.

“I couldn’t let him win pretty boy”

“You’re so stupid Billy, you could have died”

“Not dead, Just hurt, how about you kiss it better?”

And Steve did.

The rest so they say is history, once Billy was released from hospital, with a large pile of NDA’s to sign and an impressive payout of hush money/compensation from the good old US government, he wasted no time in telling Steve exactly how he felt, and for the first time in his godforsaken life, something went his way, because Steve as it happens felt the same way. It’s not long after that they pack up their belongings and drive west, drive home.

The years to follow are filled with so much joy, love and laughter, two boys who’s orbits crashed into each other, inseparable now, unable to live without the other even in the midst of petty arguments.

It was with Billy’s government money they were able to send Steve to culinary school, where he excelled at Pastry, and with Steve’s baking prowess and Billy’s creativity they opened their own business, a little cafe called the Seashore Blues Cafe,  just off the broadwalk near Santa Monica Pier.

It’s just another morning in the small corner of the world they’ve built for themselves, the sun is shining high in the sky, breeze rolling off the sea as Billy wanders down from their apartment above the cafe to help Steve open up shop. Steve’s already been up and working for a few hours, lovingly creating all his delicious treats to sell to their customers that day. The cafe smells like freshly brewed coffee with hints of vanilla and cinnamon, and as Billy walks out from their little kitchen out back and through to the front of house he’s struck in awe at just how beautiful Steve really is. He’s sat at table by the window, mid morning sun streaming through shrouding Steve in a halo of light, his soft brown hair flops over his face which has specks of flour dusted on his cheeks, silver wired glasses balance precariously on the bride of his nose, he’s got a pile of their mail on the table and he’s reading something, cute little crease between his brow as he studies the words in front of his face. As Billy approaches closer he notices the letter in question is embossed with gold leaf calligraphy, fancy. Whatever he’s reading it looks to be something important, and Steve doesn’t seem too pleased to be reading it at all.

“What  you got there pretty boy?” Billy asks which startles Steve who clearly didn’t hear Billy walk in, he looks up and gives Billy a tight lipped smile as he hands over the offending piece of paper. Billy glances over it and sure enough in big shimmery cursive it reads ‘ Together with their parents Nancy Elizabeth Wheeler and Jonathan Christopher Byers invite you to join them in celebrating their marriage’ so its a wedding invitation that has Steve looking so glum.

“Mazel Tov” Billy deadpans

“Yeah” Steve sighs

“I mean it’s good news right? Wheeler finally making an honest man out of Byers and all” Billy questions as he slides onto the chair next to his boyfriend and gives him a chaste good morning kiss.

“I mean yeah it great, it’s really great, fantastic really” Steve begins to ramble “but..”

“But you’re still sore about Wheeler ditching you for Johnny boy?” Billy asks, it’s not at all mean and Billy is long past being outwardly insecure about Steve’s past relationships, but he can’t help but feel that old familiar pang of jealousy and suspicion make a home in his chest, always worried that this little slice of heaven they’ve carved out of near on a decade of hard work and prejudice will never be enough for Steve, that he will never be enough for Steve.

“No no that’s not it.. It’s just” Steve seems to falter, can’t find the words to say can’t do his feelings justice with the spoken word.

“It’s just what baby?”

“Doesn’t it make you sad?”

“Does what make me sad?”

“You know.. That we can’t have that” Steve snatches the invitation out of Billy’s hand and throws it across the table, Billy watches as it slides straight off and floats gracefully to the floor, gold lettering catching the light, glinting and shining mocking Steve as he begins to wine and tug at his hair, something he started doing whenever he got stressed of worked up. Billy takes hold of Steve’s wrists, makes sure his grip is loose and gentle so Steve can pull away if he wishes to do so, he doesn’t, Billy brings his hands down in front of them both on the table and places both his over Steve’s holding them, rubbing soothing circles onto the backs of Steve’s hands with his thumbs.

“I mean it sucks for sure, but there’s not much we can do about it, no point dwelling on it” Billy tries his best to be gentle to be soft, its what Steve needs in this moment, Steve huffs out a sigh and stands up, brushing the creases out of his apron as he goes.

“Yeah i guess you’re right, c’mon let’s get this place open” Billy watches as Steve disappears into the kitchen, when he’s out of sight he gathers the rest of the mail, stoops down to pick up the discarded invitation, assesses it once more and as he reads the RSVP details he’s struck by inspiration. He places the invitation to the back of the pile and can’t help the smirk on his face as he wanders around the counter to switch on all their lights.

---

“So let me get this straight” Max says down the phone her tone incredulous and honestly Billy can’t blame her, what he’s asked of her is a pretty mean feat “ you want me to somehow gather the party and drag them all the way to California and not tell them why?”

“Exactly” Billy is standing behind the counter of the cafe, his side turned to the hustle and bustle of the dining area, where their patrons sit chatting happily, while Lucy, their waitress goes between tables taking orders and checking in. Billy curls the cord of the wall mounted phone around his finger, he’s antsy Steve’s due back from running errands and could walk through the front door any minute now, he keeps one eye on the door and jumps slightly every time the bell above it jingles.

“And you want me to make sure no one tells Steve we’re coming?”

“Yep.”

“And how please tell me dear brother, do you expect me to do that?” Billy used to flinch whenever anyone referred to him as Max’s brother, but after years of rebuilding a bond that was tinted so long ago by pain and bitterness, all he feels is a warm fondness at the title.

“I dunno! Can’t you get El to do her mind shit or whatever it is she does”

“It doesn’t work like that Billy!” Max all but yells down the phone

“Okay okay, well maybe you can tell the rat pack why.. Actually no. You can tell everyone but Henderson” Billy corrects himself, knows full well if Dustin got wind of his plans, not only would he receive yet another shovel talk from the little gremlin, but there’s a strong chance he could actually blow his big scheme altogether.

“Why not Dustin?”

“Because shitbird. Curls is physically incapable of keeping a secret and I don't want him to spoil it, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear”

“Thank you” Billy breathes a sigh of relief but its short lived as he hears the familiar jingle of the bell above the door and catches sight of a dishevelled and winded Steve come strolling through the door “Shit i gotta go, talk later”

“Yeah okay.. Oh Billy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really proud of you, and happy” She hesitates as she says the next part “i love you”

It still takes Billy’s breath away when she says it, it's not something they say very often to each other, but each time they do he knows it’s genuine and that though alone is enough to make his heart rabbit in his chest, he still feels guilt at the way he treated her in the early years, feels her love isn’t deserved at all, nonetheless he has it and he loves her too.

