dreams

As I talk about my goals in life and my plans it occurs to me that I should talk about what Lynn might have wanted out of life. I certainly don't mean to imply that she lacked ambition.

First, let's consider my observations of our other friends who were poets and/writers. Many of them had a four-year degree in English. Some of those who were part of the poetry scene had degrees in other fields. By and large, though, most of them had a Bachelor of Arts in English.

If you are thinking as the world thinks or as people think in America, you might think that this degree is not very practical. That's because people only think about how they are going to make money with their degrees. They might say "what can you do with an English degree?"

By this time, I would have found that offensive and would have told anyone that I found it offensive. 

I know that my siblings and parents never made such statements to me or around us during this time period that were critical of people who don't get more "practical" degrees. That would have crossed a line and been obviously offensive to me based on who I was with - who I loved.

Dear reader, Did I say I loved Lynn? I'll get to that.

Anyway, yes, I had conversations with my siblings and parents during this time period. 

Lynn's self-esteem and assertiveness were contagious. That is one of the things I found so attractive about her. One of her statements that she commonly used was "that's unacceptable." I really wish I could think of a context where I heard this statement. I'm sure it might have been in relationship to something I said. The point is that I had become much more assertive too. I was no longer taking any kind of abuse from anyone.

I know my parents were very critical and judgmental of others and so I didn't talk about Celta that much because, at the time, I was not in a position to be assertive and say that I am profoundly offended by anyone saying anything critical or judgemental about Celta and the problems that she had. 

Things had changed when I was with Lynn. 

In many little ways, I would have made it evident that I would have rebuked any statement that was insulting or critical of something like the choice Lynn made to get a four-year degree in English. 

Anyway, I grew up in a household where the man is the head of the household and he supports his wife. This was not what I wanted nor would that have been acceptable to Lynn.

The next relevant fact is that Lynn had to qualify for an insurance program for people with Cystic Fibrosis. It was a state program that had income requirements. People with Cystic Fibrosis require medical care on an ongoing basis to maintain their health. In addition, she had medications to take. There was equipment that she needed for her health needs. The point is that she couldn't take a chance of not having medical coverage. Therefore, she had to limit her work hours and her income.

So, now, what were her dreams, or what did she want out of life? She had discussed with me the idea of getting a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree in poetry as our mutual friend Jean Jones had done. With his MFA he wasn't using it directly for employment purposes. 

Therefore, from a certain point of view, Jean wasn't using his degree, per se. This is relevant to the fact that I mentioned earlier that there was a misunderstanding about me not using my engineering degree. I had stated previously in this book that I definitely should have gotten a degree in English or Psychology to avoid the expectation that I would get a job as an engineer.

Jean had been published in academic press publications and had quite a publication history.

Lynn wasn't seeking that kind of recognition. She said her poetry was initially just for herself. Obviously, she was sharing it at the readings but that's it.

We both valued having someone in our lives that admired and respected us. So many people seem to instinctually look for a relationship as something they feel they ought to do. 

Lynn and I did value the relationship itself. If it had not been "right" or if there had been "problems" it would not have lasted. It seems like between Lynn and me, I was the only one who dreamed of a relationship and getting married as an important goal in life. That being said, our relationship just happened and it was surprising and unexpected. 

Of course, we argued. We were constantly talking about every little thing... the meaning of life for us... debating topics. I know how I felt when I said something mean or blurted out something. I didn't let much time pass before I apologized. I just don't remember anything that stuck in my mind as worthy of including in this narrative. I guess the reason is that we moved past any problem.

Gift-giving...

You think of holidays... Remember from the last chapter, how Donna and Kerri were so excited to get photos of the cute couple? Yeah, it was all magical and fun - delightful.

This was the first time I had thought about wanting to buy gifts for someone I loved. Yes, loved. After that evening around our one-year anniversary, when Lynn brought up the topic that we needed to declare that we were boyfriend and girlfriend, I had said "I love you" and she responded, "I love you too..." after that it was common and comfortable for us to say, "I love you."

She might have conceded that I was the more impulsive in the area of romance. I would be the first to say "I love you" many times - not always. She was more likely to call me "sweetie" or "honey" and I tended to just call her Lynn. It is only in retrospect that I realize how wrong I was not to use such terms of endearment. 

