Contemporary story
On

From Festus Bullineaux, With Love

Heading to his first summer class, Huxley Madison walked ever slower toward Erasmus Burt University’s Foreign Languages Building. Though he did well in high school Spanish, learning another tongue had not been easy or particularly fun, and he had put off fulfilling his college foreign language requirement as long as possible. Now a rising junior, he hoped he had not forgotten too much of what was learned a few years before. But he was distinctly unenthused and longed for a far more fun class in English or the social sciences. He also felt embarrassed at likely being a couple years older than most of his classmates in the freshman class.

Since he dallied getting to class by stopping to read the campus newspaper and talk with an acquaintance, he entered the back of the classroom just before class began and took a seat in the back left corner. Good, he thought. Hopefully the teacher won’t call on me way back here. At nine a.m., the well-dressed lady writing on the chalkboard turned to the class.

“Buenas dias, estudiantes,” she said ebulliently. “Yo soy Senora Seraphina Fuentes. Como estan?” The instructor was a very attractive older lady who had enjoyed a long career at the local Alfred Marmaduke Hobby High School before retiring and teaching part-time at the university. Huxley admired her black dress with flower images and wondered if her jewelry came from the silver-mining town of Taxco, Mexico, visited by his high school Spanish class one spring break. After passing out copies of the syllabus, Senora Fuentes’s seemingly fixed smile suddenly became a frown as she began furiously fanning herself with both hands.

“But, first, we’re going to crank up this air conditioning,” she exclaimed walking to the thermostat. “We are not going through hot flashes again.”

From the class came mostly stunned silence, some embarrassed giggles, and a few hearty laughs, the loudest from a young lady on the front row diagonally to Huxley’s right. Finding the source, he turned his attention to the tall brunette beauty looking at the instructor with such a splendid smile. Framed by a full mane of long, auburn hair, her ebullient face featured a full set of teeth worthy of a toothpaste commercial. Huxley was taken by how perfectly poised she seemed with her head resting ever so snugly in the cup of her left hand as her eyes followed Senora Fuentes’s every move. Mr. Madison wished someone would gaze at him like that, especially one so fetching.

He also admired how she was the only girl in class wearing a dress, a golden one adorned with bright red and purple flowers. Leaning as far into the aisle as he dared without being obvious, Huxley further noted what a fine pair of long, crossed legs emerged from her golden dress atop brown sandals.

Since Senora Fuentes frequently asked questions of the students -- and in Spanish -- the generally shy Huxley reluctantly refocused on the teacher’s words, determined not to embarrass himself in front of everyone, particularly the lovely lass at the front of the class. But for the rest of the period, he stole looks at the girl with the boisterous laugh. The class had already turned out to be far more interesting than he ever imagined, and he hoped the students would have to have a conversational partner. How cool if she could be mine, he hoped. But I’m sitting way too far away from her, he fretted.

To his relief, no one sat in the desk to the right of his still-smiling classmate. Mr. Madison hoped no one showed up late to claim it and resolved to sit there the next class.

Relieved he had not made a fool of himself when Senora Fuentes called on him at the end of the period, he looked to see if the girl in the golden dress talked with anyone when the class dismissed. She did not, but instead exited the room standing tall with a self-assured walk. Huxley’s most dreaded summer class was now his most exciting.

When the Spanish class met again two days later, he caught himself walking rapidly toward the classroom, arriving even before the previous class let out. As soon as the earlier class adjourned, he darted to the seat by the front door and waited eagerly for the one on his left to be filled.

As the minutes ticked by, his eyes kept checking the clock above the chalkboard, and an alarming thought penetrated his radar. What if Miss Golden Dress dropped the course? Maybe her loud laugh revealed someone not taking the class seriously enough to remain in it. Drat, Huxley thought, and dog if I’m not planted right on the front row, all the more likely to be called on by the teacher for the rest of the term. Comparing the time on the wall clock with that of his watch and phone, at nine o’clock he began to despair when Senora Fuentes clapped her hands and began the class.

But as if gliding across his horizon like an elegantly serene swan, the statuesque young lady with the flowing reddish-brown hair gracefully slid into her seat next to him. His eyes widened and blinked as he sat up straight. Today she wore a dark blue dress and red flip-flops. But what most caught his fancy were the lavender lilac petals she wore above her right ear.

