Ghost Writing

OOC: Love and loss are terrible companions. The more you love, the greater your sense of loss. In more private moments, I sometimes think that those we've loved watch us from beyond the pale. This is a first attempt for me, and I'm braving it with Along Came Mary, who is one of the most creative people I know. We had some reservations about which listing to put this under, and initially at least, I don't think its exceptionally erotic. It may become hot.

For the moment this thread is just for myself and along came mary, other parts may open up in the future, but feel free to pm me a message if you would like to write yourself in and I'll consider it. Thanks!


IC:
Stinson walked to the screaming microwave and mindlessly quieted the machine, producing tonight's feast. Stauffer's instant lasagna, still half frozen, not that he cared. He struggled to focus and decided to play the rhyming game. He always played the rhyming game.

Once upon a time in a not so distant land
In a lonely little house
Lived a tired little man.

He spent his days considering
His broken lonely life
Remembering times before these days
When he still had a wife.

She was his all, his soul, his call
The reason to exist.
But God gave her cancer and he was alone now.

Shit. It didn't rhyme. It never worked out and he thought for a moment that he kind of liked the fact that it didn't rhyme. It was after all his game.

He struggled to focus again and saw her full ripe lips, the shine in her flashing eyes, the curve of her hips. He remembered her naked form and smiled, then winced in the bittersweet. "Have I told you how angry I am that you've left me alone"?

Robert Thomas Stinson thought he was probably insane, but he was a widower for two years now, and sanity seemed to have little worth for him. Only recently had he come to realize how angry he was at Megan's passing. They were inseparable damnit. And now she'd left. "Not that I wouldn't take every ounce of pain you ever knew on myself ten times over Meg. I'd take it all back just to see you smile for me one more time". He thought of God and offered, "Great joke chief, I have to thank you for putting her out of her pain, and when I get past that, I realize you did give some of it back to Me". Hallelujah.

Megan was 36 and a force of nature. They had been mutually successful and cared little for the material wealth they'd generated. She left him more money than he even realized at this point. Added to his own score, they were far from Forbes material but neither would ever have to work a day in their lives. Her writing had seen to that without his partner's share. In less than a year after she passed, he cashed out of his law practice and walked away to become a man of leisure in an apartment that had never changed. He sat on the couch where they had made love and had sex and fucked. All of them. She always blamed the couch and the candle on the mantle. If he came home to find it lit, he knew he was headed for the couch at some point sooner than later. She was tender, wild, depraved, wicked, and funny, and he loved her and hated her for each of these. And the furniture, like everything else in his life was nothing more than a bittersweet memory of maybe what ought to have been. Now.

Now. Keep moving Stinson. Keep focused. If you stop, you'll never recover from the wallow you love. It's waiting for you and you know it. Your young and your whole life's in front of you and she'd hate you for the existence (for want of a better word) that you've chosen, but revel in this pain. Its yours and it's the only thing that is only yours now isn't it? She still owns half of everything else. Not to mention the dinner parties and the "replacement Meg's" who have made themselves known. They don't have any place here do they? Stay here son, stay in this wallow.

His head ached and he decided it was time for the nightly ritual. Down to Barnes and Noble to scan the days news racks and lose himself until he could return to his lonely apartment, sit on the couch and remember better times there........

Stinson put on his Bean windbreaker and looked in the mirror. He smiled when he heard Meg say (as she had a million times), So let me get this straight, 'that's' what your wearing"? He frequently was forced to remind her that he had managed to put on clothing without her assistance in the 23 years before they had met. He always changed though. As he gazed in the mirror, he spoke aloud in a false Irish brogue, saying, "Ya know Tommy boy, for one who looks as bad as yerself, I'd be hopein that you?d be having a lot more fun in the process". It was bad. He was 5'6", 215 pounds, 25 of them coming in the 758 days since he entered the "widower" phase of his life. Thin black strands attempted to bleed through the rampaging silver at his temples. He carried his weight well with his broad shoulders, but something had to be done. Sooner. He could always exercise. The "crow condominiums" that had been erected around his soft brown eyes were another story. She'd always loved his eyes. Thank God she didn't seem them now with the rivers of red which ran through them.

After the funeral and the wake, for weeks, the Church and family had sought to provide comfort, solace and far too much food. After about four months though, Stinson had found himself adrift in the middle of nowhere and decided that it would be necessary to do something, anything to combat the grief. He tried bereavement, where they prayed for him. He gave up on that when one of the widows in the group showed up at his door one evening and asked him out. He politely declined and then promptly quit that group. For all his grief, Stinson remained polite and publicly unaffected. It's just better if no one knows how ya feel Tommy boy, or so the wallow constantly reminded him. Meg's agent, Kathy had made a point of telling him how terribly charming everyone found him and that he would be the main course for a million man starved women she knew. He politely handed her a final royalty check and told her what a wonderful agent she'd been and how much he appreciated her friendship in the wake of their respective loss. Strange now with no books to throw on the publisher's fire, he hadn't seen Kathy since. And people call lawyer's vultures he chuckled to himself.

After bereavement, he'd tried booze. Unfortunately, Stinson was from that rare clan of Irish that throw up after sipping two Bushmills over three hours. Maybe he wasn't really Irish? He never did figure it out in between dry heaves, and thus ended a promising career as an alcoholic before it ever began.

He also had tried the couch as another means of coping. After two months, he decided that he still didn't know how he felt at all and that his doctor obviously didn't either. Another failed experiment in the reclaiming of Thomas R. Stinson.

Finally, he'd settled on the most unlikely of comforts. He became something of a media fanatic, reading every loose scrap of paper, link to web sites, book, magazine or comic that he could get his hand on. It wasn't far to go. Stinson had always believed himself to be a "good" reader. Now he immersed himself in the writings of others, no mater how epic or trivial. In the course of this frenzy, he discovered the true meaning of irony.


As he walked out the door and into the street, the wallow whispered, "Have fun son, everything that is Meg will be waiting here when you return". And thus began the evening ritual and his contemplation of irony's discovery.

Meg had never been a big fan of "irony" as a literary concept, despite her standing as a first rate historic romanticist. She often referred to it as "Serlingesque" which he took as a criticism (he had LOVED the Twilight Zone too). Meg was a demanding taskmaster in matters of literature. She chided him for reading Grisham when he took the busman's holiday of reading legal fiction. She insisted that he read Scott Turrow. He argued that he always found Turrow?s characters to be melancholy and "whiny" to the point of being parodies of his law partners and associates. Tonight's first lesson in irony was that he now made Sandy Stern (Turrow's hero) look like a motivational instructor. He had also read everything that Turrow had ever published.

Tonight's second lesson in irony was that his daily ritual now included an evening trip to Barnes and Noble. When she was alive, Meg and he had fought desperately to keep the mega-chain out of the neighborhood. In part, it was because they much preferred the mom and pop atmosphere of Sal and Gina?s bookstall. Sal and Gina had maintained it as Sal's family business for thirty years. The bookstall contained original editions of such wonders as Kerouac, Uris and Hemmingway. The Stinson's had kicked about $10,000.00 plus free attorneys fees to the fight to keep Barnes and Noble at bay. Eventually, Barnes and Noble bought out Sal and Gina who retired comfortably and now Stinson walked to the mega-store on a nightly basis for coffee and his fill of the days news. Irony for everyone keep. It's on me tonight he thought.

