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Tribute Ch. 02

By: UnknownPath



Note: No vivid sexual scenes will be described in this story. 

Dear Elmo,

Whether you are real or not, I cannot comprehend. Every day I consider what you think about—what your opinion is of something. The lines between your being real or imaginary are nearly invisible.

I sit here on my porch (yes, I moved), writing in this journal. I have decided that since you are in my thoughts so often, I may as well try some tricks to keeping you from overwhelming them like you have. Besides, I hope that through this I will get some closure from this unseen relationship I am lost in.

Nearly four months ago I moved to an incredibly small country home. I actually live on the backside of nearly fifty acres owned by someone else. They needed to either rent or sell, acreage or this house, and they chose the latter because the former meant too much to them.

Esquivo thrives in the space offered. I still have to keep a long line on him, or put him on a chain when I leave; since he is still the run and kill chickens type. Let's just say this is not the first farm we have both lived on.

As of this moment Esquivo is sleeping under the porch pit he has created from the dirt, giving him a nice cool place as the sun rests above us in its unseen cradle in the sky.

I am writing in my journal while on my porch (as I mentioned before), and as usual, am thinking of you. There is so much I want to ask you. I wish I knew more about you, even though a part of me feels like it knows everything about you.

It is here (in this journal), that I hope to fulfill these desires of mine. I am going to write to you, even if you cannot ever reply. No different than a spouse, or friend, would to a soldier in a faraway battle. 

My pen stilled over the beginning of a blank line. What should I ask first? This hesitancy seemed ludicrous since my letters were never going to be answered, but hesitant I was.

What is your favorite place to visit when too many irritations get to you? Or what place do you enjoy visiting when you want to be alone and away from everybody else?

After that I didn't let my thoughts interrupt what I wrote. I tried to keep my mind from what I asked because I didn't need a reminder that all this was for naught anyway.

By the time the sun had dipped several degrees in the sky, I had filled seven pages of my questions and replies of my own preferences. Setting my pen atop the now closed journal I reached for my water bottle to take a sip of the cool liquid.

How desperately sad this probably was. I barely shook my head in disagreement with my thought as I walked back inside the house. Esquivo was tied out so I was safe to wander inside for a while. Thankfully it was a Saturday so I had the day to myself.

My college classes had ended a month ago. I was still unemployed, even with my many internships and charity activities. Personally, I did the charity for my own pleasure, so if it wasn't considered for employment—I didn't mind. It would be like the hobby of writing stories on the side; nothing business about it. I had made an agreement with the owner to use a section eight housing waiver since money wasn't coming in. I couldn't wait until it was.

Absently I stacked the sheet music I had been writing out earlier. Another hobby I enjoyed to the fullest. 

My degree was a dual one, in graphic design and paralegal studies. I took some minors in marketing too. Did I like any of them? Not at all. I did what I was 'supposed' to. My skills lie in music and writing. A career is substantially slim in such areas in these times though, which is why I did what I should and not what I wanted. I'm still unemployed though.

"Hello?!" 

My mind cleared as I turned to walk back out to my porch. Before the steps to the porch stood my landlord, of sorts; he was an older farmer. His wife would occasionally visit with me for some tea, or send him out to bring me something she would make. Above all, these were probably some of the nicest people I had ever met. I wished I could return the many favors they offered me. Someday I hoped I could.

"Good day, what do you need?" I asked kindly. While saying this I glanced over the railing of the steps to see Esquivo still slumbering in the cool dirt. What a watch dog.

"Ah, I hope it isn't too much to ask..." Mr. Jameson started slowly; apparently uncomfortable about the proposition he had yet to say. "This house, would you be willing to share a floor with someone?"

"Yes. Is there not enough money coming in?" I asked wincing slightly at the possible reply.

"Oh, no. Money isn't the issue," he said reassuringly. He seemed sincere, so I relaxed a little. "No, it's one of our grandkids. They aren't getting along well with their siblings, so Marjorie and I offered to take one of them on if needed. They are all about your age, and if one of them accepts, we were wondering if you would be okay with a roommate."

Him and his wife were my land holders, of which I had yet to show them any coinage, and they were asking if I minded having a roommate in their house. I ran this through my mind as I was again thankful for meeting such people.

"Yeah, it's no problem at all. I will clear some space just in case one of them does come to live here."

"Alright, thank you," he said with a glance towards the sky.

"Thank you too, for asking my opinion."

"You're welcome," he scrunched the corner of his mouth, "it looks like it is going to rain today."

I looked up at the sunny sky. I knew better than to scoff. Farmers saw things that I would never see. "Okay, thanks for the heads-up. I've got some things to put away first. Have a good day Mr. Jameson. Say hello to your wife for me."

"Goodbye"

I looked for Esquivo, who I was mostly checking to be sure he didn't die from the lack of cool air, and to check that water was still available for him too.

Walking back inside, I mentally checked off what had to be cleared and cleaned for the possible guest. 

----------------------------------

With Esquivo on a long line, I jogged the fence line of the dairy cows pasture. Sure the smell could be more pleasant, the bugs zigzagged clashes against my body too frequent. But the path wasn't hard on my feet, and the company wasn't bad. After the first few times, the younger heifers stopped bolting at me running by.

I had so little to pack after receiving the news about the possible guest. I packed nearly everything, just in case the person had a preference of upstairs or downstairs. So far we were nearing the two week border without any word back.

Today I had filled out too many employment applications. When I got a call back I couldn't remember applying for them. I didn't get the job, so it didn't matter too much. 

There is an interview set up later in the week for postal delivery within an office complex. I tried looking at it in a positive light, but it still was not my gold nugget in a stream. Even so, if the job was mine I would do my best.

Esquivo jogged ahead of me on the line, keeping a uniform pace. My French braided pony tail occasionally brushed my shoulders if I had to slow to detour or leap an obstacle. Even with any and all distractions—Elmo came to mind.

I'd written a letter to him every day since I had started at the first of spring. I kept asking little questions, his biggest dislike, or his favorite color. My odd approach seemed to be working. Aside from the moment, he wasn't hijacking my every thought.

While nearing the end of my run, I saw the headlights of the Jameson's truck through the trees at the very end of the four mile driveway. I popped across the grounds with Esquivo still partially leading, to get back to our place. Not too far from the house I slowed to a walk, taking Esquivo to any small plant, shrub, or tree he felt the need to try and pee on.

I insist we go inside when I had stood still with him for more than five minutes, eventually realizing I had been standing with him for more than five minutes. He loved being outside, free of any restraints. But if this kept him alive, safe, and somewhat happy—I would try to do my best.

A warm breeze changed its paces, shifting the shirt I wore. My back felt mildly damp. I slapped the exposed flesh on my calf while standing on the other leg. Dang mosquitos; prey on one who has slowed enough to be eaten at.

It was late eight as I tied Esquivo out. I knew I would be out again, I just didn't realize how soon. I had made it to the kitchen sink for a cup of water when the honk from the Jameson truck was heard. Esquivo's shrill yodeling howl echoed back into the house.

I set the glass down before heading to the screen door in time to hold that open for Mr. Jameson and the guest.

"We're sorry for the late interruption, but the flight was delayed and we weren't sure if he would be coming in tonight."

Right behind Mr. Jameson was a man who looked young, possibly younger than me, and somehow familiar too. He was Mr. Jameson's grandson. He gave a small smile while giving a nod in thanks, I assumed, and I returned the gesture. They both carried four bags of medium size, their flight tags bright against the black fabric. 

I still held open the door when Mr. Jameson motioned for me to close it. "This is all that he has brought."

"Okay," I replied before slipping out to bring Esquivo in. He was sure to do a howl-growl at me in reprimand for being so careless as to leave him on a long line when something interesting was obviously going on in there.

I held Esquivo's collar when walking in. I didn't want to surprise the guest. "Do you mind dogs?"

The man was looking around, his back to me when I asked.

I almost repeat myself when Mr. Jameson spoke up. "Beauregard is deaf. I should have mentioned that to you too, but I didn't know who would be coming."

"It's okay Mr. Jameson," I approached a good space away in Beauregard's peripheral vision. "Do you mind dogs?"

Beauregard came closer with a hand extended, which Esquivo licked out of regularity versus personal choice. He gave me a questioning look. I repeat what I had asked, more slowly, even though Esquivo was still licking the guy's hand and Beauregard wasn't turning into a puddle of tears over it.

His eyes crinkled as the corner of his mouth quirked up. He then shook his head while kneeling down to pet Esquivo, who I released already. He really does seem very familiar. Beauregard then looked back up at me questioningly. Absently he began signing his thought or question before remembering I was unskilled.

"Oh," I held up a hand as I found a piece of paper and a pen, "Esquivo. It's Spanish for "shy", which he clearly isn't."

Beauregard grinned while Esquivo soaked up the affection.