As soon as he caught himself staring at her, she turned to him with brownish-green eyes and flashed a friendly smile, to which he blinked and smiled back. He had heard nothing the teacher said and sensed his whole being enveloped by a drowsy, dreamy feeling that recalled the first time he got stoned on hashish – before he had to stop smoking it for all the paranoia it produced.

Any regret that his classmate caught him watching her was dwarfed by the surprising smile she shared. Finding it harder to focus, he forced himself to try to follow what the teacher was saying in Spanish so as not to fall hopelessly behind. The prospect of incorrectly answering a question posed to him by Senora Fuentes while Miss Blue Dress looked on was mildly frightening.

Between trying to keep up with the instructor’s rapid Spanish and his furtive glances at his comely classmate, the class went quickly. When everyone got up to leave, the champion worrier could not help himself.

“I hope you don’t mind me moving from the back row up here,” he remarked. “Spanish isn’t exactly my forte, and I figured I better sit down front so as not to fall behind,” he offered nervously.

“I didn’t know you’d been in the back,” she answered with a chuckle. “But welcome to the front.”

“Thanks,” he replied with a relieved smile. After some hesitation he added, “I’m Huxley Madison” and extended his hand.

“Juniper Newmar. Delighted to meet you,” she replied gripping his hand more firmly than he could ever recall a lady doing. They proceeded to walk down the crowded hall together.

“Are you a Spanish major?” he asked and she chuckled again.

“Not remotely. Foreign languages have never come easily to me either,” Juniper declared. “No, I’m just taking some classes this summer that I should’ve knocked out when I was a freshman.”

“Me too. I’m actually a rising junior,” he noted.

“Same here.” She nodded as a stupendous smile spread across her face again. He caught himself smiling back.

By the time they went in different directions to their next class, they had found out some basic facts about one another, like where they were from and each other’s major. Though it had all been small talk, Huxley felt as if his entire body was infused with a mild intoxicant. He was also struck by how bright the mid-morning sun shone and how intensely vibrant the blue hydrangeas, orange day lilies, and yellow coneflowers bloomed around them.

“Thanks for introducing yourself, Huxley Madison,” Miss Newmar announced. “See you in class Friday.”

“There, dudette,” he replied with a smile and a wave as she grinned at him. This could be the best summer class yet, he noted.

What a nice, polite boy, and kind of cute too, Juniper mused walking away. Well dressed, his shirt tucked in, clean shaven, hair combed, clean nails, a solid handshake, well spoken, and maintaining eye contact. Quite a masculine miracle. Spanish class just got more intriguing.

While Huxley was thrilled such a looker gave him any time at all, Juniper relished her first fun friendly banter with a man her age since breaking up with her boyfriend a few weeks before. Though lots of male customers at the restaurant where she waitressed were friendly, and more than a few flirty too, this Huxley appeared decidedly more sincere, a little nervous but gamely fighting his shyness. He seemed actually interested in what she had to say, as opposed to just wanting an excuse to ogle some hot chick eye candy. We’ll see what happens, she thought while spotting a pair of cardinals in a red and white Rose of Sharon flower bed.

Am I already crushing on this gal? Huxley asked himself. Now let’s not get too excited. This babe is way out of my league. Just be grateful for the unexpected pretty scenery in Spanish class and don’t mess up a pleasant distraction by getting hurt when she turns me down for a date. What an endless semester in Spanish class that would make. Then I’ll wish I’d stayed on the back row, sure enough.

Still, he knew it was not just her gorgeousness that was so appealing. There was some hard-to-define spark about her different from other people he had known. She definitely exuded much more confidence than he had. She just seems unafraid of anything, he marveled. Really happy too.

Happy was not how Miss Newmar would describe herself, certainly not since discovering her last beau cheated on her. She was all the more humiliated since friends saw George McClellan openly squiring another girl at a popular restaurant. That Elodie Evans was a sister waitress where she worked who George had met when giving Juniper a ride home made it a double betrayal, and one she was embarrassingly reminded of most every shift at work. Salting the wound all the more was that her rival was significantly less attractive, far less intelligent, and someone George was clearly not serious about.