“Yeah Yeah, you too Mad Max” he tries to sound unaffected but his voice wavers at the end, has no time to compose himself though because Steve is right next to him, he slams the phone back into the receiver with a little more force than was strictly necessary and spins round to greet his lover with a toothy grin.

Steve leans in to peck Billy on the cheek, soft lips lips contrasting with rough stubble, he pulls back with a dopey smile.

“Was that Max?”

“Yeah she says Hi by the way”

“Sorry I missed her, what was she calling about?” Steve asks

“Oh you know just checking in” Billy tries for nonchalant, shoves his hands in his pockets to help with his casual facade, Steve isn’t buying it, he raises one eyebrow and fold his arms across his chest, he’s got a dumb smug smirk plastered on his face as he leans his back against the counter.

“Max never calls just to check in”

“Well she was today pretty boy” Billy’s defensive, hates lying to Steve, hates being caught in a lie, but needs must and all. “Anyway shouldn’t you get back in the kitchen? I’m sure Ricky’s dying for a smoke break”

“Fine” Steve huffs, pushes off the counter and makes his way back to the counter, just as he disappears through the door he calls over his shoulder “this conversation isn’t over by the way. I’ll find out why Max called”

Billy can’t help but roll his eyes but it’s all in good humour.

“Sure thing Beautiful”

---

It’s taken a monumental amount of planning and tantrums and narrowly avoiding being the number one suspect in the double homicide of MIke Wheeler and Dustin Henderson, but here he is, it's the big day and he feels like he’s about to throw up.

He’s been pacing the cafe floor, burning a hole in the wood flooring with his anxious back and forth, religiously checking his back pocket to assure himself of the safety of the ring he has stashed away in there, and it hasn’t magically disappeared in the last 10 seconds. The ring he almost had a breakdown over finding, almost threw the towel in and called whole thing off because he needed it to be perfect,needed it to be right, and had it not been for Robin’s intervention and her dragging him to some of the more alternative jewelry stores LA had to offer, he might not have found one at all. He hopes Steve likes it, hopes above all else Steve says yes, because if he doesn’t Billy’s not sure he’ll survive that kind of heartbreak, might have to take a long walk off Santa Monica pier and let the ocean wash him out of existence.

The party have all been helping set up and decorate the cafe which has been closed for the day, as far as Steve is aware the space has been hired for a ‘Private Event’ which are supplying their own catering, giving him the opportunity the spend the day with Robin, who is spending the month in California on a ‘whim’, of course she’s really here for Billy’s big plan, to help distract and misdirect Steve so he’s none the wiser and it truly does remain a surprise.

The place looks beautiful, more so than it usually does, The daily specials board has been wiped clean and in its place are messages of congratulations, love and support for Billy and Steve, somehow Max and El managed to source fresh garlands of various white flowers, all with names Billy doesn’t care to learn, all he knows is they look stunning strung up along the ceiling and across the walls interwoven with the fairy lights that are a permanent fixture of the interior design. Every table is adorned with white table clothes and on each table are vases with the same flowers hung up on the walls, there’s different photos of Billy and Steve throughout the years hung up all over the place, snapshots of the life they built together smiling down on Billy as he impatiently waits for Steve’s arrival. He’s lined the kitchen with hundreds of candles and rose petals carpet every inch of the floor,  and he knows once Steve is over the initial shock of it all he might bitch about fire hazards and safety bullshit, but Billy couldn’t care less, it’s romantic and Steve really should appreciate the effort.

The plan is simple, Robin will drop Steve off at the back door, then she’ll sneak round the front and join the rest of their guests in the cafe where they’ll wait silently for the signal, The signal hopefully being a loud and celebratory ‘he said yes’, then the party begins.

Billy’s still pacing, he can’t help it, couldn’t possibly stay still in this moment, he’s supposed to receive a page from Robin any minute now to tell him her and Steve are 5 minutes away, his mouth is dry and his stomach is doing somersaults, he feels like he might forget how to breath.  

“Will you stop pacing, you’re making me dizzy!” Max complains from where she's sat sideways on one of the chairs.

“What if he says no Max?”

“He’s not going to say no” she says rolling her eyes

“Yeah as much as I hate to admit it, Steve’s crazy for you, there’s no way he’s gonna say no” Dustin chimes in.

Billy doesn’t get a chance to respond because his beeper sounds from where it’s been left on the front counter by the till, the whole room holds their breath as he rushes over to check and sure enough Robin and Steve are less than 5 minutes away and it’s finally happening. Within seconds the whole room devolves into a frenzy, all the guests rushing to take their place in the crowd, all party members elbowing each other to push their way to the front, Lucas and Will holding up a side of  a just engaged banner. It's chaos, but Billy can’t think about that right now, tunes the rest of the world out, knows they’ll be quiet when they need to be.

His heart is in his throat as he walks the small distance between the front of house to the kitchen, double checks all the candles are lit and the rose petals that didn’t make the floor, instead are strategically placed on the counter top to spell out ‘Marry Me’ are all in their right home. He combs through his blonde curls and straightens out his shirt, checks his back pocket one last time just as he hears the sound of Steve’s keys turn the lock, he doesn’t know what to do with himself where to place himself, so instead he just stands there arms to his sides, eyes wide, expression hopeful.

Steve walks in fumbling with the lock, shopping bags in each hand from a day spent getting some well earned retail therapy, he’s in a cheery mood Billy notices, half singing,half mumbling some pop song, bobbing his head with his back turned to the kitchen. He hasn’t noticed Billy’s presence yet, or all the evidence around him of Billy’s devotion to him, but as he turns around he’s struck dumb. Eyes wide, shopping bags fall to the floor as he gasps and clasps one hand over his mouth. He’s tearing up as he tries to find the words to ask what’s going on, but there’s no need as Billy drops down to one knee, the ring he spent painstaking hours choosing, presented in front of him as an offering to the only thing in this universe or any universe he’s ever worshiped. There are tears in his own eyes, but he can’t help the smile as he gazes lovingly at the man he’s loved since he was 18, hope bubbling in his chest threatening to spill over.