My head felt like it was beginning to spin. No need to think of Elmo right now. But that is it, he reminds me of Elmo, and I don't know why. It could be just his smile.

"Good night, I will let you both get settled. I'll be by around noon to show him around the farm, and he knows that too."

"Alright, good night Mr. Jameson"

When I turned back to Esquivo and Beauregard, he was watching me. His gaze seemed odd to me, but I was already out of it to think he remind me of Elmo—so I couldn't even have a clue. "Do you want the upstairs or downstairs?"

Beauregard smiled again and held up both hands, finger tips scrunched and touching to draw them apart slowly.

"I'm sorry," I replied while kicking myself inwardly for being such a nervous idiot around strangers. I repeat the question, to which he shrugged and made an unsure decision. I waved him to follow me as I showed him the rooms. Esquivo followed along.

After the tour was over he decided on the downstairs portion, if I didn't mind. I began moving my stuff upstairs, which Beauregard helped me with. Once everything was moved I turned to thank him. 

He was watching me again. Maybe I looked as forgetfully familiar as he was with me. I went ahead and thanked him. He then made a gesture toward one of my hands before grasping one gently. He smoothed my hand flat and gestured with his own. He mouthed "thank you" to help me understand.

"Ah" I replied while following his lead. He smiled again, which was still causing my brain to melt slightly in frustration. I know he wanted to say more because his hands began moving before he thought to stop them. I felt bad for my lack of understanding.

I pulled out my cell phone to go to a text message, just in case he wanted to try that way. Beauregard did and typed out "do I mind having a piano in the place?"

An incredulous look appeared on my face as I replied that I didn't.

We part ways there, saying good night, with Esquivo lying dignified in an upright position with his front feet crossed atop the upstairs bed.

I had the uncanny feeling that no matter whom Beauregard was; we would probably get along pretty well.

UnknownPath

Tribute Ch. 03



Note: No vivid sexual scenes will be described in this story.




 Days seemed longer, now that there was a stranger's company around.

 Nearly a week later Beauregard had a piano moved into the downstairs living room. Something I was silently all for.

 I was now employed too. My income was small with the part-time job, so I was still allowed a housing waiver, but at least money was reaching me.

 I sat on the porch. The rain dripped in longer streaming droplets from the shingled edge of the roof's overhang. My chin rest between my knees, my arms wrapped about my legs.

 My dad's description of me was spot on. I was like a wary dog when it came to people I didn't know. I avoided them. I tried to not bring any attention to myself or my whereabouts. What bothered me most was that I couldn't seem to break out of this habit. Eternally shy, or in my case, fatally shy. If I met someone who spoke directly to me out at a store someplace, I could play the relaxed, friendly person. Once I saw them regularly, for more than just a temporary visit, I suddenly grew uncomfortable.

 I just hoped I wasn't coming across as a jerk, because I had no bad feelings against Beauregard. He seemed really nice. Esquivo just loved him, which wasn't (normally) easy for that dog.

 Behind me I heard the screen door creak open. I looked back; surprised if it was Esquivo. He hates the rain, and storms even more. I sometimes wondered if he was a cat trapped inside a dog's body, with all the other weird cat-like things he tended to do. 

 Instead I saw Beauregard. He motioned if he could sit down too. I nod with a kind smile.

 So there was that uncomfortable stillness as I sat like I had been sitting, and him sitting not too far away beside me. I was prepared to open my mouth at several different points, but couldn't find a point of conversation to launch from.

 He shifts as he removed something from a back pocket of his jeans. I didn't look over to see whether it was a pack of cigarettes, or what. I could see his hands moving methodically. I figured if a waft of smoke billowed over I'd leave as discretely as possible.

 A sharp whistle made me look over sharply. He smiled while handing me a small pocket notepad.

 "Have I irritated you at all?"

 I looked up from the writing to see he was indeed concerned that my shyness was something aggressive instead.

 I point to the pen in his hand, which he then hand me. I wrote back a reply of how it was just me being a nervous type of person with other people; nothing against him in the least. He had leaned towards me slightly, reading beyond my hand. A corner of my mouth lifts a little as I finished writing the last word.

 Beauregard then pulls back while he nods. Then he raises a hand and signs near his face, which my head tilts inadvertently as I try and figure out what he means. The minimal amount of sign I ever did learn finally comes to use when he changes tactics and signs "okay".

 I try not to let my sight settle on his face, his eyes. But they catch my interest way too often when I do see him. From the distance I keep between us, I cannot tell if his eyes are gray or a light jade green like my own. I quickly rip away my attention to scan the floorboards as I swivel my gaze slowly to the rain pelting down on everything beyond this porch.

 Even though I can feel him watching me, I continue to study everything else. I cannot hear anything but an assaulting beat, the rain is so loud. A fine mist is settling on everything not exposed directly to the rain.

 A tap at my shoulder makes me look over to see Beauregard holding the pad of paper out to me.

 "How do you know my grandparents?"

 Honestly I was surprised they hadn't said anything. 

 I wrote back about my agreement with them and the job I now had. While doing so I shift to sit cross-legged. Beauregard moved closer before I hand the notepad back to him. By now we sat close enough that he didn't have to shift to read what I was writing.

 "It sounds..." The pen in Beauregard's hand stalled over an empty space as he tried to think of an adequate word for my new job as a postal worker in an office complex. I tapped his hand with my writing hand. He relinquished the pen for me to write, "Boring".

 Unexpectedly he laughed. I continued to write,"So, what do you do for employment?"

 He pulled the pen from my hand smoothly before he replied, "online tutoring for (deaf, hard of hearing, or hearing) students learning ASL. A Skype-styled format."

 "That's awesome," I replied out loud as I looked over to him. It turns out 'over to him' was closer than I was expecting since we sat as we did now. His eyes were definitely a gray version of my own greenish ones; A dark ring of color around the iris. Except his had no orange—but that didn't signify anything unlikeable in their uniformity of color.

 I must have spoken clear enough (usually I speak when looking down or away), because he understood. I felt my face heat up at this close proximity, which bothered me since we'd been writing for a while now and it hadn't made me uncomfortable earlier.

 "Do you want to learn ASL?" he wrote.

 His question helped me gain control of my thoughts. "How much do your classes cost?"

 He tapped a finger on his question. "Yes," I wrote next to his.

 "Okay"

 This time I tapped the notepad over my question. He took the pen and notepad back, stuffing them wherever he carried them.

 I tipped my head with an eyebrow scrunched as I watched him, since he clearly ignored my question entirely. My face was on the downhill of cooling off when, half-smiling, he reached towards me and touched the side of my face with the backs of his fingers.

 Just as quickly his fingers were away, and my face was warmer than a fire in August, with gasoline. Dear Lord how I hate my blushing. Where was one of those quicksand pits to eat up my half of the porch when you needed it? 

 I bit my bottom lip in embarrassment as I stood. Before heading back inside, I gave a small wave, still a bit pink in the face.

 His eyes seemed hard as he brushed his fingers over his chin before waving back to me.

				                         --------------------------------

 I was glad it was my day off from work, because the rain continued all day. I would have had to tie Esquivo out if I had, had to go to work. That is just one of those things I didn't leave for anyone else to care for. Esquivo was kind of like a convict. He couldn't be anywhere without being contained somehow. It was something I had to grow accustomed to, because I'd never known a dog like this. Growing up around Collies and German Shepherds did not prepare me for this wolf dog.

 That was something I was careful about telling to people. I mean, if he was dangerous, I'd have him put down. 

 But Esquivo wasn't dangerous, towards people, anyway. 

 If he was comfortable with you he act like the husky cross he was—the sweet crazy friend. If he was outside loose or just plain nervous about somebody, he'd be wary.

 The percentage of wolf in him had to be infinitesimally small, because his behavior bordered husky so well—which is why I introduced him as a mix of that.

 Right now, because thunder had come rolling through, the 'big bad wolf' was underneath my bed. 

 He really hates storms. 

 A knock at my bedroom door caught my attention.
 Beauregard made a few motions slowly, which I figured meant he was being polite and asking if he could come in.

 I nod and gave a wave.

 He pulled out the small notepad again, "ready for the A, B, C's of ASL?"

 I pursed my mouth slightly, "sure," I finally agreed.

				                           ------------------------------

 Beauregard had begun with teaching me fingerspelling, that way the notepad could be a discontinued object. While fingerspelling took more time, even though I was becoming quicker, at least we understood one another.

 Occasionally I dueled with the blushing. Thankfully Beauregard didn't mention it, again. He did once, which I tried to brush off as quickly and unimportant-like, as possible. This daily exchange with him was helping for my body to mellow a little.

 Esquivo had adopted Beauregard as a forever roomie, and was happy to howl-growl at him when he returned from spending time with friends or family. 

