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FOR CALEB:
NOTHING INAPPROPRIATE
EVER HAPPENED
Copyright 2018 Christina M. Guerrero
DEDICATION
For Caleb.
STORY BEHIND THE STORY
Wonderful times spent together.
ABOUT THE DRAFTS
First draft:
This was hilarious in my mind.
So far, it’s slightly funny, but I want it to be funnier.
If you’ve read my stuff for a while, you know that
I prefer to describe horrible or offensive or suggestive
or taboo stuff in as G-rated a manner as possible.
That includes calling people liars.
So I’m gonna tweak this until I can find a hilarious way
to refer to the untruths spoken about us and to us.
Second draft:
Still not funny enough.
I think this will end up being PG-13
as there are references to physical attraction.
Third draft:
Nothing, yet.
At one point I had a brief conversation with another human being about Caleb, and the conversation went something like this (edited to protect the innocent and the guilty-as-hell):
Human being, who appeared to sound happy and friendly: “You guys are hanging out together!”
Me: “Yep. It’s fun! We chat a lot. We enjoy spending time together.”
Human, who suddenly sounded disgusted: “Yeah. ‘That inappropriate thing’ he did to you.”
Me: At first I thought, “Well. This is disturbing. From friendly and supportive to rude and nasty in 2.5 seconds.”
Me: Then I felt like vomiting, because I knew the accusation was false. So why didn’t the human? Why did the human sound ... almost ... DELIGHTED ... to be accusing us of a falsehood?
Me: Then I felt like weeping. Why was this human telling me this lie? What did it have to do with me and Caleb? What happened to happy people sharing happy times and being happy for each other’s happiness in a happy way?
Me: Then I almost raged incoherently: “DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ANYTHING? WHY ARE YOU LYING?”
Me: Silent.
Me: Silent.
Me: I said as clearly as possible: “He’s never done that. Don’t talk to me like that.”
The next time I saw Caleb, I told him what he had been accused of, and what I had been accused of, by association.
We looked at each other with big puzzled frowns all over our faces.
He said, “I would never do that.” His face was sad and disappointed and a bit angry.
I said, “I know.”
We were unhappy with the words, the lie, and the nasty rude way those had been communicated to me.
We continued to chat and enjoy each others’ company.
We heard a couple more lies from a couple more liars. One day he called the liars “entities,” and the word stuck and made us laugh whenever we used it. (For those who don’t remember, there is a 1970s movie entitled The Entity about an invisible spirit that torments people. We sure felt tormented -- by the living).
We spoke often, chatting quietly, having to sit close to each other because we both had minor issues with speaking and with hearing. We joked about speaking in full view of others, not because we really had to, but because our chats were so innocuous and frustrating due to our mild challenges, and because we imagined our repetitive and lengthy conversations might bore the heck out of anyone listening.
And during those chats, nothing inappropriate ever happened.
Unless you count the day I saw his skin.
Yep. I saw his skin. I was standing several yards away from him and I saw the skin on his wrist. And I went still for a moment, because to that point I had only seen the skin on his face and on his hands. But this new frontier -- skin on his wrists -- was a revelation. It was sweet. It was beautiful. I thought: “He has skin around his wrist! Nice. I could look at that for eternity.” I still can’t speak or write coherently about this, because I’m still lost in thought over that image, and savoring every last aspect of it.
Nope. Nothing inappropriate ever happened.
Unless you count the day he kissed my right cheek.
Yep, he kissed my right cheek. My right face cheek, to be specific. He started by gently tugging on me. At first, I thought he was getting my attention. Then he kissed my right cheek, and I enjoyed it. I decided I wouldn’t mind more of that. But there is a time and a place for ‘more of that’ and it wasn’t quite the right time. Still, I enjoyed the kiss. His presence and his touch and everything about him were better than anything else in life. Better than sheet music, better than Christmas, better than holidays and birthdays and food. Better than anything.
No, nothing inappropriate ever happened.
Unless you count the time I kissed his cheek. His left face cheek.