“Billy, what’s all this?” Steve asks, still stuck in his place at the door, his voice is wavering and he’s shaking, his legs look about 5 seconds away from buckling from underneath him.

“It’s for you Bambi” Billy says, it's barely a whisper and his voice is breaking from all the emotions he’s been storing in his chest all day, betraying him as they claw up his throat at the most vital moment of his entire life.

“Billy--” Steve begins but Billy cuts him off.

“Will you just shut up for a minute… please”

Billy takes a deep steadying breath as he tries to calm his pounding heart and find the right words to say, he tried beyond hope to write some kind of speech for the occasion, but none of the words he scribbled down felt right, felt like they did the love he had for Steve any justice, it was Max’s suggestion to improvise, to speak from the heart, it’s more authentic that way, and Billy couldn’t help but agree at the time, but now all he wants to do is curse himself, curse Max for ever thinking that going without at least some idea was a good idea.

“From the very moment I laid eyes on you I knew I was in trouble” Billy begins, it’s a strong start but now he’s faced with the dilemma of what goes next.

“Here was this guy, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and.. And you had this fierceness to you, never backing down, always looking out for others, even if that meant risking yourself.”  His knee is hurting from putting his weight onto it or too long, but in this moment he finds he couldn’t care less, bites through the pain so he can continue his declaration.

“And I wanted to be like that, I wanted to be the kind of person those big Bambi eyes would look at and be proud to call a friend.” He lets out a shaky breath as he recounts their love story, he’s never been a poet but his words are raw and genuine.

“So I built myself, modelled myself after you and sure enough you became my friend, you forgave me, gave me a chance and that made me so happy” The tears are really beginning to fall now, his vision blurs and his eyes sting, still he powers through.

“Then I fell in love and I fell hard, and everyday I’d hate myself because I convinced myself you’d never love me back, and some days it was just too painful, but I knew it would hurt more if you were never in my life at all, that it would tear me apart” Steve still hasn’t moved from his place at the door, he just stands there a full river of tears flowing from his eyes, making them shine and twinkle in the candle light, he;s silent as he listens and if Billy couldn’t see the ride and fall of Steve’s chest he’d swear the man had stopped breathing altogether.

“That’s why I didn’t leave Hawkins straight after graduation, even though I promised myself I would. I just couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you behind.” He has to pause as he gathers up the strength to move onto the next part, as he has to acknowledge a time of his life, he’s torn between never wanting to forget and never wanting to remember.

“And now more than ever I’m so glad I didn’t, because if I did, who the hell knows what would have happened at that mall, all i know is I never would have gotten the chance to say I love you, or have the chance to hear you say it back” They’re both full on sobbing now, he has to continue even between hiccups, he has to finish, has to get to the park where he asks the question.

“And even after all these years, I have to remind myself that this is all real, this life we’ve built together is real, and I thank my lucky stars because you made me the man I am today, you made me the happiest man on earth that day, and have done everyday since, and if I can make you even half as happy as you make me, then I know i’m doing something right for once” Billy composes himself, its now or never, time to ask the most important question of his life.

“So Steve Harrington, will you marry me?”

It’s at that moment Steve’s legs finally give way and he crashes to the ground on his knees, still speechless and sobbing his heart out. The seconds that follow time seems to stand still for Billy, moments passing by excruciatingly slow, and the longer they both kneel there a mess of emotions on the kitchen floor Billy’s heart crawls further and further up his throat preparing itself for a steep and swooping descent of agony or a jubilant explosion of incomparable joy.

Just when Billy thinks there's an actual possibility he’s going to die from the anticipation, Steve finally speaks up.

“Yes. Billy I’ll marry you” his voice is barely audible, its hoarse from all the crying, but it's the answer Billy was hoping for and he’s overcome with an overwhelming sense of relief he feels almost faint from it, luckily Steve is crawling on his hands and knees until Billy collapses forward into him, burying his face into Steve’s neck and holding him tighter than Billy ever remembers doing before.

“Really you mean it?” he has to ask, as to make sure.

“Billy i want nothing more than to marry you” Billy can’t help but laugh with unrestrained joy, he feels his heart soar and his cheeks flush, he feels fit to burst, can’t contain it much longer, needs to shout from the rooftops just how happy he is. Steve lifts them both back to their feet and he holds Billy at arms length so he can look into Billy’s eyes. Honey brown meets ocean blue and there’s so much feeling in both their gazes, a storm of emotion ready to let loose any minute. “I love you Billy Hargrove” he declares a triumphant smile on his face as he leans in to give Billy a chaste kiss.

“I love you too Steve Harrington” Billy can’t help himself, he leans in a kisses Steve with all the passion and all the adoration he possess, its bruising, its fiery and it's oh so sweet as he forces his tongue to part Steve’s lips and licks into his mouth, but before he gets much of a chance to deepen it there’s a shout from out front.

“Has he said yes yet?” It’s the unmistakable and irritating voice of an impatient Mike. Both Billy and Steve break from the kiss and chuckle as they lean in and rest their foreheads against each other’s for a moment, soaking in the quiet glory of their love. Billy leans back and hollers towards the front of the cafe.

“Yeah he said yes!” It's met with a resounding cheer from the group of people gathered to witness this, and now the hard parts over the best part of Billy’s plan can begin.

“C’mon pretty boy, our guests await” he holds out the ring from Steve to slip onto his finger and takes him by the arm so he can guide Steve out to the front. Steve’s breathless for the second time in less than 20 minutes as they open the kitchen door and are greeted by all the faces of the people they love the most, all grinning from ear to ear and celebrating for them.

“You did all this?” Steve asks, awestruck.

“Well I had some help, I couldn’t have done it without these losers that's for sure” Billy laughs as he gestures towards the party, feeling victorious when Mike and Dustin look scandalised by Billy’s comment. “And you can thank Robin for helping pick out the ring,” He continues.

“Billy I don’t know what to say, this is incredible” Steve marvels as his eyes wander around the room, taking in all the decorations and photos and messages of good will.

