Beth's Rose

...When loss becomes too much, is salvation and redemption to be found in crossing over?

You found me in that dive of a bar where you found me ten years ago.  Broken tile floors, pool tables off-plumb, spotty lighting in the bathroom which is a good thing in places like these, unless you have an overactive imagination.  The bar is just a big counter with cases and coolers and kegs lined up underneath.  The best thing you could ever say about Hubie’s is the beer is cold and the drinks are wet for your dollar.  And it’s not far down the road from home, Beth’s Rose.  I told you once that someday Hubie’s would be my last stop before Hell.  Tonight, I know it’s true.  I intend it to be.

 There’s a little blonde pixie who’s been after me all evening.  Her line of sight comes to right about my tits; frankly, I think she’s just fine with that.  But after three dances with her, and me having nothing to do but look at the top of her head, I send her off with another beer.  All right, I gave her a good kiss, with tongue and gropes and moaning.  I think she’s happy; she tottered off to a table with a big smile on her face.  Some femmes are just too easy.

 The clock hand creeps up the face, closer to midnight.  The bartender has been taking good care of me; a bottle empties and another appears; abracadabra.  She knows I’m here tonight to drink.

 Some time goes by before I realize the beer has stopped coming.  I look up and see that Meg, the bartender is gone.  I don’t recognize the woman who’s taken her place.  I get up to get my replacement and study the woman at the bar.  It’s been too long since I’ve sat and drank at Hubie’s; my equilibrium seems to have gone south.  For a moment I just want to be back at Beth’s Rose; back home.  Then I catch myself on the next table and continue to the bar. 

She’s a pretty twenty-something with pale skin; not a pallor, but perfect china-doll skin that glows under the bar spotlights.  She’s wearing a leather vest, pants and armband.  Her hair is platinum frost, Bonnie Tyler style; the hair of a sultry huntress in an 80’s girl band.  She’s leaning against the counter in classic bartender pose; arms spread wide, hands holding her weight.

“Well, good for you, Cowboy, you finally woke up,” she says.  “It’s about time.” Her voice is just a little rough, but it’s sexy. 

“Waddaya mean? I’m awake.”  Awake and dismayed by the sloppy drunk slur in my words, I hold up my bottle by the neck and waggle it.  “Where’s Meg?”  I blink and peer around the barkeep’s shoulder into the owner’s office.  “And Tony?  Where’d she go?”

The stranger takes my bottle and tosses it into the recycling bin Meg keeps under the bar.  The clank and rattle make me wince; a headache starts.  As I rub my forehead, my fingertips touch the scar and I stop, fighting disorientation for a moment.  It’s already sparring with the barbs in my heart to see which will take control of my mind and body tonight.  Thank God, it’ll be over soon.  One more for the road, then I’m going home.

The bartender frowns at me.  “Tony and Meg went home.  Nobody wanted to try to wake you up.  What’d you do to get such a nasty reputation?”  I stare at her and she shrugs.  “Everybody left; it’s after 2:00 am.  I said I’d wait; lock up and make sure you get home.”

“You’re nuts—” I turn toward the dj booth and find it’s dark.  The dance floor is empty.  The big neon clock over the bar reads 2:48 am. The music I’m hearing is coming from a small boom box behind the bar.  I turn back and the woman is next to me, leaning on her elbows on the bar with her long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.  She’s wearing calf-high leather boots with a buckle on each ankle and silver studs at the top, surrounding her calves.  Another wave of vertigo; it’s nothing to do with the beer.  I need to get home.

Close-up, I see a blue feather extension woven into the barkeep’s hair.  She wears a soft leather armband on her right arm, exquisitely tooled with a Chinese dragon.  Her eyes are sparkling green drops of emerald, and her vest gently hugs her curves; her hips, breasts and waist enhanced and softened by the leather.  She wears a soft blue leather collar matching the feathers in her hair, tooled with the same rampaging dragon. 

“Where’s ev’rybody at?”  My grammar is always much better before the beer. 

 Patiently, she explains it again.  “Nobody would try to wake you up.  I said I’d hang around until you came to, then see that you got home.”

“I was not passed out.”  I’ve got to get back to Beth’s Rose.  There are still things I have to do.

 The frosty blonde barkeep shrugs and I’m distracted by her shoulders.  Pale, smooth, curvy, but strong.  I sit on a stool and watch her finish her closing chores.  Not everyone can pull off leather.  This lady pulls it off so well that for the first time in months something stirs and I find myself thinking I’d like to pull it off.  Stupid.  I shake my head. 

“What’s wrong?” the woman asks.

“Not a thing,” I say, pushing myself back into the present, reaffirming the timeline I set for myself at the beginning of the evening.  I’m going home. I reach into my pocket for my keys.  Then my other pocket.  I check the table, chairs, and floor. Nothing.

 She pushes off the bar.  “Let’s go.”

 “What?”  I’m still trying to find my keys.  “Where?”