 On the side I still wrote music, because it was one of my passions, and ran with Esquivo nearly every night.

 One of the nights after work I left my sheet music portfolio out on a counter top. I returned from a jog with Esquivo to see Beauregard looking at the first piece—which is how I had left it. My most recent piece on the very top, and open for all to see because I forgot to add a few marks and didn't want to forget. 

 The only thing I forgot was to shut the folder. Or hide it.

 "What's this?" Beauregard signed one of the new phrases he had recently introduced me to. He was a strict right-handed sort, so he switched the mug he held to his left. 

 "A hobby," I replied, my signing still on the slower side. At least I was intelligible.

 "May I?" Beauregard asked pointing to the folder of my music.

 I nod. He took another sip out of the mug before setting it on the counter a ways away from my music sheets.

 His fingertips followed the lines of music as they were intended to be played.

 Beauregard turned a small amount of attention to reach down to pet Esquivo when he leaned against his leg; his eyes still following the page. 

 And yes, I took full liberty to watch the beauty that is Beauregard. He still reminds me of Elmo, but I still don't know why. Even now, I admire his individuality. He is nice to my dog, and better yet, Esquivo genuinely likes him. The guy respects me and my space. He has the patience to teach me a whole new language without making me pay for lessons. And from what I have gathered, he and I have at least a little in common.

 It's about time a friend came along, I think. Beauregard then grasps the first solo and takes it to his piano.

 He becomes settled, to rest his fingers above the keys. With a glance over to me he gives me a smile before beginning.

 I'll admit that while I have a music memory, it doesn't hold a flame to actually being played. Every note echoed sweetly, the song exuding a powerful melody just as I wished it would.

 The solo only last around four minutes, but that time was well spent. Beauregard played the last notes, letting them hang in the air.

 He signed a shape before his face.

 "What?" I stepped closer to be taught this new sign.

 "This, it's beautiful," Beauregard said; showing me that the sign meant beautiful.

 "Thank you," I replied, "but I think you made it sound better than how I wrote it," I then grinned.

 He seemed to grow thoughtful, possibly sad even. I couldn't tell and wondered if I had signed something wrong.

 Beauregard then waived some fingers in the air before dashing off down the hall. I had time to wave at the lounging Esquivo on the couch, who limply bobbed his tail in reply, his cute cream eyes squinting mischievously.

 When Beauregard returned, he held a pair of earplugs out to me. I took them and he motioned for me to put them on. He then point at the seat to sit next to him.

 I glanced to him once seated, and he shifts to rest his fingers over the keys once more. 
This time I heard nothing. At least, not the sounds I had heard before.

 Instead I felt the rhythm. I lift my hands to rest on the buckboard, to feel the notes being played. It was a different song. A mystically majestic tune that I was hearing anew, one that made me want to share the one I had heard originally with him too—because both were the same and yet entirely different.

 At the last notes he looks over at me.

 "Beautiful," I agreed.

 He then hand me back my music sheets, "thank you."

 "You're welcome, it was my pleasure," I returned the earplugs before I started to slide out of the seat. That's when Beauregard caught my attention to say something.

 "Thank you for being so nice about me coming here," he paused, "for playing your music and bringing in a piano," Beauregard's eyes spoke volumes more than he was already saying, "for accepting me."

 "It's okay, I understand," I said, and I meant every word—if he was speaking about family troubles, that is. I had been to hell and back in that boat and I was never going to go rowing again.

 "You have problems with your family too?" Beauregard asked slowly.

 "Yeah," I said with a 'guilty' kind of face, "that's part of the reason why I am here and not there."

 And before I knew it he and I were venting about the families we were the black sheep in. It wasn't until I inadvertently yawned that I realized how tired I was—which eventually led to me checking how late we had stayed up talking.

 "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kept you up-," Beauregard began but I cut him off.

 "Actually, this was nice. Most people don't understand how you feel, how I feel. At least, I have talked to a good number who don't." I knew I had to go to bed soon. I misspelled at least twelve times.

 He seemed to get the gist though.

 "Goodnight Natasha"

 "Goodnight Beauregard," I sleepily smiled, which he grinned at. Somehow I trudged up the stairs, Esquivo following, and eventually rolled across my bed to comfort.

			                                  ------------------------------

 I sighed as his scent engulfed me. Something was different though. I couldn't quite pin it down. Elmo lay over my lower body, both of us clothed, and him resting his head on my abdomen.

 I smoothed my fingers through his hair, slid my fingertips across his cheek.

 He grabbed my hand gently, kissing the palm. His gray eyes seemed especially familiar. Then he signed something.

 I awoke with groggily, wide eyes. 

 That's why it was different. I dreamt of Beauregard's scent. Of Beauregard, in general.

 I can't believe I did that.

UnknownPath



Tribute Ch. 04



Note: It has been a while since I last thought about this story. This new piece may not be within the same tone as the other parts were, because life has changed a bit for me—and as such, my mood has too. 

*

But above all, hopefully this will be a pleasurable read for those who have been looking forward to it.

And no, there are no parts with sex, yet. I'm working up to it. Patience is a virtue...and so is trying to write a credible plot.

I barely saw my breath disperse quickly as I ran.

The weather was colder now. Summer was slipping away.

Esquivo was right next to me, taking the easy jogging pace we often ran at. He had begun growing in his short, thick plushy coat. I was also finding those soft plushy hairs all over the furniture too—no matter how pretty they were.

Either way, he seemed somewhat satisfied as we ran. The only thing that could make this better for him is if the lead I was holding was not on him, and if a chicken ran by.

For a small moment I was lost in my run. My thoughts jumped frequently as I jogged onward. I guess that is probably why I never get bored of running, I think to myself. I can always find something to think about.

And soon I was back to thinking about my housemate.

Since my dream (or more precisely, dreams), I had tried to be politely professional with Beauregard.

It helped that he had a girlfriend already. 

Beauregard had introduced me to her one of the nights I had off. He had been kind enough to have her come over when I was around for the first visit—to be sure Esquivo would be okay with her.

Esquivo was indifferent to her, just as she was to him.

Her name was Angela. She was the type of girl I could see Beauregard with: long wavy blonde hair, brown eyes, average height, and slight parts to her curvy body. Essentially she was what one could call the fraternity/sisterhood model.

I was not entirely sure about her brains yet. I didn't try to engage her in conversation. I just wasn't interested, and it was very clear that she felt the same way about me—if not a little more so. I couldn't tell if I had stepped on her toes already by not being friendlier. I wasn't even sure how to ask if I had.

Beauregard seems excited about her, and that is great for him. Apparently they met through his friends. She decided that she wanted to learn ASL.

Now she is here quite often. First it was once a week. Now it was almost every day.

I did my best to not be the third wheel.

I'm a home body. So, to give the two of them space to work on ASL (or whatever it was that they wanted to do), I began spending my free time helping the Jameson's.

Today I would be working on that huge pile of trash that has been sitting on this property since they moved here.

My aspirations are high, I know.

Even the small things I can do are a little helpful, and that is an unappealing job just waiting for a third wheel to take on.

I gradually eased my pace until I was walking. Esquivo took his liberties with every tree, post, bush, and grassy stem that looked like a viable marker for his territory.

With a quick stop at the house I grabbed one of Esquivo's long lines and switched him to it. He impatiently wait for me outside as I grabbed garbage bags and plastic gloves from under the sink, switched out my running shoes on the porch so I could watch the antsy-plotting canine, and soon walked over the half acre to the Jameson's house.

Mrs. Jameson, who was quick to tell me that everyone called her by her first name, Marian, would not probably be out quite yet. She was bordering on the frail side, and the cooler mornings were heckling her joints.

I tied Esquivo's lead to a tree near me as I eyed my foe.

The trash pile had been contained by rusty wire fencing. Its height was around six feet. All sorts of items lurked in its rotting depths.

I pulled on my gloves with a squeak that had Esquivo tilting his head, his tail patting the ground softly.

Before I start I pulled my cell phone from the rear pocket of my jeans (yes, I run in my jeans) to get some music going.

As I worked the music went through all sorts of genres. Classical, Soundtracks, Country, Soft Rock, and even some Pop. Mostly it was an array of music that kept me from giving up on this task.

I had filled around ten bags of trash when I saw Marian walking towards me. I could tell from here that it was definitely an inside day for her today.

I yanked my hand free from a glove to turn off my music.

"I can see that you've kept busy this morning," Marian commented as she eyed the garbage bags.

"Yep," I replied as I looked at all that was left of the trash—which didn't look as though I had even touched it yet. "It is a day I can spend outside with Esquivo while doing something."

"I think you've done plenty," Marian said, "how do you feel about a cup of hot tea?"

"That sounds good," I said before adding, "after a lot of soap and water."

"Ah, that is true. I'll give you some time to wash up first. I will get the tea kettle on."

