Being Doris toDay

Mother Duck

2007-05-09T13:50:00.001-07:00

February 19

I hadn’t intended on ending so abruptly yesterday with my writing but there was an almighty crash in the hall and I was worried it might be SAM (I’m getting to be an alarmist where he’s concerned I think). It turned out to be one of the corgis darting through his legs as he tried to carry a tray of tea things back to the kitchen. He’s fine but the kettle and cups suffered more than a little nicking.

Oh. Yeah. There are corgis - an entire gang of dogs with big personalities on tiny legs that have taken on the exact personality of their owner, one minute looking for a scratch behind the ear and another snarling and attempting flesh wounds. I’m very much a dog person but I don’t think corgi’s actually count as dogs, at least not these particular corgis.

So what was I telling you about before the hounds from hell so rudely interrupted? Oh right. I had myself what one would have hoped would have been a well deserved rest safe in the arms of my fella, but alas no. I’ve always been one to work out my anxieties in my sleep so there were constant nightmares about what could have been.

The thing is that obviously deep down I blame(d?) SAM for what happened because in my tortured dreams I was being pursued captured, threatened by a man wearing a mask. The man kept on telling me that he had SAM and that neither of us would ever be safe again because he would never let SAM get away, but when he pulled off the mask he WAS SAM.

I’m trying not to think too hard about the implications there but I think I must have talked in my sleep because SAM keeps apologizing for everything. I wish he wouldn’t.

Living with Mrs. Mallard is a challenge in no small part because she consistently threatens bodily violence against SAM for looking at, or attempting to brush up against, her booty. She uses the word booty. It’s disconcerting. In the beginning he would mildly freak out and explain in a panicked way that he was most certainly NOT making any move toward her backyard but I nipped that in the butt…so to speak.

When I was a girl I was a candy striper stuck in a ward that was filled mostly with geriatric patients. I was fodder for their humor in the beginning but after I as there awhile I began to catch on. They almost always know more than you think they do.

This morning I caught her cornering SAM in the kitchen accusing him of planning to pinch her bottom when she reached in the refrigerator for the milk. Before he could say a single word I swooped in and loudly told her, “Now see here Mrs. Mallard, we are terribly grateful for your allowing us to take up refuge in your beautiful home, but if you continue to flirt with my husband like a hussy we will be forced to take our leave. I would sooner take my chances at being murdered in the street than have you stealing away my man.” All very dramatic like.

She giggled and patted my arm telling me, “But he blushes so prettily. Reminds me of a young man I once met behind some rose bushes…”

I’ll spare you the remainder of the story but I don’t think we’ll be having any more booty issues with Mother Duck.

February 18, 2007

2007-05-03T13:59:00.000-07:00

I ran into SAM’s doctor on my way back to his room and found out that he was being released within the hour. My mind raced as I tried to figure out where we’d go. Gibbs had been pretty clear that both of our homes were out. I found both Ducky and a uniformed officer chatting with SAM’s family when I returned to his room.

He smiled when I came in, looked at the pile of clothes on his bed, to the room full of people then back at me and shrugged. I bit back a grin; they were all so focused on each other nobody thought about what had to happen next.

“Uh, I’m thinking everybody should maybe step out for a second and let Tim get dressed. The doctor says he’s releasing him very soon.”

Everyone filed out, still chatting animatedly. His mom raised an eyebrow at me when I moved to close the door behind her but his father ushered her along with an arm around the waist.

“You’re really cute when you’re taking charge.”

“Glad you like it, think you might have to get used to it for awhile.”

It was nice to just be alone with him for a few minutes. I helped him into a button front shirt and he took my hand and spoke quietly, “Hey.” He leaned in for a soft and very careful kiss.

I explained that I didn’t know where we’d go and he informed me that that was why Ducky was there, to take us back to his house. If I knew then what I know now I might have run away.

Sarah seemed less than thrilled with her fate. Gibbs had also decided that it wouldn’t be safe for her to return to school so she would be staying with the parents until further notice. I’m not sure which of us ended up with the scarier end of the deal.

