Letters In the Moonlight of Taj Mahal

So here I still sit, never moving from this bench, writing this letter to you, bathed in the moonlight of Taj Mahal. I sat here last night, and the night before as well. I even paid extra to be a part the very next group and have more time. You know, I can't help wondering if this is the same bench on which Princess Diana sat when she visited so many years ago. I think my name should be carved into this bench because I occupy it so much, waiting for you. Funny, this spot always seems to be vacant, as if the fates sense this is my place–mine and yours, though we have never shared it in body, only in spirit.

When I return to my room in a bit, I will email these thoughts to you.

Come to me soon, my love.

Please.

Yours forever,

Lyla

"Oh, Marc," I whisper into the night. "Here I go again. I can't help it. My thoughts always roam to where we began, you and I. It's hard to believe it was only two months ago that I received your first letter. I wish I had it with me now. But then again, I don't need it. I remember it by heart."

I sigh, quickly lost in remembering.

"Maybe by starting at the beginning this time, it will help me manage the incessant pain of this great and terrible wait I endure."

But wait I will. I'll wait forever.

"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing." - Helen Keller

One

Six months ago

Nags Head Outer Banks, North Carolina

"Seriously, guys, do we really have to do this?"

"Yeah, Mama!" both boys answer in unison, one face a mirror image of the other. Having inherited a mixture of my Jamaican features, as well as those of their Welsh father, they possess an exotic look that definitely turns heads. Most people have a hard time telling them apart, but I have always known which of my sons is which. And in twenty-five years that still hasn't changed. Well over six feet, both boys tower over me, making me feel short even at five-feet-eight.

"But why? I've been fine and I see no reason to date. Besides, it's too much work trying to impress someone, wondering if this guy or that one likes me. I've been away from the game for far too long."

"And that is precisely our point," Keenan says, his brown eyes chastening and loving at the same time.

Kyle puts an arm around my shoulders. "Mama, Daddy's been gone for over two years now and we know you get lonely. You were lonely even before he died because the marriage was so bad. You didn't think we knew, but we did. And we know you only stayed with him because of us." When I open my mouth to protest, he puts up a hand and I remain quiet, forcing myself to hear him out. "Daddy didn't deserve you, Mama, and I'm pretty sure he realized that in the end because we could see the love and regret in his eyes when he looked at you before taking his last breath."

"You saw that, huh?" My voice cracks a little, but I manage to smile.

"We did," Keenan affirms.

"Is that why you two stay so close?"

Keenan smirks. "Right. We stay so close because Jen and Ellen would kill us if we tried to move them away from the beach. That's why we jumped on our houses when they went up for sale. Being down the beach from you a mile in either direction is perfect. Plus, the grandbabies get to see you whenever they want. It's a sweet set-up."

I smile. "For me, too."

"But back to the subject at hand," Kyle continues. "Mama, you are still too young and beautiful to remain alone. And some lucky guy out there will consider himself fortunate to have you. Well, not have you–at least, not until after marriage, but . . . well, you get what I'm saying."

Keenan and I both snort before breaking into laughter. Kyle quickly joins in.

"Okay, okay, you win. I'll give it a shot. Happy now?"

"Totally," Keenan says, hugging me. "We're just watching out for you, Mama."

"I know," I reply, smiling ruefully. "So, what now?"

"We've got your back," Kyle says. "Just let us take care of it. Keenan, let me have the list?"

"The list? What . . ."

Keenan pulls some folded papers from his pocket, handing them to his brother. "We've put together a list of a few names along with pertinent info on each."

"Pertinent info?" I question.

"Yeah," Kyle chimes in. "You know, addresses, phone numbers, driver license and social security numbers. Place of employment, stats, place of birth, blood work results, pain tolerance level. You know, the important stuff."

The belly laugh that escapes me is so loud and hard, I have to sit down because my sides ache. "You guys are quite thorough, aren't you?"

"Heck yeah!" they both say and my laughter is renewed. "You're our mama," Keenan continues. "And none of these guys will get near you without signing documents saying they will accept the consequences for anything that goes wrong. And if they try to run, you know they won't make it far. Kyle's crossbow aim is spot-on, and my rifle has seen some serious action at the gun range. Plus, I just got a new scope with a laser. So, no matter what, you're covered."

The tears that now mist my eyes are no longer from laughter, but from the gratitude I feel for the privilege of being the mother of these fine men. Their sweet wives are indeed blessed. I cup Keenan's cheek, and then Kyle's.

"I love you both for taking care of me."

"We love you, too," they say, embracing me.

"Now," Keenan says, waving the papers, "the list."

Grinning, I rub my hands together. "Okay, bring them on."