For the Love of Vee

FOR THE LOVE OF VEE

PART ONE

DB#23-1

Edited by kenjisato.

Welcome back to Middletown.

This is a long story even for my standards, so I decided to split it into three parts. It's already finished. I'd never disrespect my readers by engaging them in an unfinished story. I'll be submitting the next parts as soon as Literotica approves the previous one.

All my readers are familiar with Yaron Beilinson, the therapist from "Nerdly yours", "L.O.V.E. therapy", and "Never too late." However, you don't need to read those stories to enjoy this one.

They shared a unique bond, no else understood.

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PROLOGUE: MIRANDA WOODWARD

I placed a digital recorder in front of Yaron and patiently waited until he was ready to talk. He wet his lips and started, "I met Vee when I was ten years old..."

CHAPTER 1: YARON

"Yaron, you don't know what you have until you lose it," Mr. Stein said to me placing a hand on my shoulder. "Get the most out of life, boy. Do it before the end comes and it's too late to do something about it."

Mr. Stein tried to smile at me, but his eyes were full of tears. He patted my shoulder, and I left.

Those words were spoken to me by Abraham Stein, Edith Stein's husband. He had just lost his wife, and my parents and I were attending her funeral. Mrs. Stein was thirty-four years old and had died of a sudden respiratory infection.

An unexpected death that had left a broken family and two children motherless. Pete, the oldest, went to school with me and could run a mile faster than anyone else. He was very popular. Until that day, when I saw him crying nonstop with his eyes fixed on a pine box, I had envied him.

I was ten years old, and that was my first funeral. I didn't know Mrs. Stein, but Mr. Stein was an electrician and worked for my father, so I had been forced to put on my Sunday suit and see for the first time, a dead woman lying in an open coffin.

I will never forget Mrs. Stein's paleness, poorly hidden under a layer of makeup so excessive that all it did was accentuate even more that she was no longer alive.

When I left, my parents stayed inside, comforting Mr. Stein. I went down the stone steps to wait for them, under the shade of the larches. It was summer, and the sun was beating down hard.

As I pondered the sad man's advice, I saw her. She was kicking the trunk of a tree. She was wearing a colorful patchwork skirt and a red jacket. She had a top hat with a yellow feather that made her stand out like a ray of sunshine in the midst of the mourning that surrounded us. She immediately reminded me of a circus character.

I walked over and looked at her carefully. She was small and didn't look like a ten-year-old. But I knew she was because she went to my school. I had seen her around but never talked to her because we moved in different circles. I was a straight-A-plus student. She wasn't. Kids used to make fun of her because of her clothes or her weird ways. She never reacted, or even acknowledged them, and mainly stayed on her own.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was standing next to her and speaking to her for the first time. "What are you dressed up as?"

She turned, looked at her skirt in bewilderment, and shook her head, a little offended. "I'm not dressed up, silly. I want to be a fashion designer. Someday, I'll leave this city behind and I'll be famous."

I didn't think she'd get very far, but I kept my mouth shut.

Only someone who was as crazy as she looked like would pay for clothes like that.

I sat down on the ground and watched her kick the thick root of the larch tree until she tore off a branch that was growing wild at its base.

"What are you doing?"

"I need this. I'm going to make myself a cane."

She put the branch on the ground and pretended that it was a cane.

"Are you lame?"

She laughed and started walking with an exaggerated limp.

"No, silly. I don't need to be lame to carry an elegant cane. That's what fashion is all about."

I didn't get what she said, but I couldn't stop looking at her, either. That was what happened when you saw a star. She was a skinny, ungraceful girl. Her clothes hung on her shapeless body as if she were a hanger covered with old scraps. Her eyes were very black, as was her hair, which was badly cut and reached almost to her waist. Her gaze, a little slanted, made me think of almonds. Next to my dirty-blond hair and my blue eyes, her features intensified.

She looked like a fantasy character that had come out of a children's book. She stood in front of me, and when she smiled, I saw that she was missing a couple of teeth.

"Who are you?"

She pointed at me with her improvised cane.

"I'm Yaron. Yaron Beilinson."

She held out her hand with exaggerated formality. I noticed that her nails were dirty and that she had a large burn scar on her right hand.