Ducky’s house is beautiful, a dream in fact for SAM and I because it’s filled with stunning antiques. I find it nearly impossible to keep myself from running my fingers over some of the more scrumptious wood furniture. The most frightening antique in residence however is Ducky’s 90-something year old mother. She’s quite nice when she remembers who we are, but remembering isn’t exactly her strong suit. Ducky says she was a handful long before the dementia ever set in and I can believe him.

As we were being moved into the upstairs guest room Mrs. Mallard asked where my wedding ring was. Before I even had time to look panicked Ducky patted her reassuringly and told her that the kidnappers had stolen our rings.

There’s nothing like lying about being married in order to share a room to throw a little old fashioned guilt into your heart.

I didn’t have long to think about it though because getting SAM up the stairs proved a little more slow going than I had bargained for. His ribs were very sore and as the sedatives left his body the pain became very difficult to endure. It had been decided that for the first 48 hours he would be allowed Tylenol but nothing stronger. Tylenol wasn’t going to do much to ease the aching nose or body my love had to contend with.

I got him as comfortable as possible, though he complained about being stuffed into bed now that he was wide awake and took Ducky up on his offer of use of the kitchen. I made SAM some toast and grabbed a glass of milk, thinking that anything more adventurous would have to wait, but knowing he was bound to be hungry.

Hungry he was, he seemed to forget his pain as he swallowed half a piece of toast almost without chewing and moaned his thanks.

When I had cleared his dish away I crawled into the bed beside him. It took some convincing but he finally made me believe that my head on his chest didn’t cause any extra pain so I relented and rested against him. In no time I was sound asleep for the first time in days.

It's still february I guess

2007-05-03T13:58:00.000-07:00

A day in February, possibly the 14^th though they’ve all run together

SAM’s dad slipped his hand under his wife’s elbow with a motion so practiced it suggested she frequently lost her ability to stand on her own, though she looked physically fit enough.

Gibbs and I both stood, I don’t think either of us really knew why. Sarah stretched and yawned.

“Young lady get up off of that floor immediately!” SAM’s mother seemed to forget her near faint of a moment ago when she saw her youngest child in a heap in the corner. For her part Sarah seemed less than impressed with her mother’s display of horror. She merely rolled her neck to work out the kinks before slowly rising to embrace her father.

During the father and daughter greeting SAM woke to his mother’s kiss on the forehead. To say that she startled him awake would be only a small understatement, they’re lucky they didn’t knock skulls.

Sarah made the introductions while Momma SAM fussed over her son’s beautiful nose being smashed. Gibbs beat it out of there shortly after shaking Papa SAM’s hand and casting a fond glance at my love telling him to “Be strong”. I get the feeling the Bossman has a very low tolerance for women like Momma SAM.

SAM’s dad hugged me as we were introduced and told me it was great to finally meet me. Until that moment I hadn’t been certain SAM had even told his parents about me.

His father pulled a chair closer to his bedside for his mother and then addressed his son for the first time.

That makes it sound cold but it wasn’t. In Gibbs absence he was the only man in the room (save the wounded and therefore excused for the moment SAM) and while I wouldn’t go so far as to call him remotely macho he did strike me as a gentleman used to old world manners. He made sure the women were sorted before turning his attention to his boy. The affection between them was immediately apparent.

More focused than he’d been since the rescue (owing in no small part to his last two urine samples testing clean) SAM recounted the highlights (lowlights?) of what had happened.

He’d been driving to NCIS after getting the text message from Tony and pulled over to assist a bicyclist who had apparently been the victim of a hit and run. When he approached the victim someone must have hit him over the head because he felt the thump and then remembers waking up in the house they’d been using as a hideout.

At this point he had trouble keeping a flow to the story because there was much he either couldn’t reveal due to it being an open investigation or didn’t want to burden his family with knowing. He made a few skips over the threats about my safety and Sarah’s (something I was happy to be ignorant about the details of) belonged and his throat closed on him. I patted his hand and he turned to smile at me. He looked from me to his dad, lifting his brows in the elder’s direction and his dad nodded, “Everything you said she’d be, but go on son.”