I did tell her those words "I love you" so extremely frequently. I wasn't shy about saying what I was feeling.

We both liked public displays of affection too. This would not diminish over time. I didn't have to be the one to take her hand. She was somewhat playful and mischievous. It wasn't corny like playing "footsy." She had a sense of what felt good to me. If we were out somewhere, she might take my hands and sit in my lap... caress my legs, or face and arms.

I remember Valentine's Day the February after we declared that we were boyfriend and girlfriend. I felt so good walking into a shopping center and looking at the roses. I asked someone for help because I had never done that before. We had discussed going for dinner. I must have hinted at what my plans were, and she was thinking that she would pay for dinner. We were going to go to a sushi place.

I wanted to be seen or noticed as I picked out the roses. Remember, I am a shy person, and yet here I was seeking to draw attention to myself.  It might have been at a grocery store, but it was just magical to me because I had wanted to be seen. Before my time with Lynn, I didn't bring attention to myself. I felt chills it felt so good. I felt like I was ten feet tall!

In the past, buying gifts for me was a quiet matter. But today, I just wanted to be noticed and I spoke up. "Hi, I need roses for my girlfriend" I declared so the employee would hear me and the other customer. "Yes, for the card, something decorative maybe? It should say 'I love you,' obviously. I guess I will write Lynn and sign Bruce." I wanted to be saying this out loud.

"Oh, you can pay at the register when you leave the store," she said. And I thought, "great, more people will see me carrying flowers for Lynn. They'll know I have someone special and someone who thinks I am special."

It was like the second Christmas. We both had ideas about what we wanted but I went to a jewelry store. I had no idea what to buy. I walked in and waited for the lady behind the counter to come.

"I need a gift for someone I love – my girlfriend." It seemed important to say more than just 'my girlfriend." I wanted to say "for someone I love" and for that to be heard by anyone and everyone. Yes, I, the shy person, wanted to be seen and noticed. 

"Okay, do you know what she prefers – silver or gold?"

"Silver," I declared. I wasn't being cheap, but I just knew she preferred silver. We looked and looked. I had to admit what my budget was, but I was thinking of Lynn and not trying to win the approval of a store clerk. She could tell that I was thrilled to find something that we thought was pretty. I had asked her opinion and another girl there who was a little younger. My dream-like smile must have given away my feelings, plus, there was the declaration that this was for "someone I love."

When we were together, everything about us said that there was no one else in our lives. Two creative types falling in love know what they feel. I guess. I mean we had not needed to say to each other that we aren't seeing anyone else.

I thought about everything that was happening in my mind, turning over the events. I didn't take anything for granted or think about it as a routine thing that happens in life. In other words, finding a girlfriend wasn't just a stage in my life that I had expected.

I know from my own observations that becoming a couple can be seen as an event that happens quite often. It could have been that way if I just followed the guidance of the future that was laid out for me when I was still growing up. You might get a sense of what is supposed to happen in life. At some point, boys will be into girls as the most important thing to them and vice versa.

Have you ever heard the song "That's the Way I've Always Heard It Should Be?" by Carly Simon? 

It's peaceful and sweet but there is a sense that there is a bit of melancholy as she sings:
"My friends from college they're all married now
They have their houses and their lawns
They have their silent noons
Tearful nights, angry dawns
Their children hate them for the things they're not
They hate themselves for what they are
And yet they drink, they laugh
Close the wound, hide the scar"

This was not like that. I had seen "love" in my family and elsewhere and this wasn't that. What I had seen was routine. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be, we weren't boyfriend and girlfriend because that was the way I always heard it should be. 

This was our own experience.

Also, Carly Simon seems to overuse the word "hate" regarding children hating their parents. Do any children hate their parents really? Hate is a feeling and not a choice in some instances and that feeling was something that I have felt but that's another story. 

Getting back to Lynn and our love...

A touch, a look, a smile, was a declaration of our love. We were two poets sharing our love publicly like reciting a poem.

The same could be said if someone saw us kiss. I'm not saying we kissed passionately in public and made others uncomfortable, but it was slower and more expressive – a slight pause to make sure our eyes met, a smile first, then a gentle meeting of our lips.