But the worst, most lingering fallout from the breakup came from how fervently George denied there was anyone else. That he lied so passionately and almost tearfully made her briefly question whether her friends misinterpreted what they saw. But they said George and Elodie left the restaurant holding hands, and when Juniper confronted her in the parking lot at work, Elodie finally admitted they had gone out and, when pushed, proudly acknowledged sleeping with him. How I can ever trust another man? Juniper had subsequently asked herself many times since she and George had seemed so simpatico. Together for over a year, she had dared wonder if he might even be marriageable. That he could so cavalierly throw it all away and not be man enough to own up to it had deeply disappointed and demoralized her.

This Huxley fellow was the first new guy to be decent to her in some time who was not a restaurant customer perhaps just trying to pick her up. It felt fine to surmise there might be some good men after all. But let’s just take it as it comes, she cautioned.

When Friday’s Spanish class at last arrived, Juniper and Huxley were each self-conscious enough not to look too interested in the other, but they enjoyed getting to pair up in a class conversational exercise and giggle their way through broken Spanglish. Huxley was relieved that the uber-confident girl was not a genius and could laugh at herself. Juniper was pleased that her kind classmate had a dry sense of self-deprecating humor and was not trying too hard to impress.

Their interaction went so well that, by the end of class, Huxley wondered if he should ask her out. But he dared not risk rejection, determined not to sour an otherwise joyful class or cast a shadow over the weekend. Nor did he want to look pushy or desperate. Instead, he fished for whether she was dating anyone.

“So what are you up to this weekend?” he asked as they left the classroom.

“Working and studying. Such is my exciting life.” She rolled her eyes. “You?”

“Alas, pretty much the same, I reckon. We live in a fallen world.” He sighed and she chuckled. When it was time to head in different directions on the sidewalk, they both paused, eager for the other to say something, but each froze. After a few awkward seconds, first she and then he laughed and said goodbye.

All weekend he wished he had asked her out, surprised such a lovely-looking lass was apparently dateless the whole weekend and reminding himself not to miss an opportunity, especially with such a bona fide knockout. Girls like her never seemed to remain unattached for long. With fervor, he resolved to ask her out, and soon.

Part of Juniper had hoped he would ask her out when they parted Friday. She already found him more engaging than the guys she had dated and, despite being a little introverted, he exuded a remarkably open quality she found refreshing. If he’s too shy to ask me out, maybe I should break my rule and ask him out. So much for all those cute macho guys eager to go out with me but with little substance or dependability, she noted bitterly. Definitely not much there, there, to paraphrase Gertrude Stein.

The next week of Spanish class continued to go well for Juniper and Huxley. They got to class earlier and earlier to visit, first to chat in their seats between classes and then in the hall before the previous class let out. They appreciated each other’s humor and talked ever more uninhibitedly. Juniper especially enjoyed it when Huxley joked sotto voce during class, and he was elated to see her try to hide her laughter from Senora Fuentes.

By the end of Wednesday’s after-class walk together, Huxley sensed she would go out with him. Even if she turned him down for a date, he felt sure she would at least meet him for lunch as a friendly acquaintance or, he dared hope, a real friend.

“So would it be forward to ask you to dinner this weekend?” he inquired.

“That sounds delightfully delicious and, if you don’t, I might ask you.” A trace of a grin graced her face.

Before he could catch himself, his eyes widened above a full, toothy grin. She could not help giggling at his excitement and they agreed he would pick her up Friday at five o’clock for dinner at The Deep End, a popular seafood restaurant, followed by a movie at seven.

Arriving at her apartment, he was entranced when she opened the door, for she wore more makeup, an attractive green blouse with yellow flowers, and a white skirt. She was pleased he was on time, freshly shaven, and dressed well enough for church, sans a sport coat and tie. She thought of all the times she had dressed her best only to find her date unshaven, with his hair uncombed, and wearing a loose shirt, short pants, and (invariably old) sneakers. How refreshing, she noted.

“Wow. You look awesome,” Huxley blurted out before worrying he may have been too forthcoming.

“Why, thank you, sir. You look pretty swell yourself.”

When he opened and closed the car door for her, Juniper tried to recall the last time any man other than her father or grandfathers had done that. It felt good to be out on a date again a month after her worst breakup. But he’s still a man, girl. One step at a time, babe. Just one, she noted as she caught herself looking nowhere for an instant.

Though nervous to be out with such an attractive coed, Huxley was nevertheless more relaxed than on previous first dates, owing to Juniper’s coming across as so unpretentious. He loved her laugh, especially when he induced it, and he relished how casually frank she had been with him from the start. As much fun as they had already had on campus, how much better a time could they create now? But careful, boy. She’s still out of my league. So just be grateful for the evening, he cautioned himself.