His third lesson in irony (you will be visited by three ghosts he thought) was that he had chosen to "get away" from his grief by diving into the paper jungle where his wife had been so at ease. How strange that the widower of a beautiful young writer he had chosen books to console him in his hours of loneliness. Yep, Serling had nothing on Stinson.

And so, after a relatively uneventful walk to Barnes and Noble, Stinson lowered his chin, entered the double doors and strolled to the coffee bar. The same young woman who had given him the same order of coffee (and refills no less) had served him every night she'd been at this store for each of the past 534 days stood behind the counter. Had he bothered to realize that there was a world outside of the wallow, he might have realized minor details like the fact that she was cute, or that she called him "Mr. Stinson" every night when he came in. Instead, he ordered a double mocha cappuccino (fat and a double shot of caffeine, there ya go Tommy boy!) and absently handed her his Amex card as he gazed absently towards the newspaper rack....

Megan

My form glided soundlessly through the house, slipping into the bedroom. My bedroom. Our bedroom. I sighed softly. Well, what once had been our bedroom, I corrected myself. It still was I suppose, seeing as how I continued to haunt him. Haunt him? Tsk Meg, I chided myself, such a horrible phrase. I choose to see it as more of an extended visit.

No one could see me. As far as I was aware of that is. At first it was to my immense relief, I wanted to be close to Thomas, to try to ease his grief at my passing. I certainly didn’t want to scare him with my presence. Although now… now I believe it is more of a curse.

I have yet to leave him, despite his multiple attempts to accuse me of it. He has no idea I’m even here - that I listen to his every word, longing to reply. I watch him constantly with a loving eye. Ah, a rhyme. My thoughts fly to the rhyming game. I smile at the memory. It was an oh-so-silly game that sprang into being during languorous sessions of pillow talk. A simple concept really, I doubt we created it. Perfected it maybe, but created? No. It was a shared attempt at poetry, one of us coming up with a line, the other attempting to compliment it. Usually we ended up with the most ridiculous strings of ‘poetry’. A limerick would be a much more apt term I’m sure.

I heard him move about downstairs. The heavy footfalls echoed through the house, amplifying its emptiness. I left the bedroom, and drifted down the stairs. I found him rummaging about in the living room. Most likely searching for his keys. I shook my head, smiling in bemusement. If he would only listen and put them in the same place every time he came in, he wouldn’t have this problem. If I’d told him that once, I’ve told him a thousand times. In my mind’s eye I could see him roll his eyes and groan. “Now, what would be the fun in that?” He’d argue, not only his profession but one of his most favored pastimes as well. “This is a well thought out plan. How else could we possibly arrive fashionably late to our many social functions?” I laughed, lids closed remembering well his boyishly charming smile.

God! How I loved him. My eyes fluttered open to see him stalking towards me. My heart leap for joy! He was looking straight at me. Could he see me now?! I straightened in eager anticipation as he neared; a hand lifted to lovingly cradle his cheek. My eyes mirrored a wealth of emotion as I looked into his. The budding hope that had formed and blossomed in those few short moments withered away as I realized he wasn’t looking at me. More so, he was looking through me. He reached through me, his hand passing harmlessly as he grasped the keys on the sofa table behind me. He couldn’t even sense my presence at all. I loosed a heartfelt mournful sigh for perhaps the millionth time. If he could only open his eyes… I had to find away to get past the grief, to break through the melancholy that had taken refuge inside his heart, his very soul. His eyes were so sad, continuously laced with red. He never smiled anymore. Never. One of the things I loved about him most. His wit. His charm. His easy smile. It was all fading. He was retreating into a shell, building up walls that possibly even I couldn’t breech. I had to find some way though, some way to get through to him, to ease his pain. Even if it took all of eternity I would. I had nothing but time on my hands, I whispered as a slightly wry grin broke across my lips. I followed him out of the house, closer to him than his own shadow as we traveled to his once hated but now precious B&N.

Leslie

“No Jerry. I don’t need a lift home. I’ll manage quite fine on my own. Thanks.”

She turned on her heel abruptly and went back out behind the counter, leaving Jerry alone in the back room, exiting before she could see the confused expression cross his face. She didn’t need to see it. She knew it was there. They all pretty much thought she was strange. Hell, who was she to fool anyone, she was strange. She’d alienated most all the guys here, no doubt about it, mainly the ones that found her attractive. It’s not like she wasn’t flattered. In a strange way, she was.

Her counselor kept telling her she was ready to branch out, date a little. It’d been so long since she’d been in a healthy relationship though. The mere thought of it scared her; which actually was an improvement, scared – a downgrade from terrified. At least now she could at least harbor the thought, even entertain it on some of her better days. There was no way to explain it to them though, her co-workers. They wouldn’t understand. She didn’t really understand all of it herself, how the heck could she be expected to explain it to them. She sighed to herself, frustrated with her whole situation, her life in general. Was she happy with herself? Who she was? Where she was? No, no and no.

She’d struggled to make it this far. Hah. Most people would laugh at that. This far being a job behind the counter at the Starbucks in the B&N. Second job actually. She served over at Chili’s part time. Hey it wasn’t glamorous but at least it did pay the rent. In her spare time, a sardonic grin played around the corners of her mouth at that thought, spare time, yeah… right. Anyway, in her spare time, she caught a couple of classes over at the Community college. It was a struggle, but at least she was attempting to better herself and so far she was passing.

All in all, she knew she was leading a better life now that she had for all of her twenty-seven years. She was clean now, completely free of the drugs and booze. It was an accomplishment she didn’t share with many outside her little circle. She’s wasn’t ashamed per say, it was more so that she was proud of the fact. She was just a guarded individual; definitely not what one would call a trusting soul. She had her reasons; she’d been burnt more times than she even cared to remember.

A shadow crossed over the counter, startling her from her thoughts. Warm brown eyes lifted to meet a familiar face. A rare small smile teased along the corners of her lips.

“One double mocha cappuccino on its way, Mr. Stinson.”

She knew without glancing at the clock it was right at 7:30p.m. You practically set your watches to Thomas R. Stinson’s visits. They were like clockwork. Every night, same time, same place, same double mocha cappuccino. She swiped his card through the register and laid it on the counter in front of him with his receipt before turning to make his coffee.

He was a pleasant individual, chatty one-day, quiet the next, yet he always had that pinched look around his eyes. His eyes. If Leslie didn’t know better, she would think he was a druggie, or perhaps a boozer. Lines of red ran through the white of his eyes, taking away from the warm beauty of his honey brown irises. That was the only indication though. His speech was never slurred, he never staggered, he was always solid as a rock. Just had that haunted sad look about him that never failed to tug at Leslie’s heartstrings every time she saw him.

She slid his cappuccino to him, noting he seemed particularly more distant tonight than usual.

Talk to him.

Leslie blinked and turned her head at the words. No one was around. Perhaps she just imagined it.

“There you go, Mr..” …Tom.. “Tom.” She visibly startled. Tom?! The same voice, her sub-consciousness maybe?, pushed that name at her. She’d always called him Mr. Stinson, why on gods green earth would she call him Tom now?! Jesus, Leslie.