"Evangeline Rose Hart." She shook my hand with a firm grip, and then sat down beside me, studying the freshly torn piece of wood. "But, please call me Vee."

She looked and acted like no kid I had known before. And she fascinated me.

"When is your birthday, Yaron Beilinson?"

"July tenth."

Her eyes widened in amazement, and she squealed in excitement.

"Mine's the seventh. Also July! Isn't that awesome? Isn't that a sign?"

I shrugged. I didn't understand why she was so amazed that we were born on two different days, even though we shared the same month, but the look on her face made me want to find out.

"How did you do that?" I asked, still staring at the scar that glowed red between her thumb and forefinger.

"It was a bear. It came into the house, and I fought it with a broom."

I laughed and shook my head in disbelief. Everyone knew it was impossible to survive a bear attack with a broom. Besides, there were no bears in the city.

"I can make a great cane out of that," I pointed at the branch. I had never made a cane before, but I thought it wouldn't be too hard. Besides, it would give me a reason to see her again. My parents had given me a pocket knife for my birthday and I had carved my name on a tree.

"Take it. You know, in case the bear comes back," Vee said, and smiled.

That day, thanks to the advice of an unknown man who had just buried the love of his life, I met mine.

CHAPTER 2: YARON

"I'm not going to jump."

"You're a chicken, Yaron."

"And you're crazy."

"I know, silly. Now jump."

I looked down. We probably weren't really high, but it looked like a mile high to me.

Vee stuck out her tongue and ran toward the edge of the rocks. I thought she was just trying to scare me, but instead of stopping at the edge, she jumped down. My heart started pounding so hard in my chest that I could feel it in my ears.

I ran as fast as I could to the edge and looked down. I couldn't spot Vee.

My parents were going to kill me. It had been hard enough for them to accept my friendship with her, and to top it off with the responsibility of her death.

We were at Glacier National Park. It was summer, and my parents usually took my sisters and me to camp for a few days. They had let me invite a friend, like every year, and I had surprised them all by choosing Vee over my best friend Daniel Cohen. The choice was easy, Daniel was a Jewish boy scout; he had plenty of opportunities to go camping. Vee didn't.

I climbed down the first rocks as best I could, feeling my stomach turn inside out and my body shaking. I hated heights. That was why we were there, of course. We had walked out from the hiking route. It was forbidden, but for Vee, the rules never made sense. We had come across a small waterfall that fell into the lake. The water was crystal blue from the melting of the glaciers. I imagined it would be ice cold. It seemed impossible that a thin girl like Vee could survive.

I climbed down another rock, but realized I couldn't go any further. My only option was to jump into the water like she had done, or go back and take the path to the bottom, but that would take at least an hour.

I had no other choice. I closed my eyes and jumped down. The water was ice cold and took my breath away. As soon as I emerged to the surface, I quickly started looking around.

"Boo!"

I turned around and saw Vee smiling at me.

"What the hell were you thinking? You could have died! I could have died!"

Vee laughed and swam toward some rocks. She climbed them and sat down. I sat at her side.

"You did it!"

"That was not cool. You scared me to death."

Her laughter made me even angrier.

"Aww, you came to my rescue. My hero!" And she hugged me.

Her body warmed mine. We both had goosebumps. The fear I had felt minutes before made me think about what would happen if something had happened to her. I imagined her body lying in a coffin, like Mrs. Stein.

I looked at her hand. Her scar was shining. I reached out and touched it. The skin was softer over the old wound.

"How did you get it, Vee?"

She smiled and looked ahead.

"I got bitten by a snake. My hand swelled so much that this piece of skin burst. The venom was such a deep purple... I have never seen anything like it."

I shook my head. I knew it wasn't true. It never was when it came to her scar, but I loved hearing Vee make up stories about how she was always a brave, reckless girl who could overcome anything. She truly was. She was the bravest person I had ever met. And she was crazy, too.

When we returned to our camp, my parents didn't seem very happy when they saw our wet clothes.

"Where have you been? I came here to rest, for God's sake, Yaron! Your mother was worried sick about you!" my father yelled at me. But he was looking at Vee.