 “Your place.”  She tries to put an arm around my shoulders, but I step back and stumble over the stool I was sitting on.

 “What are you doing?”

 She holds up my keys and lets them jingle.  “Hello?  I’m taking you home.”  My hands dive into my pockets; they’re empty.  I look back up at the young woman still jangling my keys and a lightning bolt with my name on it rides into town.  Just another piece of memory sharpened by loss.  As the thunder crashes, it’s you I see holding my keys. The night we met, I wasn’t in any better shape.  

“Hello!” you say.  “You can’t drive me home and it’s time for me to go.  So I’ll drive you to the ranch, and I can bring your truck out tomorrow.”  You looked at your watch and sighed.  “We’re leaving…now.”

 Just as quickly as you came, you’re gone and I’m with leather Bonnie barkeep again.  We’re outside the bar and halfway into the parking lot.  She looks at me oddly when I ask where we’re going.  “Your ranch.  It’s the Beth Rose, right?”  I nod and she seems satisfied.  She gets behind me and gives me a boost up into the cab. 

 “What about your car?”  My truck is the only vehicle parked within five blocks. 

 “I’m set.”

“What’s your name, anyway?”

 “Jerri.  You’re Rand, right? You ‘n your partner run the Beth Rose?”

 “Ran,” I said, letting my frustration, agony and confusion come out in that word.  “Just get me home.”

“Right.  I’m sorry.”

 I’m not paying attention to Jerri’s chatter; I’m watching her drive.  She probably got directions from Tony or Meg but, as easy as it is to find, the Beth’s Rose always takes a couple of wrong turns and backups before they find their way.  This girl is driving the route as if she’s driven it twenty years.  Her hands on the wheel and the gearshift have an easy grace; the truck would follow her direction over a cliff or to the moon.

She parks in the yard and I jump out of the truck.  “Thanks for the ride.  But how’re you getting home?”

“Oh, there’s no problem,” Jerri says and heads for the side porch, under the Beth’s Rose arch.   She breezes past me, leaving me with my hand out for my keys.  My palm remains empty.  “I’ll go in with you.”

 I’m too amazed to be angry.  This is so far outside my experience that my body goes on automatic, doing the first sane thing my neurons and muscles can find to do; I turn and follow her into our house.  Once I get inside I feel less like Alice down the rabbit hole, but now I’m getting mad.  Who the hell is this woman? Granted, she got me home alive, but…

Another strange shimmer in my consciousness.  I shake my head.   I wasn’t going to get distracted this time.  No one has ever walked under the Beth’s Rose arch without an invitation, and I still have things to do tonight.  I hang up my hat and stalk through the kitchen, my boots echoing through the empty house.  I let my anger stoke to take my mind off that awful sound.  I look around, wondering where she’s gotten to.

I stop when I hear the stereo switch on in the den.  “Oh, hell, no!”  “Turn To Stone” by Ingrid Michaelson, your favorite love song.   I’m ready to tear Jerri’s arm off and beat her over that pretty Bonnie Tyler ‘do of hers.  But when I see her, she has become something…other.  She’s looking at our pictures and awards and mementos with tender regard.  There is sorrow and gratitude; hope, love and deep longing.  Jerri turns to me and her eyes are shining with tears and the love she feels in this room.

 There’s something in her eyes that shakes me, and yet another wave of unreality sweeps through me.  It’s getting harder to fight this fugue.  Jerri needs to leave, now.  “Look, you need to go home,” I tell her.  “You can’t stay here.”

Jerri’s body moves easily within the soft leather of her clothing.  The light sound of it sliding over her skin is beginning to distract me.  No.  I shake my head and barely hear her speak.  “You were so in love.”

She’s admiring a collage of us at parties; dressed to kill, or dressed to kill nothing but a big thirst and some moves on the dance floor.  “Yes, we were,” I say.  ‘I’m home,’ I tell myself.  ‘I’m home at Beth’s Rose, and this little girl needs to get through the woods to gramma’s house.  It’s time for this to end.’

We turn toward each other at the same time; my intent is to remove this woman from proximity to my pain, keeping me off balance and making me forget my plan from one moment to the next.  It doesn’t matter, though.  Somehow, she’s gotten the slim case out of my back pocket.  “I’m no nurse, but this seems a little extreme,” she says, opening it and looking at the contents; 500 mg of Phenobarbital.  “I didn’t peg you for a quitter, Rand.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” I’m spitting, can’t believe this woman.  “You don’t know anything about me!”

 Jerri nods and says, “I remember that night.  Has it been so bad since then?”

 I put my hands on my hips.  “If you remember, do you have to ask?  What the hell are you doing here?”

Jerri comes closer.  She reaches out and brushes fingertips over my face.  Another wash of disorientation.  I’d expected cold skin and ice in her gaze from the paleness of her complexion.  But she’s a hot-blooded woman, I learn, as she steps inside my arms. She covers my mouth with hers before I can protest.  Her fingers weave into my hair and she pushes me back against a door; the door; the door to our bedroom.  She guides my hands to the snaps of her vest while she unbuttons my shirt.