He didn’t seem to mind, although he did glance at her curiously, the corner of his lip lifting in a small crooked, utterly charming grin. His gaze dropped to her nametag for a split second before returning to her face.

“Thanks Ms. Leslie.” He replied, taking his cappuccino and heading off toward the paper stand. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

She was still chastising herself and wondering if perhaps she was indeed loosing what little grip of sanity she had left when she noticed he’d left his Amex on the counter. She looked around for him and caught a glance of him at the far end of magazine racks.

“Cover for me, Jerry. I’ll be right back.” She snatched up the card and made her way to his side, inexplicably excited with the prospect of talking to him again, however ridiculously short and simple it would be. God, he probably thought her the perfect idiot as well. Mr. Tom indeed.

“Excuse me, Mr. Stinson. You left your card on the counter.”

"Excuse me, Mr. Stinson. You left your card on the counter."

Stinson looked up from tonights stash... more particuarly, a series of "Yo Mama" letters between Ginsberg and Kerouac arguing over which "Beat" had the bigger dick. He found these in a "Complete Beat" collection which Bukowski had published after Ginsberg's passing. It was hard to choose between two of his favorites and their rivalry was long and storied.

Additionally, the Times, Rolling Stone and the last four editions of "Deadpool" sprawled before him on the table...........

He looked back over his sholder and for the first time in the evening, noticed her. "Ms. Leslie". Hmmm. Perhaps one of Meg's fans asking for an autograph?.. How many times had he seen her and paid no attention? Why should he?

She was approaching him in his alcove, his fortress of solitude and waving something at him. He turned to face her and smiled, setting the Beats aside and forcing himself to focus once more on the approaching young woman.

Megan & Leslie

Megan

I was thrilled, thrilled I tell you! I stood next to Tom, my eyes locked on the approaching figure of Leslie. My smile was blinding, that was if anyone could have seen me at that particular moment. I was surprised I wasn’t glowing. Did ghosts glow? I really didn’t know, I suppose anything was possible. I was giddy as a child and had to seriously work on containing my enthusiasm. Not that it really mattered mind you, I suppose I could dance about and laugh and rejoice to my little hearts content and no one would ever be the wiser. Except maybe for the lovely young lady heading this way.

She had actually heard me. She heard me! I clasped my hands together in an expression of pure out and out joy. Why in the world hadn’t I tried something like that sooner? It had been a fluke really, a random thought, a sudden revelation if you will that spurred me to speak to the girl as Tom ordered his standard caffeine concoction. I was nearly shocked as she was when I realized that she had actually heard me, let alone responded to my suggestions. I had tried for ages to get Tom to react to me, but it had all been for naught. I hadn’t been able to coax even a twitch out of him, much less any substantial reaction. But this girl, this Leslie, responded better than I could have even dared to hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could use this to my advantage, his advantage, perhaps even her advantage. Color me optimistic.

I rose up from my perch on the edge of Tom’s table, standing against his back. I placed my hands upon his shoulders and leaned against him, loosing a sad sigh as I acknowledged once again he was blissfully unaware of my presence, let alone my touch.

Leslie

“Your American Express card. You left it back there on the counter.” Leslie said as she thrust the card at him, nodding her head in the direction of the Starbucks

“I’ve received really great tips before, but I thought this was bit on the excessive side.” She said with a bit of a smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

Always room to add insult

He studied her for a moment as she extended her hand to return the Amex..
"Your American Express card. You left it back there on the counter. I've received really great tips before, but I thought this was bit on the excessive side".

From his fog, Stinson, moved awkwardly forward, sending books sliding over the desktop (the damn Deadpools had hi-gloss covers this month....)

She seemed unimposing, cute even and for a moment, he nearly forced himself to look directly into her eyes.... Then he snapped out of it and began to mumble...

"Umm yeah.... Yeesh. I... Umm "Thank you". (Yeah, that'd be a good start he thought to himself) I guess I wasn't paying much attention prior to my caffeine fix. I'm pretty useless without it Leslie. Some would say I'm pretty useless with it as well.....

I appreciate your bringing it back Leslie..... Umm (reaching into his wallet) can I offer you something to make this worth your while? He produced a $50.00 from the wallet and held it in front of her.

Leslie

She stifled back a laugh as the parade of magazine and books slid off the table. He was acting almost shy. Too cute, she thought to herself. She bent down to pick up the books and nearly collided with his head as he turned to do the same. She couldn’t have stopped that laugh if she tried; it burst from her, short, sweet and genuine. She collected the magazines as he thanked her and rose smiling, placing them neatly on the table in front of him.

“You’re welcome.” She replied simply, a smile bloomed across her face, lighting her brown eyes with sincere warmth.

“Can I offer you something to make this worth your while?”

Her eyes widened with surprise at the fifty-dollar bill he held aloft. Her gaze flicked from the bill, back to him. A slight frown furrowed her brow as she regarded him, her smile faded a bit around the edges.

“I don’t want your money, Mr. Stinson.” She replied coolly. “You know sometimes people do good deeds just because it’s the right thing to do. I don’t want a reward for just being a decent person, that’s reward enough in and of itself.”

She shook her head slightly and turned on her heel, retracing her path back to work.

Stinson watched the smile withdraw from her face as she turned and walked away, disappearing behind the stacks, but only before reminding him of how jaded he had become. Hmmmm become? Maybe you were just always like this son. From deep within his subconscience came the voices…… the Wallow? Meg? It was hard to say. None of them seemed happy with him and in reality, he wasn’t happy with himself. The young woman had merely tried to keep him from a weeks worth of phone calls canceling purchases and explaining to phone operators that he actually had no interest in “The Best of the Webs Nude Celebrities”, and instead of repaying her kindness with consideration, he ruined the moment and embarrassed himself in the process. Meg had a pet name for him at these times and he heard it loud and clear within his head now. Wherever she was, she was undoubtedly screaming at “Dickhead McIdiot”. As Stinson tried to read, he found himself alternately distracted by his own ignorance and remembering the notorious origin of his alter ego, Dickhead McIdiot.

Years ago, when Meg’s first book had cleared waivers and some thinking within the community believed that great things were yet to come from her, they had engaged in what his uncle Connor had referred to as a “pier six housecleaning session”. At the time, these were not uncommon in the Stinson household. Meg’s will was only slightly less pliable than rod-iron. His business was argument. Typically, arguments would come and go and Stinson sought to provide sobriety to the mix by regimenting where fights would be drawn. The problem was (as he now considered it), Meg didn’t always know where that line was and he didn’t always communicate it well. The April Sunday when Joe Saviani’s son was baptized was one such notable morning.

Saviani was a founding at the firm and a close personal friend. He was small and unimposing at 5’6” 110 pounds, but he had a temper that was legendary. His clientele included some of the more notorious characters from Joe’s old neighborhood, and a fair number of immigration clients. Saviani, himself a second-generation American citizen, loved the country and its legal system. He was a tireless advocate of those with immigration concerns. He was also a family man whose youngest son, James was set to be baptized that morning a St. Bartholomew’s in the strip. The calendar had never been Stinson’s friend and on this particular morning, he once again found himself double booked.

