I was married then. Married with two beautiful children the first time we met. He had come to our village to trade and to speak with the elders. I knew the first time I looked into his eyes that there would be some kind of trouble while he was there.
I met him briefly when my father and husband introduced him to the village. There were stories about him, stories of his battles, his magic, his conquests. He was a warrior from a medicine clan and he kept looking at me. Later that night, after the elders of the village had met with him, we all enjoyed the feast of venison that the hunters had brought back that day. I had just come back from putting my children to sleep when I heard the argument.
My husband and this stranger were arguing. The stranger wanted to take me as his but my husband, who I loved greatly, was fighting him. I stood at the edge of the firelight and watched the two men struggle. No one interfered, I think they all feared the stranger too much to step in. As the stranger plunged his knife into my husband’s chest he looked up and smiled, staring right into my eyes.
The stranger then stood, walked to me and tossed me over his shoulder and strode into the night. I was so shocked that I could not even resist at first. Shocked that my husband was dead, that no one had intervened, and mostly shocked at my own body’s reaction to the feral look in the stranger’s eyes when he looked at me earlier.
We were well into the forest when I came to my senses and started to struggle against him. With a chuckle he set me down and shook his head then proceeded to explain to me that I was his now, my old life was dead and that I would give him strong sons. That is when I decided enough was enough and kicked him square in the shin. Then I ran as fast as I could back toward the village.
Behind me I heard a howl, not a howl of pain but the howl of a wolf, and even more frightened I ran faster crying out my fathers name, hoping someone would come out to help me. I was so focused on getting back to my village and my children that I did not hear or see anything around me, that is until I ran smack into a naked chest… I looked up with a slight whimper realizing who I would see and caught a glimpse of golden eyes like a wolf for a split second then his eyes returned to normal.
He grabbed my hands, bound them with rope then ties the other end of the rope to his own wrist, then without another word he started walking away from the only home I had ever known.
I hated him then. I hated him for killing the man I loved, I hated him for taking me from my children, I hated him for taking me from my home. At every chance I shower him how much I hated him. I spat at him when he stopped to give me water, I bit him when he tried to feed me, I kicked and clawed at him whenever he came near, always shouting how much I hated him, how he was a devil to have taken me from my family and my home.
Even with my temper flaring, feet kicking, and teeth biting he was gentle and patient with me. Never did he raise his voice to me, nor did he treat me unkindly, other than my hands being always bound, through the entire journey.
His home was well outside of the village; an ancient woman looked up and nodded as we approached. She said something I did not understand and he chuckled and lead me into the house. Inside, there was a young woman tending a fire that smiled warmly as we entered. She frowned and smacked the man on the arm as she untied my hands explaining to me that I was safe and that she would help me get used to being around her brute of a brother. For some reason I felt at ease around this woman and it was not long before I came to see her as a friend and a sister. Her brother on the other hand, well it took me much longer to get to any point of being able to even speak to him.
--------------------------
I remember the first time I saw him. He was sitting at a table in a local café having a cup of coffee. His jeans were torn, the t-shirt that clung to his chest had seen better days and it looked like he had not been near a razor in at least a week. While I waited in line for my drink I overheard him chatting with one of his buddies. Snatches of conversation; “tropical paradise” and “lousy protesters” rang in my ears.
That was the year the war would end. So many of the men coming back from overseas had been treated like dirt. Spit on, called baby killers and monsters. To me it looked like this guy had been facing the brunt of that kind of abuse.
As I turned and made my way out of the café I glanced his way and our eyes met. His beautiful green eyes ringed in gold looked sad and tired. I smiled to him and made my way out. It wasn’t time yet.
A week or so later I was running an errand to one of the alphabet soup buildings there in town when I saw him again. This time he was all spit and polish. The lines of his green dress uniform crisp and clean, his face now clean of whiskers was even more striking as he stood at ease in the hallway. I smiles to him again as I walked past and chuckled to myself as recognition and confusion showed for just a fraction of a second on his well schooled features. After my meeting with the director I slipped out hoping to see him again but he was gone.
