"Sun-blaze, shining at last,
you are the most beautiful light..."

"Antigone," Translation by Richard Emil Braun. Lines 126-127. Used without permission.
 

BYERS:

We lost most of our furniture in the tornado and more than a few personal possessions.

I'm curious to know how we got so much stuff!

Granted, some things were in storage, but it still seems that there are a disproportionate number of boxes compared to what I thought we had.

I'm not even talking about the new furniture that was delivered this afternoon. Not all of it has arrived, but we have places to sit and sleep and eat now, which helps. And we have music and television and computer access, which in my estimation is actually more important than any of the above.

We'll be living out of boxes for ages.

Part of the problem stems from the fact that Juliet and are both compulsive as to where things should go-and we've managed more than a few disagreements regarding arrangement. This is one of the problems with having both individuals so set in their ways, and obsessive-compulsive to boot. We do understand one another in this regard, but sometimes, it does nothing to minimize the sparks that fly.

Our most current disagreement is over a piece of artwork-a Manet print-that Juliet feels would like flatter one wall in the living room.

I happen to hate this piece.

I resisted putting it up for a while; for one thing, her birthday is in four days, and I've got some new prints ordered for her as a gift. I had no intentions of doing double labor.

But in the end, I compromised. I hung up the print.

I can live with it for a few days, much more easily than I could tolerate Juliet's grumpiness over something of this nature.

And I love this house. It's a four bedroom, two bath colonial (I know, I'm so conventional it's frightening), lots of blonde wood, hardwood floors with thick, comfortable area rugs, good natural lighting due to the fact that it has many windows, well arranged. Something about the light in this house makes me feel very comfortable.

I think about the apartments I had in DC and Baltimore as a student, and about our combination work/residence in Southeast DC. All of them were dark, with minimal natural light. And at the time, I was at ease with it. I think allowing sunlight into my environments during those times would have been a mockery.

Not now. I crave this light as avidly as I once was drawn to the darkness as is a vampire.

But I'm not giving up garlic. One can never have too much garlic, particularly if you remember to carry Smints. I do.

It's twilight, and we're exhausted and I'm aching all over. I don't remember moving being this hard. Then again, I don't remember being this old, either.

Were the weather cool, I'd build a fire-this home has two wood-burning fireplaces, made of natural fieldstone. They're cozy and inviting, but the temperature remains somewhat on the warm side.

I have a feeling it will be a brief autumn. Weather patterns indicate that the heat will dissipate rapidly over the next couple of weeks, and then we will be clobbered by cold North Atlantic fronts.

I can wait. Those fireplaces will get a work out, I'm certain.

"I am SO tired," Juliet groans. "I'm actually thinking about going to bed. And I didn't even do the heavy lifting around here."

She's been wildly energetic during the daytime as of late, but as soon as the sun starts to dwindle, so does she.

"You feeling okay?" I ask her, slipping an arm over her shoulder.

"Fine. Just tired." She punctuates this sentiment with a yawn. "You?"

"I'm going to be in agony tomorrow. I can tell already."

"Hmm." She drops my arm from her shoulder and moves in closer to me, working the tendons in my shoulders.

This makes the pain worthwhile. The relief.

She works me for a few minutes, then looks at me with a mischievous glint in her dark eyes. "I have some eucalyptus balm upstairs I could put on this."

"I thought you were tired."

"I am. But not too tired to give you a backrub."

"You're on."

"But you have to return the favor."

I think I can handle that without any problems.

And besides, I think it's a requirement that when you move into a new home, you're supposed to christen your new bedroom.
 

LANGLY:

I'm thinking Patrick's gonna be so pissed at me, he's not gonna wanna play with me, but when I ask him if he wants to build Legos, he's like, off like a shot, brings back five buckets of the stuff, and we dive in.

I give him a big hug again, and he's like, he doesn't even care that I've been a total bastard for weeks now. He's in the now, and that's what's cool to him.

Miranda and Shelby stop by to watch our creation taking shape. I try to be extra nice to Miranda; she's like, whatever, she's not as much in the moment like Patrick, but then again, she's a lot older.

"Where're you guys going tonight?" Ally says they're headed out.

"Out," Miranda offers up the usual answer.

"Doing what?"

"Stuff."

"Like in cruising for land sharks?"

"Oh, and you never would've done that at our age, would you, Langly?" Miranda's hassling me, but I think she's like on to that I'm trying to call a truce here, so she doesn't bust me too hard.

I would've...but hey, when you're in college at 16, and everybody else is older, it's not like the chicks pay you any attention, except maybe to wonder what the hell you're doing there.

"You know 'Randa's running for head of student government," Shelby chimes in.

"No, I didn't." Wonder if Ally did; I doubt it, she probably would've said something.

Well, last few weeks, who knows? It's not like I've been paying a lot of attention.

"I am. And I plan to win."

That would be Miranda, kill all the competition.

Course, she runs her campaign on looks alone, she'd have no problems. The girl is GORGEOUS. She's always been a good-looking kid, but now, man...