As bad luck would have it, Ken Stoehren, Meg’s Sr. editor was having an open house that afternoon which directly coincided with the Saviani baptism. As Meg began to explain it, he looked at her and said, “Hey, its not like you put this on the calendar”. At that point in time, Meg explained the importance of making a decent impression among her publishers at what was (in all earnestness) a critical time in her career. She punctuated this by producing the oversized calendar from the closet with “Publisher’s Open House” circled in glowing red marker for the date in question. The line was drawn, the battle joined.

Stinson was and remained fiercely protective of his time. He reminded her of this and of the fact that he had more than enough juice in his partnership share to keep their enterprise afloat and that Joe was and remained one of their best friends. The argument of career vs. career escalated and continued until voices were raised and tempers flared. Finally, in a fit of anger, Stinson pointed at her and barked “Fine, we’ll blow off my best friends party and further your career. My friends don’t matter anyways!”

She responded with equal volume, taking the full measure of his anger and looking squarely into his eyes, “Listen Dickhead McIdiot, if you could read a fucking calendar, maybe we wouldn’t be hear at the moment”……….

Stinson was incensed, enraged, his finger wagged and he looked into her eyes to respond when it started. First she smirked, which gave way to a begrudging smile…. “Did you …… he wagged his finger……. Did you just call me”…. But it was too late. She had begun to giggle at her own cleverness and he soon followed suit.. Thomas Robert Stinson was all piss and vinegar until Megan smiled and laughed. And when she did, he was immediately lost

As he began to laugh in earnest, he looked at her and said “Where the fuck did you find that from”……. But by this time, she was doubled over laughing. He grabbed her sholders and she made as if to pound his chest with both hands, but instead, they embraced in a passionate kiss, interrupted only occasionally by their respective giggles..

The thunderstorm passed quickly and a rainbow emerged. They had partially undressed one another in the kitchen and began what would be an hour and a half of hot passionate love making which would span the kitchen, living room and yes, the dining room table, before ending in the bedroom. They missed both the christening and the open house that day. Each of them covered with their respective social contacts. Their businesses interests, like the unwelcome, but apparently endearing nickname survived. For the rest of their married life, Thomas Stinson would be known as Dickhead McIdiot when he raised Meg’s ire. At the moment, he was sure he would have.

With this in mind, Stinson looked up from the Beats and the lights of midnight flashed at Barnes and Noble. His time here was over for the evening, and typically, he was the last man there. So how will you leave this Tommy boyo? Leave it lie? Try to make it better?… “Way to be Dickhead McIdiot” echoed through his mind.

With that in mind, Thomas Robert Stinson, head down, trudged to the coffee counter and found “Miss Leslie” cleaning up. He approached and looking downward, began…..

“It appears that I am living proof that no good deed goes unpunished”. Once again, I have taken a random act of kindness and turned it into a random drive by shooting, and for that, I apologize Leslie. I didn’t mean to be so rude, and if you could see your way past my behavior, I would very much like to make it up to you and attempt to show you I’m not a complete idiot in the process. She seemed completely, unaffected by anything he was saying and continued to work as he spilled words (which had once flowed like rain from his mouth) awkwardly. He looked down and started again…. Mallorca is a really great restaurant that I used to frequent. As luck would have it, I don’t get out much (other than here) anymore. I don’t know if you like Spanish food, but maybe if you could see your way clear (from inside, What the hell are you doing here Tommy?) We might grab dinner? (from deeper inside, he asked…… Did you just ask her out and where (if you did) did that come from?…. Jesus Tom, apologies are one thing. You just asked her out?)…

Somewhere within Stinson, the hole of emotions he called the wallow spoke to him. “Well Tommy boy, she’s certainly not Meg, but if’n she does go out with you, won’t it just make for some fun comparisons”?……….

In the awkward silence that followed, Stinson gathered his books and prepared to write off this feeble attempt as another idiotic attempt at dealing with life outside his lonely little world. He lowered his eyes and prepared to leave.

Leslie

His words startled her from her thoughts, the rag in her hand continuing along its path over the already pristine counter. She had assumed he had already left, since she hadn’t seen him return for a refill on his cappuccino. She had been second-guessing herself over the past hour or so, mentally kicking herself for being so harsh to him earlier. He was only trying to be a nice guy, regardless if it was a little over the top.

She paused in her clean up, leaning her hip against the counter as he finished his speech. Her face was a still, emotionless mask save for the occasional compulsory blink; it wasn’t necessarily intentional, it was second nature to her now actually. A safety measure she had developed way back in her troubled youth. It had served her well on more than one occasion.

“When?” She asked.

“When?” He replied, a look of confusion crossing face.

“Yes.” She grinned, shattering her cool façade as her warm brown eyes glimmered in good humor. “When would you like to take me to dinner?”

"Well now, isn’t this a damned mess” came the voices from within Stinson. And better yet, because you created it. Not only have you asked her out, but now she’s accepted. Hmmm sounds like a date. What have you done McIdiot? Stinson winced (reflexively) and considered that he had formally involved another in his personal psychodrama. “Think quickly boy, was this an offer you made because you never expected her to actually take you up on it? Wasn’t this really one more memento on the lonely wall where you go to pay homage to what’s left of your life? Or better yet, was this something you did out of some strange sense of commitment and shame”? Answers and words failed him at that moment, but answers weren’t immediately necessary. A coherent response, conversely, was required. And he was there now, so there seemingly was no way of stopping what he’d started. (Besides he though, she’ll probably blow him off and not show up anyways)…

Forcing half a smile (as much as he could manage), Stinson turned and set his book stash down. He produced his date book and paged through it (partially revealing the fact that there were no entries) before her. “Lets see, I have dinner at the Whitehouse next week (muttering, sposed to sort out that whole MidEastern thing), then I’m to accept that Noble thingie the following Thursday, then pausing…. But other than that, it appears that I’m available through 2004”. He lowered his eyes to minimize his weak attempt at self-deprecating humor (Which she had no reason to contemplate much less laugh at). Still looking down, he mustered, “I meant what I said when I mentioned that I don’t go out much. I’m not real good at social I guess, and that’s wrong, because I really love Mallorca. It’s a great place and I need to go back, if you’d want to go with me (Give her the chance to beg off Tommy, that’s it). I’m pretty much at your service whenever you could make it Leslie. As luck would have it, I’m pretty sure we won’t have a problem getting a table there.

Leslie

Leslie stood there, hesitating, as she studied him. He was regarding his day-planner, absently toying with the curled pages. His eyes would occasionally lift to meet her direct gaze before flicking away in a near panic. He reminded her of a little lost boy who was scared, not of his own, but of her shadow. Her honey brown eyes softened a bit as she regarded him, deciding impulsively that she really didn’t care if this was just an attempt to reward her for returning his Amex. She really and truly wanted the opportunity to get to know him better.

“Well, I’m working late again tomorrow, but I’m off the day after. I do have a class, but its early afternoon. I’ll be free after that though, so Thursday evening would be great for me if it works for you.”

“Your coat, Les.”

She turned to see Jerry with her black pea coat gripped in his hand. He thrust it in her direction, with a terse, “Time to go. Isaac is wanting to lock up.”

“Sure, Jerry, thanks.”

“Just a sec please.” She threw a quick smile over her shoulder to Thomas before darting into the back room. She returned shortly shrugging into her jacket her purse gripped her hand. She rounded the counter to stand by Thomas’ side. “Shall we?” She inclined her head towards the door.

