Nerd Girls

There was a nerd girl contestant on Jeopardy tonight, she was adorable. Short straight hair, horn rimmed glasses, looking both shy and brave at the same time. Standard Hollywood beauties don't really do anything for me, but I totally cannot resist a nerd girl.

Partly it's the glasses, I love glasses on a woman. Most of the women I know who wear glasses look far cuter with them than without them. But mostly it's the attitude. It's knowing she isn't the goddess, but being brave enough to be the woman. Nerd girls have heart, and guts and hope, and I'd rather know a girl like that than one with perfect tits any day of the week. Hell, when it comes down to it, nerd girls aren't just my drool objects, they're my heroines.

Emily is a nerd girl. I saw it the day I met her, the tortoise shell glasses, the pony tail, the smile that's scared to death and hopeful all at the same time. Some part of me started to fall for her on the way down the hillside, when I still thought she was just an ordinary girl. Wow, that word so does not apply to her!

 

Blame It On The Moon

The full moon looks so soft tonight, gently blurred by clouds and fog. The street is quiet, the fog muffling the sound of your boot heels as we take Casey for his last walk of the night. Your black dress is shimmering with droplets of fog and dew, and when you're backlit by the street light your hair is shining with a million little prisms of rainy light. I pull you closer to me and kiss you, and I taste the fog on your lips. I love the way you stand on tiptoes and wrap your arms around my neck!

And now I've sent you home in a car service, and it's so quiet in here again. You just left a few minutes ago, and already I miss you.

Romance

Jane and I took a spring night walk through the Village and Soho last night. We'd gone to see Norah Jones' film debut in "My Blueberry Nights." Afterward we were both in that dreamy rain swept world where the fantasies you just saw in the movie are so much more appealing than most of your real life. Jane was chilly so I draped my denim jacket around her shoulders and we walked along Houston Street under an almost full moon.

We laughed when we passed a restaurant called Jane, I told her she apparently has a lot going on in her life: a boyfriend, a lover, a husband to be, a gay best friend who takes her to concerts and even a magazine named after her, and now this restaurant too. She said it's a lot to manage but she's doing her best. Silly moments like this one make me so glad she's my friend.

We were crossing LaGuardia Place when it occurred to me that I'd really like to have a romance in my life. Even though, as Oscar Wilde observed, having a romance always leaves one feeling so utterly unromantic. Guess I just miss all that angst....

Later on, after we'd strolled through Soho and taken a cab home and walked Casey and said goodnight and I'd fed the kids their dinners I realized I was still thinking about this. I also realized I must be out of my mind for wanting such a thing but hey, the heart wants what it wants, right? So I started to think about the possibilities.

Goth girl? No way, she's a friend I love more than I know how to say, but I love her as a friend. And I know she feels the same way about me. (And see, honey, I kept my promise to never use your name in here!) We like each other way too much to ever fall in love.

Same thing goes for Jane and me. She's probably my best friend on the planet, and she means more to me than I could ever express, but as to the thought of anything happening between us? Yuck! I'd rather gouge my eyes out with an ice cream stick!

That leaves Emily....dear Emily. Nobody has ever gotten me the way you do, Em. Nobody has ever loved me the way you do. Hell, I'd marry you tomorrow if it weren't for the whole dead thing! Truth is, we've talked about it, but apparently the rules are clear, we both have to be on the same side of the veil. Well, at least that gives me something to look forward to....

Walking In The Rain

Last night Emily and I took a walk in the rain. She was wearing one of those ridiculous yellow slickers that school children used to wear, and yellow pull-on boots. On her it looked totally adorable. She had the hood pulled up over her head, but when she smiled up at me I could see the raindrops sparkling on her tortoise shell glasses. The slicker made a crinkling sound when she slipped her arm through mine.

We were giving Casey his evening walk, and I let her hold the leash. Casey likes her a lot. I think he knows that when she walks him he's number one and I'm a distant second. I'm totally fine with that. I don't often say it, but Casey's happiness matters to me more than most people would ever imagine.

When we got home I took her slicker and hung it in the shower to drip dry alongside my rain jacket and set about getting dinner for Casey and Bobthecat. Emily was wearing a brown cotton sweater and corduroy skirt. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her boots off, showing matching knee socks. She looked like every adorable nerd girl in every teen movie ever made.