Some of the substance of this chapter includes things that I thought about holding back for later to avoid being repetitive. Our relationship would grow in intensity and I might want to describe a slightly similar scenario again.

If we had argued and she got upset, for me, I felt bad about us being mad. I would approach her, smile, say "I really love you and I'm really sorry." She would smile with amusement because she couldn't stay mad no matter how much she wanted to.

I hope it is obvious that it would not be acceptable for us to lose our temper and slap or hit. I just don't remember the substance of the arguments. That should be obvious and a given fact in every single relationship... but I have heard from females who were hit by their husbands. 

Let me jump ahead a bit to present how an argument might play out. I don't even know what we were fighting about but it got to the point that we were going out together for a book signing event in which our friend Jean Jones was releasing a chapbook of his at a coffee shop downtown. I was driving.

I think my brother and his girlfriend were with us. Note that the fight was not enough to keep us from our plans. Anyway, we took a seat upstairs. We sat down together without saying anything. I announced, "I'm going downstairs, I'll be back."

I walked downstairs and then approached Jean. "Let me get two copies, Jean," I said. Can you sign one to or for Lynn, please?"

I then ordered an iced tea and walked upstairs. Lynn had a sullen look on her face as I rounded the table. I guess she had not noticed the iced tea or maybe she didn't notice that it was prepared the way she liked it with a lemon.

I first handed her the chapbook and said, "This for you, Jean signed one for you, too."

Lynn looked at me and a smile spread across her face – an amused smile as she briefly looked at our guests and then back at me. "How can I stay mad at you when you do this?" She said with amusement.

I responded, "well, it doesn't mean that I don't love you just because we are fighting."

Anyway, that night my brother left soon after that either because he was bored or because he sensed that Lynn and I wanted time alone. I hesitate to give him too much credit for sensing such things. The ice had broken between Lynn and me and we wanted to make up for the lost time that evening.

What attracted me and what I shared with Lynn...

One of the things I mentioned above, in this chapter and earlier, was about her dreams, goals, interests in life. Perhaps she would get a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree. Oh, she also spoke of getting her own kiln – it's used for baking pottery (after you shape the pottery it must be put in the kiln). Anyway, I had not talked about my goals and plans.

Lynn was very practical, I noticed, and this was attractive to me. When I spoke about my plans or ideas for the future – e.g., my graduate education plans or job opportunities – she would ask questions, let me bounce ideas off her. I would be thinking out loud in a way. 

I would think out loud to her, saying "So, this is what I need to learn as I move into a career in the helping professions or the psychiatric field...." and I would discuss how I was thinking of paying for graduate school – yes, there are loans specifically for this purpose.

It was refreshing to have someone again who would hold my desires for success as I defined it in such high regard.

A deepening of the relationship...

As the relationship grew and we approached the second year the topic of marriage was being discussed by both of us. This was a conversation that emerged naturally, organically. It wasn't something that should or ought to happen. It just happened.

I am in a park,
somewhere.

I see a bird,
a black swan
with green markings—
an elaborate, abstract pattern.

I turn away.
When I look back,
the bird is gone.

In its place—
a beautiful black woman.

I am drawn to her,
instantly,
without hesitation.

She approaches,
her eyes knowing.

"You act as if you
do not know me."

"Should I?"

"I have always been part of you.
The source of your comfort,
what you have sought
to find."

"Come with me,"
she says.

And I follow—

as light merges with light,
nothing lost,
nothing cast back in shadow.

Commentary:

This was a dream I had decades ago, partially during hypnosis. At the time, I wasn’t sure why it stayed with me, but now I realize it was revealing something I hadn’t fully questioned before.

As I was thinking about sharing this poem, I noticed a decorative black bird outside a house and thought, aren’t most swans white? That small moment led me to reflect on how deeply language and perception shape what we see as beautiful, valued, and familiar.

Western culture has long associated blackness with negativity, invisibility, or being "less than." The term “black sheep” carries an undeserved stigma. And yet, in my dream—without hesitation, without doubt—what I saw was warmth, beauty, and familiarity.

Why is that?

Why does society condition us to overlook what is naturally beautiful, what is already there?

And why—if culture has ingrained these biases so deeply—did I instinctively feel something so different at my core?