Yep, I kissed that cheek. I waited until we were relatively alone, and I looked around, and then I leaned over and kissed his cheek, thinking: “He is going to be happy and smile and blush and then probably get bashful and tongue-tied.” He grew still ... and did nothing ... and said nothing ... and was so silent that I felt a bit embarrassed. I waited for him to look like he was deeply affected. But he remained still and appeared to be unmoved. There was no blush, and he did not appear to be tongue-tied or bashful. Also: he had the right to feel or think anything or nothing at all. So did I. I felt awkward, so after a brief moment of consideration, I just walked away without saying anything. Then I remembered that I had been still and surprised and not very communicative when he kissed my cheek. Perhaps he might have been too surprised to speak? I never got a chance to ask him. He died. So I may never know what he was thinking that day. If he’s alive (I never saw a dead body) then he can hit me up and explain.
Nope, nothing inappropriate ever happened.
Unless you count the day we almost kissed ... properly ... in the traditional way.
Yeah, it almost happened. Almost. We were chatting and walking slowly toward our parting destinations, and stopped and looked at each other. The look lasted. And lasted. And lasted. Sometimes I feel like I’m still looking at him. The look lasted a long time. I thought, “I wouldn’t mind kissing him. Or him kissing me. Or us kissing.” His face looked the way I felt. We moved toward each other and then ... we turned sideways and awkwardly side-hugged each other, at first very awkwardly, and then slightly affectionately, and then let go. I can not speak for him; yet I believe he might have wanted to kiss me. I sure wanted to kiss him. However, at one point during our happy times, I realized I wanted much more than friendship, much more than a kiss, much more than what we were experiencing; and because of those things, I knew we needed to have a few conversations before that first kiss. I believe he felt the same way, and thought the same things. In order for us to have that first kiss, we needed to exchange a few words, such as my saying, “Hey, I think this is getting very serious.” To which he might have responded, “I feel the same way. May we kiss now?” And I might have said, “I have a couple of questions.” I believe he would have been happy to answer the questions. And then we might have kissed. We did not get to exchange those words. Thus, no kiss, not after this incident or any of the other almost-kiss incidents.
No, nothing inappropriate ever happened.
Unless you count the day we almost kissed again.
We were chatting, and his face was red, and mine felt warm, and we were enjoying the conversation, and we were laughing, and we were so very happy. I wouldn’t have minded a kiss at that point, and he seemed to be in the same frame of mind. We had a nice chat, and held hands on and off. Actually -- our hands were tightly linked and it was difficult to unlock our hands when we decided to say goodbye for the day. If we were to discuss this, I believe we would be in agreement about why we did not kiss: the same reasons given for the incident above.
Nope, nothing inappropriate ever happened.
Unless you count the day we were yet again discussing the liars, and the lying lies they were spreading.
And I said, “Among other reasons for their strange words: they seem to think this is not G-rated.” Caleb said, rolling his eyes, “If this were any more G-rated.” He was right. The chats were suitable for the Disney Channel, with a PG-13 rating for mild references to romantic attraction. You could have filmed us from our introduction to our last happy chat, and been entertained in a mostly wholesome way.
Nothing inappropriate ever happened.
Unless you count the day I took off my jacket.
Yep, I took that jacket off. It was warm, not only because the temperature was warm and I was wearing a light sweater and slacks, but also because Caleb was present, and that alone made it difficult to remain cool and calm and collected. He watched me remove my jacket, and he studied me for a moment, and then seemed to have the same series of thoughts I had when I observed the skin on his wrist: he went still; he seemed a bit pale; he reached out; and he caressed my arm, near my sleeve. It was sweet and felt good, and I wish I could go back in time to that moment, because I would throw my arms around him and say, “We need to talk.”
Nothing inappropriate ever happened.
What did happen?
All we ever did was chat quietly. Both of us had to repeat ourselves at times. Because of our respective challenges, communication was difficult. We had to listen and pay attention, and that required looking at each other and listening and responding in a patient, clear manner. We liked to take walks, and discuss almost anything. We enjoyed music. We enjoyed life. Most of all, we enjoyed each other: just sitting and chatting. We were unhappy and at times disturbed at anything that threatened our happiness. And then he was gone, and I felt unhappy and disturbed and I went into shock, and I still feel that shock no matter how much time has passed.
Nothing inappropriate ever happened.
Unless you think happiness is inappropriate.
R.I.P.
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