She pulled herself up on the bed and sat cross legged on the pillow with her back on the wall, and sighed with contentment. Bobthecat, having finished his dinner, hopped up on the bed and curled up in her lap, purring as only Bob can do. She smoothed her skirt over her thighs and looked up at me with a laugh welling up inside her. "Wow Jim, your kids really like me!"she giggled. "Does this mean we're getting serious?"

Do you really need to ask, Em?

You Know What Your Name Is

I've never written your name in here, either your real name or the one you use in the world. Too bad, because I love your name. I love saying it aloud, I love the sound of it. I love that saying it makes me see your face, even when you're not here, and it reminds me how much I love this silly, wonderful party we have, where we're the guests of honor.

I think you were a coyote in a previous life. The Native Americans all said that Coyote was a holy trickster, who knew how to laugh at everything, but who never forgot that everything is sacred. And you're the holy chameleon who taught me how to laugh again, a skill I'd badly neglected.

And so I'll keep your name a secret, the way you asked me to. But whenever we're together, please don't be afraid to use my name. I love how it sounds on your lips, wether you're laughing, or sighing, or panting, or only murmuring it in your sleep while I hold you so close. It never sounded so good, or made me feel so whole, as it does when you say it.

Emily's Smile

I've never seen anybody who smiles more than Emily does. To her, everything is a chance for joy. I asked her what her secret is and she just laughed, she said, "Jim, it's so simple! Everything is always getting better, so each second the world is a better place than it was. I just look forward to everything!"

"Everything?" I asked.

"Everything, Jim! When you see the world like that you don't believe in fear anymore, or sadness, or regret."

"That just sounds so hard to me, honey. Lately it seems like wherever I look the tears are right there under the surface, just barely covered."

She put her arm around my shoulder as we sat under the comforter. "I know, Jim, I can see it when I look into your eyes and it breaks my heart sometimes. I wish I could just reach in and pull it out of you. I remember when I felt like that, how sad and grey it was."

"How did you get out from under it, Em?"

She laughed and said, "Jim, I just died! Once I stepped outside of it all I could see how it all works, and it was so simple and so beautiful that I've been watching it ever since. Just the sight of it all moving forward makes me so happy I can't help but laugh."

She lay back on the bed and I laid my head on her breast. The silence still takes some getting used to, the quiet where experience tells you there should be a heartbeat, there should be the whisper of breathing. But there's so much comfort there!

After a few minutes I got up and put some soft music on, Sarah McLachlan. I climbed back in bed as Emily started to sing along. Emily has a gorgeous, clear alto voice and she loves to harmonize with Sarah, and Joan Osborne, and Katie Melua. I always kid her about how all her favorite music happened after she died, and she laughs and says that's why she stayed here, for the music. But if I put on something hard and fast and loud, like Meat Loaf, or The Hooters, look out, the girl can dance!

But tonight it's not about dancing fast or singing loud, it's about being quiet, and still, and together. It's about realizing we trust each other totally and completely. It's about floating on Long Island Sound together, letting the wind and the waves pick our course. It's about the sun on the hillside, and the grass so ready to live, or to die. And to be grateful for whichever one comes....

Dreaming About Alma

I went to my daughter's soccer game last night, Alma scored two goals plus an assist and made a couple of wicked defensive plays out of the midfield. I taught her well. After the game Marissa and I took the team out for pizza and ice cream. There's nothing quite as happy as a table full of eleven year old girls in dirty soccer uniforms on a pizza high.

Hours later Marissa and I opened her bedroom doorway so softly, just to check on her. She was sound asleep in her flannel night gown, midnight black hair spread across her pillow, the smallest piece of a smile on her lips and the game ball tucked under her arm. Marissa took the ball out of her grip so softly she never even stirred and laid it on the floor by the bed. She whispered that when she was a girl in Cuba she used to do the same thing every time her team won a game. We closed the door so slowly that the latch almost didn't click at all and walked down the hall, our arms around each others' shoulders.

"We've done good, haven't we honey?" Marissa asked me. "Yeah, we have," I answered. "Our daughter is strong and beautiful and in a few years she'll be a soccer superstar, she might even make the Olympics."

Marissa ran her hand down my arm, squeezed my hand and smiled up at me. "And it's not just her, is it Jim? It's us too, isn't it?

You know it, dear.