I’ve read about these biases in social psychology research, I’ve heard them in conversations, and I know how powerfully they shape perception. But if so much of society operates under this framework—why did my subconscious reject it so completely?

Psychologically, warmth is associated with comfort—skin against skin, touch, presence. White, in some contexts, represents coldness, sickness, or sterility (white as a sheet), while darker skin often feels physically warmer to the touch.

But do most people notice this?

Or does society teach us to ignore, to devalue, to assume something else?

This dream forced me to confront how instinct and cultural conditioning are often at odds. While I had been taught one narrative, my deepest self saw something different—something true.

Maybe this is an invitation for others to ask themselves:

What have I been taught to see? And what might I truly recognize—if I let myself?

The summer flowed into fall and colder months, with colder nights.

In November, we went to the beach dressed in warm coats... the sun had set and it was dark. We climbed a lifeguard's platform. We were standing. The wind blew across the dark beach making it even colder.

"It's cold," she said as she turned in the direction of the ocean. I was behind her looking in the same direction. I wrapped my arms around her from behind her.

I was confused about my physical arousal. This had not been the first time I noticed this happening. I was still haunted by religious brainwashing but everything that was happening was so right. I'm not just talking about this night. Our feelings, passions, desires spoke making everything seem so inevitable.

Don't imagine, dear reader, that during this time period I am leaving out details about what happened. You don't have to wonder if I left out details about whether we went further than kissing or holding each other. I'll get more specific, in a moment, about what was happing during this time period.

I felt a sense of peace in my life. As winter moved into Wilmington, I found work in the human services field working with individuals with developmental disabilities and other similar problems. It's amazing how we can find solutions that match our career trajectory when we are psychologically healthy.

Lynn and I would kiss so passionately at my place when the roommates were out and at her place on Wrightsville Beach. My roommate Donna had rented a second room to a nice girl named Terri.
 

It was awkward when I showed up to see Lynn at her place and her stepfather, Bob, was there because he was not much into making conversation. He spent almost one week every month at the house. He was a pilot for one of the big airlines and so he made good money. I felt like I had to make some conversation with him because technically it was his house along with Diane, Lynn's mother. My parents would have made it known if this was their home.

At one point, I had to ask Lynn, "should I be more polite to him and think of things to say?" I asked her.

She said "no, he's just like that. If he doesn't talk, you don't have to talk to him."

This is what I mean by Lynn having a strong sense of self-esteem. No one was going to control her or disrespect her! I wish I had maintained that attitude with my own family as preparation for how I should insist that everyone treat me. There was nothing shy about Lynn when it came to her life, what she wanted, how she expected to be treated.

It was just awkward from time to time when he was there. If he answered the door, he would just say "come on in" and then shout "Lynn."

I would then hear, "coming" from Lynn.

Bob didn't try to make conversation. He acted as if I wasn't there. So, I didn't say anything either. There was no "thank you for inviting me in." "How are you today, Bob?" Still, if we were hanging out together in a common room and Bob was there, I didn't like Lynn to walk away because if Bob came walking by it felt awkward because he didn't speak.

I didn't need his approval though. It also was clear that what we did together was none of Bob's business!

Lynn's Character & Intimacy at Her Place

Lynn was quiet at the poetry readings or elsewhere. She wasn't looking for recognition or attention in those settings. She wasn't trying to achieve something. I remembered going canoeing with some of the regulars at the poetry readings. I thought I was the newbie at the readings much more than Lynn was. But then I remember this guy named Will referring to Lynn as "the girl in the canoe with Bruce."

Lynn had been coming to these readings longer than I had. She even had a degree in English like most of the other regulars. To me, it had seemed that she would be the one who fits in more naturally with this crowd.

Anyway, Lynn knew I felt a bit awkward with Bob in the house so we would go to her room and shut the door. We talked for hours - when we talked.

It was so refreshing to have this privacy. Her mother would stay for a week every once in a while, but she completely respected Lynn's privacy.

Most of the time we were alone.

I was confused about my body's reaction when I was kissing Lynn so passionately on her bed. I wasn't trying to get aroused sexually but it was happening.