He sneaked a wink my way and then quickly filled in what he could of the rest. The kidnappers asked questions, he either didn’t answer or lied about the answers while trying to assess how much information NCIS had correct and whether anyone would have enough to find him.

He stopped suddenly and looked at me, “My car?”

I just shook my head sadly.

“Damn.”

His mother made a “tsk”ing sound and he apologized, I guess for the ‘profanity’ which goes a long way to explaining why he’s not so quick to let fly with even the most benign swears.

This drew a short burst from Sarah, “Jesus mom, ‘SAM’s been kidnapped, drugged and beaten, I think he’s entitled to at least ‘damn’.”

It was clear Momma SAM didn’t relish the idea of having this conversation in front of me but still she lowered her voice to just above a whisper to retort, “Vulgarity will not improve the situation in any way Sarah, nor will taking our Lord’s name in vain. We have much to be thankful for.”

Papa SAM gave Sarah a look that suggested she might not want to pursue this further while patting his wife on the shoulder. “Now, now Liz, I think we’re all a little on edge, lets try to enjoy each other now that we’re here together alright?”

SAM had told me that his father was a sociology professor and his mother had been a secretary (back before all secretaries became Administrative Assistants) for the Dean when they met. They were in their late twenties then and didn’t begin having children until his mother was 30, late starters for the 1970’s.

His father had been a socially awkward academic and his mother an organized and religious woman who appreciated his courtly manner. I can imagine how he stood out as different surrounded as she was with hippies and free love heroes rampant on any campus of the day.

I thought of SAM and me. Myself spending my evenings singing songs popular in an age of modesty and chastity, and SAM apologizing for the word ‘damn’. We weren’t so different from his parents in some ways, yet in others we were miles apart.

I couldn’t picture his father pointing his finger much less a weapon at a suspected terrorist and I think I’m pretty safe in my assumption that Liz never spent much time watching drag queens dance to Shaun Cassidy songs.

Thinking it best to leave the family to their reunion for a bit I kissed SAM’s cheek and told him I wasn’t going far but I wanted to check on a few things. In the lobby I once again dialed the main number for NCIS and asked to be connected to Special Agent Gibbs. It had been easier earlier to just call Tony but I was thinking at this point Tony was off somewhere having a well deserved snorefest.

When Gibbs answered on the third ring I identified myself, apologized for bothering him and then asked, “I can’t go home?”

“Not yet.”

“But my roommate, if someone is going in and out of our apartment…”

“It’s being taken care of. Both apartments are under constant surveillance. Ziva has spoken with your friend Winfred and advised him to go about his business as normal but we’ve installed someone inside. I’d just prefer you stay out of the way until we know where this last guy is.”

After I disconnected with him I called Poo.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I was livid with him for not telling me about the apartment being under watch. He assumed I knew, which I guess should have been a safe assumption. Before hanging up I apologized for dragging him into the whole thing but in true Poo fashion he was thrilled to be in the middle of the excitement and happily explaining what a hottie the cop was who was now camping out on our sofa.

Give Poo lemons he’ll make lemon skin go-go shorts.

Admitted

2007-03-26T13:47:00.000-07:00

February 13, 2007 continued

After I wiped my eyes and steeled my spine I called Tony’s cell. I wanted to speak directly to Gibbs but I didn’t have his number and didn’t want to alert Abby to my concerns until I had more information. Tony said Gibbs was “talking to” one of the guys who had kidnapped SAM but that he Ziva had made the same observations and shared them Gibbs already. At least if I was paranoid I wasn’t alone.

I started back to the curtain area but stopped when I saw Abby and Sarah still outside in the hall. They said they had gone to get drinks and when they got back there was someone new in with SAM but they couldn’t make out who it was and decided to wait until the doc said it was alright.

The silhouette looked like a woman behind his curtain, maybe taking his pulse. I decided to venture in and found Ziva holding his hand and speaking softly to SAM. She looked up when I came in and shrugged, “I don’t know if he hears me.”

I nodded, “He does. Every now and then he responds. Mostly he sleeps.”

I decided to give her a little more time with him and slipped back into the entry area where I could use my cell.