Led by the hostess to a corner booth in the restaurant, Juniper evinced the slightest smile as Huxley waited for her to sit first. Another box checked, she observed. My, my.

Surveying all the exotic seafood entrees – Juniper was just relieved not to be at another chain eatery – Huxley amused her by talking about recently buying a can of “opossum” meat at a store in charming Chipley, Florida, on the panhandle.

“My cousin Sam asked, ‘Now, cousin, do you eat opossum with a red wine or a white wine?’”

“How about not at all?” Juniper got out between laughs. “Opossums are cool because they eat ticks, and they’re so ugly they’re adorable. So how was it?”

“Oh, man. When we opened that can, the ‘meat’ was all gooey, pale pink, and really smelly. So we just threw it out.”

“Wise choice. I suspect it could have been a culinary catastrophe.”

When their beverages arrived – ginger ale for her and lemonade for him – he sampled his and instantly realized it was made entirely from freshly squeezed lemons. The drink was so succulent that he took a full gulp and drank it slowly to savor the flavor, closing his eyes as if in the midst of a prolonged kiss.

“Woah, there, Huxley. Just what’s in that lemonade?” He passed it to her.

“Terrifically tasty indeed,” she confirmed.

The pre-meal conversation had a relaxed flow, and each silently marveled that it had been but nine days since they met. Huxley’s lobster bisque appetizer was so delectable that he unwittingly moaned while eating it, causing Juniper to giggle. Catching himself, he apologized profusely and she laughed louder than at any time since Senora Fuentes’ hot flashes reference.

After their entrees arrived, Juniper appreciated how Huxley neither ate with his fingers nor with his mouth open. I should thank this guy’s mom. When she complimented him on his table manners and detailed how terrible George’s had been, his face became contorted.

“So did you throw up at the table or get to the bathroom in time?” he asked with a look of mock horror, prompting her to laugh again.

“You’re too straight,” she announced.

Caught off-guard, he decided to make light of it.

“Ah, I just assumed you figured I was heterosexual,” he remarked with a look of concern.

“No,” she laughed. “I mean you’re too polite and proper. Don’t you have any bad habits or scandals to hide? I’d love to learn Huxley Madison’s faults. Lord knows, I’ve got plenty.”

“Well, as Abraham Lincoln said, ‘It has been my experience that folks who have no vices have very few virtues.’”

“Exactly. So what are your vices? Come on, Mr. Huxley. If you don’t tell me any of yours, I won’t share any of mine.” She raised her eyebrows and grinned.

“Well.” He paused. “In high school I once got pulled over for driving 85 in a 70 mile-per- hour zone.”

Juniper laughed and clapped. “So what was your parents’ reaction?”

“They weren’t proud.” He sighed looking at the table.

Thoroughly loosened up, she steered the conversation to their romantic histories. As she suspected, his was way less extensive than hers, but she was struck by how friendly he remained with all his exes, even the one whose betrayal hurt the most. Gently quizzed about his last girlfriend cheating on him, he paused and looked away before speaking slowly.

“To me, she was my full moon…. But come to find out I wasn’t even a crescent moon to her.”

“Oh, Huxley. I’m sorry. But it’s her loss. Don’t look back. You don’t still pine for her, do you?

“No, no.” He waved his hand and looked back at Juniper with a weak smile. “I did for a while. Not intellectually, but emotionally. Thankfully, time healed my heart and it’s now been over a year. I am grateful for all the swell times we had, or try to be before the bitterness creeps back in to sour it all.”

“Boy, do I know about that,” she stated with emphasis.

“Somebody betrayed you as well?” he asked.

“Hah, in my train wreck of a dating mine field? Try last month.” She raised her eyebrows with a frown. “By a guy I’d been with for more than a year, someone I figured to have a right long relationship with too.”

For the first time Huxley could recall, Juniper looked unhappy. Her eyes turned to her plate, and he detected a flash of anger as she stabbed a scallop with her fork.

“I’m sorry,” he offered in a softer voice. When she did not reply, he sought to cheer her up. “But I bet he’s the only guy who ever cheated on you.”

“That I can prove,” she noted bitterly. “The beau the year before just one day up and said he needed ‘some time alone.’” She rolled her eyes.