“So, where would you like to meet? I’m really not sure where Mallorca is. Is it down in the old city?”

Stinson looked at Jerry and considered the comedy unfoolding before him. The kid was at least emfatuated with her and maybe a lot more. The thrust of her coat and the momentary glare told Stinson all he needed to know. Had he been picking a jury this evening. Jerry would have been a clear scratch. "Easy son, I'm no competition. Not for you at least, " Stinson thought to himself. He thought a second more, "If you lightened up and let her breath, she might actually tell ya some of her story, but I'm thinking rambunctious is just in your blood Jerry"......

He looked down and then caught the gleam of her eyes for a moment.......

?So, where would you like to meet? I?m really not sure where Mallorca is. Is it down in the old city?? she asked.

Stinson pulled his windbreaker collar up, ducked his chin and held the first of the double doors open for her. He looked to the floor as he waited for her to pass through and remembered opening the door for Megan a million years ago. The memory momentarily caused him to close his eyes and wince in bittersweet recollection.

As he strode through behid her, he considered her for a moment. Pretty, though not perfect by any means. She was too old to be college, yet she mentioned "class". He thought she was too bright to be hawking coffee anywhere, yet this is what she was doing. Hmmm, there's a story here thought Stinson. He figured he'd never know it though. Girl's like Leslie didn't show, and besides, this was dinner. Not really a date. Scary thought for the moment, she's probably far better adjusted mentally than you are son....

He cleared his throat and forced half a smile once more.

"Actually, Mallorca is in the South Side. Its a little hole in the wall between the Van's shop and St. Elmo's bookstall". You may recall that Elmo's is one of the few stores B&N hasn't closed yet, but I've always attributed that to Elmo's being the city center for Gay erotica. I think B&N is attacking that market aggressively next month. Ya know, at a time, I was indoctrinated that Barnes and Noble was the literary world's answer to Walmart"....... But that of course doesn't stop it from making it my second home. (He forced a little more of a smile this time, possibly showing teeth?)

As he opened the second door, they stepped into the cool night air.....

Mallorca is a store fron that leads into a courtyard where they serve. In another lifetime, a good friend of mine got passports and visas for about the entire staff at Mallorca. The food is wonderful, but they are kind of, umm "appreciative" when I go there. Fortunately, its been a few years and they may have forgotten me he rambled..

So, Um, Will you meet me there? I can pick you up if you like? I live nearby and pretty much walk everywhere, but I can do this however you like. I was thinking arond 7:30?. Would give me a chance to catch Jeopardy and the daily number drawing ya know?......

He stopped a moment, caught his breath and waited for her to say she'd only been joking.....

OOC: Thats right kids. The last post was mine. Send your cards and threatening letters to "Garrison"....

Thanks

Leslie

Leslie burst out laughing, throwing a grin back at Thomas. “Mind you, I only work in the ‘Bucks portion of the B&N, so I may be wrong, but I seriously doubt that they will be delving into the market of gay erotica anytime soon. I do believe that St. Elmo’s will be safe for a while longer.”

She returned his smile as he held the second door open for her. She took note of how well it suited him. He needed to smile more. He had in the past of that she was certain. Not to say he was old, mid thirties was her guess, but the strong laugh lines that ran along the sides of his mouth gave him away as a man who at one time had had a lot to be happy about. Why he even flashed a bit of dimple along his left cheek when he grinned. Oh yes. He definitely needed to smile more. She thought to herself. I’ll have to see what I can do about that. That thought actually shocked her a bit. To have such thoughts concerning a stranger, well practically a stranger, were alien to Leslie. Granted he had been visiting her work place for as long as she could recall. But in all honesty, she knew more about Jerry than she knew about Thomas Stinson. She really couldn’t explain it, she just felt drawn to him.

She mentally shrugged the thoughts away as she stepped out into the cool night air. She tucked her coat a bit more firmly around her.

“I don’t live too far from here myself, seeing as how I don’t own a car, it kind of lessens my options a bit. I usually walk to work or grab a bus to wherever I need to go.” Her lips pursed slightly in thought. She really didn’t want to reveal where she lived just yet. Thomas seemed harmless enough, but one could never be too cautious. “What say I meet you here at 7:15? I think we both can find this place easily enough,” she grinned, “and that will give us plenty of time to make it to the restaurant.”

What say I meet you here at 7:15? I think we both can find this place easily enough,? she grinned, ?and that will give us plenty of time to make it to the restaurant.?

"7:15 it will be then", responded Stinson. "If things get crowded at Mallorca, we can always slide over to St. Elmo's and make new friends while we're waiting for a tbale to open up". He actually grinned at this thought, then quickly curtailed himself. "What are ya doing lad"? Ya haven't so much as said five words to anyone in two years and now we're all jokes and laughs? Mind yourself Stinson.

With this thought, He straightened himself, regained his composure and fixed his gaze on Leslie. Pretty, sweet and altogether ordinary. Why are we here Leslie? Why you and why now? As the emotional earthquake ripped through him, he imagined himself on a date with Leslie in his mind. "Welcome to my psychodrama Leslie. Pretty much everything you'll find here was left by my late wife who I can't see ot talk to or touch anymore, but I've never stopped loving her and no longer know how to have normal relationships with anyone".

Wo.... Wo..... Wo... Stinson reeled himself in. This wasn't life and death. It wasn't even really a date. It was a trip to Mallorca. Food. Better than Stauferr's to be sure. At a minimum, she would be interesting to be sure. He might even be able to see glimpses of the "story" behind this young woman. It wuld provide amusement and distraction. There was no harm in this and nothing more. Calm the tempest Tommy. Relax.

7:15 then it is he repeated, smiled once more stepped back. Until then, be safe getting home. He smiled, half bowed, and wheeled around, heading off towards his waiting apartment.

OOC: Its annoying to time out when I post. And I can't get back in to edit what I've posted after it lists me as "unregistered". Sorry for the typos.

He opened the door and stepped into Dr. Insomnia's reception room.
Everything was exactly as he had left it before leaving for B&N. Some would call this a "Spartan" existence. Others would see it as stark deprivation. Stinson's apartment remained as it had been the day that Meg passed away. Every aspect was in place, nothing had moved. He was obsessive to a point about preserving that moment in time. The place was dingy and in need of cleaning, fresh air and sunlight, but Stinson was having none of it. This was their place after all and always would be. This place contained the memories of his life.

He slowly walked to the CD player and pushed play. Natalie Merchant's
"Tiger Lily" spun to life and her soft mournful voice cut the stillness of the room. Natalie Merchant could play the rhyming game. Stinson had known this for some time now.

"You were the love for certain of my life".
You were simply my beloved wife
I don't know for certain how I'll live my life
Now alone, without my beloved wife
"my beloved wife"..

Stinson sat on the couch as the mournful piano encased him in memories.
He saw himself in the wake of Meg's death. Lonely, solitary, struggling to come to terms with a God who could cause her so much pain and him so much grief. She briefly saw Leslie, added to the emotional tempest that encompassed him. He stopped and considered the emotions of the day and stared at the picture they had taken at the shore the summer after they had wed. His hands shook as he raised the picture and let Megan's beauty steal his breath once more. In the background, Natalie continued

I can't believe
I've lost the very best of me

He raised picture, holding it as he would hold her once again. He closed his eyes and saw what should have been. Megan, holding their child, baptisms, school plays, graduations, long rides in the fall country side, dancing as they grew old together. The depth of emotion was overwhelming him now, but he was too far gone to fight it. The music continued as Stinson's diaphragm shuttered and the tears seeped from the corners of each eye.. they ran long and slow down the sides of his cheeks and he shook as he clutched the frame against his chest.