"You're going to give me a heart attack, Yaron. Mark my words," my mother added, placing a hand on her chest.

I rolled my eyes. You know how Jewish mothers are.

Vee got an apple from a basket of fruit, gave it a bite, and smiled at my mother with that mischief that overflowed in her.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Beilinson. I jumped into the lake from a waterfall, and Yaron had to find all my bones and put them back together one by one, until I was back on my feet."

She moved her arms as if they were made of jelly, and my sisters' laughter broke the silence. "See? There are still some pieces loose."

My mother was shaking her head, but I heard my father chuckle. He was smiling at Vee.

I looked at my friend, who smiled at me knowingly, and I smiled back.

My parents never understood my friendship with Vee. They saw in her, a girl who wore old, weird, colorful clothes that never fit. A girl who hadn't had her hair cut in forever, and whose future was uncertain because of her family situation.

Vee's father, Luke, had fallen into depression after his wife's death and was barely making ends meet, working odd jobs. He drank too much and could barely take care of himself, let alone take care of Vee.

To my mother, Vee was a bad influence on a somewhat introverted, highly intelligent, responsible, well-mannered boy from a respectable Jewish family who owned a well-known construction company with a reputation to uphold.

However, deep down, no one was immune to Vee's charms.

Not even my father. I knew this when he came back out of the trailer with a beer and a smile on his lips that he rarely let us see. He sat down next to me and opened the can.

Vee was analyzing an anthill she had just found in the grass with my three sisters. Martha hated Vee; it was no secret that she looked at her with an envy that none of us understood at the time. On the other hand, Hannah and Miriam, who were seven and five years old, watched her with palpable admiration.

"What happened to her father?" Dad asked me.

I was a little uncomfortable with the question. It didn't seem right to share with anyone, not even my father, the confidences that Vee had made to me and only to me. But he was my father, and maybe he could help me look at it in a different light.

"His wife died, and he got depressed. It was during childbirth. He is not too keen about taking his meds and drinks, instead. He can't hold on to a job."

Dad clicked his tongue and took a long gulp of his beer. He has always been a compassionate man.

"This poor girl has a lot on her plate but... look at her. She is always smiling. She shines, Yaron. She shines with her own light."

His eyes misted over.

"It's a good thing she got a friend in you. Just don't let her spoil your grades."

"She won't, Dad. I promise."

Vee was still busy watching the ants.

"Someday, I will go far away from here," she told me, when I came close to her.

It was not the first time Vee had told me this, but it was the first time I thought that it was not a fantasy or a childish wish. That day, Vee had made a promise that sounded almost like a challenge come true.

"I will miss you when you're gone," I said, sincerely.

She nodded. Then we all played hide-and-seek and forgot what had happened as only children can do.

CHAPTER 3: YARON

Barnaby was a grouch. He was an old man who lived on a large property full of junk where he had once raised seven children, but they had all flown the nest long ago. His wife had died years ago, and he had lived alone on his land ever since. They he had been a make-up artist in his youth. Most people say, he was a crazy guy who greeted you on his porch with a shotgun.

I didn't think he was crazy. He was just an old, lonely man, who wanted to be left alone with his memories.

Not surprisingly, Vee liked him. And the old grouchy man liked her, too.

Over the years, I learned that special people tend to understand each other, even if they couldn't be more different. Maybe they just respected each other in a way that the rest of us couldn't.

I walked into Barnaby's property, pretending not to be afraid of the possibility of him shooting salt grains at me. His wrinkled face peered at me through the half-open door.

"What are you doing here, kid?"

"Vee sent me. She has a cold and doesn't want you to catch it. She says you're so old you could die from a simple cold."

Barnaby snorted and I relaxed a bit. He swore under his breath, but deep down, he was glad someone cared about him, even if it was an impertinent girl, who treated him as an equal.

He invited me to follow him, and we went into the house. I had accompanied Vee to see him once, but I never went beyond the porch, so when I discovered everything Barnaby was hiding within the walls of his home, I thought then and there that he was truly crazy.

There was junk in every corner. There was no room for another painting, print, poster, or ornament on the walls. On the sides of the hallway, lay boxes filled with all kinds of objects and clothing. I glimpsed one with chess pieces, not from just one game, but hundreds of different shapes and sizes mixed together. Another held newspapers so old that I sensed that if I touched them, they would become dust between my fingers.

