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Neat told me the tale of her break-up. Mind you, nothing illating unfortunately. Just the facts, laid out in minute detail; Girl meets girl. Girls fall in love. Girl meets other girl. Other girl catches girl in bed with new girl. It could have been a hot story under the right stewardship, but, Neat was not such an stewardess(sp?). We took turns carrying the baby, the fussy little guy. & Neat broke down under the telling.
"Here, let me take him, sweetheart."
"No, I want to hold him. Please, Cully."
"Sure, baby." She was a adorable at tears. Cried just like Girl, who I'd made & seen cry a thousand time. I wanted to kiss her and make it better, but, I'd been warned repeatedly and at length: "You want me to kiss other men. And I want to kiss other men, but, I don't want you to kiss other women. Is that clear, Dale?"
"I won't." I kept that promise for many years, even a decade, more even, but, I fell like all angels of the Lord do. But, that's another story for another time in our days of (C-19).
I was glad Neat's appearance at partial nudity didn't come up during the long trek to the corner store for pop and other assorted goodies. On the way back I was listening to her lament, the babies fussing and praying about non stop that she should continue to appear scantily clad. And glory be, my prayers were answered. This beautiful girl had a never ending supply of knit panties. Each the exact same knit pattern in assorted colors, stunted colors, yes, but, simply breathtaking; blues, reds, oranges, every color under God's rainbow was represented during the fortnight she was housed beneath the Castleberry roof. Always topless, cept in the evenings when that damn sun would always set, like GD clock work, she'd toss on, with a ravishing flourish a sheer night jacket, a beautiful pale blue color, that was see thru, especially when the light was just right, when the angle aligned with the light was just right. And I could concoct my sight line, just right. Girl saw me, rolled her eyes as she knitted booties for boy, but, I had her tacit permission, so, I peeped as if my life depended upon it.
I talked the girls into going to the park on the last Sunday before Tuesday's departure flight back to Cleveland. Girl hadn't regained her shape, to her satisfaction, so, she dressed down in tight jeans and a non-descript white t-shirt. We left the baby in the car with the windows rolled down an inch all the way around, then strode 3 abreast into the park. No, no, we strolled the baby along with us. Neat was the hit of the pilgrimage, not a string bikini, mind you, but, close to it. I didn't kiss, but, I held this child fast, well, as fast as I could under the au es of mother-Girl.
"Cully, you're my favorite relative. I just love him so much, Girl. You're so lucky."
Girl didn't grudge it. I didn't push it. Neither did Neat.
I did kiss her at the departure gate. Center of her forehead. "You're a living doll."
Girl cried. Neat cried. I cried. The baby cried.
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The drive home.
The motion of the moving car put the little pumpkin fast asleep.
"Take the long way home, Cully. Please."
"Amen, sister."
"Thank you, Cully, so much for making Neat's visit so wonderful. You were such a help."
"I was well rewarded, right?" I arched my brows, gave 'em a work-out."
"She was adorable, wasn't she?"
"A Godsend." I was feeling bodacious. And so, whenever I feel that-a-way, I see the line, and I step over said line.
"You know, there for a bit, I was even going to lay my marker on the table. You know, call you."
Like a shot: "You should have. She's lesbian."
"No, you misunderstand, Girl."
"No, Cully, I don't. I'm being straight."
"No, hon, not her & I, but..." She cut me off.
"No, her and I."
"What, well, yes."
"It wouldn't be the first time."
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(to be continued)