I have to talk about Lynn's medical condition. Lynn was born with Cystic Fibrosis (CF) which affects breathing. Her frequent cough made that obvious. CF causes excess mucus to build up in her body and that causes problems with the lungs and her digestive system. She had to take pills when we went out to eat to help with digestion.

So, as we were getting passionate, on her bed, from time to time, she seemed to want or welcome me being on top of her when we were kissing. I was careful to support my weight to be sure that I wasn't creating problems for her breathing.

I asked "am I heavy? can you breathe okay?"

This scene was somewhat common. You will note that I haven't mentioned getting undressed during this.

There we were... I was on top of her, and I was trying to support myself. I asked, "Am I too heavy?"

She paused for a moment to answer "No" and then drew me closer to continue kissing me - yeah, French kissing as they say. I was surprised that she didn't need to come up for air more often. Anyway, our mouths would part, and our tongues were intertwined. It seemed natural as if it was instinctual. It was mutual... and inescapable. 

I could feel her arms wrapped around me holding me as we kissed. I didn't have to worry about her breathing because she held me so tightly. It seemed like she was telling me to stop interrupting and asking this question.

Of course, she would tell me if I was heavy, and we would shift positions.

On one such occasion, I was on top of her kissing her passionately, my hand underneath her back, sliding down toward her waist. Her arms were wrapped around me. I could feel our hearts beating against each other, her breasts pressed against me. Her shirt was loose-fitting.

My hand first slid under her shirt and against her back. It seemed like my fingers were erogenous zones. I felt her soft skin, as my hand caressed her back and then her arms.

As I supported my weight with my left arm, my right hand moved across her stomach and up the side of her body. She squeezed more tightly. I could feel my heart beating against her - fast and loud. I could hear it beating.

She didn't seem to notice that I was aroused as our waists pressed against each other.

Her arms slid under my shirt and she held tight. She preferred to squeeze me tight, and I preferred moving my hands against her body, caressing her. I didn't stop to tell her to do the same to me, caress me. I didn't want to interrupt what was happening. She seemed to be holding me tight to tell me not to stop. It was a signal of "don't interrupt." 

It would require an interruption for her to actually say that.

I slid a bit to my left and moved my hand toward her breasts. I was so excited as I reached under her bra and caressed her breasts. I was concerned that my hand pressing against her left breast would be uncomfortable, so I moved my hand over to reach under the top of her bra toward her right breast.

This was frustrating for her too. She sat up and loosened her bra and let it drop off. She was still wearing her shirt at that point. I moved toward her and she met me. Her body seemed to be telling me she wanted, needed, or hungered for this to happen.

As we resumed, I caressed her breasts feeling waves of excitement.

I hated to pause because that allowed intrusive ideas to interfere with what was happening and to create confusion... religious ideas (brainwashing) that had filled my head from childhood.

I was reacting sexually even though we were not having sex. This wasn't genital contact... yet.

I felt embarrassed and confused when I had to clean myself secretly in the bathroom right next to her bed. It reminded me of being a child and discovering how it felt and what happened when I rubbed my genitalia. The release of fluid had seemed like something that needed to be kept secret – hidden. So, that instinct was still there, unwanted and just confusing.

The idea of hiding my reaction from Lynn made me feel ashamed like I regretted what was happening. This was a foreshadowing of what would happen later when we were living together. My head had been filled with all these religious ideas that were just so confusing and messed with my mind. To imply that I regretted making us feel good and physically demonstrating my feelings would be wrong and hurtful to Lynn.

In these earliest moments of passion, during this first year together, everything seemed so right  - our bodies were speaking to one another each time we were intimate, not sexual but intimate. My body was responding as if it was sexual.

This scenario could describe more than one such occasion when we were together.

I was not thinking about the depth of our intimacy and how far we had gone in terms of sexual or sensual intimacy. What I mean is that while I felt that annoying instinctual shame about how my body was reacting, I didn't think that we did anything wrong. This was the most physically intimate I had been in my life.

Yes, dear reader, if it's not obvious, I was still a virgin like Lynn. I was so amazed that Lynn had been available when I met her in 92 because she looked so beautiful to me. But she wasn't like other women who needed to be in a relationship.