Years later, I learned that he suffered from a disorder called Diogenes syndrome, but until that moment, I did not understand what exactly was happening to Barnaby's head. Basically, he was a hoarder.

I followed the old man into the kitchen and we headed to his backyard. There was a huge shed on one side, it looked more like a barn. I didn't know what old Barnaby was looking for, or what he expected to find there, but I followed him anyway.

When he opened the big wooden door, I was speechless.

"Wow!"

He pushed aside a bag of empty soda cans with his cane, and motioned for me to follow him. The light that came in through the upper windows illuminated some of the treasures he kept there. Because that's what it was-- Ali Baba's cave.

I was only a kid, but I knew that some of those relics were worth a lot of money. There was everything, from vintage movie projectors and even a piano covered by a blanket in one corner. Mirrors, mannequins showing famous movies outfits, a puppet show, and the hand-made puppets. Despite the dust and the cobwebs, order reigned there. It was extremely well kept and had nothing to do with what his house conveyed.

I glanced at Barnaby, and he encouraged me to go through a screen that hid the back of the barn with a knowing smile. I still didn't know it, but he was not only giving me his secret, but also his trust. Maybe being Vee's friend was reason enough for him.

I took two steps and was fascinated. It was a museum dedicated to the seventh art.

He crouched in front of a dressing table and turned on its lights. An arc of bulbs illuminated us. On it, rested mannequin heads with wigs; long, silky blondes; brunettes with waves; redheads with bangs. On a lacquered table, a record player began to play, as Barnaby placed its needle with trembling fingers.

"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high..."

I watched Barnaby close his eyes under the influence of the soft melody and press his rough fingers on the cane.

"I didn't know you liked movies."

"Who doesn't?"

I nodded, feeling like an idiot. Barnaby was right.

He shook his head and sat down on a sideboard. I noticed that behind him rested the suit from a famous space movie. An indecent number of nerds would have killed to have it. There were autographed pictures hanging from the walls from Clark Gable to Fred Astaire. From Judy Garland to Rita Hayworth.

"This is the reason why Vee likes coming here so much," I said.

It was easy to imagine her there, with a feather boa over her shoulders, wearing one of the wigs, dancing to the music, or playing with the piano-- giving free rein to her fantasies. Being happy in a place where everything seemed possible.

Barnaby smiled at the thought of Vee, and nodded.

"Here, she can dream without fear. Here, scars don't matter."

I realized that Barnaby had fallen under Vee's spell just like me.

"She's so insistent that she always ends up getting something out of me. As long as she shuts up, I'd give her everything in this damn place."

I smiled. That was Vee. But the smile faded as I remembered the worthless pieces she always showed up with after visiting the old man; a box full of broken wooden clothespins; an ukulele eaten away by moths, or a bag with crystal beads.

"It's not like you've lost much of your treasures."

Barnaby frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Everything you give her is trash."

Barnaby stared at me for a few seconds. I thought I'd screwed up, that he'd grab his shotgun and shoot me out of his property with a buckshot in the ass, but, as usual, I was wrong.

"Just because you see trash doesn't mean it is trash. That girl has magic eyes. She sees what the rest of us can't see. She mustn't lose that. Don't let that happen," he warned me, wiggling a finger in front of my face.

That description fit Vee perfectly. Magic eyes. I couldn't have defined it better. And I realized that Barnaby and I shared something-- we were both willing to do anything to keep Vee as a friend.

"But... all this..." I pointed at the small universe that surrounded us.

"These things are nothing more than the frozen memories of an old man. The important thing is to be able to create new ones with what we have, even if for others it is just trash."

He scolded me with a stern look, and I lowered my head.

We walked back into the house.

Back in his kitchen, he gave me a box. Inside, there was a rusty and dirty birdcage. I shook my head. More trash. Whatever thing Barnaby and Vee saw in this crap, I didn't get it.

When I got back to Vee's house, she was waiting for me on the porch under a blanket. Her nose was red and swollen. Her eyes were slightly closed.

"How's Barnaby?" she asked, in a sniffly voice.