Taboo

Keywords: Eros, Psyche, and,

Sitting by the hospital bed, he held her hand lightly and read to her quietly. All her life she had been an avid reader of the classic tales of Greek/Roman mythology, losing herself in the yarns of larger than life humans, gods, and the other beings no matter how many times she had read them. Ancient wise men had wove tales intending to show a moral that the being on the receiving end of the tale could use and apply to their own life no matter how different the circumstances may be from the characters portrayed. While she read many different genres of writing, she always slid back to reading those heroic epics.

From time to time nurses and other hospital staff would come into the room to do what they needed, explaining to him what they were doing then exiting quietly. Once they were alone again he would resume, his well-modulated voice, one that seemed to have the characteristics of an actor who had spent their lifetime perfecting their craft, would fill the quiet room with a soft, gentle timber. Yes, he understood that there was no way of knowing if she could hear him or not, the doctors had explained that to him early on, but even if there was just a tiny chance she could he wanted to make sure that she knew he was there. It was unrealistic for him to think he could be there all the time with her, he knew he couldn't his life marched on like it or not and there were such things and work and bills to pay, but he spent all the time he could with her. When he couldn't be there, he left some of her favorite music and the staff played it quietly.

In the times he was with her, that was every evening until 10 pm; he would read or just talk with her. It wasn't anything enormous or thought provoking, just telling her what went on during his day or current events. Unlike so many people who were in a similar situation, he had no problems touching her. Yes, she was in a coma and didn't respond but she was still his wife, the woman he loved more than life itself. The majority of the time he was in the room with her he held her hand or was touching her in some way. It was his hope that she would feel that and know he was with her. In fact, that was one of the first things he asked about after the accident. As with the query about hearing him they said they didn't know but there was a chance she could. Clinging to that chance, he made sure he did, knowing with the part of himself that would always be connected with her that somehow, some way she knew.

To say that he had an unconventional childhood would be an understatement. Often times he had heard his parents described as the last of the flower children, something he learned later on was a very apt description. Unlike so many of their generation who had put away the beads and ideals then became the powerbrokers they stuck to many of the ideals that the movement had been founded on. Yes, they had moved into the 'normal' world and taken jobs like everyone else but they had not left behind the ideals and causes they had felt so strongly about. Staunch environmentalists, they had both been on the forefront of the movement to push for 'green' technology. As much as they could, they grew their own food and recycled. Long before there was much of a push for it, he and his sister had been home-schooled. When his mother had become pregnant with him, she quit teaching at the local university to devote her time to raising him. It was from that commitment that the home schooling came from.

Looking back, he always smiled when it thought about it. As an adult he knew he had been given a much better and more well-rounded education than anyone who went to public school. While he studied all the same subject others his age did he was able to get a more rounded and better view of things than public schools gave students. Rather than just go through the plain, vanilla basics of a subject they read and learned all sides of the issue. Not only has that, but some subjects they learned 'hands on'. While going through and discussing the Native Americans they spent a week on a 'field trip' to a nearby reservation to learn from that point of view the history. Museums, art galleries, concerts, etc were all part of the education process for them. That part had always stuck with him longer than the words in the books had. When you learned about those things by seeing, touching and being around them you had a better appreciation or understanding of what you needed to know.

While his mothers teaching methods might have been unorthodox, that wasn't all that was different, some of the subject that she taught them about weren't something you would find in a normal school, either public or religious. By the time he was 15 he could not only name most of the main religions in the world, but he could also tell you their basic tenets as well as a brief overview of their history. He learned to respect all of them as well as to understand where they were coming from. However, he was also taught to find his own path in life and that he would know it when he encountered it. Long before the movies and TV shows about it, his parents were Pagans. While it was looked upon as weird and they did encounter many people who were quite nasty about their choice they didn't mind. In their eclectic circle of friends, religion didn't matter. For each of the holidays, both the Paganistic ones as well as others, their house was always full of people from all races, religions, and creeds. Holidays were a time of celebration and celebrate they did. That is how he met his wife.

At a Yule party, the holiday celebrated on the winter solstice, the year he turned 18 he had met Kimber. Like his father, her parents taught at the local university. Her mother was in the Art department and her father in the Mathematics. They had only been with the school for a couple years so he hadn't had a chance to encounter them before. As he stood across the room, listening to several people talking about politics in Africa his eyes met hers and he was lost. Later on she would remember the look on his face and grin, calling it 'twitterpated', the word used in the wonderful cartoon about a deer that is still around to this day. All at once, his body felt as though it had turned into a quivering mass of jelly and his stomach started to do slow back flips.

For as long as he lived, he would remember the way she looked that night. With an alabaster complexion dotted here and there with freckles, she had green eyes that looked as though they came straight from a field of the greenest grass in the Irish countryside. A riot of russet red curls framed her heart-shaped face perfectly, telling the tale of ancestors that came from the emerald isle at some point in time. When she gazed at him, he was lost. Like most men, of all ages, the act of introducing himself to her was about the hardest thing he had ever done. While it tool all the gumption he had to make himself walk across the room and open his mouth, he managed it, without making a fool of himself either.

Later on in life, as he grew older, the one thing he was most grateful for was the fact that he had built up the courage to approach her. Often times he looked upon that very moment as his biggest accomplishment, one he would never top, ever. After they did the usual strained introductions and small talk most couples seemed to do, you know the thing; something that resembles the mating dance of the wild wood duck rather than two reasonably intelligent beings attempting to form a bond of some kind, they started talking about music.

From that topic, that innocent and almost universally acceptable theme that seems to be almost a right of passage for teenagers to use so they can get to know someone who has piqued their interest, they settled in and began something more engrossing. It was during that conversation that both of them felt things click together. It was that feeling one got when you knew you had found someone that was right for you. Soon both of them had tuned out the rest of the world, focusing only on each other. Neither had realized how much time had passed until her parents came to collect her at 2 AM. That night, after he went to bed, he laid there thinking about her, running the conversation they had repeatedly. As the sun slowly began to peek over the horizon, he finally dozed off, smiling, and thinking of her.

All that euphoria hung with him as he slept and lingered on into the next day until he made the decision to tackle the worst teenage angst behind the introduction; the dreaded 'phone call' to ask to see someone again. While the stress and anxiety of the build up towards the act wasn't as bad as the initial introduction it was a close second. Like so many men before him had done he spent a long while stressing over the "should I/shouldn't I" decision then trying to plan what to say. Once he had that end of things under some semblance of control - well, a bit under control anyway, he grabbed the cordless phone and locked himself in his bedroom. After he propped the paper with her number on it up against the lamp on the end table where he could clearly see the number his shaking hands clutched the phone so tightly his knuckles were white.

After several minutes of engaging the talk button then hanging up, sure he was going to puke or pass out, he slapped himself mentally a few times and said a few practice words to make sure the tone of his voice was right and it wasn't cracking or sounding shaky, he then dialed her number. Sweating and shaking more than a little, palms drenched, he held the phone to his ear, hearing the ringing on the other end. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as each of the rings echoed through the phone and he was sure those tones had a mocking, sarcastic lilt to them, almost as though the technology knew what he was doing and was tormenting him. Just as he was about to hang up, unsure if he would have the courage to call back later or not, she answered, sounding as though she was out of breath.

Keywords: Eros, Psyche, and,