I nodded in appreciation as I closed the garbage pen back up. Esquivo was ready for me to stop being such a drag and do something different now, so it was easy to wrap his lead across my shoulders so I could carry the trash to the area where the bins sat.

It took me three trips, the last being just the two bags (which was a relief to my arms). Esquivo couldn't believe I had tricked him into walking with me for such a dull chore.

The (almost) dreaded walk to my house left me almost in a prayer.

Please let there be no sight of fondling, clothes without people, or orgasmic groans coming from any part of the house as I quickly escape to the upper floor, I thought to myself.

I unraveled the lead from around myself as I ascended the stairs to the porch. Esquivo licked the door in his usual friendly way, as if licking the door would make it open faster.

Once we were both inside I tossed the gloves, ran upstairs, took that shower, changed clothes, and was back downstairs in less than half an hour.

"Okay Esquivo," I said quietly. He launched himself from the couch as a giggle erupted from a room downstairs.

I was beginning to feel like that cat.

You know the one I'm talking about. The one that has eyes like an owl, walks around like thumb tacks have been layered across the floor, and jumps at every noise. All because I was trying to desperately avoid a run-in with my crush and his girlfriend.

I was fumbling with Esquivo's lead clip like the man in Titanic with the keys to open the gate when I heard a louder burst of girlish laughter, which then abruptly dwindled off.

I gave that obligatory wave as I was leaving since Beauregard was waving kindly at me. Angela just stared at me, so I decided to not wave or say anything. She was utterly unimpressed that I was alive and living here in this house.

Without a look back at the door, I head over to the Jameson's. Marian was sitting out on the porch with a tea kettle set. It was so kind of her to have our visit outside, knowing that I had my ward to care for.

"That was quick," Marian said.

"Yes," I sighed, a little too heavily.

"Something the matter?" Marian asked. I could tell by the look on her face that it wasn't so much a question, as it was an observation—and she wanted to talk.

"Well..." I hem-hawed as I tied Esquivo's lead around my thigh; no way was he going to be missed this way. "I'm a quiet person, as you know."

"Yes, I know," Marian said pointedly while pouring two cups of tea, "and I can imagine Angela doesn't know what to make of you."

I nod as I reached for my cup of tea, to hold the heat of the cup in my hands.

"I can't believe he brought home a girl like that," she added in a disparaging tone.

"She hasn't done anything destructive to the house or anything," I said, in case Marian was worried.

"Hmm, as far as you know. You've only been in there to sleep lately—"

"—and shower. Sometimes I eat inside too," I add with a smile. She smiled too, which made me a little happier. I wanted our tea time to be a mellow moment.

Since the subject of Angela seemed to bother her, I kept throwing out other conversation pieces out there. But apparently the idea of Angela was clinging to her thoughts, because along the thread of re-shingling the roof of the barn, the subject Angela came up again.

"I mean, she just isn't marriage material," Marian said gruffly.

My eyebrows were raised high as I plot for a way to escape while I took a sip from the mug of tea I held. When I'd swallowed I said, "He is probably not planning on getting married to her. I mean, he is probably just dating her."

"Oh, I hope so, because I wouldn't want to break the news to his Mother, my daughter."

Wow. I was starting to feel a little sorry for the verbal beating Marian was giving about Angela. I hadn't spoken to the girl, but she was still human. Maybe Marian was just catching the girl at off moments.

I almost thanked God aloud when I saw the bottom of my cup. This had been one of the most stressful tea times I had ever had—despite my prodding about crocheting (which was a passion for the both of us) which could usually put us both as ease.

With Esquivo leading I waved a goodbye to Marian, wishing her a good day and good night, before heading back to the house.

Once inside I dished out a tablespoon of peanut butter for Esquivo. That was the closest version of ice cream that boy got. And after that meeting, he needed a good scoop. Heck, I needed a good scoop.

Instead I settled for a large cup of milk. Then with a good back rub for Esquivo, I head up to my room for an email check and then a nap.

Esquivo followed me, not so much out of loyalty, but to steal the best spot on the bed.

There were no important emails to reply to and the cup of milk was ingested quickly. I took some time to do some stretches before I sprawled atop my bed, eventually squiggling under the covers. 

Esquivo was there for a while, lying over my pillow until he decided to hop off the bed and go downstairs.

In my sleepy state I figured he heard Beauregard moving about and decided he wanted to spend time with him for a while. With a few yawns I eventually drift off into sleep.

--------------------------------

The sky had been pretty much gray all day long, I thought as I began waking up.

That nap had been great—especially because I hadn't dreamt a thing.

Once I was on my feet I pulled out a thick hoodie for me to wear over the sweater I was already wearing. It felt a bit colder in the house, and I was planning to head outside to walk Esquivo around.

Thus is the schedule of the day off.

I felt that happy blah after sleep. No strong emotions; just refreshed.

"Ready for your walk Esquivo?" I asked as I grabbed his leash off the wall hook when I had made my way downstairs. I picked up a squeaky toy from the floor to play with Esquivo while outside.

Nothing.

"Esquivo?" I called again, a little louder.

Still nothing.

I pulled open the door and looked outside.

He wasn't on his yard chain. 

"Esquivo?!" I called a little bit more anxiously.

"I let your dog out."

I turned to Beauregard's girlfriend. She wasn't looking at me as she text on her phone.

How long had she been around? Four to six weeks? Nearly every other day—right?

When she looked up at me, apparently my eyes were burning with some kind of hell fire, because she stepped back as though I was going to lunge at her.

It was amazing how quickly that sleepy feeling could go away.

"Did you put him on his lead?" I had an idea of what her answer was going to be.

"No"

I gave a laugh with sarcastic aggression cracking into my haze of red. "I'd better not see you when I get back," I mumbled, mostly to myself.

By the look in her eyes, I figured I would either be homeless when I got back—or that she would burn all of my things in the front yard. I didn't care which it would be. 

Running outside, I stare across the fields for that pale coat. Nothing. 

I ran towards the Jameson's barn, praying Esquivo wasn't getting into anything there either. 

"Esquivo?"

My mind blurred into all the questions I asked myself, all the ones I could not answer.

-----------------------------

I turned towards the bounce on the bed. Angela's face contorts as she tries to become understood by me. With slightly bleary eyes I sit up. I could feel the tenseness of her arms as I put my hands on her upper shoulders for comfort and reassurance. I then moved to grasp a pad of paper from the nightstand for her to write in.

She scribbled furiously before turning it back to me.

"I let out the dog and your roommate is pissed at me. She's acting like I did something unspeakable."

My forehead fell as her words sunk in.

No. Oh God, I pray nothing bad happens. I wrote back that Angela had to leave.

"Wait. Why can't I stay?" Angela asked aloud. I wasn't going to get into this with her now. I ushered Angela out of my room, across the house, and out the front door. I picked up my cell and shook it in front of the window to let her know we could text later. She smiled and left.

I ran back to my room and dressed quickly. It wasn't until I was down the porch steps that I tied my shoes. After that I ran the path that Natasha jogged with Esquivo regularly.

----------------------------

I breathed deeply. 

I was in the middle of some field that wasn't fenced. I'd passed through the small crop of forest bordering the Jameson's property, and was half-way through this field when I decided to stop.

Esquivo always came back. Working farms with farmers bordered this place though, and I wouldn't blame anyone for shooting (what looked to be) a wolf for chasing or killing cattle, chickens, sheep, or goats.

The former thought being the reason why I tried my best to keep him near. Mistakes happen, but I tried my best to prevent it from happening that way. 

I let the swish of my jeans against the tall browned grasses fill my ears, and hopefully my mind. I don't know how much time had passed. The sky showed it was probably later in the day. I must have hiked a few miles out, I thought as I swung Esquivo's leash behind my neck to rest there while I trudged home. 

I made a slight detour to the Jameson's house. I warned them about Esquivo. I also remind Mr. Jameson that if his livestock was at risk, that he could intervene. Mr. Jameson knew the farmers nearby well enough to be able to call and warn them too.

This was a small town. The only humane society was in another town. Since this was agriculture land it was nearly useless to post lost ads anywhere—unless some farmer was willing to hop off his combine to take a look at a small paper poster on an electricity pole.

I'm pretty sure that is the only time I'd ever had him rest his hand on my shoulder. He nods while watching my eyes. He knows that Esquivo is a friend of mine, and that this was no small conversation for me.

I left with no lighter a heart.

By the time I got back, Beauregard was sitting on the porch.

"I'm sorry—"He signed, but I raised a hand and nodded while continuing up the steps. I kept my gaze ahead of where I walked. I opened the door but stayed outside, tossing Esquivo's leash inside on the floor before closing the door. I turned around and walked to sit at the top of the porch steps.

Beauregard made the motions of saying sorry again. I turned to look at him.