For several seconds, no one spoke. Desperate to lift the mood, Huxley tried to be funny.

“But look on the upside,” he said in a louder, more cheerful voice, promptly her to look up with raised eyebrows. “It’s far better to learn he’s a homosexual now than after you’re wearing his wedding ring.”

“Come again?” She put her fork down to look at him with wide eyes.

“Be grateful he saved you from so much more pain and humiliation in the long run.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Any guy who’d break up with such a gorgeous gal as you is, by definition, homosexual,” he declared with his best deadpan expression.

For a few seconds, she bore into his eyes to discern if he was sincere before bursting into laughter. Though he was not, he studiously maintained his best Buster Keaton stoneface.

“I’m not sure how on the level you are, Huxley Madison, but that’s right precious of you to say, and I do appreciate it. Seriously, thank you, Huxley. After all my endlessly analyzing every failed relationship -- and lots of expensive therapy -- just laughing about it is likely the best medicine.”

“The Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. spoke of ‘the paralysis of analysis,’ Huxley noted. “Anyway, I’m glad to state basic facts. As for the cheater—”

“George,” she snarled before putting her fingers in her mouth as if to vomit.

“Can I ask what you did upon discovering the betrayal?”

“First, I asked him if there was anyone else to see if he’d own up to it. But the bastard lied right to my face,” she said with a raised voice. “He was so convincing that he almost cried. That was the really scary part. When I informed him how friends had seen him holding hands with the little hussy, he then – and in a heartbeat – said, ‘Let me explain.’ To which I said, ‘No. Let me. I just dumped your sorry, lying ass.’”

“Not so loud,” Huxley asked in a lower tone leaning forward with a concerned look at other diners. “Folks will think you’re talking about me.”

“Ha!” she laughed before putting her hand over her mouth and lowering her voice. “Completely caught in his own lies, the next day the snake actually called and had the nerve to say, ‘As a fellow Christian, can’t you please forgive me?’ Before it even crossed his narcissistic radar to apologize. To which I replied, ‘You and I don’t worship the same God.’ Click. Then I proceeded to trash him to all our mutual friends so everyone would know just what a deceitful, two-faced dog he is. But I’m not the slightest bit bitter,” she winked and took a sip of ginger ale. “In fact, I was so mature about the whole thing that I painted ‘Cheater’ in large red letters across his front door.” She widened her eyes at Huxley and chuckled when his mouth fell open.

“Oh, my Lord. Did you get in trouble?”

“Nope. I did it at two in the morning. Since there were no witnesses, the cops couldn’t make an arrest.”

Riveted by a whole new side to her, Huxley cautiously asked, “You didn’t worry about getting caught or even arrested?”

“Not a bit.”

“Gosh, you really think it’s wise to seek revenge on such a loser, especially if it puts you at risk? Don’t you think jerks like George have so depleted their karmic bank accounts that they’ll eventually pay for their betrayals?”

Pointing a shrimp at him, Juniper replied, “If I was convinced there was a hell, I might well agree with you.”

“I’ve just always figured it’s so important not to make unnecessary enemies,” he stated gently.

“No, it’s important to make the right enemies,” she replied with a mischievous grin.

Hesitating, Huxley finally spoke. “I’m real sorry George hurt you so much. If it’s any consolation, Juniper, you sure haven’t shown it. You may project more positivity than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Thanks, Huxley,” she said with emphasis and a soft smile. “Life goes on and we go with it.”

“Grandma Madison says, ‘Well, they’s because-of folks and then they’s in-spite-of folks. With the first-uns, you’re happy because of ’em. With the second, in spite of ’em.’ And you’re definitely in the first-un,” he said with a raised glass.

“Aw, many thanks, Mr. Huxley. You just made my evening.” Juniper beamed and clinked glasses with him.

“I just hate how it seems that, whenever I’m cynical about folks, I’m never wrong,” he lamented.

“Exactly. Doesn’t it suck?”

“So have all your boyfriends been such disappointments?”

“Most.” She sighed. “I seem to get either entranced by hot macho daredevils who can be real exciting for a spell but end up being callous jerks, or I fall for limp-wristed, lame losers. You know, man-bunned, sackless soy boys who end up just wanting to be ‘friends.’ I guess I have a weakness for extremes…. But I’m trying to moderate.” She winked.

Feeling a charge electrify his whole being, Huxley quickly suppressed a smile and looked at his plate. This could be working out pretty well after all, he speculated.