I had called Poo twice since this whole thing started but there hadn’t been time since SAM had been found. There is a whole lot of drama queen in Poo’s everyday persona but when the chips are down he’s always been my rock.

He answered on the first ring. I told him what had happened and where we were and he asked if we’d eaten and I told him we’d done the best we could.

The decision was made at the 8 hour mark to admit SAM. The levels of the drug in his urine were decreasing substantially but the doctor decided that keeping an eye on him for the next few hours wouldn’t be the worst idea.

I didn’t realize how long we’d been there until Gibbs and Tony came in bringing more caffeine at roughly the same time Poo showed up with food and more importantly a fresh change of clothes for both myself and Sarah(he did a great job of judging what she’d wear out of his choices from my wardrobe).

According to Gibbs his interrogation suggested that SAM’s drugging was only since his capture and in non-lethal dosage. Turns out one of the guys who had him was a Navy doc. It was good news in a way. At least this guy knew what a lethal dose was and also knew that keeping SAM alive was in his best interest.

SAM was staying awake for much longer blocks of time now and only slightly disoriented. His clinical signs gave me hope that all would be well. With all of us in the room it took on a circus like atmosphere which went some length to keeping him awake. He began to complain about the pain in his ribs and nose but I explained that he couldn’t have a painkiller until we were certain all of the amobarbital was out of his system. His response was to lace his fingers through mine which drew an “Awww” from Abby.

Gibbs pressed everyone to go home. He would stay with SAM, the rest of us should go get sleep. Sarah and I refused; Abby balked but when her boss gently insisted she gave it. Poo stayed only a short while after the others but could sense that we were all ready to settle in for some quiet time.

It’s difficult to know the time inside a hospital. The windows are usually darkened at least a little so while you can tell if it’s night or day you can’t tell if it’s dusk or dawn. The light traffic in the hallway suggested that visiting hours were over.

Sarah gave up on the awkward position of trying to rest in one of the straight backed chairs and slumped on the floor against the wall falling asleep almost immediately. I watched SAM’s boss, usually so alert fight his heavy eyelids and eased his coffee cup out of his hand just before he gave in to sleep. Looking over I noticed SAM smiling at me.

“What?” I asked.

“He must like you.”

I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

“Nobody takes the coffee cup from his hand.”

“I was afraid he was going to drop it.”

SAM just shook his head. It was clear he believed the Gibbs could keep a coffee cup steadily in his grip even in his sleep.

Someone down the hall was yelling a lot and the call buttons were dinging constantly. I closed SAM’s door against some of the noise, partially so everyone could rest, but also against the memories that were rising like bile at the back of my throat.

Once you’ve sat vigil at a hospital bedside every hospital room becomes the same. Even visits to maternity wards on the joyous occasion of welcoming a new family member will tug at the small spaces of fear and loneliness lodged deep inside you. There isn’t enough antiseptic and bleach in the world to completely clear away the smell of desperation from the walls.

SAM read the uneasiness in my eyes and called me to sit beside him on the bed, patting the mattress on the side with the “good ribs”. He leaned in and whispered into my ear, “Did they hurt you?” I admit I was lost.

“Who?”

He rolled out three names, none of which I recognized. I thought maybe he was experiencing some sort of dementia. “Baby I wasn’t the one who was kidnapped, you were.”

I smoothed the hair away from his face as I said it.

He looked confused and then relieved. “They told me they had you, were holding you at your apartment. They showed me…nevermind. You’re okay, that’s all that matters.”

He remained unsettled still so I recounted for him my time since we’d last seen one another. I left out the part about my fears of his not wanting to see me anymore, they seemed so far away. He laughed when I told him about Abby teaching me chess and conceded that he would be in trouble with the two of us putting our heads together.

He told me he loved me and crazily apologized for what had gone on before giving in once again to sleep.

It wasn’t long before I grew too antsy to sit still. I picked up my purse, trying to stay quiet and let the others sleep but Gibbs eyes flew open.

“Where are you going?”

I shared my plan. As long as Gibbs was there with SAM I trusted nothing bad would happen. (Good grief, is it possible that SAM’s hero worship of his boss is rubbing off on me?) I thought I’d take the time to go back to his place and pick up some clean clothes for him to wear when he was discharged, which from the looks of things would be soon.