"It's okay," I signed. I rest my elbows on my legs, and cupped my chin.

"No, it is not," he replied.

"I know it isn't. But, what's done is done. It's a fifty-fifty shot," I then crossed my arms before resting my upper body on them. I felt Beauregard rub my back with a free hand.

I sat back up, "I'm going back inside. Is Angela still around?" Inwardly I never wanted to see the idiot again, but if Beauregard was serious about her, I'd have to leave for Angela's own self safety.

It was amazing how my thoughts had also changed from silently defending her earlier to...this.

"No," Beauregard said. He looked angry at the mention of his girlfriend, but I didn't ask. Lovers quarrels weren't my kind of thing.

At least I could stay inside and not run into her though.

--------------------------

I went about making dinner for myself. I asked Beauregard if he wanted to eat with me, but he said he wasn't hungry.

I grabbed several types of fresh fruit to dice and eat for tonight. I left a small bowl full for myself and stored the rest in the fridge. I stood with my food in the place where the living room meets the kitchen. I could play Sudoku while snacking. I could watch Law and Order episodes.

My eyes steadied on the piano.

I set the bowl down on the bench next to me as I lift the lid. It folds and slides back until the top falls into its small groove beyond the keys.

I needed a pick me up.

With no particular order, or care to keep the songs separated, I began playing songs from Billy Joel, to Classical, to Disney, to anything that made me smile.

I was somewhere in the middle of "Les Poissons" when I glanced up to see Beauregard stepping outside. He didn't mention he was leaving, but I didn't take much notice of it. If he had wanted me to keep an eye or ear out for anything, he didn't tell me to.

In between songs, when my cubed fruit dinner was gone and I was putting the dish in the sink I heard Mr. Jameson's old truck in the driveway.

Kind of an unusual time for him to be leaving, I thought. I hope nothing bad happened to him or Marian. It was late in the day.

I slipped on my shoes to go take a peek, just to be sure. I saw that Mr. Jameson had backed his truck up onto the grass in between both the houses. Beauregard was digging a hole.

The air was cold as I breathed it in sharply while I sprint across the yard. Mr. Jameson put his hands up to stop me. "You don't want to see this Natasha."

"I can handle this Mr. Jameson," I replied. In truth I could. This wasn't the first time I had lost a pet to old age. Although in this case, it was an unnatural death, and it was going to hurt. But I needed the closure.

Mr. Jameson still held his hands up as though to block me.

"I'll be fine," I said. My tone was soft. Hurt.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Jameson replied.

"Are there any damages I should—"

"Don't you worry about that," Mr. Jameson said.

"He was my responsibility, and I—"

Mr. Jameson turned away while shaking his head. He really wasn't going to let me take care of whatever Esquivo had done.

I looked in the back of the truck through where the tailgate was down.

Esquivo's body lay sprawled across the bed. A pool of blood had trickled away from his body towards the cab and then later over the bumper. His back was towards me, so I couldn't see where the shot had been made, until I walked alongside the truck for a better look. A simple gunshot to the chest. Esquivo was most likely running when it had happened.

Beauregard was still shoveling, oblivious to me and Mr. Jameson's discussion.

I moved within sight of him, waving, "hey".

He stopped shoveling and propped the handle against his shoulder. "What are you doing out here?"

"I'm here to take care of my dog," I signed. In life or death I was going to do my best for Esquivo. I put a hand out towards the shovel, signifying that I would take on the shoveling now.

Beauregard stared at me for a few seconds, to the point that I mentally played back through my signs to know I hadn't screwed up what I was trying to say. Then he slowly hand me the shovel.

I worked on deepening the grave.

As I worked the sky continued to darken. It was dusk now, and this hole was not anywhere near completion.

But I kept at it. Beauregard just stood by, waiting around in case I wanted a break.

The skin on my palms burned with tenderness after however long I have been digging. My hands would be quite tender by tomorrow.




Tribute Ch. 04



At least I had a tomorrow.

Everyone has their own opinions about what happens after death. Only a handful have experienced a glimpse of it through being revived from death. Personally I didn't know what to think. Heaven is supposed to be the best place in the world. And yet so little is mentioned about it.

All my pets up until this point have been small ones; like guinea pigs and rats.

Even if no one else understood it, I tried to believe that life was going to be better for Esquivo now. That heaven was a place that could only be shaped by your most wholesome wants. 

Maybe Esquivo could run as far and as long as he wanted—to dig, to play with other dogs, and to never have the urge to kill.

These are the things I think to help keep me from thinking the worst. That Esquivo might have died a painful death. I needed to tell myself the former so I could move on. I was here, and he wasn't.

Did I want it that way? No. I wish this had never happened.

Did I blame anyone? Only myself.

I knew Esquivo was never going to change. I had adapted for him. I had tried to keep him safe, and entertained.

I hated my mistakes.

While I continued digging I tried to push my mind back into the sweeter beliefs. I really didn't want to cry right now. I would save it for later. Bury my feelings in the unhealthy manner until I could let them burst out in privacy.

I barely noticed when Beauregard turned to leave. He must have realized that I wasn't going to get tired of this. His blurred shape walking away was all that I could make out from glancing up from the dark dirt.

Yes, physically I was tired. I was in pain from so many things. But I wouldn't stop until Esquivo's body was completely buried. I was fueled by my frustration.

I was fueled by my regrets.

-----------------------

I stood a little beyond the doorway. My legs felt shaky. My hands felt raw. My arms felt sore. And worst of all, my heart felt broken.

My eyes watered again while I blinked quickly. Looking up, I see Beauregard standing past his piano. I begin to walk away towards the stairs to avoid him. I don't want a 'sorry'. I don't want anything from anyone right now.

I feel my left hand get caught by one of Beauregard's. I was nearly at the staircase when he pulls me back.

"What?" I ask, full of fatigue. The lights in the house seem too bright as I try to shake free from Beauregard's grasp. He tries to pull me in for a hug, but I keep resisting.

"Let me go. I'm barely holding it together," I say aloud, since he is still holding my arms. I'm staring at his face, so I know he is paying attention to what I'm saying. 

I still, and Beauregard just holds me still as we stand face to face. His eyes are soulful. Like William Joseph's music is soulful. Slowly, gently, like one would with a wild creature, Beauregard wraps his arms around me. I feel his head rest over my shoulder.

My arms were between us. But as I relaxed I slid them to be around his back. I turned my head to rest against his upper chest. Beauregard's scent overwhelmed my torn senses. He began rubbing my back soothingly.

While breathing deeply, I am doing my damnedest to keep myself from crying. I was worried if I start, I'd not stop soon. Carefully I pushed away from Beauregard.

"Thank you," I said before giving him a kiss on the cheek. Clearly this situation has melted my brain.

"Stay with me."

I blinked unresponsively as I tried to gather comprehension. "I need to go to bed, alone, because I am going to cry myself to sleep."

"You shouldn't have to be alone tonight. Let me be here for you."

"You don't want this mess. Snot, tears, snorkeling, sobbing, wailing—is not anything you want to see," and internally I knew that keeping distance was best because he was the only man who had ever been this close to me. The last thing I needed was to get too attached. Clearly being attached to anyone was a bad idea.

My rant dwindled as I saw that his thoughts hadn't changed. I know he'd made friends with Esquivo. Maybe he needed comfort too.

I shook my head and started up the stairs to go into my room. I pulled out my night clothes as Beauregard stood outside of my closed bedroom door. When I was finished dressing, I opened the door before getting into bed. Once Beauregard was familiar with the room layout, he turned the lights off.

I lay on my belly, my face tucked against my pillow. My mind is far from sleeping peacefully. I wait for all to still. Beauregard's breathing evens out. I feel the tears slip out as my throat tightens. The suffocating heat behind my eyes only fuels the limitless streams trickling over my face. By now I remember to breathe, which is inadvertently too noticeable to have escaped Beauregard's notice.

I turn on my side away from him before I feel his hand find mine.

"Can I hold you?"

What is this guy trying to do to me? I turn again, to face him. I slide closer until I'm close enough to be in his embrace again. Beauregard tucks the blanket around the both of us as I cry. With a kiss on my cheek, he settles back as he once again rubs my back.

And just as I expected, I can't stop. I know his shirt is soaked with my tears of anger and tears of pain, but he doesn't say anything. Beauregard acts as though this isn't an imposition.

Sometime before I fully fall asleep my tears have eased. I breathe deeply and am so sleepy that I don't even feel guilty for relaxing in the scent that Beauregard has, which is a balm to my nerves.

No matter who that Angela girl is, she must be blessed.

UnknownPath



Tribute Ch. 05



Note: Obviously I did not forget (completely, anyway) about this story. It has just been under a pile of other stories or thoughts, only now unearthed because I have considered what comes next while I go running. So, for those who have kept an eye out—here is another chapter. Many apologies for having changed Mrs. Jameson's first name at some point from chapter one to chapter four-I clearly hadn't been deadset on that at some point, lol. Either way, I want to warn that there is finally some sex in this chapter. 