“I just long for someone with whom I can be completely honest,” Juniper declared. “Wouldn’t that be amazing? To trust each other totally, to be able and eager to share everything on your mind and have absolutely no secrets? Think how much stress that would eliminate. We could add another twenty years to our lives.”

Squinting his eyes and tilting his head, Huxley at last spoke. “I don’t know, Miss Juniper. Having, in effect, a Vulcan mind meld with someone actually sounds scary. Having all your thoughts exposed? Being completely emotionally naked? That could be hell.” He frowned.

“But with the right person,” she leaned forward with a confident grin, “heaven.”

He looked at her and nodded slowly. “Could be.”

The conversation continued smoothly as they shifted to lighter subjects and learned about each other’s families and various interests. They became so engrossed and satisfied with his making her laugh that they neglected to leave the restaurant in time to make the seven o’clock show. Neither was wild about the film anyway, nor did either care to be quiet for a couple of hours. Since the restaurant was not crowded, they were comfortable staying put, and the next lull in the conversation was not heard until after seven-thirty.

“Now that was some mighty fine cuisine, indeed,” Huxley declared.

“And the conversation was even better,” Juniper added.

“You know we missed the movie,” he remarked as they exited the eatery. “Is there anywhere you’d like to go? A dessert place?” he asked as he held the restaurant’s front door open for her.

“It’s such a lovely evening. You fancy a walk?” She smiled at him on the sidewalk.

“Sure. But we’re not exactly in the best part of town,” he observed as they walked toward his car.

“Right. You want to walk on campus? Or maybe we could use a break from it?” she offered.

Thinking of various locales as they got in the car, he suddenly smiled but caught himself before speaking.

“Where?” she asked. “Come on. You’re enthused about somewhere.”

“It’s really pretty, with rolling hills, a variety of flowers, and terrific trees – dogwoods, magnolias, mimosas, and big oaks with Spanish moss—”

“Sounds great. Let’s go. We’ve got almost a full moon too.”

“Um. Most folks probably wouldn’t go there.”

“Because?”

“It’s a cemetery.”

Juniper laughed. “Cotton Springs?”

“Yes. Have you been?” he asked eagerly.

“I’ve just driven by it and seen the name on the big arch entrance. But it looks real pretty.”

“I hope suggesting a walk in a great big boneyard – especially at night -- doesn’t creep you out.”

“No. It’d be a new experience and, when my girlfriends ask where we went Friday, I can tell them, ‘Oh, we went to this really hip cemetery.”

“Only if you want to, Juniper. I just love graveyards and have enjoyed exploring Cotton Springs many times. It truly does have a lot of impressive tombstones and it’s so peaceful and pretty, and I bet even more so under a big moon. I’ve never been there at night.”

“Well, what gal could possibly turn down getting to see some ‘impressive tombstones’?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll take you wherever you want,” he said as she laughed.

“No, let’s tour the tombstones. I’m up for something novel.”

They drove a short distance to the edge of town and parked in the empty lot at the arched entrance to Cotton Springs Cemetery, the oldest, biggest burial ground in town. Under a large moon and cloudless night sky, the vast property was bathed in a vaguely bright glow.

“Thanks for wanting to come here,” Huxley said as they got out of the car. “Cemeteries are the most tranquilly quiet and peaceful places I know. No matter what my mood, walking through one – day or night – always seems to soothe my soul.”

“Wow.” Juniper smiled at him. “Well. Lead on, my soulful cemetery guide.” She lit a Disque Bleu cigarette and exhaled looking at the moon as they walked down a winding road with loads of old graves on either side. She was struck by the wide variety of tombstone styles and sizes. Several large oak trees occasionally shadowed them from the moonlight that seemed to color their surroundings in a dreamy, slightly unfocused light. Each oak’s branches were loosely wrapped in Spanish moss that hung like drapes below. Down to their left sat a lake with a gazebo, while a hillside decorated with rose bushes beckoned above to their right. Each gravestone cast a small shadow, and Juniper tried to recall anywhere else so still.