If you are wondering as to why we didn't go further, why we didn't remove our clothing when we were alone in her room at her home with no one else in the home... it was more of a problem with me. Lynn was aware that I was Catholic and that I went to church on Sundays or Saturday evenings. Fondling and sensual caressing was one thing, but she understood that one thing would lead to another if she had started to undress. 

I know this in light of how she acted after we were living together. She knew that sex was a hangup that I had as a Christain and not something that bothered her as much.

Lynn wasn't shy about asking for what she wanted or acting upon her desires. Neither one of us was coercive but there are ways to act that signal a desire for closeness. I've always seen in TV shows and movies where it is the female in a relationship that wants to wait.

I suppose she was looking for signs as to how far I wanted to go. 

The Christmas holiday approached, and I was talking to my roommates about taking some photographs of a neighborhood that really went all out in decorating their homes around Christmas. 

That's when my roommates, Donna and Terri said they wanted pictures of Lynn and me together. We decorated a tree and they asked us to pose together in different ways. It felt good to know that this somehow meant something to my roommates.

I noticed how comfortable I was now with Lynn. 

The best gift that Christmas for me was what Lynn told me. I was telling her how uncertain I had been about whether she was interested in me early on in our relationship. She laughed and said, "I'm glad you were so persistent."

Okay, so I was right. At first, she wasn't invested as much in the relationship as I was.

I thought I can't imagine anything better than hearing what I was hearing now. To know that she was glad that I was so persistent. This said so much to me. We had both in our own ways found that this relationship happened to us in ways that were unexpected.  

I'm definitely going to embrace this life with Lynn.

Lynn and I were "an item" and that felt so right. I never took things for granted. I would savor every little thing as if my mind was taking snapshots to populate an imaginary photo album within my mind.

Remember Dusty, the emcee for the poetry readings? She worked at the Coastline Convention Center as I mentioned. Because she was so welcoming, I would go there alone sometimes or arrive alone before Lynn joined me. Dusty would ask about Lynn and what was happening with her... how she was doing.

So, among our social circle, people saw us as a couple. Still, there were some formalities to be discussed.  
 

There is something that is so very profound about this story. I honestly never knew anyone who was so interested in me and no one had made me so happy. This is an observation I was making as the story moves into April of 1990.

As I mentioned at the end of the last chapter, things got better after she settled into an apartment in Athens. Something amazing was happening because she had been living a life previously that threatened her health and was characterized by excessive drinking. Her weight had been so low that it threatened her life. I can discern these facts. 

What was different now? Our connection had undeniably made a difference. 

I knew my parents were extremely judgmental of others. So, I was keeping this relationship to myself. I had enough to deal with when it came to them without getting into a fight if they said anything derogatory. Still, their lack of curiosity was strange.

I was calling Celta every night. We talked for at least an hour. At some point in May, I started telling Celta "I love you" every time we spoke. Just as I was saying goodbye with a promise to call the next day and she would answer, "I love you too." I felt butterflies in my stomach. After I put the phone down, I would look up at the ceiling with a smile on my face.

Most of the time I came on Sundays. She had suggested the Botanical Gardens in Athens. They had a flower bed in front of the main building. In April the pansies were in bloom. I was looking at them holding Celta's hand as we imagined what kind of expression they had on their yellow or violet faces.

Inside the building, they had exotic plants with different names. Some were trees with variously shaped green leaves. A wide range of flowers. Some of the trees sprouted flowers as well. There was a restaurant upstairs and another downstairs. It always seemed too quiet, and Celta didn't even mention eating there. We would walk around the grounds most of the time. They had paths or trails with various plants labeled along the way. Along the parking lot, there was a place that was slightly woodsy.

During this time, when we were apart, she continued to compose hand-written letters to me, and we found things to talk about on the phone every day.

I would treasure those letters. Her letters made me feel like I was with her even when we were apart. I would read them again and again. There is something magical about a person sharing their most intimate thoughts and observations in real-time, uncensored - a stream of consciousness observation.

"I think it is amazing," I said to Celta.

"What?"

"Well, your letters to me are about your experiences and observations. Yet they feel like gifts to me. I used to think that we should not just talk about ourselves and our own feelings. That's not true."

During this time, I would often go to the Catholic Church with my parents and my brother on Saturday evenings. Then I would drive to Athens on Sunday.

