DECEMBER
"The headlines will read, 'Frozen Bodies Found in Front Yard'".
"Don't be ridiculous, Ben: we'll have a MUCH better view from the back yard."
"Remind me again WHY are we spending a December night in the yard?"
"One new thing, once a month..."
"I admit it: I have never gotten frostbite within 40 feet of my warm house before."
"Nonsense, Ben. Now help me put this stuff by the door."
We were preparing to watch the Geminid Meteor Shower.
It might have been an odd choice, but it was supposed to be the best opportunity to see meteors for the year. I rhapsodized of the romance of the still, frozen night with all the stars twinkling in the heavens. Ben pointed out the cold, damp, night air and the possibility of pneumonia. I mentioned a thermos of hot chocolate and warm scarves. He countered with numb toes and frostbit noses. I coyly brought up our double sleeping bag, which had never been properly used. He raised one eyebrow and gave me a long, measuring look. Then he abruptly agreed. We prepared to watch the meteor shower.
It was odd: there had been very few occasions in our life together that Ben and I had abstained from physical demonstrations of love. The doctor had released Ben to pursue his normal activities after the traumatic groin pull, with some rather explicit instructions regarding his...er, activities. I knew Ben's injury had been of a delicate nature. The broken bones and various sprains earlier this year had barely slowed him down, but the groin injury had been different.
When Ben had tetanus, the sprains, and casts, he had been very vocal regarding his displeasure in the turns of events and hadn't refrained from any opportunity to complain. But after the injury in October, he grew quiet and suffered in silence; that's how I knew he was in true agony. Each day he painfully threaded himself into the brace, which wrapped around his upper thigh and around his waist. It looked vastly uncomfortable but he failed to utter a single complaint.
Ben had some physical therapy and as part of it, he and I began doing some simple stretches and some beginner's yoga. Ben was careful to use only beginner's poses and it seemed to help him loosen the area and the spring returned to his step. He appeared to be feeling better and I noticed he had discarded the brace. He had carried me piggyback that day in November while struggling through the deep mud and hadn't acted as though it had been a problem. I knew he was better, physically, but somehow, he seemed uncomfortable with even the thought of...er...
It was all right with me, of course. I was prepared to give him all the time he needed. The lack of physical expression did not create any tension or unpleasantness between us. As a matter of fact, we seemed even closer to each other than ever before. I wouldn't have believed I could love Ben more or that I could learn more about him after all these years. I thought we had plumbed the depths, discovered the final truths and had seen both the best and worst of our relationship and each other. But lately, every day seemed to bring a freshness and excitement. I felt eager to wake up each morning and start the day, together, with him.
During the first wave of cold weather, we cheerfully abandoned our plan of introducing each other to an unfamiliar movie. Instead, we watched all our old Christmas favorites: 'White Christmas', 'It's a Wonderful Life', 'Miracle on 34th Street', and every 'Christmas Carol' version we could find. We ate Christmas goodies, laughed and shared memories of Christmases gone by: our early years, the girls' first Christmases and little tidbits from our childhood memories.
We visited friends, attended holiday parties, went to Christmas plays to watch our grandchildren perform, and shopped for gifts together. We cut our own Christmas tree, and Ben helped me place the star and string the lights. Sometimes, we did separate activities: Ben helped Ira build a manger for the church Christmas pageant while Katie Lee and I went on a shopping spree. Ben and Buddy Ray made repairs to Buddy Ray's deer stand while Kay-Lynn and I made batch after batch of Christmas candy. But most of the time, Ben and I managed to find ways to be together.
The evening of the meteor shower finally arrived: the wee hours of the next morning would provide the best opportunity for viewing the Geminids. We prepared for viewing the spectacle. We laid out warm clothes and stacked the sleeping bag and a few pillows by the back door. I assembled the ingredients for cocoa and set out the items to make it. We went to bed at 7:00 and set the alarm for 2:00 am. I awoke, a few minutes before the alarm. I felt like a child on Christmas morning. I turned off the alarm, slipped out of the warm bed, dressed quickly in the bathroom and tiptoed to the kitchen to start the hot chocolate to heat. Then I went and sat on the side of the bed and woke Ben.
"Ben, its time."
"Wha...whassa madder?"
"Ben..."
"I's 'wake...whurs ma pants..."
"Ben..."
"Whassa wrong..."
"Ben! Wake up! You're gonna fall..." I switched on the lamp to find Ben, not fully awake, struggling into the pants he had left beside the bed.
"Lou?" He yawned and sat back on the bed. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. The Geminids?"
"Oh. Oh, yeah...I'll be there in a minute."
"The hot chocolate is ready."
He gave me a brief hug. "I'll be there in a minute."
I packed a small, thermal bag with the thermos. I zapped a few hot packs in the microwave and tucked them inside. I poured boiling water into two mugs, gave them time to heat, then dumped the water out and packed the hot mugs in the thermal bag. We bundled into our coats, gloves, scarves, and hats. I carried the thermal bag and a couple of pillows while Ben carried the big sleeping bag and other stuff. Then we sallied forth to the back yard, Sam at our heels.
There was no moon. Ben had the foresight to disconnect our security light so that we might be able to see the meteors better. Our eyes adjusted after a few moments and we spread a plastic sheet on the ground, then laid the sleeping bag over it. Ben helped to arrange me inside the bag, then he piled the pillows so we could prop and face south-southeast. He nestled into the sleeping bag with me and zipped us in.