Huxley could not shake the notion that this entire evening was too enchanting to be real. He had been thrilled just to be out with the finest-looking, most enjoyable girl he knew. As pleasant as their pre- and post-class chats had been, they had not prepared him for the riveting dinner conversation. But now to be alone with Juniper strolling through one of his favorite haunts seemly almost heavenly. Ever alert to how fleeting opportunities all too often proved to be, especially in the romantic realm, he slowly reached over and gently took her hand. To his joy, she casually received it, sending a jolt of endorphins felt throughout his whole person. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked over to see her eyes follow the tree line on the hill to the right.

She took a drag off her cigarette, exhaled, and looked at him with a smile. She chuckled at his wide eyes, locked arms with him, and leaned her head on his shoulder as the road wound to the right to reveal more hills and a valley below.

“So you take all your dates here?” She bent her head forward to stifle a laugh.

“You’re the first, babe,” he said truthfully. “Though I will confess to asking a couple of others. But you’re the only one to say ‘Yes,’ for which I’m right grateful, Juniper.” He squeezed her hand.

“So if we see a ghost, you definitely owe me,” she remarked. “Actually, that’d be pretty sweet.”

A feint breeze caused the Spanish moss overhead to stir ever so slowly as they approached the valley. There a few hundred graves stood out for all having such skinny, rectangular headstones, being the only ones to look exactly alike, and all arranged in seemingly perfect rows.

“What are those?” Juniper asked. “They look so much more humble than the rest.”

“That’s the Confederate section,” Huxley answered. “They were killed in battle and are actually from all over Dixie. A lot of them are unmarked.”

“You mind if we sit down? These sandals ain’t exactly ideal for hills.”

“No. Of course not. Let’s sit wherever you want.”

She took off her sandals and began to walk on the grass among the rows of soldiers’ graves.

“I ’spect this one looks as good as any,” she announced and sat down to lean against the little headstone. He sat next to her and she moved over so they could share it. His hand slowly reached over to hers and she took it in both of hers as they looked up at the starry night sky. Nothing was said as they surveyed the hills, trees, graves, and grass, and each tried to remember ever feeling so peaceful with another person.

“The landscape looks like a moonlit impressionist painting with everything in soft focus,” Huxley observed. “Something Claude Monet might have painted.”

“You’re right,” Juniper exclaimed. Lifting her head to the moon and stars, she revealed, “Now I’m thinking of Vincent Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ painting.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. Seeing her moonlit face staring above with awe, Huxley thought Juniper resembled a silent film star. Noticing him admire her, she grinned and leaned her head on his shoulder. He tilted his head on top of hers.

He wanted to talk with her, but could think of nothing to say. Instead, they continued to lean on each other absorbing the sky and all their surroundings. He noticed her right foot now rested on his ankle.

For Huxley, time stood still and he wondered why he had found life so wanting. Though thrilled, he sought to avoid thought and just feel, content to enjoy the moment, knowing it would not last, but believing the evening would work out well and that they were creating a magnificent memory.

Miss Newmar had no memory of being so relaxed with a man – and on a first date, she marveled. She was satisfied just to savor such a placid scene, with no need for amusement or talk. How far she had come in the last month from feeling devastated to angry to cynical to now suddenly contented. Part of her desperately wanted to evaluate it all, but she mainly relished her present profound sense of comfort, protection, and well-being. With only an occasional breeze, the setting was so silent that she felt her accelerated heartbeat all the more.

Without thinking, she gradually lifted her head to look at him. He turned to find himself lost in her brown-green eyes and detected the slightest smile across her moonlit face. He leaned forward to kiss her lips and envelop her in a full embrace. Slowly, they eagerly explored every part of each other’s mouth before he began kissing her face, neck and ear. She started to giggle and pulled him back to her mouth where they continued kissing a long time, content to carry on their slow-motion tongue ballet.

With an exaggerated comic gasp, she leaned back against the tombstone. He chuckled and took her right hand in both of his.

“Mr. Madison, I do declare your kissing is a far sight better than your Spanish.” She raised her eyebrows and giggled.

“Like with Spanish, I just need a good partner to help me learn,” he opined.

“Then we can just learn our way together.” She smiled and leaned her head against his. His left leg was now embraced by both her feet.

“I’m reminded of something the actress Ingrid Bergman said,” Juniper announced. “‘A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.’ Isn’t that lovely and so, so true?”

“That is brilliant,” he agreed. “And I have no memory of ever feeling so calm. Excited, but so laid back.”

“Me too,” she replied. “I had no idea cemeteries could be so satisfying.”

