With Or Without You

Why the hell did they always play this for funerals, I wondered. U2's haunting epic song of loss just wasn't really what you wanted to hear. It was a guaranteed tear jerker.

Who said you always needed to grieve at funerals? No one needs to see you melt into a blubbering mess. Bloody Irishmen.

But I guess my dignity isn't really a factor at that moment. I'm the only one here, Stace. There's the priest, but that's more of an occupational fill in.

He's like the roses on your coffin, or the guys who are standing off to the side, leaning on shovels like council workers.

In truth, it's just me. The only one here. God I miss you. I woke up this morning, but I couldn't move. I was so scared that I'd turn my head, and this wouldn't be a dream.

That you'd be there, asleep, ready to tell me what an idiot I am for thinking my stupid dream could ever come true. But that means eventually there'd be a day I'd have to go through this again.

And so would you. Another nine months of pain and misery at the hands of baffled doctors. My stupid dream should never have come true.

But it has. You're dead. And Bono's right. I can't live. Neither with, nor without you. I take a deep breath of the summer air, and taste the rain.

You always loved the summer storms, didn't you Stace?

The world comes alive, you used to say. I never thought about it, until now. You're floating on red silk and marble, but none of that matters, because you're finally right.

I always did love you, and now I have to admit it. You were right from the beginning, of course. I always did. But God, I was so scared of you. No one else got that close.

How did you manage it, while I wasn't even ready; you were there, snuck in under the radar and in my arms before I could realise you were there.

Years from now, I'll still want you. I'll still roll over and try to hold you in my sleep. You're my soul, my heartbeat, and my life itself. How could you even be there, though?

God, I tried so hard, I mean, I just ignored you, bedded a thousand women in front of you, yet how come the only one I saw and dreamt was you? How did you do it?

I remember the day clearly, like one of those damned Jane Austin things you always wanted to watch. I can't breathe.

I open my eyes, and look around at the dark rain about to thunder down. I feel the first few drops on my face, but it's just water. I look up, and you're in the rain, coming down to kiss me once more.

Your mother and father aren't here. They don't want to believe this is where you asked to be buried. But I believe it. I believe it. We made love on the cliffs below when you told me you'd marry me.

I still carry the scar where you dragged the rose across my eyebrow. There I was, trying to be romantic, you clutz, and you...

God I miss you. Huh. God. Give her back to me, You selfish bastard. I want her back. I want her in my arms, for just a minute. I didn't even get to say goodbye. But You don't care, do You? Oh, Stace.

I feel your tears and your lips and your hands in the rain that falls on me from heaven.

There's a pat on my shoulder, and I turn and look at the priest as he murmurs empty words. I don't want his comfort, Stace.

I just want you.

The storm thunders down around me, and I look up into it as the sun sets behind the clouds. There's a blackness in the sky, lit only by the brilliant strokes of lightening that strike through the dark.

You always told me that summer storms were God's gift to the world, the true and only glimpse of heaven.

I take a deep breath and open my mouth, hoping that you're right. I tense up to scream, and shut my eyes tightly, but no scream comes.

I'm standing here in the rain, with my mouth open, and my eyes shut tightly, clenching my fists. You were right, Stace. I'm an idiot.

I barely notice it at first. The faintest scent. No, it's not faint. It's the orchid perfume you made yourself, I'm sure of it.

I want to open my eyes, but if I can just keep them closed a moment longer, I could taste your skin again. I can slowly feel the world opening up around me, feel it coming to life in the storm.

The summer tempest opened up the world just as surely as the world opened up for it. I could smell the unmistakable earth around me, the rich grass nourished by the souls buried beneath it.

I could feel and smell the warm concrete headstones splattered with rain. Flowers all around opened up, and their myriad scents filled the air.

But no orchids grew here in the cemetery. No orchids gave that smell to the summer air.

I felt your feather-light touch on my shoulder, and I felt the sob come, but I didn't cry out. I've missed you Stace. God, how's I've missed you. Nothing tastes or feels like life without you.

I took life from you for so long, now you're the only sustenance I want. I was alive just by being near you, so I never travelled far. I was a parasite, feeding of the nourishment only you could give.

Nourishment you only gave to me. I can feel your touch sliding up my neck, into my hair, the way you did when we made love.

There was our lust; our bedroom destroying, lampshade shattering (I love your sister, but her taste in furniture always left something to be desired), dog and cat frightening lust.

And there was our love.

I want so bad to hold you in my arms just that one last time. I feel you shush me, and your raindrop lips splatter against mine.

I can taste your perfume again, and I know that you're in the rain you loved so much. Your fingertips slowly undo my shirt, and the black silk falls to the ground.

I can feel the raindrops fall over the tattoo you always hated, and the scar you always loved. I'm standing shirtless in the rain, and all I can feel is your warm summer air caressing me.

The rain falls around me as I sink to my knees, and I can feel your lips almost on mine. I close my mouth and swallow the taste of orchids that was always your skin.

I can feel your arms sliding around me, holding me tighter than ever. I sigh, and you kiss at my tears, heaven's tears mixing with mine.

You're an angel, and I can't open my eyes, because I'm scared. Scared I'm imagining all of this, scared that you'll stop. Yours hands are sliding up and down my ribs, and my jeans pop open.

My heart breaks silently as I almost feel your heat surround me. Your hands are on my chin, and your lips press against mine as you run your hands over my chest.

I can feel you moving against me, and I feel my heart begin to quicken. You're moving my soul, not just my body. My heat is pressing against yours, and I can feel the pressure as you begin to ease yourself up my length.

I'm paralysed, I can't touch you, but I can feel you. Your hands are everywhere, running over every part of me. I gasp as wetness engulfs me.

I can feel you, Stace, rocking yourself down onto me, and it's like you never left. We're making love the same way we always did; sweet, hot love.

I open my mouth to sigh, and I can feel raindrops on my lips as you kiss me. I arch up, and feel you spread around me. I can hear your moan on the echo of the hot summer wind.

The storm rages around us, but all I can feel is making love to my wife.

You're moving quicker now, I can almost hear your breath panting in the grumbles of the thunderous clouds.

The ghost of your chest moves against mine, achingly hard nipples pressed against mine, your body moving and making mine explode. You're an exquisite creation, an explosion of passion that we will always have together.

I hear your cries in the clap of thunder, and feel my own heart racing with the pulse of the storm. It's magical, this moment. With my own hoarse cry, I answer the heavens, and suddenly the storm crashes in.

The warm summer wind is dying in the drowning rain. My shirt lies beneath me, my jeans all that cover my modesty. My chest is heaving, and I can barely hold still.

I open my eyes, almost expecting to see you there. But you're not here. I'm kneeling, exhausted, on my knees in the mud, my tears mixed with the rain as they ran down my body.

I've either made love to an angel wearing my wife's orchid perfume, or I'm losing my mind. Stress. Loss. With or without you. Either way, I can't live. Like I said. Bono was right. Bloody Irishmen.

You're not here.

I've imagined you in the rain, and the pain of loss, and everything else. I sigh and sink down, my hand weakly grasping my shirt.

I pull the ruined silk out of the mud, and watch as a delicate white flower falls and lands softly on the only piece of grass not now currently sloshed in mud. I lean down and pick it up.

One of the petals is kissed with a dark, almost purple lipstick; your favourite kind Stace.

There is a smell to it, a strong scent of vanilla that twists my soul and makes me stare to the heavens, not knowing whether to fall down in thanks and praise or spit and curse and shout my hatred.

Of course, it's an orchid.