We sat up at first. I poured us each a mug of hot cocoa. The sky was already alive with dozens of shooting stars. Ben put one arm around me and I leaned against him. We didn't say anything at first, just watched for meteors, pointing out ones from time to time that we were afraid the other of us might have missed and sipped the cocoa. After we finished our cocoa, we put the mugs back in the thermal bag and decided to lay on our backs.
We had trouble arranging ourselves at first, but Ben had an idea: we both unzipped our coats. I nestled close to his chest and put my arms around him, under his coat. Sam laid down on my other side, on top of the sleeping bag, wedging me tightly between him and Ben. Ben reached over and spread a blanket over him. Ben and I shared the pillows so that we could prop as we watched the sky.
We cuddled tightly in the long, frozen moments. Everything was still except the wild display of the heavens above us. Ben and I held each other close, our breath fogging and our noses cold. I felt close to tears with the beauty of it all. Ben's warmth was under my cheek and near my core. He had removed his gloves to cuddle me and I could feel his hands through the thick fabric of the flannel shirt I wore. His thoughts were palpable; I could read them clearly and I knew he understood my own. We didn't talk, we just watched. I felt tears course down my cheeks; I was weeping at just the thought of the beauty of the moment and my joy in my marriage and in my life.
Something happened in those moments; a transformation. I was no longer a gray-haired woman who needed to lose weight, lying beside my husband of 39 years on the frozen ground. We weren't the people who struggled to balance our checkbook, fought over which movie to watch and quarreled over a dented truck fender. All at once, we were back in our 20's and it was a warm, summer evening. A long time ago, on a perfect August night with no moon, Ben took me into his arms and, for the very first time, he kissed me in the starlight. I traveled back to those moments. I peeked at Ben and saw the wonder of the memory on his face.
"Do you remember..." I began.
"There wasn't any moon that night either..."
"But millions of stars..."
"I put my arms around you, like this..."
"And then..."
It had been nice way back then, but it was even nicer in the middle of the cold December night. The young us had been in awe of the possibilities of the kiss; the older us was in awe of all the ways the possibilities had been met and exceeded. Occasionally, Ben would adjust my scarf or arrange the folds of the sleeping bag around me and I would kiss the tip of his cold nose as I whispered thoughts which cannot be spoken aloud or written on paper. I would catch him watching, not the meteor shower, but my face. We murmured memories and repeated old promises to each other. A group of meteors sparkled overhead, like a flock of birds traveling south for the winter. A thought came to me. I began to sing, very softly:
"...I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky, the shadow from the starlight is softer than a lullaby..."
"What brought that to mind?"
"John Denver was talking about a meteor shower."
"Really? I thought that song was about going camping and smoking pot."
"Well, I guess it was in some ways...but you gotta admit, that part is nice."
He began to sing with me.
"Now he walks in quiet solitude the forest and the streams ..."
When we got to the chorus, Sam sat up and decided to join us. He began to howl as Ben and I sang louder in an attempt to hear each other over him.
"I know he'd be a poorer man if he never saw an eagle flyyy...! ROCKY MOUNTAIN HIGH!!"
We all abruptly stopped when the coyotes, in the belt of woods just 100 yards away joined us.
"AhhhowwwwooooooOOOOOOOO!"
"Is that..."
"Coyotes. Yea, let's go, Lou." Ben unzipped the sleeping bag and began to extricate himself.
"What about Sam...hey!" Sam brazenly used my stomach as a sprinter's block as he raced for the back door. Ben dragged me into a standing position and pulled me along toward the house.
"But my stuff..."
"If it's still there in the morning, I'll get it then."
"My good thermos!"
"Forget the thermos!"
"But the sleeping bag!"
"I'll buy you another one!"
"My thermal bag! It has my initials..."
"I think they're coming after us!"
I looked back: dozens of eyes glowed from the dark. I yelped as I stumbled over a hole, but Ben pulled me along so rapidly I didn't have time to fall. We burst through the back door in a wave of giggles. Ben slammed the door, locked it and leaned against it. He pulled me tight to him. We rested against each other a moment, breathing heavily with thumping hearts. Then I started to giggle:
"The headlines would read, 'Coyotes Consume Couple.'"
"Or 'Cowardly Canine Culpable in Casualties'" Ben ruffled Sam's fur. Sam grinned and 'woofed'.
"How about, 'Senile-Shooting-Star-Seeking Sexagenarians Snuffed'?".
"Or maybe, 'Man Still Crazy in Love with Wife After All These Years'".
Then I looked up at Ben's face. "That's not very alliterative."
His expression changed and the laughter vanished, although the smile didn't leave his eyes. I could just make out the special way his eyes crinkled in the dim light from the Christmas tree in the next room.
"But very, very true." My arms went around his neck and his arms pulled me even closer. "I love our life, Lou."
"I do too, Ben."
"Did you ever think THIS is what 'happy ever after' looked like?"
"No. I couldn't imagine anything this nice."
We shared a very romantic moment. Then we unbundled and shared several more romantic moments. A long while later, we listened to the coyotes sing as we lay snug in our bed. I fell asleep warm and safe on Ben's shoulder and dreamed of shooting stars.