Bran& Beth/interruptions & instructions

 

It is the sound of a young male voice calling from somewhere far away that causes Bran to suddenly let go 

“Ioan,” he says simply looking regretfully down at me but letting go and stepping back anticipating the appearance of his young son Ioan. I get a glimpse of him and then he looks back at me awkwardly. I see instantly he looks more like Clare, but he stares a bit longer than I expect him to before he does a funny wave before he and his father talk.

“I should get changed,” I say as I start to walk past them to go inside 

Bran calls out,

“go through the bedroom door, it’s unlocked.”

But until he said that I hadn’t realized there was a door that led out to the garden from the bedroom. From outside I had assumed it went somewhere else. There is a pebbled paved walkway through the garden, and it leads to the little patios that I now see one is by the bedroom with chairs and a table which I had noticed but glossed over. 

The door is unlocked, and it is a sliding door which on the inside was covered by long draperies that go all the way across but mesh off to the sides and one side was hiding the door which going back in, I have to move aside

only once I am back in the bedroom do I realize why Bran wanted me to go this way— he managed to slip a surprise for me across the bed. There’s a note attached to a pretty white dress with eyelet and little white satin bows 

I look at the note which says,

‘~Wear this for me tonight x’

ces choses que je me demande

 Qui veux-tu à tes côtés quand ton monde s'effondre ? Avec qui vas-tu célébrer le fait d'être là pour toi ?

Bran & Beth/his garden

“But, before we go, there’s something I want you to see,” Bran says

He shows me his garden. He takes my hand. 

We go through the terrace door which is just through the dining room, and it is like stepping into a sanctuary. He holds my hand and absently our fingers twist and weave….and it is so natural with him, we do this without knowing we do until when I almost trip over a garden tool, his hand grips mine tight…. It catches me. 

We are in his garden ….at last and this caught off moment brings us to the immediate present….how strange to be in his garden after so much time has passed….. I think this caught in his poet’s eyes ….see the Hamilton roses 

“Beth,” he says and puts his hands on me; they lay upon my shoulders and he slowly draws me to him but holds me in front of him, “I’m sorry ….for all the wasted years,” he says now

“No—“

“Yes,” he says but stops any more of my words with his mouth; without foreplay of warning his kiss possesses immediately 

Wuffis; Bran & Beth/starting to break the ice

“That dog missing an eye or that cat missing an ear, I always felt I’d be better off giving an animal like that a home,” Bran says to me now when he finds me with ‘Wuffis’ the said dog with, while not a missing eye but a blind eye. 

He has become my friend unexpectedly as he settled himself among my shoes. He is a mutt but so cute! He is brown with floppy ears; a mix of some kind of terrier and he’s playful!

“When did you get him?” I ask 

“When I knew you were coming,” Bran says now and looks around the newly constructed bedroom where I have been hanging my dresses and folding sweaters in drawers. “How do you like it?”

I look up at him as I’m petting Wuffis—he is nuzzling my hand 

“Him?”

Bran smiles and then shakes his head,

“I mean…. here?”

But you know, I haven’t let myself think about that. I just want to take everything in; the newness of that I’m really here with him after everything…after so much that —wow it takes so much to absorb but happy —I feel happy with him only I just got here and it is tooo soon to say

I say instead,

“To be here with you knowing that — you are the kind of man who would even say that about a dog or a cat ….the rest almost doesn’t matter,” but then my stomach growled 

“Oh—that’s what I meant to tell you—I’m taking you out for dinner— dress up!”

thru ev’ry beating of events and every season

I find on my way

still there  ….

the burden of an eternal sentence of regret i do not want…. Beethoven —you understand 

   

awkward not awkward/Bran and Beth

 

 

For a moment he stands there between myself and the heap of my baggage and it isn’t awkward, it isn’t like that. It is something else. And I look inside there in search of …that familiar thing –that thing, you know, that would tell me…tells me within the moss what I …

“I haven’t forgotten about your other project,” he says instead of what we both know he was really thinking

And what we both are really thinking. I guess it may be the years; how many have gone by …too many to wish to blow any moment on something stupid or to presume some notion that –some notion that… and here I just get stuck

“my other project,” I say repeating his words

“The …about the family history you are tracing,” he hesitates

“It’s …it’s for a story I’m working on but actually, it is about another area even though the family name is Welsh somehow …it was connected to an area where the Vikings invaded, there was a family and a theory from my dream about a man from the village,” but I babble.

I babble for normalcy. To take the pressure off of our more pressing present

Only now I fear I trivialize the present by even saying this now and it confuses me as to what to do or say but mostly because of his eyes; the seaweed that wraps around and pulls, and wraps you inside its hypnotic sappy embrace of its fire-kiln, brilliant glaze.

I say,

“um.”

He looks silently at me reading my eyes. He slowly smiles,

“a man?”

I look away,

“it was…” I laugh feeling stupid as I have to tell him the rest now, “something that old psychic told me. Before the boat…. You know the life about –”

“The one from your painting, I know, and forgive me if I don’t want to make silk screens of your vampire whatever the fuck he is because—”

I reach for his hand without planning to. It was just the instinct to --and the impulse took over. And my hand melts within his large one making me aware of how much bigger his is. But his hand is warm and familiar as it closes around mine

“Anyway, it has lead me to a new story that takes place sort of connected to the industrial revolution, so it is exciting that the paint pigment comes from an old coal mine. It feels like a sign. I think the two projects can work together as I will be getting more ideas but I may want to explore other areas closer to say—where the history calls… so it’s cool, right? Win win, I do what you want for your business and I can work on my thing at the same time.”

“Would you like to see your studio?” he still holds my hand and smiles as he begins to pull me towards the hallway that leads to all the doors.

And so I let him. I like the feel of his hand on mine. Around it. It fits so well in his. And as he leads the way down the hall I do not ask myself anything about what anything means, I go blind as one about to jump

 

It is a studio. A very large and very functioning studio. He stands in the doorway and with a shake of his head urges me to walk in.

And as I walk around, I see the perfection of the layout. The area for screen printing; the area for paint mixing, deep sinks and counters. Several long work tables and sectioned cabinets for different mediums.

 

Once I have inspected everything he walks in now and goes to a door I had not noticed. It is white like the walls of the room. But he stands outside it and just opens the door by pulling the handle and uses his head to suggest I go in.

It confuses me when I go inside because it is a private apartment. Fully finished and fully furnished with a kitchen, a dining room that lets out to the back courtyard, a bedroom and private bathroom. But nothing has been used.

I feel confused and look at him,

“I don’t understand…”

He glances behind where we stand to suggest the older part of the house,

“to get the boys used to… things… and for us as well. I thought –you might enjoy a new space for us to work in together on those long project nights…” and only now does he move close and stand near enough and long enough—

 

 Or so I thought until a very loud voice shouts something I don’t understand with a great deal of vehemence

 

“Ioan,” Bran looks at me regretfully, “that’s his animal starved boy cry, I’ll bring your bags and get him sorted,”

 

he starts to go but –something surprising happens without warning; he kisses me fast on the mouth …unexpected as I realize he stops himself stunned in mid kiss and looks at me,

“I didn’t mean to assume, sor—"

But I kiss him back before he says more and I suppose it would have lasted longer if another bellow had not then occurred