“You don’t need to say anything at all.” Billy says “Listen baby, I know you’re upset that we can’t legally get married, but y’know fuck the law. Let's have our own wedding, right here right now. We don’t need a piece of paper to say we love each other” Billy turns to face Steve takes both his hands in his and stares searchingly into his eyes, looking for signs he may have messed up. “And if they do ever make it legal, and you still want to we can do it proper, just as soon as the laws passed” He rambles on “and there’s no pressure if you don’t like it, we can do something where we plan it together, it doesn’t have to be here and now--”

Steve interrupts Billy mid sentence to peck him quickly on the lips,

“Billy it's perfect.”

“Yeah, you sure?”

“Never been surer of anything in my life”

“Well then pretty boy, let's do this.”

---

Billy’s floating on cloud nine and there’s not a chance in hell he’ll be bought back down any time soon, the day was perfect everything he could ever wish for, a day spent celebrating his love for Steve and Steve’s love for him, a day spent surrounded to the most important people in their lives and nothing in this world could ever beat it.

He’s never seen Steve so happy either, even as he fusses trying to clear away the scattered rose petals and burnt out candles from the kitchen, their guests long gone all retired to their respective hotels giving Billy and Steve all the privacy a newly wed couple deserves.

“Hey Bambi, leave all that we can get in the morning, let’s go to bed” Billy says as he slides up behind Steve and hooks his arms around his waist, kissing and nibbling at his neck.

“Can’t do it tomorrow there’ll be no time to clean and get everything ready to open” Steve mumbles as he brushes more of the rose petals into the trash, Billy places his hand onto Steve’s shoulder so he has more leverage to spin him around so they can face each other.

“What if we just didn’t open tomorrow?” Billy says as he nips at Steve’s jaw and presses against him.

“We can’t not open tomorrow Billy” Steve says riding a moan

“Why not we’re the owners right?” Billy snakes his hand between them and presses his palm against the growing bulge in Steve’s pants.

“Yeah but--”

“Yeah but what? Don’t we get to decide if we open or not? Haven’t we earned a few days off?”

“I guess..”

“So what are you waiting for, let's go to bed” Billy says between kisses. At that Steve sighs and slips out to move away from Billy.

“Fine lets go Tiger” He says over his shoulder as he saunters towards the stairs to their apartment, Billy licks his lips in anticipation, can’t help the extra pep in his step as he follows, flicks the lights off with a flourish and kicks the door closed behind him, feeling lighter than air as he takes the stairs two at a time.

June 30th 2015

20 years to the day Billy proposed to Steve, when he laid his soul bare and proclaimed his undying love. 20 years to the day, that with the only family that ever counted to either of them, playing witness to their mutual promises of forever, they stand with the shore at their feet, the surf lapping at their ankles, brilliant hues of orange and pink as the sunset acts as the backdrop to their declaration of love.

They’re finally here, surrounded by the same family as 20 years prior and a few new, yet fond faces, keeping a promise they made all those years ago to make their marriage ‘official’ to join together legally.

Wicca chairs stand in rows up the sand, filled by guests with joyous expressions watching as Billy and Steve utter their vows to one another, as they pledge a lifetime to one another, Robin stands between them officiating the ceremony, while Dustin stands proudly to Steve's side and Max to Billy’s. The breeze tickles through the congregation, whipping gently at Steve’s salt and pepper mop, as he gazes adoringly into Billy’s eyes, tears threatening to spill despite the dazzling grin on his face.

Robin announces them as Husband and Husband and they receive their standing ovation, Billy grabs Steve and dips him backwards to press a passionate kiss to his soft lips, a kiss filled with all the devotion he’s built up over the last 30 years and promise to continue that devotion for the next 30 and god willing more. The cheers and hollers from the crowd fizzle away into white noise, the sounds of the ocean, the crash of waves, the whistle of the breeze and the call of gulls acts as the song to their first kiss as a proper married couple and just as he did 20 years ago today, Billy feels his heart swell ready to burst straight out of his chest, feels his stomach dip because he’s never been so happy, because even after 30 years kissing Steve still gives him butterflies, because despite all the injustices he faced in his younger years, he stands here with the only person he’s ever loved, his soulmate in his arms and nothing, not the upside down, not the monsters that walk among them, not his dad, could ever compel him to ever let Steve go.

[signssymbolsthoughtssensation]

N*10005

The god principle. Never before had I encountered such strange phenomena. All of my consciousness, absorbed and transported through a single space in my sense perception field, like a wormhole, transmitting my awareness into a vast and infinite expanse of stored information.

The psyche can be a fragile place. Up and out of the trans-personal depths of human visceral potentiality came forth an archetypal prurience yet to be beheld by the vast majority of homo spaiens. As though a strong gust had blew out the foundations on which all of my presuppositions and intrinsic benchmarks of reflection were stripped away, cataclysmically and in a fraction of a moment.  My nervous system had produced an experience unintelligible to peers, alienating me in mind and body, placing me with in a fractional percent of the population who had either lost their minds completely or had gone on to alter components of their greater realities in the most idiosyncratic of ways.

Yetzerharah. An evening spent in deep concentration and light but purposeful effort. Brought forth from what little I had done was opportunity previous left dormant, imperceptible or incapable of accessing due to a sense of fatigue jumbled and created by unclear cognition. Forwarding my inspiration towards an event or endeavor that yielded promise was become a forte of my young mind. Never before had I began to understand at a level once understood as unconscious, but is now better being mapped by swarms of cognitive psychologists, neurologists; who collaborating with and drawing upon the wisdom entrenched in antiquated philosophy extract a cornucopia of mental hygiene once mapped by the customs of various traditions. 

Holographic displays of cyclical impressions once drove me to the brink of physical collapse. Normally I have an acute sense of my physiological needs, aware of how my body responseds to certain stimulus and the slight variations it displays on a daily (state to state, station to station, the body takes it own particular path, but never yields to the infinite on going, state to state, transfiguarting wow). But now, an understanding of physical abnormality had just escaped my foresight, an ill condition boastfully embraced and precieved as willful and righteous, the making me meager not a indication of mental instability but the acts of a valiant man bent on nothing other than the gratification of desire and satisfying expectations of those both frequented and imaginary. 