“This is definitely now the best one I’ve ever visited,” he declared forthrightly, prompting a laugh.

“Hey,” he went on, “since it’s so quiet here, if we were in a movie now, what music would you play on the soundtrack?”

“Wow. What a neat question. Let me put my thinking cap on for a spell. But I’ll get back with you directly about that. How about you?”

“It’s not so much any particular song,” he mused, “but a whole slew of them blending into each other. There was this English singer and composer from the late 1960s and early ’70s whose music is so … mysterious but melodic and even mesmerizing, haunting, hypnotic, and … enchantingly ethereal. At times it’s sad, but mostly so beautiful, completely captivating, and it all sounds timeless. It has such a delightful dreamy quality to it which is how I feel here with you.”

“Who is it?” she looked at him eagerly.

“He’s really obscure. Have you ever heard of Nick Drake? He’s—”

“Oh! I can’t believe you’re a Nick Drake fan. Actually, I can. Yes, and I adore his songs. My favorite high school English teacher played some in class when we were learning about lyrical poetry. Drake’s songs are lovely as all get out and poetic too. No matter my mood, whenever I put his music on, I’m always transported to another world of enticing, fleeting images and such sublime sounds. How super dope we’re both Nick Drake fans too.” She kissed him on the cheek and hugged him tightly.

“Being here with you feels like we’ve walked through the Looking Glass into a fantasy world where time doesn’t exist,” he observed, amused by his sudden spontaneity. “I don’t even know what time it is, or care.”

“How do you keep saying precisely what I’m feeling, Huxley?” She put her arms around him and put her cheek against his. “See? A ‘Vulcan mind meld’ can be pretty wonderful after all, huh?” She kissed his cheek and leaned her head back to look at him grinning at her.

They kissed again for a good while until both came up for air at the same time.

“More synchronicity, babe?” he asked.

“Indubitably, dude,” she answered.

“It is starting to get a little late,” he noted having at last seen his watch. “Although I wish this would never end.”

“It doesn’t have to,” she whispered in his ear and he pulled her closer.

“And I think I’ve settled on a Nick Drake song for our moonlight scene,” he announced. “It’s my favorite of his because it’s the happiest and most hopeful, and he sings of moons and trees … and love – ‘Northern Sky.’”

“Mine too,” she exclaimed in a whisper and hugged him tight.

After a few more minutes holding each other, he slowly stood and extended his hand. She gathered her sandals in one hand and held his hand with the other as they stretched and surveyed the walk up the hill ahead.

“I’ll definitely be deep into dementia before forgetting any of this,” he remarked casually, prompting a chuckle from Juniper.

“You say that so seriously, Huxley. By the way, I really like your name, and I’ve never known a Huxley before.”

“Did you read the novel, Brave New World?”

“Didn’t everybody in high school? Oh, my Lord. Are you named for Aldous Huxley, the author?”

“Yep. My father wrote his doctoral dissertation on him.”

“Tres cool, Huxley.” She lifted her hand and he high-fived her.

“As is Juniper,” he remarked. “What’s the story there?”

“Since you know about Nick Drake, I bet you’re familiar with Donovan Leitch’s music too,” she asserted.

“‘Jennifer Juniper’!” he exclaimed. “I love that song. Super cool.”

“I’m kind of fond of it myself. My mother sang it to me when I was little.”

“How darling. Hey, speaking of names, let’s see who’s been our exceptionally hospitable host tonight,” he said leaning down to look closely at the tombstone. Holding up his phone to get some more light, he read the epitaph aloud:

“Festus Bullineaux

Born July 24, 1844

Died February 20, 1864

27th Georgia Infantry

CSA.”

“Gosh, not even out of his teens,” Juniper lamented. “Younger than us. Did he ever even get laid? Now I kinda’ feel a tad guilty like maybe we just desecrated his grave.”

“Really?” he asked.

“No.” She laughed.

“My guess is this is the most exciting night Mr. Festus has enjoyed in about near two centuries,” he pronounced.

“And it could be just the first of many,” she whispered in his ear as they sauntered arm in arm up the hill.

Options

Introducing your ereader mobile app!

Manybooks

Get The Best Reading Experience

App linkApp link

Rate this story:

Average: 4 (2 votes)

Comments

Add new comment

Plain text

  • No HTML tags allowed.
  • Lines and paragraphs break automatically.
  • Web page addresses and email addresses turn into links automatically.