Virginity: A Trinity

One....

You said you weren't much of a phone person, that the telephone was not your mode, so I believed you. I kept your messages on my phone so I could hear your voice during those long absences when we did not see each other. So much had happened yet the togethering was still young. That night you called, it was strange and delightful. I found myself telling you about the messages, my wistful longing for your voice. You asked what would I think about you being around more often. I said I'd be happy about that, and then I paused.... it was only fair to warn you about the cancer. It was new. No chance for children. Why would that be a problem, you asked me. I supposed that maybe you'd want to be thinking about children, I said. I supposed that might be a need, I don't know.... I remember floundering. My body doesn't need to get your body pregnant, you said then. Ok, I said back. I believe you.
Pretty good stuff for the phone. Pretty good stuff for a life.... Believing, Togethering... this is what happens next.

Two....

Seafood restaurants manage to operate under such absurdly appropriate names. I parked that ancient, ugly Ford Pinto station wagon across the street from The Aquarium ( how original!), the spiffy, nouveau lunch and dinner spot on Duckworth Street where you had landed the food service job. I had told you that I'd be outside waiting for you on your lunch break. It had been a bit of a push getting from the physician's office up on Kenmount Road, but I had gotten there with some time to spare.We were so young, you and I, and you were younger than I . I watched you as you crossed the street. I still remember how my heart would fill my chest, wondering at how dark and beautiful you were, at your effortless grace. You folded yourself into the impossibly small passenger seat of that little yellow Ford, gorgeous in black and white... in anything... or nothing. You held your hands loosely in your lap. I held the wheel and looked at your face in profile. We were breathing and waiting. You did that thing with your face and brow, that question-come on-whaddaya think-tilt and look. So, yes, I'd said, I'm pregnant. My heart was racing. You got very quiet. It's just that this has never happened before, you'd said. No shit, I'd said to myself.... and then you were continuing..... it's always worked out, you know.... you had let your voice trail off, then. I know, I'd said. I know.
You sobbed. It was a sob. I really need you to be strong for me now, you'd said. I can do that, I'd said. Then we were quiet, just looking at each other. It was amazing to me that the lunch hour world was going on as usual on the other side of the windows. Then, I cried, just a little. I'm going to carry this baby, I'd said. You reached over and clasped my hand tightly and you nodded, and smiled, and touched my face. I noticed that your eyes were wet, too.

Three...

You are young, yet older than I was the last time I saw you. I have already decided to follow your lead no matter what. I will not move out of our embrace... I will leave the timing and softening of that in your hands. I will simply be present to how you feel in my arms and how I feel in yours. I will not be letting go of you again. I'm so proud of your tenacity, your steadfastness, your honesty and courage. Regardless of the risks, I fear neither disappointment nor kindness. You being here makes me brave enough... good enough.
You being here: a birth of your choosing, borne of wonder(ing). Your poetry calls , a stillness settles, and, reborn into a fierce tenderness, I lean into your words, forgetful of all but this moment. When I notice my single clenched fist, it opens, like a rose.