MiraculousPart 8I wish he'd give the fags up. My god - when he gets a chest infection, his lungs sound like a pair of old bellows! I'm not kidding! He wasn't ill long, he's a fighter, but how the hell he managed for the first two days, I will never know! Stupid bugger! When I got home, after two weeks in isolation, up the tree with Bill, it was to find Mr "I can manage, Pete! It's okay!" lying on the sofa, coughing his heart up. He managed a bleary look over the top of his glasses. "Hi, Dob." I gathered I was Dob. I went ballistic! How long had he been like this? Two days. Had he had the doctor out? Snort - hastily blown nose. Had he any medication, for fuck's sake? Packet of throat sweets. I went ballistic again. Tucked up in bed with decongestants and antibiotics, he charmed me all over again, by falling asleep on my chest, and dribbling down my t-shirt. Love is a many splendoured thing. Take the bad with the good. I held him in my arms for the two days I was home, and that was enough - just to be near him. And, no, I didn't catch his cold! "I Lub you, Dob!", he whispered in my ear, as I left, Sunday night. I Lubbed him, too. * I decided on the night that I would give him the Book, and my poem. His birthday. He was nineteen. God - nineteen! He was older than me for fuck's sake...and he was nineteen. We had a party, naturally. And he got pissed, naturally. So, having foreknowledge, before we left for the Do, I presently decided to present him with his present. Funny bloody thing, the English language. One word, three meanings! But there was only one meaning in my heart when I cleared my throat, and said, "Lighe, I've got another little present for you, babe." His face lit up like a fucking beacon. "I've got one for you, too, dude! Y'know, Hobbit fashion - give presents on your birthday! Hang on!" He rushed into the bedroom, and came back with a piece of paper. He offered it to me, blushing. "I didn't write it", he said, hastily. "I found it on the net - but it reminded me so much of the willow tree...and... us." I read it. It did. He looked at me like a small puppy unsure of its reception after chewing a slipper. "Yes?", he asked. "Yes!", I said. Then I gave him a kiss, and the book. He opened it, and read the inscription. * "To the god of my idolatry, my Lighe. Yours forever, Dominic." and then, my poem. "I wondered, idly, what a poem should be - and then, I thought ..."I love you"...and that's poem enough for me." "I wrote it myself. I love you!", I choked, seeing his face crumble. "I love you!" "Sblom! Love!" We held each other in a death grip for what seemed like hours. Just standing there, whispering into each other's ears. As if any fucker could hear us! Billy and Orli barged in to collect us, took one look, and went back out, closing the door quietly behind them. "Lighe, I hope the future will be as happy for us as the present is. I hope so, anyway. I love you, baby!" "I love you, Sblom. God willing!" We went out into the night, hand in hand. On the other side of the door, I let go. When we got in the back of the car, with Billy and Orli grinning at us like loons, I held his hand, again. If this was how it was going to be - I'd take it! It hurt, not to be able to shout to the world "look, this fucking gorgeous man is mine!", but I can cope. As long as I can kiss him behind the door, fuck what happens in front of it! I know it hurts him, too - but, as we sat in Billy's the next night, listening to the cd that reminded us of our beginning - I thought that, in time, the miracle of love's wounding might heal the hurt in both of us... who knows? The End |