My love is gone she suffered long
in hours of pain
My love is gone
now my suffering begins
My love is gone
would it be wrong if I should
surrender all the joy in my life?
go with her tonight?

As he sobbed he forced his eyes to open and uttered "I'm alone Meg?
How am I supposed to live now? Why did you leave me darlin? Why? Why"? But there was no answer. There was never an answer. The words trailed off as the emotions of the day crashed over him like waves crushing the smallest of shells. Thomas Stinson thought that this was his life now. Alone, lost, and cast aground like a ship on the rocks. Unable to move, unable to sink. He closed his eyes and the exhaustion of being Thomas Stinson overcame him.

Ooc: Congratulations on the beautiful new addition to the family, Papa-Daddy-O!

Megan

I sat on the opposite side of the couch, watching Tom sink deeper into his pit of despair. I had had a brief glimpse of hope earlier in the night, more than one actually. The revelation that I had some sort of connection with Leslie was most definitely a hallelujah moment, but the smile and light that had appeared in Thomas’ expression, however brief, far outweighed it. It had been far too long since I had seen him smile, let alone the hint of genuine interest that flickered in his eyes when he spoke with her. I suppose I should have felt some flicker of jealousy. I was never plagued with it while I was living, so why should it be a problem for me now. I just wanted to see Thomas come back to his own, to be himself again. The pleasant, witty, devastatingly charming man I had met, fallen in love with and married. Was that really too much to ask? I didn’t think so, but watching him now as he wallows in his grief, perhaps it is...

My heart broke for the thousandth time as I listened to his questions; the sorrow and pain clearly evident in his voice, not to mention the tears cascading freely down his cheeks. God, it killed me to see him cry. I moved closer, curling up next to him; futilely wrapping my arms around him in a hug that he couldn’t feel much less comfort him. No. He can get past this. He’s made of stronger stuff than that, which I know for a fact. He might not be able to do this on his own, but I thought with a blossoming smile, that’s where Leslie is going to come into play.


Leslie

Time passed all to quickly for Leslie. Literally. She mentally berated herself again as she walked the last hundred yards or so to B&N. What had I been thinking? Why had I accepted this date? I’m not ready for this. She thought to herself as she closed in on the entrance. What I wouldn’t give for a cigarette. Her hand instinctively flew to clasp of her purse just as the realization hit her that smoking was another habit she had quit. She cursed under her breath, snatching out the little tin of cinnamon breath mints instead and popping one in her mouth, crunching it angrily.

Well, at least she was the first one here. Thomas R. Stinson was nowhere to be seen. She spared a quick glance at her watch. 7:10 pm. Eh, she was a few minutes early. Great. The butterflies in her stomach would have a few minutes more to wreak havoc before he arrived.

She flipped a stray piece of auburn hair back behind her ear as she glanced at her reflection in the door. Not too bad. She had never been one to wear a lot of make-up, so tonight was no different. A bit of mascara, a hint of blush and a plum tinted lip-gloss and volia! Done. She smoothed the simple black sheath dress, readjusted the small silver necklace and tugged her jacket into place, repeating the process three times before catching herself.

Sheesh, Les. Get a hold of yourself. It’s just a simple dinner date, nothing more. She chastised herself under her breath, tucking her hands deep into the pockets of her coat. She turned her back to her reflection and surveyed the parking lot, hoping her supposedly simple dinner date would turn up soon.

OOC: It is great to be back among the writing once more (albeit in a greatly sleep deprived state).

This will require much editing later, but its a big post, so I wanted to get it up on the Board first. WIll edit as I have an opportunity to to clean up punctuation and syntax.



I/C
Stinson seldom remembered his dreams, but as he fell into the cozy confines of REM sleep, his mind embraced several images. Megan, and Joe, spun past him. He thought he saw Leslie. He saw all of them walking and looking upward. As he did, he found his perspective rising. He was suddenly being pulled, or maybe flying above the ground. 10 feet, then 20, and higher. He soon saw the city from above and the people within it moving at incredible rates of speed. He vaguely recalled the accelerated photography he'd observed in any number of art videos as the worlds spun at the speed of light below him. In a moment though, he saw clouds, and then the earth from above. As his perspective increased, so to did the speed with which he was born upwards. The full earth appeared as a ball of blue and white swirling above him, followed by the moon as the sun burned out from behind it. Stinson thought that if he could see himself in his sleep, he'd smile as he was drawn backwards through the cosmos. Faster and further like some out of control comet, Thomas Robert Stinson was pulled backward through time and space. He saw the full solar system, the galaxy, the birth and death of stars and the void of black holes. At a point, his speed increased to the point where his focus warped and the points of light that had surrounded him stretched to become long, piercing, strobes of solid laser light. He vaguely remembered that this looked somewhat akin to what Han Solo had called "hyperspace", and then the slowing began. Suddenly, the light withdrew to stars in the darkness and Stinson felt his speed reverse. He had no conception of body or form at this time, but he knew that the speed of his descent was greatly reduced from of his ascension. Planets and celestial bodies appeared below him and he broke though the atmosphere once more, then through clouds, then slower still through a clearing within a field of trees. He suddenly saw himself kneeling on the ground in the midst of a green meadow with a wide brook running through it. People, hundreds, (perhaps millions?) moved past him at rates of speed to fast to comprehend. A momentary surge and the throng passed him as if he no longer existed. The masses then stopped, only long enough for Thomas Stinson to recognize them as people, moving, talking, conversing, going about their business, trooping through this untouched meadow at rates of speed which were nearly invisible to the human eyes. He observed the meadow grass all around him and wondered how it was that none of it bent or appeared trampled as it ferried the seemingly infinite traffic. The sun shone and a warm breeze caressed his face as the brown reeds and cattails danced to the winds rhythm. Thomas Robert Stinson stood and the throng was gone. He stood alone? Where? And how? Perhaps this was a nightmare. A punishment for his indiscretions in dealing with Leslie and a reminder of what his existence was supposed to be, solitary.

He placed one sneakered foot before the other and felt the ground solid before him when he looked up and first noted the figure in the distance. At first, as his eyes struggled to focus Thomas thought it was a solitary stone. A bolder, maybe 6' and change, standing by itself on the shore. It was then, that the image spun clockwise and Stinson struggled to capture the image that now joined its hands before him. The "thing" (boulder, person) was perhaps 200 yards away and despite the foreboding sense of fear that permeated what Stinson was sure was to become a nightmare, Stinson proceeded. As he drew within 100 yards, his vision cleared and saw the man, standing. His initial estimation that this apparition was a boulder was closer to the truth than he had known.

As the man's face came into view, Stinson focused on features that had belonged to only one man. Gnarled hands extended from gigantic shoulders, the right hand clasped over the left wrist, stretching and flexing as though a statue had come to life and was testing its muscles. Shoulders that stretched 50" wide if not bigger, supporting a chest that looked like two kegs tied together by muscle. The frame supported a tree trunk of a head and a kind face with sparkling grey eyes and a soft mane of grey hair. At this moment, Thomas Robert Stinson knew that this was in fact a dream and that even if it was the worst of nightmares, it was worth it. Before him stood Seamus "Tink" Stinson. More commonly known to "Tommy" as Uncle Shame.