*****

I'd gotten much farther on ASL now.

My mind at the moment was unnaturally blank. I ran, out of habit I just kept going. I didn't bother to keep track of how long I was out. I just ran until something stopped me—whether it was the weather, lack of air because I wasn't going slow enough to really breathe, or anything else.

I had spent my first cup of tea, a nice mellow Chamomile, going through my new morning routine. Standing next to Esquivo's grave.

It was hard for me to accept that he was gone. I knew he couldn't come back, but I never did really believe that everything would fall apart that fast.

I was blind-sided.

Maybe it was the threat in my eyes from before, but Angela did not come around again. At least, that I knew of.

The night that Beauregard spent comforting me was quite a while ago. Not much had changed between us, despite the concern that had crossed my mind that everything would be awkward.

He and I spent more time together. Before I tried to avoid him because I was concerned about what he would think of me. I am a strange person. A quiet, often misconstrued type. The biggest problem I think I have is that I do not really know how to socialize well. I mean, every few times I try to be friendly and kind I usually have a reply that is not what I was expecting, or that certainly was not called for, or is generally not encouraged.

Beauregard is helping me get better.

Conversing with him is easy. I barely feel misunderstood. It's like he and I have known each other for far longer than we actually have.

And I think he is kind of proud at how much better at ASL I've gotten—all through his never-ending lessons. If the TV could be programmed for ASL instead of subtitles he would do it. Probably just to thwart my laziness at perfecting the question "again, slowly, please?" when he signs a bit too fast for me.

But that's okay. I've been simultaneously awed and horrified that now my dreams are mostly in ASL. I love the language and have adopted it strongly. However, sometimes I feel like I am being smothered in learning.

But I do actually enjoy signing more than talking. For some reason it comes easier to me. I am a little braver in ASL, more confident, I think.

Also, this week Beauregard showed me a bunch of interesting gadgets that are specially made for D/deaf or HoH (Hard of Hearing) persons. It is amazing the things that exist that are not known to the general population of people. Maybe if they knew, the language barrier would be less? Or maybe if more people cared to hear (pun not intended) there would be more understanding for either side.

No matter, too big of an issue for me to tackle, I think as I slow to a walk. I take a few laps at just a walk.

I had to go to work in a few hours.

My job was still the same small position, but I couldn't quite get more hours there or anywhere else because of how far out I lived. I could move, but I really did not want to if I could help it.

I stopped walking when I reached the ground next to Esquivo's burial spot.

If time allowed I just stood there. I did not expect anything to happen. It just gave me some time to consider what kind of life I hope he had now.

I hoped that if Elmo was real he was watching out for my boy—particularly because Esquivo had a soft spot for his chickens and pretty girls.

Behind me, since my back was towards the house, I heard the screen door creak open.

With a glance behind me I saw that Beauregard text on his phone, moving as if he was in slow motion as he walked out of the house.

I walked up the stairs, waiting for him to finish leaving the house so I could step by.

Cellphones make people look weird.

I did have one, but I don't use it much at all. A few texts were sent to here and there, to family specifically, and only a few phone calls that were most often wrong numbers. It was one of the items in my life that I kind of loathed. It was best used for playing music, in my opinion.

Once inside the house I filled up a glass of water so I could re-hydrate.

Beauregard had a perplexed expression on his face when he stepped back inside—this time in a more usual speed.

"I was looking for you. I was sure you were outside last I saw," Beauregard signed after he had put his cell in a back pocket of his jeans.

"I was outside, but I walked right past you to come inside and drink some water," I replied.

"Never mind," Beauregard said before clearly starting a new conversation, "how do you feel about traveling with me for about two weeks?"

I blinked a few times too many as I sipped from the cup, "Where?" I asked him.

"To a Deaf get together, seminars and vendors too," he pauses, "it's something my family goes to every year and I'm going to swing for it and go because I've never missed it. I would feel weird if I did not go."

"And you are inviting me?" I ask, somewhat stupefied he offered an invitation to me.

He nods, "yeah, if you want to go." Beauregard gives me a light smile.

I purse my lips in thought. I'd never traveled with a friend before. And I had never been to a Deaf festival. I liked the idea of going.

"You don't have to give me an answer now—" Beauregard begins saying since I hadn't replied right away.

"Actually," I quickly sign, "I would like to go. I'm just trying to think about getting time off work, expenses for the trip..." I let the last sign hang in the air as I think about other necessary notes. "When is this festival? And where is it?"

"It is in about two months, and it is in Massachusetts."

"Wow! I have never been there," I reply.

"The event goes on for five days, but we can probably only show up for just three days at most. I'm thinking of flying out there since it will probably be cheaper in the long run. And the extra days are for delays and recovery time from the non-stop seminar hopping and familial obligations that will surely come up."

I smiled at the last bit there. Yeah, visiting my dad's side of the family in Michigan tended to be like that. A few days out there will drag out to a week, a month into half a year, and anything beyond that is possibly a permanent move to the North—but at least you won't be lonely...until you ask for help moving.

There was a moment of silence before I signed, "count me in."

Beauregard nodded with a small smile, "good."

-----

As most trips go when you have three weeks of events shoved into only a few select days—everything goes by in a dizzying blur, or at least it did for me.

I was sitting cross-legged next to Esquivo's grave at the moment. Despite the setting I was thinking about how elated I still felt over how that whole trip went. It wasn't the first time I had traveled via airport, but it was a fun reminder at how much I liked the activity. I loved Massachusetts and I refrained from buying gaudy tourist trap trinkets as reminders of the visit. Instead I opt for a festival shirt which I knew I would cherish more throughout the years.

And Beauregard showed me a few different sides of his personality while we were out there. I have seen his frustrated side. The angry one too. I am familiar with his compassionate, loving sides, which seems to be the majority of Beauregard, and the saddened quiet moments as well.

Out there I saw a bit of his prideful side, not much, but a little bit. Weirdly enough it was over how far I have come along in ASL. He was almost showing me off to his family as either a star pupil or a beloved pet—I still don't know quite which one he imagines me to be, or what his family thinks I am. And he was rather protective of me as we traveled about, not letting me too far out of his sight. Not in a controlling way, but in a "make sure someone doesn't treat me roughly" kind of way. I am used to my family doing that, but Beauregard is the first outside of family to do so with such gusto.

I also was quite pleased to meet his family. They were really kind to me and patient when I did have to ask for their names more than once—I am pretty poor at remembering names—and they took it all in good stride. It was then that I learned that his mom is Deaf, his dad is hearing and so are two of his brothers. Beauregard was the only one born with Deafness in one ear, the other failing shortly thereafter (which he had told me before).

Aside from the intriguing and intellectually stimulating seminars, the fun events were also there too: comedy, films from local colleges that were done only with ASL as the language, there was a dance floor set up, and probably dozens of other things we completely missed. We only caught one movie and his family took to the dance floor—and so did we.

I am not a dancer, or at least not in public or with a partner. Beauregard decided to show me the ropes though when he found that out. That is, when his brothers weren't riffing him about his tactics on teaching me the delicate art of dancing. They took turns making the lesson much more lighthearted for me instead of the original feelings I had when Beauregard pulled me close. Almost the entire time I was in Massachusetts I had worn ear plugs. The music pound from the speakers, the lights strobed and glittered across the walls and floor, and I was dancing entirely too close to Beauregard.

Granted he and I have been close since the death of our beloved mutual friend, but I worked hard to make sure that specific line was not crossed. My head always filled with worst possible scenarios of what could happen should we cross that unmentioned line and find we regret those choices. He brought one of my hands up, interlocking his fingers within mine, and after he brought his other hand around my lower back, the dance was forgotten. I have always heard you don't focus on your feet. You aren't supposed to watch them, anyway, and at the moment I could not understand why you shouldn't since we were at the prime distance for a kiss. Or twenty. Maybe a good long one would do?

Those were the dangerous thoughts I was harboring when his brothers broke up the intense gaze between Beauregard and me as we stood too close for decent dancing and were no longer trying to dance at all. The people milling around us had been forgotten about until the interruption saved us from making a rash decision.

Although I did think very heavily about those moments on the dance floor later at pretty much every available time I could do some thoughtless daydreaming. His sweet and charming eyes that had actually been focused on me, that he had been looking at me that way. I will always assume it was the exhilaration of the whole festival—the excitement of it all. And if he wasn't with Angela anymore, I was the only girl around at the moment to be of interest that he was comfortable with. Humbling thoughts is what I countered every heated imagination with to remind me that Beauregard was indeed just my best friend.