Having discussed my disparaging insights with a confidant, a woman at a local drug store who would never fear exchanging a friendly and salacious glance, not afraid to look at me in a way both endearing and sexually stimulating simultaneously. As I went on and on and on and on and on about what it was that was bringing me to an uncertain and imperceptible understanding of a future previewed to be understood intellectually but fleeting and unable of being represented internally. She looked at me and laughed. As she was as acute to my shifting condition as I was, (though her uninterrupted and unspoken flirtation never ceased), she had suggested I take particular measures that would guarantee not only my reinvigoration but the sanctity of my well being; my manhood for lack of a better term, and that I was to ingratiate her; to meet with her promptly at a later time in which she would reveal that all elusive something that would put my life back on track.

Stunned by the suggestion, I began to not take notice of my shifting surroundings, almost walking into an obviously illuminated item in a nearby corridor as I pasted it swiftly and with nonchalant unfocused and unawarene dreamlike gaze. Had it not been for the insight and prompt action of a highly attuned and proactive bystander I would have been maybe too demoralized to muster the courage to, later that night, message the women I understood to be taking me for the strangest of rides. I located her phone number through a list of  gross associations, and mutual friends so far removed that I felt the highest levels of embarrassment to speak with one on the phone and ask for the social media contact of the woman who just would not have me think otherwise of her.

I made the call, unaware as to whether or not I was intentionally diverted from her attention by an otherwise aware and self-seemingly caring distant friend that would wonder why it was I had not directly ascertained her phone number through more direct means. But she answered, recognized my shy voice immediately, and then jokingly made a remark about how I now, after the months in which we have interacted, began to show prolonged signs of timidness and poor thinking. She loved it. We talked, in my case absentmindedly, for about 12 or so minutes before she had arranged a rendez-vous. We were to meet a friend of hers, an unlicensed specialist that she vowed would be the secret elixir to illuminating my once vivacious and daring inner body. Tuesday it was, and I hung up the phone with equal amounts hope and fear.

My sleep was light. I woke  up transfixed by the thin rays of morning light peering through and reflecting upon the gaps of space between my open blinds and the window shield. This illuminated my bedroom in the most dreadful of was, giving the inability to sleep in, on weekends when I needed it the most, and further contributed to the degradation and noticeable decline in my cognitive faculties. My sense perception also shifted, it was their were infinite layers of information in which, due to some sort of hemorrhaged function or cycles or modalities of thought unable to be interpreted by a brain so fatigued and so ‘out of it’. In my usual daze, it was 10:00am, I made my way to the meeting place, a local coffee shop with a lovely patio on the corner of a bustling yet residential neighborhood, just far enough away from the heart of downtown so that it would be appropriate to be so expansive and so inviting to long casual conversation. 

Lisa sat down adjacent to me, in a way in which her feet ran perpendicular to mine, so close as to clash the tips of her toes into the sides of my shins as she tucked her chair closer to meet her stomach onto the table and get a lot closer to me. Her friend arrived almost as she sat down, a long tall, thin and beautiful Eastern European man, with long dark hair and dark features. He sat down and remained very still, his breath was very full and his gaze was both piercing and inviting. He took a strong interest in me, but once that was shown preconcieved insofar as he brought up Lisa’s deep interest and non-stop loquacious blabbering about how he and I, his name was Stark, would be good friends, and even better business associates. Just as my faced resembled a slight hint of distrust, he reassured me, letting me know that  he would be demanding little to no money of me, just thirty minutes of undivided and earnest effort and concentration, and that, with little effort and great ease, I would begin to recognize the extremely fortunate and beautiful situation I was finding myself in. Stark went on, inviting me to speak, going into anecdotal drift as we, in our own loquacious manners, began to speak in long and uninterrupted stanzas, remarking notable and relate-able experiences and having a laugh all the while. 

But now,after a heart warming time, it was time to move our attention and intention towards the given endeavor, the meat and potatoes as to why it was we were meeting this evening.

Stark was a practitioner of an ancient yogic system, one so buried into antiquity that it could only be referenced in its native sanskrit (so niche that no one would be willing to take on the arduous task of transcribing its 6000 page central text, an almost scientific understanding of the modalities and niche experiences of consciousness, one of the earlier maps of the inner world). He promised not to bore me with the details, and then asked, in a way that made my decision seem to be one that I had to think about deeply but come up with an answer, he quickly asked whether or not I would be willing to engage with a short-term apprenticeship in the system as he understood it, that it would take a total of no more than 8 hours of my time (he alerted me to how that was like... watching 3 movies or something), and that out of our practice, not only will I gain my old mental faculties, but that they would return in a heightened and supercharged fashion. 

Lisa looked on all the while in silence. She was either genuinely transfixed by the charisma of Stark, or intentionally and most brilliantly pretending so, insofar as the ‘On-Looker’ effect would happen every time my gaze slipped in her direction, forcefully creating a vortex around Stark and making him ever the more irresistible of a speaker.

I , although initially reluctantly, took Stark on for the challenge (for a challenge was the manner in which I must have anticipated an affair, very conscious of how things usually either benefit me or waste my conscious efforts; a challenge was always a way to stretch cognitive faculties on build some of those colloquial traits like GRIT or SPIRIT.  Stark, in his, ...and now as I recollect, masterful way, reciprocated my new found frame of understood experience, and began to let me know how much it would bring forth not only peak experience, but unlock dormant and physiologically available energy sources that would change my beliefs about what it was I was capable of and what it was I was not.

Our redez-vous was cut short. I still had more than half of my Iced Americano left, but pulling into the curb of the intersection, parking parallel to the patio, was a friend of my friends. He waved them down in a conspicuous manner, and even caused quite the scene, when from the compartment of his Honda Civic, in the loudest of voices, started communicating with the lot of us. He did so with absolutely no shame, Lisa and Stark starting to get into quite the lengthy back in forth with him. The man (who I now knew to be named Shane), focused his attention on me, and began a direct line of questioning, that, out of shyness, I began to try to deflect, but his inflection and warm but loud voice demanded reciprocation, and in my soft spoken manner, I did my best to carry on this distance speech. He appreciated my efforts with a warm smile and a light-hearted joke, and then had Lisa and Stark come join him. They left quickly, said goodbyes, but did it purposefully, and quickly paid for everyone's drink (I think it was Lisa who did it, she ahd the most incentive too), hopping into Shane’s ride. I received a text from Lisa only a couple minutes after the left.