Good thing she's got her own phone, or I'd never let any guys talk to her.

"You got your campaign together?" I ask her.

"Pretty much. Only problem is..." she looks uncertain..."don't tell Mommy about this, okay?"

"I won't tell her, I don't know about him." I point to Patrick, who's assembling some sort of wing span. Hey, we're guys. We build weapons. All boy toys are variations on the hammer and nail theme.

"Okay."

"Um...I'm getting hassled by some of the other campaigns."

"No big shock. Politics, it's not for sissies."

"No...um...maybe we better talk about this later. 'Kay?" She gives me this look, and it's kind of pleading. "But not with Mommy."

"Sure."

She'd never admit it, but I think she's been in need of a little bit of wicked stepfather guidance.

I better come through for her.
 

BYERS:

Our new bed is wonderful. California King, terrific mattress, new bedding.

And the best part is what came from the old bed.

Juliet.

She's got me stretched out on the bed, my shirt off, massaging my back with eucalyptus balm. The aroma initially makes my eyes water, but after a while, I begin to revel in the warmth of it. And the strength and tenderness of her hands.

"You don't have to stop, do you?" I murmur to her.

"Eventually."

Make that eventually later than sooner, please.

I've become so domesticated.

Actually, I've always been domesticated. I just get to live it now.

This gives me an amazing peace.

And having Juliet ministering to me...well...

"John." She asks softly. "Which room do you think we should put a baby in?"

We have two unoccupied bedrooms at present, and I know we're planning on children, soon, but the question still takes me a bit aback. Something about the reality of it hits me, hard.

"I'm not sure. Which one do you think?"

"Hmm. They're both close to our room...well, anyway, I think in the beginning, I'd like to keep the baby close to me, in here, if that's all right with you."

Is it?

I'm not sure...I hadn't given that any thought.

"It'd make getting up to feed less of a chore."

I never thought of that, either.

How do women keep all these details in their heads?

And I'm a detail oriented person...but I do far better with objects than people.

I think I'm going to have to work on that.

And speaking of working on people...I'm hopelessly turned on by this point.

I think I'll start with my wife-to-be.
 

LANGLY:

This is bizarre, but it's nice bizarre.

Ally, Patrick, Miranda, Shelby and me all eating dinner in the same room at the same time. Used to be a regularly scheduled event, sort of like TV news. Now it's pretty rare.

I got to find a way to change that. I need this stuff.

Ally made this stuffed zucchini. I'm not crazy for zucchini, but this is actually really awesome, it's got eggplant and walnuts and parmesan and onions in it, and lots and lots of garlic. Good stuff. Patrick eyes it like, are you trying to poison me, but we get him to try a couple bites.

"He oughta eat more," I comment.

Ally laughs. "He'll eat when he's hungry, which lately, he hasn't been."

This gives me the guilt prickles again, but she waves her hand like, got nothing to do with it.

"All kids get like this. You don't force them, eventually, they'll be hungry and they'll eat."

"Yeah, I lived on canned pears for years," Miranda says.

"It's true." Ally grins. "She still worships canned pears."

"Canned pears are awesome!"

"I want canned pears!" Patrick decides this is like just too cool.

"That's not what Mommy cooked," I tell him.

"Oh, Jesus, they can have canned pears." Ally gets up to check the pantry, and comes out later with five bowls of canned pears. With cinnamon on top.

"Comfort food, where I come from," she smiles.

I'm also not a huge fan of canned pears, I like real ones better, especially Anjous, but hey, we can use all the comfort we can get.

Even if it takes the form of canned fruit.
 

MICHAEL:

"You looking forward to your dad being home tomorrow?" Kelly asks me as we decide which movie to watch. I decide, for some insane reason, I wanna watch something sappy.

Oh, shoot me. I can't help it, it's genetic.

And Dad has plenty of sappy movies from which to choose.

"Oh, you've got 'Now, Voyager!'" Kelly's like jumping up and down.

"You seen it?"

"When I was little, with my Aunt Patty, she loved these movies...oh, can we watch it, Michael, please?"

"Sure." I just hope it's kind of sappy, at least. Don't think I've ever seen this one.

Don't know why I feel so like this...but hey, go with it.

"Know what I wish?" I tell her. "I'm just like...I wanna tell everyone on the whole fucking planet we're engaged...I just feel like hiring out one of those planes like you see at the beach that flies ads over it, and just say, Michael and Kelly are engaged and we want you to know it!"

She giggles. "Me too...you have no idea how close I came to blurting it out to Leslie."

"Yeah, me too." Strange. It's like, I got engaged, I feel so good, I even wanna tell my bitch sister.

Who was a lot less of a bitch this time, least after Martha got her hooks in her.

"But if we don't tell Dad first..." I remind her.

"...he's going to get all bent out of shape," she finishes.

I'm really hoping he gets stronger soon. Martha says he's gonna be weak and tired for a long time. And that's gonna be a pain, because Dad likes being up and around and doing stuff.