Uncle Seamus was his father's eldest brother. The legend of the north shore docks and a figure whose star made him someone referred to with both honor and reverence even now, ten years after his death. Seamus, like Stinson's father, was first generation. He came to America on the coffin ships at 14 and lived a life of hardship and harder work en route to becoming one of the most legendary figures the city and its labor movement had ever seen. Commissioned at 15, he worked 55 years on the docks and became the head of the local and a man generally respected (if not revered) by union and management alike. He had held to the simple creeds, "God and Family", "honest work for honest pay", but unlike so many of his modern day successors, Seamus believed these creeds and made a point of living them, day in, day out. A simple man, he worked himself up through the ranks until the Union chose him to be president at the age of 33. He remained the job boss until he passed at the age of 70.

Seamus enjoyed a reputation as an honest man, capable of resolving the worst of impasses. He also was known to be the toughest bastard on the docks, and the last person you ever wanted to piss off. Slow to anger, he was not above unspeakable retribution when those that he called family or friends were threatened. Case in point was the "Jackie Incident". Jackie was Uncle Shame's youngest (and most irresponsible) child. As Seamus had told Thomas later in his life, "I keep thinking that the lad will run out of vices to attempt", but sadly, this had not been the case. And continually, Seamus came to his aid and placed Jack's feet back on the path, narrowly avoiding some perils, getting stung by others. DUI's, drug use, illegitimate children, all had been part and parcel of Jackie's repertoire. His date with the book though was the stuff of which Seamus legend was made.

When Jack was in college, he took on the bad habit of betting college basketball with a notorious book from Silviani's old neighborhood. Betting with the book is always bad form. Betting with this particular book could get you killed, and nearly did. Jack played too many double or nothings and in a short period of time, found himself up against a $20,000.00 marker and on the wrong side of Angelo. When three thugs explained this to Jack by breaking his right kneecap with an aluminum baseball bat, he was deposited on the doorstep of the O'Brien residence with instructions to pay the mark within 48 hours or they would come back to revisit Jack's remaining functional knee.

Two days later, the three were found on Angelo's doorstep, along with a dufflebag bearing $20,000.00 in cash. One had a smashed orbital and broken jaw. The other had both shoulders torn from their sockets. The last had had both kneecaps shattered with an aluminum baseball cap. The note in the bag read, "Angelo, I trust you will now forgive Jack's debt and call our scores evened. The lad is compulsive and irresponsible, and for that, I have covered his outstanding account with your book. As for your boys, they may consider calling on me in the future should they have business with the Stinson clan". Yours, Seamus.

Now before him stood this same tree trunk who he had loved and revered in life, and Stinson paused to consider how full Seamus' life had been. How unlike his was now and how ashamed his uncle would be to see what he had become. It was at that moment that he wondered if perhaps his despair had claimed him in his sleep. If perhaps he too had come to join Seamus at this place and time which defied description. Thomas Stinson was not a religious man, but he had no doubt regarding his own damnation. If he was dead, he was in far too nice of surroundings.

He looked up at the Irish Oak, smiled and called out "Seamus, I'd think I was dead but I know that you and I have different destinations in mind, so I'll consider this one of the best dreams I've had in some two years. How are you Shame? We've missed you more than ya know".

His smile and greeting were returned when a giant mitt enfolded his shoulder and he found himself tucked deep within the wingspan of Seamus' right arm, dwarfed by the giant who held him close and bellowed "Tommy Tommy, always trying to classify and clarify everything. Its why your Daddy (God rest him) knew you'd be an attorney the moment you could talk". Seamus' head fell back and he bellowed a laugh that seemed to shake the landscape for a moment or two, before returning his gaze on his nephew. "Actually son, where we are makes little difference. We need to discuss why we're here lad, and frankly, you should know right away that Management called me in. Seamus removed his arm from and in a flash, bent to begin drawing a rope from a peg on the ground to his left. From the stream came a caged top metal bucket and Stinson immediately smiled recognizing a six of cold "Harp" bottles well chilled within the bucket. As Seamus produced two, each man placed the bottle to their eye sockets and removed the cap with a simple twist of their respective wrists. An old parlor trick that Uncle Shame had taught Tommy at his high school graduation party (Much to the remaining Stinson clans dismay).

As they raised the bottles to one another, Tommy stared at Seamus, obviously confused. Maybe this is hell and your negotiating for management now eh Shame? The giant smiled back and grinned, "Tommy, Tommy, always with the names. If it suits you better to say 'God' or 'Satan' or 'Hare Krishna' himself (although I personally have never met the fellow), go on ahead". I'm here because I was asked and because Management thought I might be able to get through that thick skull o yours boy. Tommy, I have loved ya like my own son, but it pains the powers that be to see you like this lad. Your life these days is not so much living as it is waiting to die".

"And the 'Powers that Be' Shame, did you ask them how Meg's doing these days"?

"Look for yourself, Boyo". And as he pointed, Stinson gazed across the stream and saw Meg, walking barefoot in jeans in a T-shirt along the bank, as beautiful as the first day he had seen her. He noticed the smile, the sparkle of her eyes and the ease and grace that she brought to everything around her. She looked up and seemed to catch his eye for the smallest of moments, then continued walking slowly downstream. As Stinson gazed at her reflection in the water, he briefly caught a glimpse of himself walking hand in hand with his beloved wife, but as quickly as he saw the image, it faded.

"Don't call out son, she can't talk with you now", Seamus interjected. "Management frowns on communications outside of monitored channels, and besides, that's why I'm here Tommy. Son, there's a world of living left for you, but if you continue as you have, not much good can come of it".


As Seamus spoke, the earth behind him seemed to heave and grow dark, and as he stepped back to stand at Stinson's right shoulder, a small pit formed in the earth. From it emerged a dark image of Meg, like an onyx statue, but it had no solid form. And as it looked to both of them, its arms began to multiply, like the Indian idol, Kali. As she continued to reach forward, and the arms continued to multiply.

"This is the dark side of your love, your passion and depression Boyo?. This is what holds you when you sleep at night and when you wake in the morning. This is what clutches at you, strangles you, sees to it that you will never 'live' another day. Its not Meg Tommy, it just looks like her. It's your wallow. You've created it, and it will claim you like a Banshee claiming a soul son. Its not the way things have to be Thomas. And by coming here just now, Management wanted me to make sure you understood that the longer and stronger that the wallow comes, the longer it stands to be with you (If you know what I mean). You think of that while your making names for people and places Boyo".

He once again clasped his nephew?s shoulder and turned him and in that instant, the apparition that had stood before him was gone. They looked upstream now to the break just below the roughest water. There, fording the stream and carefully trying to cross without falling stood Leslie. She slowly was placing one foot before the other but her face betrayed her as uncertain and perhaps even scared (although the worst of the rapids were raging far beyond her upstream). For a brief second, Stinson once again though he caught Meg's reflection in the water, standing just behind Leslie's, prepared to catch her if she would fall.

