I've decided not to continue on with RISE in Scotland. I think it's time to spend my energy on a new story. I don't know yet what that story will be, but I'm opening myself up to the creative energy out there in the cosmos. I do love so much of this though, so I'll be posting a few more of my favorite parts here & we'll see if I have any bright ideas of how to make use of some or all 450 pages of this neverending story. I'd love your thoughts and any genius ideas you might have! xo
Lubbock, Texas
August 2003
Meg wallowed in the grass at the West Texas amphitheatre-- a fresh beer in one hand, a rum and coke in the other--praising God. She loved her life so much in that moment, Willy Nelson washing over her. David’s hand was next to hers and her eyes seemed to expand and become just another part of the blue cakey sky. The color of her eyes seemed to fade into that soft pastel hugeness and she was…out.
Meg awoke in different clothes on a stripped down bed. At first, she was unsure of her surroundings. She was facing the window, but her first thought was where David was. Her throat hurt and she felt very small.
Meg suddenly felt alone, remorseful and certain David had gone off with that Brandee chick.
But when Meg rolled over, she saw that David was right next to her.
He was shirtless and blanketless and curled so beautifully. Meg looked at him for a moment-- her glorious boy. She
could feel the heat rising from his smooth, tan skin.
--Shit for Brains, she called herself, in a whisper.
This was her last night in Lubbock and she had gone and gotten sick-drunk. Now she would surely miss another chance to kiss him. Maybe it would be her last. Were they really not meant to be? After all this?
But God was merciful. Why did the night have to be over? she wondered. It was only… well, five A.M., but so what? She was awake and sober and not even really hung over.
So Meg got up and brushed her teeth with determination, marching from the bed to her suitcase, from the suitcase to the bathroom.
She also took the time to gauge that, for the first time all weekend, she and David were alone in the house together. Just the two of them, finally. This was actually the only time in her life that David and Meg were totally alone in their four years together and apart.
The whole room seemed lit up anew when Meg realized that this was maybe the most beautiful moment of her life.
She was a Buddha-- with the sun rising and peeking through the shades of David’s room. Little bits of light were reflecting off the pool and she could see it through the window as she brushed away at her teeth, dancing a little. Meg took an extra moment to twirl around with her arms outstretched before launching her toothbrush back into the suitcase.
Meg looked around the bedroom that had evolved from Her Love’s nursery. The sound of Steve Miller Band seemed to echo through the room and the backyard at all hours. This had been David’s private place his whole life.
David had seen the world from this view and it had shaped him into the man she loved. Each morning, he awoke to the sun glittering across that pool and the Texas flag across from his bed. He had slept to the sound of his mother’s cuckoo clock.
Beer cans and his t-shirts and photos were lying around everywhere as reminders of the fun that was his life-- and hers, so long as she was with him.
The blue and white 1980’s mattress was so naked. Meg had revealed herself at her most uncontrollable, her sickest. She imagined herself puking all over his stuff and him and yet somehow, in this life, it had earned her a spot on that bare bed next to him.
And Meg knew right then that this was life, as God intended it.
She knew what would happen next, even as he slept so peacefully. Meg knew the next moment was hers, long earned, so she savored this time alone.
And then she climbed back into bed, hovering over him, and woke him up with a nudge. He stirred for a moment and then smiled, eyes full of mischief, when he really saw her.
--You’re alive, huh? We weren’t sure you would make it. You caused some damage here on the bed, he laughed.
--Was I bad?
--You booted on my leg… Twice.
--No I didn’t.
--Oh yes, you did. Once when we were in line at the bar, and once when we got home.
Meg buried her face in her hands, in embarrassment, and dove into the naked mattress to hide. He grabbed at her ribs, at her one ticklish spot. His arms were so warm, hot even, and she was in them.
Meg wrestled free and played as if she were fighting back. Finally, she mounted his stomach in victory.
--I win! she called, throwing her arms in the air.
David tried to sit up, but failed. He did grab Meg’s arms and pulled them down to her sides. Her torso followed her arms in surrender until their faces were the closest to each other that they had ever been. Meg couldn’t say who kissed first, but within an instant, David’s hands were searching her long hair.
He was the one who liked it curly better. That was the first thing she had truly liked about him. Meg thought (at least a few seconds into it, when she realized it was going to last—that he was going to kiss her and kiss her back) of the fourth of July in 1999, when she had fallen in love with him. Just like that night, his bedroom now seemed so loud and hot to her, but she didn’t notice with all the color everywhere.