Gibbs straightened in his chair. “I’ll have someone pick his clothes up.”

Doctors talk in code all the time. It isn’t something they teach in a classroom, but it is one of the most nuanced parts of the job. The reason the intern is always standing next to the doctor when they say “We’re doing our best to keep your husband comfortable” is so the intern learns not to say “There isn’t anything we can do.”

I sat and looked Gibbs in the eye. “You think number 4 is still around and dangerous.”

He countered, “If you aren’t here when Tim wakes up he’ll worry.”

“Not if you tell him there isn’t reason to.”

He was a very handsome man when he smiled. “I won’t lie to him.”

“How much danger?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Aha! An honest answer, score one for me. Might as well go for two.

“Why did he think I’d been kidnapped?”

People size one another up all the time but rarely as obviously as he did in the moment between my question and his answer.

“There was evidence.” He watched as I let that settle but didn’t react. “Photographic evidence, that they were holding you in your home.”

“Pictures. Of me. In my apartment.” I processed it slowly. Then came to the only conclusion that made sense, “Telephoto lens?”

He shook his head. “These were more intimate than that, and from more angles than would have been possible.”

More intimate. I didn’t want to think about what that might mean. Instead I went with, “How?”

When NCIS found their hiding spot they had taken most stuff with them but left behind a file of images of me. When Gibbs interrogated the three men one confessed to having lifted my keys at one of my gigs (alas my feelings about the strange staring Navy guy at that show that didn’t feel right were correct), made copies of both my and SAM’s keys and then replaced them in my apartment. They had snuck in a number of times when I slept and taken photographs and even some of my things in anticipation of using them to make SAM talk.

There was no time to feel violated or afraid because a loud sob filled the room. I looked up to find a well dressed couple in the doorway.

The hospital

2007-03-08T13:17:00.001-08:00

February 13, 2007

SAM insisted he wanted to see Sarah right away. Gibbs told him that she was safe but the information wasn’t registering. I got his focus when I laid my hands on his chest and made him look at my eyes. I told him that I’d just talked to her on the phone, she was worried but safe. His shoulders descended a fraction as some of the tension left him.

Gibbs instructed Tony to take SAM to the hospital, said he’d bring Sarah to meet us there. We all started for the door, SAM sort of moving with us in a daze. I turned back to see Abby back at his desk chewing on her lip as she watched us leave.

“C’mon!” I motioned for her to hurry up. “Me too?” she jumped a little and ran to catch up, ponytails swinging crazily. In that moment it seemed unthinkable to me that she wouldn’t come with us.

We had to guide SAM into the back of Tony’s car; he was definitely not completely present. Abby sat to his right, I to his left, the two of us somewhat keeping his body upright at the turns when he seemed to forget how to do it himself. He took my hand and held it loosely but didn’t look at me. When I looked down I saw his other hand similarly engaged with Abby’s and felt a little safer. We were all in this together; he’d have plenty of support and be back to himself in no time.

Something snapped in me when we walked into the emergency room, maybe it was a regression to training or just the relief of being back in a place where I felt I understood what was going on and could exercise some sort of control. It was a false sense of control to be sure since I hadn’t been in a hospital in an official capacity in quite some time and in this particular one ever, but after being surrounded by NCIS type things and people it felt comparatively more homelike.

Tony flashed his badge while I settled SAM into one of the wheelchairs Abby grabbed from the lobby. Even with Tony’s posturing it was 25 minutes before we were taken to an exam room. The only thing SAM said the entire time was, “When’s Sarah getting here?”

Gibbs showed up with her only a few minutes after the triage nurse finished taking SAM’s vitals. He looked up at his sister and said, “Good, good” before giving in to whatever sleepy place was calling him. Sarah and I hugged and I told her what little I knew. Tony cast a cautious eye at SAM before filling us in a little more. They grabbed the three guys that had SAM, the same guys they were after all this time minus one. The minus one freaked me out but Tony seems convinced that he’s long gone from the country by now. SAM had been out of it and tied to a chair when they came in.