She invited me to meet again in the evening, to meet at a yet to be disclosed location later that night. 

[compuncture-blog]

Maybe one way that you return to yourself

Maybe one way that you return to yourself is by making your body into silly puddy, and tearing off very very small pieces of yourself and leaving them at various coffee shops and pizza parlors around town. Maybe one way that you return to yourself is by splaying yourself out, letting everyone have a small tug of you. Maybe that’s not like the square breathing exercise, where you’re supposed to breathe in for 4 seconds, then out for 4 seconds, or maybe it is exactly the same as that. Do you return to yourself by posing some of the most complex life questions as false binaries, like “are you an introvert or an extrovert?” Do you cling desperately to the idea that introverts gain energy by being by themselves, and extroverts gain energy by being around other people?  I guess what I’m trying to say is the kind of intimacy exchange I’m looking for these days, is the kind of intimacy exchange that is facilitated by Tinder. 

I had sex with someone new last night, and she told me at the start of the night that she’ll never see the last guy she slept with again because after they had sex, he started talking about his ex-girlfriend. Last night, when we were done having sex, she asked if she could rinse off in my bathroom, then when she came back into my room, she asked me if I had any plans for the solar eclipse. I said no, not yet, and then she told me a story about her ex-boyfriend, and how her favorite thing about him was that he was always down for adventures. She said they spent 6 hours in a planetarium once. I think I kissed her forehead. I thought that was nice. I think she’s still in love with her ex-boyfriend. I think he sounds perfect for her. Maybe that’s the nice thing about one-night stands. They come pre-packaged, with specific implied boundaries. There is something so kind and tender about the absence of formality / care / censorship required to freely discuss your ex-lover immediately after sex.  I guess what I mean to say is I am looking for social interactions that make me feel like I am incapable of being devastated. I like the illusion of seeing myself as a body, in a city, floating in and out of people’s lives, carrying little consequence with me. Everything is so heavy. I just want light. 

That’s a little cowardly to admit, or maybe admitting it is courageous. I think about practice and training. I’m at the gym, and DeShawn, who I’ve only spoken to 3 times, but whose name I remember because it has my name in it, asks me why I’m limping. I tell him I’ve got a sports hernia--which is really a misnomer--it’s actually just tendonitis of this inner tendon that runs from here *points to inner thigh* to here *points to outer-edge of achilles tendon.* He asks me what the treatment protocol is, and I tell him physical therapy, but I haven’t started it yet, because I am still waiting for insurance to clear.  “Physical therapy--couldn’t you just do that yourself?” Because we’re used to fixing our own bodies. College athletes. He ran track at Washington State. I played basketball at Eastern Oregon University & Willamette University. I’m trying to engage with him, but I remember that the last few time we talked, it always ends up being 5/10 minutes longer than I want it to be, so I’m doing that thing where I just sort of walk away, but start talking louder--it’s a thing that men do in gyms, and I hate it, it’s so invasive--but it does communicate a certain boredom that I’m going for. I’m really just trying to get this last shoulder lift in, hop on the elliptical, then get to the Northeast side of town, order a beer, and read some poetry before my date.  I guess my way of ending the conversation is how I end most conversations these days, which usually involves me saying something that I know the other person won’t totally vibe with, then walking away. It is called “getting the last word.”  I tell DeShawn that I can’t do the PT myself because I can’t trust myself with my own pain. We were rewarded for pushing past pain for so many years that I’ve trained my body to either ignore pain entirely or push past it, so I really need a professional to keep me in check.  “Oh no, totally. I feel that. Same, actually.” The conversation ends with DeShawn telling me that this is his second workout of the day--the first was a tennis match with “some rich dude” who lives in DeShawn’s building in NW. He refers to the match as a “networking opportunity.” I ask him if he took it easy on the rich man--who I assumed was either older than DeShawn or an inferior tennis player / athlete--and DeShawn says “No way, man--I beat the shit out of him--I’m trying to get that invite to this tournament coming up--you know rich people are friends with other rich people--that’s an even better networking opportunity.” Amazing, I say, always reconfiguring boundaries, always acting accordingly, or un-accordingly. 

[barlow-wigiimschmeir-blog]

Vermont

On May 11th, I packed a colorful woven bag from Peru with clothes, an extra pair of shoes, watercolors, a hygiene bag full of makeup and condoms, and my traveling vest. The evening I left my dad bought me a pack of yellow American spirits with 40 bucks tucked inside the plastic cover and said, “Have fun in Vermont.” I got into Boston at 6:30 A.M. My right red heeled boot was broken from Louie chewing on it and wouldn't zip up.  I never am able to sleep on planes and the two hour time jump had me especially groggy after a night of no sleep. Walking out of gate A, I shifted my anxiety onto focusing on not tripping with my broken boot, a lopsided stride to match the anxiety mounting over my decision to visit Dan. When I saw him though, standing next to the elevator with a sheepish half grin on his face, I completely forgot about my worry and lack of sleep.  He was visibly excited to see me as he grabbed my bag and threw it over his shoulder. His piercing bright baby blues were mischievously and adoringly taking me in, and I remembered that look. He's looked at me in the exact same way ever since the first day we met. I don't remember what our first words were after 2 drawn-out years of much absence but we talked fast as we walked to the car.