"Our times about up Thomas" added his Uncle. You grew to be a fine young man and on behalf of Management, let me say that We still have great hopes for you lad. But if you waste the opportunity you've been given Tommy, not me, not Meg, not anyone is going to be able to help you. Your wallow is all your gonna have son. Just think of it until we can sit and drink Guiness again Thomas".

With that, Seamus touched the bottle of Harp to Stinson's (now empty) and in a millisecond, Stinson saw the landscape pull backwards and away from him, the dream ending much the same way which it had begun, flying backward through space and time. In his mind's eye, Stinson saw people, and places, then space and finally, with a tremendous clap of thunder, he awoke in a cold sweat on the couch where he had collapsed some twelve hours earlier.

OOC: Rumors of my death were indeed premature. The only death relevant to this story line remains Meg's. My partner in crime is too good to let this thread die.

Meet me anytime, anyplace, or anywhere, I don't care meet me tonight, if you would try, I would dare......

IC:
It was 7:10 before he even through on his Dockers and denim button down to run out the door. "Way to be Tommy. First date in 15 years and your late" (Its not a date). The memory of Seamus flashed in his mind as it had for the entire day. What the hell had happened? What had he eaten that could create such a vivid and disturbing dream? I'm Catholic for Christ's sake. I don't believe in fate much visions of dead family. He thought of Scrooge addressing Marley. "You could be a bit if bad beef, or spoiled mustard". But what really disturbed him (and he admitted this in passing) was not the messenger but the message. It also disturbed him that Leslie was there. Near Meg and certainly, Seamus had urged her consideration. It could be that she appeared in the dream because of his run in with her at Barnes and Noble and the shame he felt over botching that whole exchange. But she was there, clear as Seamus. And Meg was standing behind her.

Enough. You're late McIdiot (but "fashionably" late Meg). He half jogged the short block and a half until he saw her in the distance. Hmm. She showed up. In the distance stood Leslie, looking whistfully at her shoes and the crush of people coming in and out of Barnes and Noble. She was dressed casually. She's comfortable without being too dressy. Stinson quickly assessed that this probably meant she wasn't giving much thought to this evening, or in the alternative, that she was confident enough in her look that she doesn't much care what he thought. Face it son. You're in for it. You're going to have to communicate with this girl. Maybe even see if she'll tell her story. It's been years since you?ve communicated to anyone. Turn around, leave now. She'd understand. Meg would certainly understand. The world will understand.

But despite the tangible despair that spoke to him, Thomas Robert Stinson marched on, brave, idiotic soldier of the moment. As he approached, he once again took stock of a very pretty young woman. Not stunning. She was attractive, but ordinary. Not model thin or picture perfect. She was rangy in her hips and wore little makeup. She was simply real. He stole a glance at his watch 7:20. As he approached, He half panted, "I got stuck in traffic (never mind the fact that I walked)". In some truth, It took me a while to find an outfit that was cleaned and pressed". He searched her face for some sign of emotion and awaited her response. As he gathered himself, he managed half a smile and said, "Mallorca is only about 5 blocks from here. I think I can manage the balance of the walk without having a coronary. And I hear St. Elmo's is having a sidewalk sale. Shall we brave the evening traffic and take a walk"?

Leslie

"I got stuck in traffic."

She heard him before she spotted him. His words coaxed a laugh from her despite her nervousness. Her warm honey browns lifted and met his, reading in them the hint of anxiety that was mirrored in her own. She felt the tension in her shoulders melt away as she realized he was just as terrified of this casual date as she was. She smiled at him, genuinely.

"I'd rather walk in fact. It's a lovely evening."

She fell into step beside him, her hands to her side, on resting on her purse to keep it from swinging against her hip.

"I suppose I should call you Tom or Thomas?" She asked, the warmth of her smile evident in her voice as well as present on her face. "It seems a bit ridiculous to keep refer to you as Mr. Stinton, considering the circumstances."

"You could always continue refer to me as Mr. Tom if you like."

Yet another laugh rang out as her cheeks colored prettily to his reference the instance at the counter that past Tuesday.

"I think I'll just stick with Tom if you don't mind." She grinned at him, shaking her head in bemusement.

"I must admit, I was feeling a bit nervous about this whole thing earlier, but ..." She shrugged casually, "I'm already enjoying myself. Thank you for inviting me."

OOC: Any time, any place, anywhere.............


IC: He took a moment, caught his breath and reviewed her features. She was pretty. Not exceptional, but pretty to be certain. And when she let herself be seen, Stinson became somewhat more intrigued at the story behind those big brown eyes...

"I suppose I should call you Tom or Thomas?" She asked, the warmth of her smile evident in her voice as well as present on her face. "It seems a bit ridiculous to keep refer to you as Mr. Stinton, considering the circumstances."

Stinson considered this for a moment. "You could always continue refer to me as Mr. Tom if you like." Or "asshole" he thought, or maybe, "Megan's Husband")............

She laughed at his flip comment and he screamed at himself to relax and try not to make this a miserable exercise in social ignorance...... breath McIdiot..... breath............

Instead, he distracted himself by beginning the "Stinson tour" of the South Sides particular ecentricities.....

"Chevjeks" is a wonderful Gin joint. Ever drink there?, he started. The only juke box in town that features the complete Tom Waits catalogue, along with the Clash's "London Calling". Eclectic place for a biker bar".

He took a breath and recalled better days, then dug deep into a long forgotten bag of tricks. As he sized up the girl who walked side by side with him, he half smiled and asked "So tell me Leslie, you can take any three albums in the world with you where you're going, but only those three. What are they and why are you taking them"?

There was a story somewhere in there that he'd never hear. In the interim, he'd amuse himself and dig around the outer foundations................

Leslie

Ooc: Anytime? Anywhere? Anyplace? Okay, bud - Tommorrow evening. Gatlinburg. Cutest cabin up in them thare hills. Call me for directions. Bring the women-folk along as well. There’s gonna be a par-tay! The more the merrier.

Ic:

Leslie walked along side of him, enjoying the bit of exertion in the crisp cool night air. The nervous tension had eased to the point that she felt almost normal. Normal. Heh, what a concept. One she wasn’t very familiar with. She was anything but normal, and to be honest, was somewhat content as it were.

Her eye was drawn by his idle conversation to Chevjek’s. “No, I’ve never been there.” She replied.

She felt her stomach knot yet again. Oh God, she groaned to herself, Don’t let this come up just yet. She’d never been in Chevjek’s, no. But she had been in quite a few like that. Chevjek’s was a bit on the upper end on the social scale of the bars she used to frequent, but all in all, they were pretty much the same, just a means to an end. A totally undesirable end, one that Leslie had promised herself she would never come to again.

"So tell me Leslie, you can take any three albums in the world with you where you're going, but only those three. What are they and why are you taking them"?

“Geez. Good question. Let me think for a moment.” (ooc: or more like three months!) She walked along quietly, her mind spinning.

“Only three, eh? Well, I guess I would have to say John Coltrane’s Soul Survivor. There’s some personal reasons involved with that. I might share with you later, but not tonight.” She darted a quick sidelong glance to him to gauge his reaction before continuing. “Second would be Sarah McLachlan’s Mirrorball. And lastly, I would have to say Metallica, The Black Album.”

Just a wee little bump, Garrison-dear..

Here's hoping.