Now my head is spinning.  “Jerri, please,” I gasp when she takes a breath.

 “Hush.” She pushes my shirt back over my shoulders and slides it down my arms, returning her hands to my hair.  My own hands have been busy despite my protests.  We both wear tank tops and in moments they’re on the floor with the shirt and vest.

The fugue is taking control; Jessie is whispering endearments only spoken to me by my Beth.  Her hands follow the same patterns.  She pulls my head down and kisses me hard; locks her fingers behind my neck and refuses to let go.  I smell Beth’s scent and start; she brushes her fingers over my eyes.  “Stay closed. You’re home.  Just go with it.”  She steps back and I hear the sound of soft leather sliding against skin.  I feel her heat before she presses against me again.  Her fingers are at my pants; I reach to stop her and strong hands grasp my wrists, pushing my hands behind me.  “Don’t move until I tell you.”

It’s a game you used to play; you loved to tease.  I smell your scent again. Every time it’s more powerful. 

Then Jessie tugs my pants down and she’s pressing against me; we’re skin to skin the lengths of our bodies.  A hand grasps my chin and she explores my jaw, throat and mouth.

 There’s no mistaking this.  I moan your name.  “Beth.”

“It’s me, Randie.  I’m here.”  The door opens behind me and a hand leads me to our bed.  I haven’t slept in here in over a year; it’s been weeks since I’ve been in this room at all.  Your scent is strong now; lavender and roses surrounding me just as your arms are surrounding me now. 

 “How can you be here?” I have to see you; I open my eyes and your image wavers through my tears; Jerri… Beth...Jerri…Beth.  You raise a delicate hand and brush my tears away and there’s my Beth; whole, beautiful and alive.  The sight of you takes my breath away, and then you’re in my arms.  “Oh, God, Beth!”  Your touch turns my body into a superconductor; your fingertips spark a trail across my skin. 

 You push me back on the bed and settle on top of me; your mouth and your hands are everywhere.  “You know I never left you, Randie?”  My answer chokes in my throat as your mouth covers a breast.  “I’ve always been right here. You never doubted, did you?”  I still can’t answer; of course I doubted after…

 I look up into your eyes; clear bright emerald green.  I can’t keep my hands still.  Your skin is warm and smooth and when you moan in my ear my heart wants to dance all around the room.  To have that effect on a woman; on this woman—Then your mouth finds me and I’m senseless to everything but this; the trip of my heartbeat, my body rising, your hands on me, your voice urging me higher.  At the end I can’t breathe and I can still hear the cry of my climax rolling around the room. Now I’m weeping and you fold me into your arms.  You’ve wrung everything out of me and all I can do is lie in your arms and drift away as you whisper and kiss and touch.

 I open my eyes to the blue-gray of pre-dawn straining through the curtains.  I’m alone in the bed.  I start up, tearing the sheet off me, then I see you in the wing-back chair you loved to read in.  You’re sitting as you always did, with your feet tucked up under you.  You’re wearing that tattered blue terry robe.  I get out of bed and pad across the carpet to kneel in front of you.  You’re twirling something in your fingers; the syringe.  I can’t meet your eyes.

 “Five hundred mg’s, Rand.  Really?”

I choke on a rock in my gut and look up.  “You don’t know how bad it is.”

 Your eyes flash.  “Don’t I? It doesn’t matter where I am, you’re not there with me.” You look at me, into me; testing me.  “You’re serious about this, Rand?”

 I meet your gaze.  “Yes.”  No tears now.  I know what’s coming and I’m ready for it.  You’ve been gone too long. 

“This isn’t going to be easy.”

 

A vivid image from that night slams into me between my eyes.  My stomach revolts.  I nearly buckle, but then I kick in my resolve.  I’m home; home is Beth.  If she could endure it, I could endure more. “All right.”

 You stroke my face gently, then kiss me.  You stand and walk to the bed, letting your robe slip to the floor.  God, you’re so beautiful.  Your breasts glow in the dawn light; your shoulders catch the glow, then your face. Now you’re glowing from within and you’ve never been more gorgeous.  You hold out your hand to me. 

“Lie with me, darling.”  In the den, the music still plays.  The playlist recycles again.  You kiss me, slow and sweet.  I barely feel the needle.  A memory of that night tears through me and there is blood and pain.  I’m gasping with the remembrance; I raise shaking hands covered with blood. “Strong, baby.  You’re strong.”  Now my hands and feet are cold; they become numb as the cold reaches for my heart.  “Hang on, sweet Randie.”  The music swells and Christina Perri’s sweet voice reaches us as you wrap your arms and legs around me.  “Come home, love,” you whisper as I feel my breath slow.  My sight dims, but your face is dazzling.  The music fades, but your voice in my ear sings your own song.  The last thing I smell are roses.  And between one heartbeat and eternity, I am home.