Two scruffy looking guys were in the front seat. The driver's name was kyle, he talked with a slow stoner drawl. The passenger's name was Austin. He had a trucker hat with a psychedelic looking mother Mary on the front. He was tall and seemed completely uninterested in being there. The boys had driven the 3 hour drive from Rochester, Vermont last night. They partied in Boston together and then crashed in the car in the airport car garage waiting for my plane to get in. Dan had paid Kyle 50 bucks to come pick me up. He had also paid for my ticket to Boston from Salt Lake.  It felt very natural to see him, it didn't feel like nearly 3 years had passed since we last spoke tenderly towards each other. He had his pursed lip impish smile on  while his bright eyes sparkled. “It's so fucking good to see you lady.” I laughed as I took a large pull from the JackDaniels in the backseat and  curled up onto his chest, I couldn't be next to him and not touch him. He smelled like tobacco and beer,  his arms easily and urgently wrapped themselves around me. His beard was scruffy and though he looked aged, his countenance was worlds better than the last time I saw him. When he came through Portland a year ½ prior I let him and Rudie pup crash at the house I was living. It  broke my heart to see him so hard out. His legs and arms were distended, his whole body swelling. his face was sunken in and his eyes looked like empty gaps in his face. He looked exhausted and sallow.  We met at a late night donut shop near my house on Alberta. His body couldn't handle coffee and he had a hard time eating the donut I bought him, but he sat with me while I tried not to stare too hard at the stranger in front of me. He wasn't a stranger though, He wanted to know how my father was. Was he sober? Were we talking again? What where my days like now? And many, “remember when...”. He regretfully apologized for the way he had treated me on the road and explained to me that his kidneys were failing due to his heavy drug use. He was ready to quite using he said. He was scared he said. It was a 20 minute walk back to my home and he walked slowly with his head down as he struggled to  trudge on next to me on the sidewalk, attempting to pull rudie a long and regularly adjusting his lumpy backpack back and forth. He looked so pathetic.  When we got back to my place I introduced him to my then partner. We all sat down for a couple beers, Dan was nodding off on the  couch the whole time. I was livid at how obvious he was being after inviting him into my home. I retreated to the basement and sobbed.

This time around he was lively and talkative, making everyone in the car laugh with his dry sense of humor and sharp wit. His face was flushed with color and playfulness.  He was the Dan I remembered. He was the man I fell in love with again. The 3 hour drive back was filled with conversation of astrology, bouts of  bitching between the boys of the freeloading hippies that lived on the communal property they all were a part of, and talk of the land surrounding their home; the psychic energy of the heavy woods and rolling mountains. Neither one of us was able to go very long without stealing a long look at the other.  I was relatively drunk by the time 10 A.M rolled around, dozing on his chest as we pulled into the property. His Cabin was dirty and dusty and it smelled of sage and cigarettes. Beer cans littered the porch he had recently built and jackdaniel bottles lined the window-seal in the tiny room off shooting the kitchen. Before he went to work he showed me the library. Up a set of steep stairs was a small room, you had to duck into it and the ceiling dramatically slanted. Books lined the walls with a tiny vintage record player in the corner. I laid down on the floor and he laid besides me, laying my head on his chest he wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly as he played with my hair. There was a dense yet comfortable silence in the room until he said “awh.. fuck it.”  He softly grabbed my hair with one hand and placed his other hand on my cheek. His rough hands pulled my face up to his. His lips were like pillows and I softly moaned as his tongue slipped into my mouth. His thigh quickly found a place between mine and he easily shifted my body back and forth so my pussy was lightly rubbing against his thigh. His lips were on my neck and his fingers gently pinching my nipples.  I was dazed from his touch, the whiskey, and no sleep. The moment felt easy to lean into, but too soon after such a long time apart.  I stopped him from unzipping my jeans and he somewhat regretfully rolled back over so my head could find a place again on his chest.  Again he said, “It's so fucking good to see you.” again, I laughed and my laugh sounded like bells in the room.

The week that followed was a roller coaster of crushed ideals, regrowth in emotion, and endearing car rides with a boy it breaks my heart to love. The love I feel for him is like none I've ever experienced. He's more than a lover, more than a friend, more than a boyfriend. He's family. A full circle of care. A full circle of love. A shape that leaves me running in circles trying to catch all the wishes he has to promise. My net is intact but his butterflies dart quick and before I get to them they morph into air.  He was very scattered the entire week, he lost his phone for 3 days, lost his food stamp card, constantly was forgetting his money, and though he was sober from meth and heroine he was drinking like a fish. I didn't care, I can drink like one too. I was starry eyed to see him alive and physically well.  My cat man. My con man. My rough and tumble train man. . . my junkie love. I hate to think of Dan as a junkie, I know that's something he is, but he's always been so much more to me than that. He's smart, adventurous, hopeful, resilient, strong, thoughtful, kind. Though, he runs so fast that it leaves me spinning. Admittedly I’ve always found it quite fun to try and keep up.

The entire time I was there he was trying at every angle to get me to stay in Vermont instead of going to Alaska.  there were several points where I was worried I was going to get unintentionally trapped there, but I trusted him. I trusted that despite his deep wells of incapability he had an ability to  care for me.

We slept on his couch most nights. His strong and tattooed arms wrapped tightly around me I fell asleep easily and I woke up with a desire to fall back asleep, with a desire to fall into him. The 4th day we woke he told me he had a proposition. “ would you like to jump freight for you first time while you’re here?” it felt special that the first time I would jump freight was with him. My reply was a resounding yes. We drove from Rochester to Burlington early that afternoon in hopes that I would find a good pair of boots at one of the thrift stores along the way. In Burlington we stopped to get pizza, outside of the shop was a small group of dirty travelers. Dan asked if they had mushrooms, which they did. Instead of hopping freight out we took the mushrooms. Beforehand we got into an argument in the pizza shop. I was frustrated with how much he had been talking about other women the entire day.

As we left the thrift shop there was a thin rich girl engrossed in a conversation on the phone parked next to us.

“ that women is so attractive, she seems so involved in her yuppie life. I can tell that she needs a good fuck.”

after sitting in the passenger seat for an hour listening to him go on and on about Arice, the girl who had brought him out to Vermont I was vexed at his inability to be present with me. I didn't articulate or even try to communicate this but at the pizza shop, after I was tipsy I got angry with him. Our argument ended with us sitting on a ledge of the side of the building next to the sidewalk. I was emotional  and he reassured me, reminding me how much he had changed. “imagine if this was years ago. I would of handled this differently.”

“yea, you would of fucking left as soon as the conversation held you accountable. You would have been   a quarter up the sidewalk right now. You would of left me here just like you left me in Tacoma when we were traveling and just like you left me in Arcadia.”

“Oh come on lady, I didn't do that. .. o wait, I did...”