Gibbs doesn’t say much. He sat in the back of the room, watching us all but when I looked back at him he seemed unsettled. If Tony gave the impression that this was over, Gibbs’ eyes seemed to tell a different story. The nurse returned to take some blood and insisted that there were far too many people in the room. She wanted two people with him at one time maximum; everyone else had to go to the waiting room or home. I touched her arm and quietly insisted that she allow three. The boys were dismissed back to NCIS headquarters to deal with the bad guys and SAM’s harem waited patiently for his blood to be taken and then surrounded him.

Sarah tried to get him to tell her what happened but he was vague and slurring his speech some. I took a quick spin around the area and found a sink with clean towels nearby and with a little warm water and very gentle scrubbing was able to remove most of the blood from his cheeks, jaw and neck. While I did this he watched me as if from somewhere far away but when I tried to take my hand away from his face he reached up and held it there a moment longer. It was the first time I saw any hint of the man I knew behind his eyes. I took his hands and cleaned the dried blood (most of which had been wiped on his pants already) from his palms.

When the doctor questioned him SAM gave reasonable responses but in a strange tone of voice. He was on autopilot and I wondered whether the visible trauma was enough to send him there or if something more sinister occurred. I wanted to question him further myself but before I was given the chance an orderly arrived to take him to x-ray. We were told there was another waiting room there and we should make use of that.

Sitting in x-ray is always an eternity. There are never enough techs, and never enough equipment. As we waited Abby took my hand and Sarah’s and suggested we say a little prayer. She led us and I couldn’t have worded it more beautifully than she did. Sarah thought they’d x-ray his nose but I explained that an x-ray wouldn’t tell then anything about a nose fracture. It was more likely they were looking at his ribs.

It was a relief when we were herded back to the emergency room with him. If things had been serious we’d have been brought upstairs to a room but being returned to the er suggested he’d be released soon.

The doctor returned and began packing SAM’s nose while he told us that he found no rib fractures, seemed like he just got bruised up pretty well. All we had to do was wait for the blood work to come back clean and we could take him home and just try keep him comfortable.

Two and a half hours passed, during which SAM mostly slept. Abby and I dozed in and out a little too but Sarah had gotten some sleep at Gibbs place so she sat, awake and waiting. “There’s an elevated level of barbiturates in his system, explains the slow responses.”

Abby and I spoke at the same time asking how much and what sort of barbiturates.

“Amobarbitol, hard to tell how much he got, but it must’ve been enough to keep him loopy for this long.”

Sarah was lost. “Amo what? They drugged him? Why?”

I shared what I knew while the doctor began forcing fluids into SAM. In normal doses the drug is used to treat insomnia, anxiety and epilepsy but also had a reputation as a truth serum and hypnotic- overdoses can be fatal. While SAM’s vitals weren’t cause for concern, he had a normal heart rhythm, no fever, no obvious problem breathing, the fact that he was excessively sleepy and slurring his speech suggested that he was at least partially overdosed. There was no way to tell whether he’d be kept drugged since the day he disappeared or if it had been just once. The best thing to do was to force fluids into him since the drug would leave via urine.

I kept to myself about the fact that if these guys had been overdosing him before they grabbed him, which was entirely possible, it would explain his being tired all the time, it could also mean that withdrawal could take days and lead to convulsions and possibly death.

The doctor asked everyone to step out while he catheterized him. I took the opportunity to head to the bathroom for a quick cry.

The longest days part two

2007-03-06T12:25:00.000-08:00

February 12, 2007 (Part 2)

I don’t think I was out very long but time had lost all meaning. I knew I’d been there more than a day. The sun had set and risen again before Tony ever came back with that damn…evidence. Doctor Mallard (Ducky) brought me around with some smelling salts and when I opened my eyes from where they had sat me on the floor, the bloody towel was gone from my field of vision, but not my mind’s eye. I’m pretty sure the first thing I said was, “So much blood.” Even I’m not sure what I said, my mind was muddy and my throat was tight with an enormous lump taking the space usually set aside for things like air and saliva.

