Hello Helen; It’s Michael
DH Steppler
Copyright © 2012 DH Steppler
All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
With that said, yes, the characters in this story are fictional; though I have taken a few liberties in borrowing names and certain personality traits from my own loved ones in creating these characters. The names were used because the name fit the character.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher.
The Publisher makes no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. Neither the publisher nor author shall be liable for any loss of profit or any commercial damages.
2012-07-21
Dedication
For Ollie, Kevin, and Margaret
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank Margaret, my daughter, for her constant and heartfelt encouragement and for taking care of all the little household things that I let slide while writing this book. She’s proof that love is an action word. Freddy Becker, my big brother, without his inspiration I’d still be ‘thinking’ about it. I need to thank Kevin, my son, a young father without much time but he still showed me the love and took the time needed to give me feedback with gentle kindness. I’d also like to thank all of my friends who put up with my obsession and showed genuine interest and gave me constant encouragement. I wear their faith in me like armor.
The Return
As I was answering the phone, I knew who the caller was even before he identified himself.
“Hello Helen; it’s Michael.”
The connection hibernating within me jumped at the chance to reconnect. The soft warmth was welcomed but unexpected. I had assumed that it would take a long time for me to be able to reconnect. But, what did I know? Pushing away the fear of the pain and need had been paramount in my life because I was pretty sure there was no way that I could endure the loss again. The conflict within me would end with me embracing the connection no matter what might later befall me because of that decision. Maybe it was like a drug that no matter how long the abstinence the need would always accept the fix.
Yes, it was Michael and his voice brought tears to my eyes and an intense longing that kind of pissed me off. I mean why would his draw be so strong when I knew it was impossible and that it was wrong? Why was life so cruel to me? Then a second later all I could feel was the calm and softness; my fear-wrapped body relaxed and I sighed. Michael sighed, too.
We both inhaled deeply a few more times in unison and my next ragged words were of gratitude.
“Thank you baby.”
I whimpered.
“Are you ok baby,” Michael wanted to know.
“Yeah, I’m fine; I was just surprised by the suddenness of the reconnect and how the longing showed up before the balance.”
My conversational and sometimes clinical voice came back, all part of the calm.
“So,” I continued. “What’s up?”
“I’m in a cab; we just passed the Civic Center; thought I’d call to let you know that I’m coming to see you. Is it ok?”
“Of course, please, yes, come, I’m here.”
There was something in his voice that made the hair stand on the back of my neck. Even within our calm I knew there was something to worry about. Staying present and alert for any kind of danger to Michael was nearly second nature to me. My need to be there for him in any way had not waned.
After I’d issued my invitation, of sorts, I waited and listened to his breathing, slow and even, like mine. The sound of him bathed me in the amazing bliss of the reconnect. The worry set aside and the grace of the moment allowed to blossom while the idea of his nearness increased my heart-rate. I worked to be present for him and if that happened to assuage my need as well, then so be it.
“Thanks Helen; I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
He ended the conversation and the loss of the reconnect felt like an uncomfortable premonition.
Making more coffee and recalling the short conversation that I’d just had with Michael, I reminded myself not to project any concerns that weren’t totally warranted. Don’t forget that my imagination is a force to be reckoned with. The problem was that I didn’t control those concerns. As with everything else in my life they presented themselves to me in some innate fashion and I found them floating in my thoughts. Of course if Michael was in the middle of those concerns I’d pay close attention.
The sound of the coffee maker was comforting and reminded me in a gentle way, much like my garden, that my house was a place of safety and I was pleased that Michael would soon be wrapped in the peacefulness of my home.
The house still smelled of baked persimmon cookies from the baking I’d done that very morning for the Neighborhood Maintenance Committee meeting. Glad that I’d held a few over to have with coffee after Sunday dinner; a small serving plate was filled and added to the tray; waiting for the mugs and the coffee. The cookies were a delightfully bright orange food that was one of my mother’s recipes and delicious. I’d traded my lemons and some late tomatoes that were absolutely prize worthy for the persimmons. The exchange worked for both of us to fill in the gaps and to build on the civil community around us.
Preparing for Michael’s arrival was a pleasure that I watched and savored with every move I made. Feeling the still raw separation from the brief reconnect manifest itself in low intensity anxiety I concentrated on the task at hand. When the coffee was complete, I started to pour myself a fresh cup; fingers of the reconnect reached out for me. I dropped the mug onto the counter and sprinted to the front door.
As I opened the door Michael was reaching for the door bell. We stood looking at each other for a few seconds before my eyes searched for Lu. Then my arms were around his neck and I buried my face in him and inhaled like I hadn’t breathed in a very long time. His scent was life itself.
The sound of his bag as it hit the floor of the porch served as a reminder that his arms were free to hold me. Before the thought had barely formed the action was taken and his strong embrace was a fact. He took me into his senses in like manner. ‘Oh my God,’ I thought, ‘he needs me, too’.
His chest heaved as he sobbed into my neck, “Oh Helen, you smell so good; thank you.”
Whispering into his ear I said, “You too baby, nothing’s changed for me. I’m glad you’re here.” And I kissed him on the neck as it felt as natural as breathing to do so.
To my amazement, Michael picked