My anger towards him for everything has always been easily replaced by a deep and irritating love. So, like many other past nights, we made up and took mushrooms. The windows were down the whole drive back, it was dark and his presence intoxicated me, it always has. About half way back I unzipped his jeans and gave him road head.  He pulled over to the side of the highway and we split the mushrooms. Washing it down with beer. Parked and relaxed he leaned in with a smile. I was elated to kiss him. To have him kiss me. I was in love with the moment. And the moments with him, I've been in love with all of them. His presence induces a rush through my veins. Pumps me full of serotonin and though iv'e never done heroine, being next to him feels like it could be just as addicting. Laughing, we crawled into the backseat and I took off my shirt. We made out in the backseat and somewhat drunkenly attempted to fuck. He was absent and uncomfortable. I was present but impatient, after a while we decided to bag the sex and drove the rest of the way back to his cabin. Upon returning the mushrooms were starting to hit. We went to the farmhouse and sat on the couch, I started giggling and he was laughing back at my cuteness. The giggles took over and I relaxed. Falling off the couch I was laughing hard. He grabbed a blanket and got down on the floor with me, pulling the blanket over our heads we were in our own universe. It was just what I wanted, to be in our universe. To be in a universe no one else could touch. To be in a universe with him where nothing could touch us. To be somewhere where heroine didn't exist, where the lack that drove a wedge between us was nonexistent, our fairy tale. We were us, us against the world under a cloud. We laughed and kissed and the patterns were starting to impede themselves through my eyes. It was good in that moment and it would of lasted longer if one of the men at the commune hadn't sternly walked in glaring at us. We quickly retreated back to his cabin where a level of hell started. Dan told me when I arrived that he had been temporarily diagnosed with bipolar and schizophrenia disorder. 3 months clean and while his body was healthier, the heavy years of drug use had sent his mind for a spin. He seemed more confident, more sure of himself. More able. but also more Wingy. more scattered. Doing mushrooms with him scared me. I have done several fistfuls of psychedelics with Dan, but with his his new-found declaration of self responsibility and discipline there was a new darkness. A wing fluttering his mind.   He began screaming at inanimate objects. He was screaming at me. He was angry when I tired to leave. The mushroom trip for me brought my mind back to the age of 7. I felt that I was out of my body in a room I was in at that age. I felt very vulnerable. There were toys around me and there was daylight shining in from the windows. Sexual  trauma was coming up for me. I was crying and asking him to come sit next to me. I needed to be touched. Touched in an nonsexual way. He viewed this as weakness and became more agitated.

He's told me before that he thought of us as twin souls. Two people endlessly vexed by the intense variations of our emotions, though my hurt shows as sadness and his hurt shows as anger. The perplexity of the sexes. The dichotomy that patriarchy imparts on us all. Our conversations often lead us back to topics like this. Our enjoyable conversations set aside, the mushroom trip brought to my attention the weight of our difference. Our different places in life, our different ways of loving and communicating. Our different paths.

Spending a week with Dan was a whirlwind for me. He talked about marrying me, he talked about other women, he talked about how I was the only girl for him, he talked about how much better he was now, he talked about how if I went to Alaska I would loose him forever. But we also had a slew of meaningful and heartfelt conversations. He told me he wanted to see me bloom, he told me that no matter what my decision was, he would support it. He apologized for the past, he wanted to spend a different future together. We spoke of what it meant to wet one's fire. Of how we were both guilty of doing so. I bled into it all. My heart ached that all the wishes blowing into the wind could be a reality that was ours. My flight from Boston back to SL took off at 8:30 pm. We spent the day walking around Rochester. The day was muggy and sunny. Everyone in the small town seemed to be out and about. We walked through the quaint country town, stopping into the bakery to get coffee. Stepping into Sandy's, the used book store and spending some time looking at all the books, taking in the smell used books have. The smell of hundreds of hands handling them. We walked up and down the small town, talking to locals that Dan knew and worked with. We walked into the white library that looked like a small steeple. Leaving our coffees at the door we went up the stairs to where there was a mini museum in a open room. The floor was a light wood and the room smelled of it. There were 7 large windows in the room, all stain glass. The room was filled with antiques from town. Dresses worn by ladies in the 1900's. Vintage pictures of parades led by horses and carriages. Women with hooked umbrellas and puffy dresses. Paintings done by locals of the small town throughout the years. It was beautiful, but Dan was enjoying it more than I. It was clear how proud he was of his home. His home, a cabin in a quaint town. His home, a place he had a job, a place he could take pride in. somewhere to call his own. We took the back road back to his cabin at the commune. It was like driving through a time warp.  There were large red barns easily spotted far into the hills, small farm houses that looked like they were built 50 years ago, yet maintained and being lived in. The country was beautiful. Vermont reminded me of the country in Washington just more woodsy, more colorful.

Though we both soaked up our last day together as much as possible, I was in a hurry to leave the property. The anxiety that had mounted and released over several occasions during my stay had me worn out. Dan drove me from the rural country side to the heart of Boston without a drivers license in a car that wasn't registered or insured. The plates were expired and didn't match. He had found them on the property. He was nervous to make the drive but I assured him I had a good feeling about it all working out without incident and it did. It was exciting and I loved him for his pure enjoyment of fucking the system. I loved him for risking another warrant just to get me to where I needed to go, and I understand how much he loved me. We listened to modest mouse, tom waits, and lost dog street band on the drive to Boston. His hand on my bare leg and my hand resting on the back of his neck. Like most everything between us, it felt natural and magical. Even still, the drive was relatively tense with us both on the look out for cops. I wanted him to park in the parking garage so we could have sex one last time but there were so many cops at the airport that our goodbye was him telling me to grab my bags fast and get out. He jumped out of the car and grabbed me for a kiss. In a flash he was back in the car and driving away. I luckily found a few empty airport alcohol bottles in the period trash can attached to the side of each woman bathroom and filled them with the remainder of my whiskey. After I made it past security I b-lined it to the nearest airport bathroom. Closing the door behind me I dropped my bag and started to shake. Fat tears fell fast out of my eyes and I had to focus all of my attention on my breath to keep from sobbing. I gave myself 5 minutes to sit in my grief for what Dan and I would never be. Then I wiped away off my tears, took a few shots of whiskey, picked up my bag and walked to my gate with my head up. I was back in salt lake from Vermont for 3 weeks before I boarded a plane to Alaska, and in that time I would find myself searching for him. In my dreams I would find myself on his property in hopes to find him, each time I would get lost in the farm house instead.In my waking I would find myself thinking I was at his cabin, opening my eyes was a disappointment. It’s been a month and as with everything, time wanes the ache