And I want to tell him so bad. I'm kind of nervous about it, but I just wanna tell him anyway.

I want him to be happy for us.

I just hope Martha's cool and doesn't let the cat out of the bag. She seems like she is. She's not a real talkative lady, that's for sure. But I got to admit, I think she's sort of okay. When she says something, it means something. No bullshit.

I like that part of her. I just wonder what it's gonna be like with her around so much, and my dad around so much...Dad's never home that much. This is gonna be real strange.

I just hope he's in a better mood than he was in the hospital, because he was a real BASTARD there. I tried real hard to be good. When he'd get upset, I'd go and try to give him a hug and tell him it's okay, and most times it worked, but sometimes, he'd just go off.

Martha says that's gonna still happen sometimes. Be prepared.

Good side is, I'm not home too much. I got so much going on, I'm just about never here except to sleep.

Martha says she's going on 3-12 hour shifts a week, every third week she does a fourth one. So the rest of the time, I think she's planning to be with Dad.

Good thing Papa Byers is paying. No way could we afford it.

I'm still wondering, why? Why'd he do it? He and my dad didn't get along at all when they met. He doesn't even like his own kid that much. And hell, he never even met Martha before.

So what's wrong with this picture?

Beats the fuck out of me.

And I don't really care right now. I mostly care about snuggling up on the sofa with Kelly and watching what looks like is gonna be a real schmoopy flick.

I hope.
 

LANGLY:

God, I didn't even know how much I missed this part.

Patrick's in my lap. Ally got out a story for him to read, she's apparently been reading this to him for a while, and he wanted the next installment.

I really gotta question her taste in bedtime stories though.

She's reading him 'The Medea.' Yep, the Euripides play. (Hey, I knew that. I went to college!) If you're not familiar with 'The Medea,' storyline goes something like this: Medea, who's some kind of witch or sorceress or something, goes and helps this dude Jason steal the golden fleece. You know, that golden fleece. So Jason marries Medea, has a couple kids with her, things are real cool. But then Jason finds a chickie on the side, and Medea is PISSED. So she tells about all the nasty things she does to get even with Jason and the chickie.

If I remember, there's a part in there where Medea kills her own kids. Think Ally might skip that, if she's smart.

"Hey, this was Miranda's favorite bedtime story when she was little. She says Medea rocks," Ally defends her choice of literature.

I wonder if there's a law about people who've studied classics not being allowed to read to kids.

Plus, I can sort of understand how Miranda thinks Medea is cool-she's a girl, after all. But Patrick, well, Medea does not do nice things to guys. She in fact does very uncool things to guys.

Every woman's fantasy, every guy's nightmare.

"Hey, Ally. I wanna hear the one about Phaedron." I'd rather not hear about Medea tonight.

"What, the original teenage car accident?"

"Yeah, that one."

Patrick's like, don't wanna, but I assure him that it's a cool story. It goes like so: Phaedron's dad is this king, and he tells him when he's a teenager, you can have whatever you want, beautiful women, infinite wisdom, whatever.

Now, I think he should've gone for the women myself, but then, maybe he had no trouble getting dates, unlike some of us. Having Dad be a king never hurts. Hey, swear to God, it's the only way Prince Charles could've ever hoped to get laid.

But anyway, Phaedron is like a typical stupid guy, and he's like, I want the car keys, Dad.

Idiot!

So dad's like, you're an idiot, but he gives him the chariot, and of course the dope flies too close to the sun and he melts and all that.

Serves him right for passing up on the women offer.

So Ally pulls out Phaedron and she reads it great. It's not like this old, drab story, but she really gets into it. Ally loves Greek mythology, and it shows. And Patrick gets off on it.

"So the moral of the story," I tell Patrick, "is go for the women."

Ally giggles. "I don't know. Medea may give you the creeps, Langly, but with Miranda getting her license in a month and a half...well..."

Okay, maybe we should've read Auricula Meritricula. Little Ear, the Prostitute...

The parent police are gonna come after us. Swear to God.
 

Patrick falls asleep a little while later. I just rock the little guy, even after he's gone off.

Little kids are real soft, and they're warm and they feel nice, and they love you so much...

I need to make sure I get to do this at least most nights, if not every night.

I'm not sure how that's gonna happen. I got to do something about life at work. Make it change.

"He needs to go to bed, honey," Ally says as she picks him off my lap. How does she do that? She's so little and he's growing like a weed. I didn't even notice there for a while, but the kid is huge.

She stuffs him in bed, and comes back out. "You ready for bed?"

I am tired.

"Almost." I take her little hand. "Um, one more slow dance, okay?"

She looks at me with this mystified look. "We don't have any music like that."

"Sure we do."

"What?"

"This." I get to the M's in the CDs. Van Morrison.

And put on our wedding song.

"Have I Told You Lately That I Love You?"

I don't think I've done it, but I'm gonna do it now.

And just hold on to her.

END OF PART 48