Celta started going to the AA – alcoholics anonymous – meetings in the mornings. I thought that her anorexia and the psychological were equally serious, but I was too new in the psychiatric field to know what would be best for her. She told me to come with her.

I said, "are you sure I can?"

"Yes, it's an open meeting."

"Okay."

I sat there holding her hand... occasionally looking around... often my eyes rested on her while she seemed to be listening.

Just before the end of the meeting she gestured to get up and said we can go now. She had told me her religion was Episcopalian which is similar to Catholicism which I had known. As we got up and started walking out the front door away from where we parked and toward the church, holding hands, I felt ten feet tall, that feeling I would have with her.

Sometimes we showed up a bit early and stood outside where they had the meetings. We stood there, arms around each other, looking at each other, lost in words, dreams, and our own world.

One time I stepped away to use a restroom that was in another area and some people were talking. Some of the literature caught my eye. I was feeling a bit out of place though. A guy and a woman approached me. "I'm Linda," said the woman. The guy said, "Oh, you're Celta's boyfriend."

Without a second thought, I just said "Yes," and said we are going to church now. I had not even thought about what I had just said until later and it just brought a smile to my face when I reflected upon the moment. For some reason, I didn't mention that to Celta.

I walked upstairs and found Celta standing by herself in the hallway. I smiled and wrapped the fingers of my right hand into the fingers on her left hand and we walked toward the doorway passing others who were congregating. It felt like a formal procession. That's why they assumed we were boyfriend and girlfriend. What else would one think?

On this occasion, after the meeting ended, we walked toward the front door our fingers intertwined. I opened the doors for both of us hearing the lyrics from the song "Miracles" by Jefferson Starship drifting through my mind. What is so profound about this song is that there is a very sensual and sexual nature to the song in places and yet that never happened with Celta and me. But the lyrics that repeat, "love you so, love you so," were words that I would have communicated to Celta. Anyway, as I remember this the lyrics continue as follows:  

If only you believe in
miracles, baby
so would I
{pause}

I might have to move
heaven and earth to prove
it to you, baby

We walked like this the short distance to the church. I spotted Faye, Celta's mother and we walked there. I slid down the row and next to her mother with Celta on my right – me in the middle. No one gestured for Celta to sit in the middle next to her mother.

On another visit, Celta mentioned that she had met a guy named David at one of the AA meetings and asked if we could visit him. I took it like she was reaching out to help someone like I might do the same. He was staying in a residential facility for people with alcohol problems.

When we got there, I noticed the long entrance roadway into the place. It was a nice summer day with the green grass flowing over a gentle hill.

"Were you here before?" I asked her.

"A couple of years ago for about a month."

We found David and decided to walk a bit toward a shaded area. I reached for Celta's left hand and she took my hand. I guess I felt a little jealous. She looked at me and just smiled. I managed a smile back.

There was another visit where Celta asked to visit David again. I couldn't let her down, but I wanted my time with her. No, she wasn't looking at David like she looked at me. I was a bit surprised at my feelings. I was slightly upset but didn't say anything. As I took her hand we walked a bit and then she reached out to take David's hand too with a playful childlike look on her face.

We were near a swing set. "Have a seat, I'll push you," I said.

I pulled her forward a bit and pushed her back.

David started to talk about something then his voice trailed off.

I was pushing Celta away and she would return. Not too far, just past the triangular poles of the swing set. Her brown hair caught the sun at the farthest crest – just to the right of her head. Everything was quiet. Our eyes were locked. She smiled that look that said she was happy to be with me. I mouthed the words "I love you" silently, and she smiled, in a rhythm with the swing, as she was closest.

It was hypnotic. We breathed with each cycle of her moving toward me and then away.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed David shift a bit almost restless. I then felt bad for him. Celta had not averted her gaze from me. She seemed content.

After another few moments, I noticed she was wanting to swing higher. I wondered, "could she fall?" and then gently caught her legs and said, "what if you fall?"

She just smiled.

"It's getting late," I said.

On another visit, we went to a zoo that was near the Botanical Gardens. They had some black bears, a few monkeys, a few wolves, foxes, a bobcat, snakes, turkeys, dear – not in the same enclosure, of course. It was called Bear Hollow Zoo.

I told Celta that this felt like I was going on a vacation when I came. An escape. A getaway – that's a good word.