When we got back home I started to chat via online with other people. I was trying to get friendships outside of Beauregard in hopes that my feelings for him would be lessened through blanketing them over several other people who I would be less attached to. Stretching my emotions thin, in a way.

I ended up finding a lot in common with this one guy. It all started out at friendship, but after three months he wanted to meet. Admittedly I was attracted to what I knew of the man. After two dates he asked me to go steady and I accepted. We were taking things slow as we went along.

After five months it was clear that we were not just taking things slow, but that things were falling apart. It was as though as soon as he had asked me to go steady he began checking out of the relationship. He seemed to want to be friends still, but with no benefits. There was never that passion or zest that people talk about at the beginning. I figured we were taking things slow, that the feelings would come around. But they never did.

Beauregard and I still hung out frequently, since the boyfriend and I only saw each other once a week or sometimes less. And when Beauregard and I did hang out I usually end up venting. I try to be careful when I talk about someone I am having a rough patch with emotionally—family or otherwise—because it can look like back stabbing instead of searching for understanding of that person's viewpoint. Sometimes chatting with a friend outside of the problem can help you see the horse amongst the herd of mustangs.

And bless Beauregard's patient soul he chatted with me about relationships, since this was my first tousle in the rodeo and Beauregard had at least a few scars and maybe a buckle by now. As I spoke with him, even without his opinion, I started to really see what I hadn't been seeing directly.

It was unrequited. I gave my devotion, and this guy wasn't trying much at all. He enjoyed the affection, the fellatio, the gifts, the chatting, but he never returned it with the same depth. I would spend time with him for his birthday because he wanted that, but he didn't return the action when I asked for my birthday. And on and on those instances were throughout the relationship. I was fighting a losing battle by giving and giving...and you cannot bail out a sinking boat alone.

Even now I still feel confusion over why he ever asked me for more when he himself was unwilling to commit further. He had said he wanted a long-term relationship too and yet it still fell through our fingers.

I threw in the towel a week after my birthday, since we had officially called it quits on my birthday but gave a week to decide. That was one thing my ex and I were great at—talking. But talking could only go so far and couldn't heal a rift that he was unable to help me fix.

Around two weeks after the break up I began to feel less foggy. Aside from the Deaf festival, the year's big moments had been rough. My job was fine as far as jobs that don't fit well go, but Esquivo, and then this, was a bit dampening on my morale. As the world's best cures go, I still ran and I did climb back into my comfy and safe sheltered life of reclusive tendencies. It was then that I noticed Beauregard was...tense...for some reason. I couldn't remember the last time he had hung out with friends or date anyone, and out of the two of us he was much more social-able than me.

I am not one to push if someone feels closemouthed over their emotional turmoil. I wondered if Beauregard was experiencing latter grief over Esquivo and keeping it to himself.

"—I wasn't going to bring it up, but I just wanted to make sure you knew that I am indeed here for you like you were here for me with both Esquivo and with my relationship bombing," I remembered signing, good-naturedly, one Saturday after my morning run. 

He gave me this sad smile and leaned forward to give me a hug. It was a tense one which gave me the mental image of warring within himself. Over what though? When had I become someone he couldn't talk to?

Unless it was something I had done.

I tried not to look as heartbroken as I felt when we ended the hug before I ducked off to my room to be alone. How many problems were going to come my way that I was unable to fix? Above all, I didn't want to lose Beauregard's friendship and hoped this would work itself out with time.

With thoughts along those lines I stood up, brushed the bits of debris from my pants, and went inside the house. I fixed myself a cup of tea before returning to my room where I could write music or sing alone.

But despite his own glitch, Beauregard noticed that something was on my mind. He approached me the following Friday night.

"What's going on?" he signed.

I blinked reflexively a few times as I tried to pinpoint what he might be referring to, "I'm playing Sudoku?" I asked, in case that is what he was talking about.

"Is it the ex?" he said then before sipping some iced tea from the cup he had brought over with him to set on the living room table when he sat on the couch next to me.

I shook my head in both relief and reassurance, "no, all is getting better there," I paused before really focusing on his eyes, "I'm feeling eased that it is all over. He is a fine person, just bad at being a boyfriend."

He and I just sat there like that, staring. Maybe waiting for the other person to sign something first. I caved, "I don't know what is wrong, what is bothering you, but I don't want to pester. I just know that something is going on with you and I wonder at what is big enough that you can't even vent to me about it," I then quickly add, "overall I just hope you are okay."

Beauregard shifts to face me more, and in doing so we end up sitting face-to-face, not quite as close as that dance, but close enough.

He doesn't say anything, and neither do I, but I wait for whatever he seems to be working up to saying. I'd sit back and relax, return to my Sudoku, but I can tell he is thinking of what to say, or how to say it, and that for some reason looking right at me—into my eyes in certain moments—is just what he needs.

After a few minutes of his mental debating I give a cheeky smile and sign, "brain freeze?"

In the few short seconds after I say that, Beauregard's expression changes and he leans forward and kisses me. Really kisses me. Or should I say, 'we' were really kissing.

Thanks to my recent experience I knew what kissing was like when it was flat. There was only one type of kiss my ex ever gave that had feeling, and it was a neck kiss...not that it led to anything sexual. He just really meant those kisses when he gave them. Otherwise they were as passionless as everything else.

But, this...was...passion. Holy hell. You hear about "sparks" or "fire". This was more like "incandescent", the brightest light shining from the bleakest dark.

I could feel our bodies touching, my arms around the back of his neck, his hands under my butt as he pulled me to sit on his lap. We continued to kiss, but we slowed the pace until we were both ready to think or talk.

I know the dorkiest smile was on my face. I had just discovered the lightbulb, or at least that was how I felt, and I was trying to remember to focus on these feelings so I could write them in my journal later. This was a night I would never forget.

The look on Beauregard's face had me considering why we were still wearing clothes. I loosened my arms until I could twist my fingers through the hair at his nape before I slid them down his chest to rest against his abdomen. I was glad to feel his blood was pounding like my own.

"I meant to say I regret not kissing you on the dance floor," Beauregard began, "but the kiss was a better explanation," he signed with a smile that only added to my urge to strip him naked right then and there.

Immediately I thought about that and just as suddenly the doubts came rushing in. Not only had I just gotten out of a relationship, a less than satisfying in so many ways relationship, but I did not want to rebound with anyone—especially not Beauregard. If I was going to get into something with him...

And that was it. I wish he had been my first. I wish he had been my only.

I wish I hadn't waste the time on that other guy when I knew I loved this one. It isn't that I didn't grow to love the other one. It is just that Beauregard has been the love at first sight kind of man. I have just always felt like he was way out of my league. And I still believe he is.




Tribute Ch. 05



"This is why I have been frustrated," Beauregard began quickly as he saw me mentally evacuating the intimate moment we were in, "because you wouldn't be feeling this way if I had kissed you then."

"I'm sorry," I signed before glancing away to break the eye contact. The lovely feelings were starting to evaporate as my thoughts began picking up speed.

He guides my face so we were looking at each other again, "Natasha," he sighs as he rubs a thumb across my cheek with the hand that is still cupping my face, "it breaks my heart to see you so uncertain with me. I wish I hadn't hesitated then."

It wasn't until I blinked that I realized my eyes had welled up with tears. His words had certainly struck to the heart of the matter. I so badly wanted to believe that he loved me as much as I really, really loved him. And if this relationship crashed and burned, I was certain that suicidal thoughts would probably cross my mind since I would have lost my best friend in the process.

I mean, honestly, you feel one of two things: frustrated anger that burns almost eternally toward your ex and that goodwill tidings are more likely to rot in your mouth forever than ever be mentioned to them, or you have the frustrated sadness at knowing you did all you could and it was not ever going to be what you wished it had. Thus the friendship once shared is often broken for one of those two reasons.

"Please let me show you what I know you've been looking for, because I know you are what I have wanted for a long time now," Beauregard said after removing his hand from my face to get his thoughts across clearly, "I promise you will never regret us."

His words brought me back into focusing on him. I had no idea if I was making another horrible decision or not. All I knew is this felt so very different from what I had known, so true and not dishonest.

I barely gave a discernible nod as I leaned forward to accept his kiss, which was synonymous with all things wonderful in my mind. Each touch given and each touch received was genuine. That felt so good I still struggled with tears. It was overwhelming to feel loved like this, as deeply as I loved him, being truly reciprocated. And I didn't have to ask him to hold me, or kiss me. He just was.

Our kiss broke and he nuzzled his face into my neck, the kisses he was giving me were lovingly erasing my former experience. I could feel my hair had become loosened from the caressing.

I stroked all along his body. It was almost hard for me to believe this was really happening. He smoothed his hands from my waist along my ribcage to my breasts. I tugged at the collar of his shirt so I could kiss the skin there, to nibble at him. When I did so he bodily shivered and returned the gesture to me of which I had a similar reaction.