Off and on during the next few months I would happen across him during my various trips to the agency. Each time it seemed that thought he was all spit and polish that the shadows in his eyes seemed to deepen. There seemed to be an air around him of pain and sorrow. I could never put my finger on it but it was there like a taste in the back of my mouth that I could not ever fully identify.
He also haunted my dreams..
At first it was just dreams about a dark stranger. Dark as in I could not identify him. We would sit and talk and whenever I asked his name he just chuckled and I woke up. Then as time moved on I began to piece together his story. He was born in
It was after one of these dreams that I woke in the middle of the night and realized that I had to see him. I quickly dressed and hailed a cab. I knew where I was going even thought I had never looked up his address, I didn’t even know his full name. I just knew where I had to go and what I had to do.
The cab driver must have thought I was insane when I told him to stop before the apartment building. It was not the best part of town and the cabby could tell by my clothing that I was not your usual fare. But I insisted and he finally relented making sure to press his card into my hand as I paid him. “Just in case” he smiled. I nodded and made my way into the apartment building. Guided by an unseen hand I made my way to the door I knew to be his.
I closed my eyes and raised my hand to knock but before I was able to he door opened and he stood before me. For just a moment there was a flash of surprise in his eyes then that disappeared into the depths of sorrow that seemed to cry out to me from those oddly colored eyes. Without a word he motioned me to enter and walked to the small kitchen to grab a bottle of scotch and two glasses. I took off my coat and took a seat at the table. It was odd but it was almost as if he was expecting me. I watched him move through the kitchen his bare torso speckled with scars yet muscular and darkly tanned. His jeans still looking a bit worn were tight and admittedly looked nice on his strong legs.
When he sat down at the table and filled both glasses then slid one over to me we just sat there for a while looking at each other.
“I didn’t think you would really come..” His voice was so soft that it startled me. His sorrow filled eyes never leaving mine as he spoke.
With that one soft comment we began to talk. Well he did most of the talking. I listened and offered comments and support when I thought he needed it. Through the course of the next few hours we laughed and talked and cried and talked some more. I learned more about him in that one night than I think anyone else ever had.
It was soon apparent that he was tired and without missing a beat he asked me if I would lay down with him until he fell asleep. I said yes and we moved from the kitchen into the bedroom. Without an ounce of bashfulness he slipped off his jeans and climbed into the worn bed. I curled up next to him. We talked for a while longer then the words turned to kisses. The kisses developed into caresses and before long we were deep in each others embrace. We shared such passion that night, a passion that I would never forget, even a lifetime later.
One of the things that struck me was the way he let me hold him as he wept. When his tears were dry and the sun had began to rise in the sky I kissed him goodbye and left, with the thought that it would be another life before I saw those eyes again.
…………….
It was thirty years and another life when I saw those eyes again. My fiancée at the time had met this “really cool guy” at work and for weeks insisted that I come meet this fellow. I finally relented and let him drag me up to the shop to meet this guy that my fiancée had put on such a pedestal. I stepped into the shop and stopped cold in my tracks. I could feel him. I knew who it was even before I walked across the shop to the table in the back. I tried to turn around and leave but my fiancée was holding my hand and pulled me toward what I knew was the moment when everything changed. I finally shuffled my way back and moved around the last case and my eyes fell into his. Hazel eyes with a gold ring around the iris, I knew those eyes. The face was older but I knew it was him, even before he spoke.
I knew him but I didn’t think he knew me. I was a different person, a different face a different voice. I figured it was safe enough to sit and talk with him. I knew he would not remember that night, nor would he remember me in the shape I had. That was the beginning of it all. Or I should say the restart of an old love affair…
But of course that is a story for another time, one when I am able to tell or our present and our future. This is the time for remembrance. And that is the memory of when I first met the man who had been and would be my greatest love.
Tami