A Secret History of Love and Flowers

[If you didn't read my previous entry, "broken/disclosure", do so-- it's important.]

May 22, again

I love Heather Shaw.

No, no-- that doesn't say it properly. I love my house, I love mocha chai, I love springtime in the Appalachian Mountains. That's too unclear. Let me try again.

I'm in love with Heather Shaw.

A lot of things in this entry are things you've read about in previous entries-- but now I can talk about all the things I didn't mention, then.

I first met Heather on Saint Patrick's day, at the Strange Horizon's brunch for Nalo Hopkinson. From the first moment I saw her, standing in the sunlight in her living room, I was captivated. I watched her, listened to her… and barely spoke to her at all. Chatty as I may seem here, I'm shy in person, with strangers. But I couldn't take my eyes off her-- her grace, her smile, her easy laughter. I rarely feel so strongly drawn to anyone-- I knew I wanted to know more about her.

When we left to go to the reading, I got into the car with Meg and said "I like Heather." Meg laughed and said "Yes, I noticed." She knows me well. Heather certainly didn't notice me noticing her, though-- she had other things on her mind, like the fact that Nalo Hopkinson was sitting in her house.

I sat behind Heather at the reading. She had on her big floppy straw hat and the bookshop's cat was curled in her lap. Oh, I envied that cat! I hugged Heather goodbye, after the reading-- I don't think she took any particular notice of me. Not then.

Later, I wrote to Mary Anne, inquiring-- is Heather single? Or poly and open to new possibilities? Can you think of any reason she'd find me totally repulsive?

And Mary Anne told me that Heather was single and would probably, at least, be flattered by my attention.

So I wrote to Heather. Thank the gods for online journals! Heather mentioned in her journal that she was reading a Carol Emshwiller collection, so I wrote her (ostensibly) to talk about that. I also chattered a bit about other, more random things-- I can be quite loquacious in e-mail.

Then I waited, and not long afterward I received a reply from Heather Shaw, beautiful, charming, amazing Heather Shaw. She was friendly and intelligent and altogether wonderful and I thought "Yes! She's all-over wonderful!" By then I had read all of her poetry I could find on the web, so I knew she had talent and insight, but it was so nice to read words from her directed at me.

Later, she mentioned in her journal that she was doing research for her Beltane article-- but not the "fun kind" of research.

So I wrote to her, and in the midst of the rest of the e-mail, mentioned that if she needed any help doing the fun kind of Beltane research, I would be pleased to offer my assistance. Direct, neh? But if she wasn't interested, I figured, it could be easily passed over as a joke.

She was flattered, and said we should probably spend some time together before even considering such, ah, intensive research. That seemed reasonable to me.

We decided to get together the next weekend, and read some poetry to one another (I had been writing poems about her, including a rather nice one called "For the Woman Who Makes Me Want to Learn the Names of All the Flowers"). I arrived at her house that day, two weeks after I first met her. I expected awkwardness, shyness… and the surprise was how natural we felt together. We lay on her bed, talking-- we felt an instant rapport and connection, and nothing could be more natural than telling her my thoughts and feelings and stories, nothing could be more pleasant than hearing her speak.

There, in that bed, on that afternoon, we kissed for the first time.

We went to the Oakland Rose Garden, and sat on a bench, and took turns reading poetry. I kissed her beneath the brim of her floppy hat. Heaven. Her voice took me to Heaven.

We held hands. We laughed. She told me she liked my smell, and my kisses. We had Ethiopian food, which she taught me to eat. I sat at her table, with my knee touching her knee.

That night we went to Ken's housewarming in Oakland, and mingled, and had a fine time. I gave Marissa a ride home, afterward… and then drove back to Oakland. As invited.

I spent the night with Heather. Oh, my. Sweet Heather.

The next morning, she made me pancakes. I later wrote a poem about that, called "Breakfast" -- everything becomes poems with her, it seems, every moment has the potential to be poetry. I left her reluctantly, with promises to see her the next weekend.

And we've seen each other every weekend since, as you might have read about here. Probably you wondered if I was involved with Heather-- yes, I was. I am. I will be.

We write to each other daily. The last week I was in California, we talked every night on the phone-- I'm normally terrible on the phone, I don't like the phone, but I could pretend she was there, whispering in my ear, and that made it a pleasure.

She's written so many beautiful words for me, so many poems. She brings me flowers. She made me a crown of rosemary. She fed me pears and brie. We walked around Santa Cruz, and she told me the names of all the flowers we passed. We've risen on Sunday mornings together, eaten bagels for breakfast, and sat at Pergolesi, each of us writing. We hold hands as naturally as we breathe. We are continually astonished at how short the time is that we've known each other. There are so many things we have yet to learn about one another! We've barely begun, and it's already so heady, so intoxicating. I feel she already knows the essential things about me. I feel like a balloon, like I might drift away from this fullness. I can't wait to see what happens between us, what we become, how we go on. I'm excited. I'm so excited. My friends know well how excited I am-- Meg and D. and Marissa especially have had to listen to my gleeful outpourings, my epiphanies of delight. I'm awed by my good fortune. Life has not been easy, lately-- working these things out with Meg, making these hard decisions, that's been wearing and painful and difficult. But how can I truly be unhappy in a world that brings me to Heather Shaw, that provides unworthy me with such opportunities for grace?

It's hard, being so far away from her, so soon after meeting her. I'm having a wonderful time in North Carolina, and I'm absolutely glad I came, but… I wish I could be in both places at once. I should study up on the black art of bodily bilocation…

One of my friends, who also knows Heather, said to me recently: "From the moment you two came into contact, it was inevitable that you would come together, and be good for one another."

Yes. So good.