I kept whimpering and moaning, which frankly I was glad he couldn't hear since I had never reacted this way before and it was almost embarrassing. After catching the edge of his shirt I slipped my hands underneath it to rub his hot skin. I could probably do this for hours.

Beauregard grasped my ass again and this time he ground his hips up against mine.

Why, hello there.

Delicious—that is a very fitting word for his cock. Or at least, I was going to find out. One thing that I knew I was good at was blow jobs.

Beauregard repeated the motion as he sucked at the base of my neck between my collar bones. I am gripping into his hair lightly when I feel him laughing a bit as he pulls away slightly from me.

"What?" I figure my hair is a mess, but who cares anyway. The house could be falling into a sinkhole right now and I might not mind.

"You are noisy," he says with a grin before he rubs my neck with the backs of his fingers, "and I love that."

At that I get struck with a small bit of blushing before Beauregard gives me a swift kiss and asks me which bedroom I preferred.

"Either one is good," I start to sign while getting off his lap and standing, but he catches on quickly and leads me to his room. After flipping the light on he pulls off his shirt as soon as we step inside and I am enchanted by the amount of freckles he has accumulated on his back. He turns before I get to touch any of them and steps me back into the wall. Out of habit for privacy he shuts the door and envelopes me in a kiss. I grasp at his body and pull him closer. I slide my hands down his back until I am grasping his solid ass. I press flush against his front, feeling his very fine piece.

I feel him release his hold from my lower back to grasp my hands. He ends the kiss and lifts my arms up so he can remove my shirt. I let him and then pull off my sports bra—certainly not what most consider sexy lingerie—but I am happy to see that Beauregard does not care if I am wearing anything at all.

He starts playing with my breasts right away and I am relieved their smaller size doesn't disturb him either. B cups are just kind of, there. They are okay to me.

It's when he focuses on sucking my nipples that I start unzipping his jeans. I can barely focus, but it is not for the lack of trying. I am ecstatic that he wears boxers, so much easier to get into, and I slide my hands within to feel him. I stroke his head just a way that he ends up giving the nipple in his mouth a sharper nip than either of us were expecting.

I continue the hand job until he stops me. We both start shucking out of our shoes and pants now since neither of us are feeling too patient now.

"Do you have a favorite position?" he says while kneeling in front of me.

"Not that I know of," I sign.

Beauregard slides his hands up my legs, starting slowly at my ankles, kissing along where his hands have strayed after he catches what I have said. After pulling back long enough to sign, "What have you tried?" he was kissing very close to operation flood watch. I literally think the consistency of drool was leaking down my thighs and he hadn't even touched me yet.

"Cowgirl," I signed when he looked up, "and you don't have to do anything like that. I haven't shaved, obviously, and..."

I braced my hands on his shoulders as he licked and sucked at my folds. When his tongue dipped within me I wasn't sure if my legs would give out on me. His hands were guiding my snatch to his mouth by the way of pressure underneath my buttocks. I did give a squeal when Beauregard began sucking on my clit, eventually implementing one hand to start thrusting his fingers gently and tantalizingly slow into me. I could feel the swirls of tension wringing tighter and tighter in my belly. I looked down and saw his bobbing shaft and I almost came as I imagined him thrusting into me.

My legs were quivering so badly that he did pull away before I had an orgasm. I could see my juices on his face and I was amazed that he seemed to enjoy that activity. I even said as much to him.

"He never did that for you, did he?" Beauregard said in a way that body language clearly said it was not really a question. "I know you said that you did things for him that he did not do for you—" He began, but cut himself off since he wanted to stay on the road of hot and bothered, in the good way. "What else have you tried?"

"Blow jobs," I say while admiring the view.

"Any other sex positions?" Beauregard signed, mystified.

I cleared my throat slightly with mild discomfort, "we only had sex once. It was humiliating, I had begged and he really disliked the whole thing..." I still felt awful about it after all this time.

Beauregard gives a shake of his head before standing, "maybe we can find out your favorite one tonight," he signs before kissing me and guiding me to his bed. I reached for him once we both laid side-by-side, caressing down his body until I was rubbing his balls and stroking his shaft. I shift so I could kiss each testicle, lick them, and suck on them. Beauregard clenched his fingers in my hair as I gave him pleasure. While still fondling his balls I kissed up his shaft until I reached his head. I gave him a lick before smoothing my mouth over him, sucking him into my mouth strongly. Beauregard groaned and jarred his hips up lightly as I continued to take him deeper with each stroke. His head rubbed the back of my throat but I continued the pattern of deep thrusts; his vocalizations music to my ears.

I felt Beauregard's groin almost thrum and knew he was close to cumming. I prepared to take him all the way there, to swallow every bit, but he stopped me.

"Are you on Birth Control?" He asked me after he had rolled me under him.

"Yes," I replied. I rubbed my face alongside his, kissing his cheek in different places. He moved until we were lip-locked again. I could still taste myself on his lips. He kept surprising me. My ex only hugged me after fellatio—no kissing.

Beauregard nudged my legs apart and took up the space there. I slid my legs high along either side of him for the deep penetration I wanted. We were still kissing when he began prodding my folds with his head. He slid about easily with how wet I was.

I wrapped my arms around his back, keeping him as close as I could, sliding my arms lower to urge him within me. He thrust entirely inside me and I groaned into his mouth. He was so deep I felt his testicles slap my butt.

Beauregard tantalized me with slow thrusts at first. We broke the kiss when he picked up speed. I wrapped my legs around his waist, reveling in the feel of his body over mine. Beauregard. My Beauregard.

I made little moaning noises each time I took him to the hilt, every slurp as he hit bottom. I reached between us and slipped my fingers around his shaft as he tilt back for another thrust. I felt how firm his balls had become. He stalled as I continued to feel us, together. We locked gazes. Though this was an extremely heady experience, I could tell that everything would be different after this night. We would no longer be able to play the roles as "just friends", and I knew he felt that way as well. This was not a one night stand. The unsaid plans of our doing this again, and again resting in the air as we...dare I think the corny thought...made love tonight.

As he sunk into me excruciatingly slow once more, I bit my lip with a smile, and he gave me a smile in return. He had one arm bracing near my head, and the other he would tug my hips close for each thrust. I ran my hands over his chest and belly. I grasped his ass as I tilt my hips to meet his in such a complete way.

Beauregard nuzzled his face into the corner of my neck, kissing me and sucking on my skin there. My vocalizations began to turn into whimpering moans. I could now hear that he was groaning more too. With one hand I started rubbing my clit in fast circles and with my other arm I wrapped it around the back of his neck. I gripped him tighter within my legs. My kisses on his neck and face became more frantic.

I felt the ripple through him when he started to cum. He gave short, jerky thrusts into me, but kept the pace as I began orgasming too.

There were a few times that I could get myself to have a screaming orgasm through my usual masturbation with a dildo. But never have I been quite this loud or long going in the climax.

He stopped moving while still deep within me. Both of us were panting and sweating. I could feel so much wetness leaking from our joining. I relaxed my arm from around his neck, redirecting a stray clump of bangs from his sweaty forehead. I reflexively smiled at him as our eyes met again. Beauregard cupped my head in his hands as he guides his mouth to mine. This kiss was not so much primal as it was emotional. I could feel so many things he wasn't saying.

After we end the kiss, and we nuzzled our faces close as our bodies relaxed even more, we split apart. Facing each other on our sides, Beauregard said, "it has never been like that for me."

"Same here," I signed, "thank you." He was still watching me with such a serious expression that I couldn't pinpoint, "what?" I asked.

Beauregard pulled me closer, half laying over me which felt so good, his arms holding me close. He ducked his head to rest over mine, my head resting against his chest. He pulled away after a few minutes to pull a blanket up over us. I helped flip the edge over us and noticed that his pillows were knocked off on the floor at some point of our session.

"I love you," Beauregard suddenly signed, "and this isn't something I am saying spontaneously. I didn't want to say it at first, I didn't want you to feel rushed to say it back, but I love you. I have for a long, long time," he stroked the backs of his fingers down a side of my face, "thank you for choosing us."

The spontaneous tears I felt bothered the shit out of me, but I kept them from going far. My eyes moistened and I blinked several times to clear them. I couldn't change my past, erase the disappointments of one previous failed relationship, but I could put my all into this one—and already I knew I was not going to face the same path of deceit and failure. Neither of us were like that. This was soon, almost rushed, but I still didn't regret taking this step.

"You are all I have ever wanted," I say before grasping the hand that he had moved to cup my face to kiss his palm, "I love you too, Beauregard," I give a relieved sigh, "and I am so glad you feel the same."

I cuddled close to my true soulmate, stroking his body comfortably as he did the same with me. After turning off the lights we made love again until we were only able to hold each other close as we fell asleep.