I got to meet her father too. He was nice and he took some photos of us.

The time I spent with Celta seemed to sustain me through the workweek.

I have no idea why but there was a period of just over a week in early September where she had another drinking binge. I wasn't mad, I was mystified by what happened.

Then things seemed normal again with our relationship. I felt comfortable with her.

It seemed like she picked up on my feelings around this time and the sense that I was hurt and scared. It wasn't like she intended any harm to me. If she had this problem for all these years and it had been so troublesome to everyone, what was different now?

She seemed a bit off the next time I saw her. I guess it was like she felt shame for her problems and the impact they might have on me. I had mentioned previously how someone who knew the family told me that Celta was just a user and manipulator. Those are words I knew that people say to people like Celta hoping to motivate them to change.

But she was beating her problems.

When she had been in the psychiatric hospital, I remember they said they worried that if she died within 30 days of her release, they would be libel. So, it seemed like she had to gain a certain amount of weight. It seemed like they then changed their mind and decided that they can't keep her forever. It had been a grim prognosis and it offended me. But she had lasted all these months and seemed okay despite being so thin.

It felt like love had saved her – not just my love for her but her love for me – our mutual love.

We began talking about our relationship and the nature of the relationship. She had this pensive look on her face as if she was remembering something as she looked away, out the window. Then she said, "I love you, but I am not in love."

"Okay, because... I don't know either what we have." I answered. "And..." I started to say something. "I don't know what to say. I haven't thought about things like this before."

It was a late summer day in September. What was my question way back when she had looked up at the TV and saw a video of the song "I don't know much, but I know I love you?"

Nothing had changed in the following weeks when I saw her. For example, the following week I came and at one point she took a seat on her bed and I looked down at her smiling with a feeling of joy almost bordering on amusement as I looked into her eyes. She was looking up and she had a look on her face like she was in love or delighted by something. I want to say she had a look that conveyed a sense of some "hunger", but she was just looking.

When I sat down next to her on her bed, I was on her left and I touched her right leg. I was thinking that I wanted to be closer, to feel her body next to mine. She moved her legs over mine. My hand rested against her lower back. Her arms went around me.

I felt peaceful, serene. Nothing was said. We just smiled at one another. I could feel every place where our bodies touched. It wasn't exciting but peaceful. I could feel a tingling feeling and chills. Slow and repeated like some wave.

I felt peaceful, serene. Nothing was said. We just smiled at one another. I could feel every place where our bodies touched. It wasn't exciting but peaceful. I could feel a tingling feeling and chills. Slow and repeated like some wave.

The fall moved into the Georgia area and the air-cooled. The leaves were falling off the trees.

We came to the place where the pathway met the parking lot. I looked up to an area in the trees. I was thinking that it was cool enough that there wouldn't be any snakes. I gestured to the left. "Up there, it will be a little private for us." I said adding, "I don't want to be disturbed by the others.

I was telling her what to me didn't sound very exciting - just something about where I used to go hiking when I was growing up. This somewhat reminded me of that. We had woods behind our house where we lived when I was growing up. I was saying that just behind our house the woods didn't go very deep. We were unpacking the food we brought.

I looked up and she seemed transfixed with her full and complete attention on me.

Wow! I almost wanted to ask, "what do you see in me that is so interesting or exciting?" but that didn't seem necessary with Celta or maybe it didn't seem appropriate to me. We had a connection. Wow! What was it that was happening? I had never noticed anyone so interested in me. It was almost as if I had hypnotized her.

Later, I would think, "that was a moment I should capture in a poem."

How did holding hands feel so special? Or her listening to me with interest? Or how can non-sexual touching feel so powerful?

Moments later we were walking hand-in-hand. My mind drifted to the various feelings that I had. Sometimes I had felt peace, calmness, serenity. Other times I felt excited or aroused. That's hard to talk about because I had not even been in the habit of talking about those things with myself.

We would exist in a place of tranquility, peace, and serenity. I tell her, "I can just stay here with you forever."

This section begins with some background about me and what it was like growing up and continues on through my years at Georgia Tech. Originally, the plan was for me to learn about engineering but instead, I would learn social skills, psychology and ways to overcome my social anxiety.