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.