Abby knelt beside me, “It’s okay.” I protested, “But it was dripping,” Before I could finish she told me that was the good news. It was still wet, the blood was fresh, our guys weren’t far behind their guys or the blood would have at least started drying.

It was tough to wrap my mind around a towel soaked with my SAM’s blood being good news but my head ached so I decided to trust Abby’s version. I tried to collect my thoughts. It could be okay. They probably hit him on the head so he wouldn’t struggle when they went on the move right? Head wounds bleed like crazy and it’s not always that big of a deal.

First one’s free.

What? Where had I heard that? Shit. Watching CSI I think. I swear I can remember Catherine saying that. First ones free, first hit to the head no blood, so there’d have to be more than one hit.

Come on, you studied medicine; you know that’s not always true. Note to self, watch less tv.

My brain just wouldn’t put it all together. I always thought I’d be cool in a crisis but trying to logically think through the scenarios that could have led to SAM bleeding that much just resulted in a running film of terror in my imagination.

Abby told me three times that Ziva and Gibbs thought they knew where the bad guys (sounds so silly, bad guys, but I don’t know what else to call them, that’s what they are) were headed before I really heard her.

I heard Tony the first time when he mentioned that they left a uniformed officer at the scene where they found the towel. He was left behind to check a mound of dirt that looked like a freshly dug and covered hole in the back yard of the house. I had to fight the blackness from consuming me again. The fear was mercifully short lived, the call came in that it was an empty hole, either something had been there that they dug up to take with them or they’d dug the hole to make it look like they’d buried someone or something in hopes of slowing our guys off their trail.

Someone suggested we try to eat. I couldn’t choke down much. Tony let me call Sarah to check in on her, she was frantic and lonely, feeling disconnected from us all and wishing she’d just stayed at NCIS. I thought about asking Tony to bring me to her but I didn’t want to be out of the informational loop, no matter how scary that information became. I drank too much coffee and then tried Abby’s Caff Pow. Not exactly a sedative.

So much time runs together, it’s impossible to tell the order of the events that didn’t seem to move us closer to bringing SAM home. People came and went, Abby was my constant companion.

We were back in the lab when Tony got a call from Gibbs and without saying much of anything he kissed both Abby and myself on the head and took off for the door. Abby called out to him and he yelled back, “They think they’ve found them, wish us luck.”

It was two hours. Abby and I started the long wait in her lab but got too antsy to stay in one place. Together we paced to the morgue to try to distract ourselves with Ducky’s nonstop chatter but neither of us could focus on what he was saying. Eventually we landed in the bullpen, both of us gravitating toward SAM’s desk.

She ran her finger over his belongings, all set up at right angles to one another, none a centimeter off plumb. “He’s such a neat freak.”

Not always. When he writes he keeps tiny scraps of paper everywhere. I’ll reach for orange juice and find a torn receipt with three or four words scratched on them in the refrigerator. The nightstands on his side of both of our beds are rife with post it notes and index cards all with plot points, character descriptions, and sometimes just single words. I opened my mouth to tell Abby this but the elevator chimed and we both turned toward it, like we had every time for the past two days.

Gibbs on one side, Tony on the other, and in the center, SAM.

Before I even processed the information my eyes were sending Abby had flung herself across the room and thrown herself at him, her arms wrapped around his neck. She was squealing and saying all sorts of things about knowing he’d be okay and chastising him for scaring us but when I looked up I saw that he was looking only at me.

I wanted to jump up, to run to him but my legs were filled with cement. Gibbs pulled Abby away from him, saying something about his ribs being broken but I didn’t really hear him right away. I was in a tunnel where time was in slow motion and the only sound was a roar like an ocean storm. I could see SAM at the far end, the others barely registering in a hazy periphery.

His eyes were black, his beard of stubble caked with dried blood from his obviously broken nose. I licked my lips but my tongue was as dry as the desert. Violent shaking began somewhere in my core, creeping outward slowly until my hands were uncontrollable.

The relief, the comfort, the softness of feeling him wrap himself around me and pull me up to my feet, up to where he could bury his face in my hair and I could hear him whispering, “Thank God, thank God” over and over again.

End then I cried, big fat tears that left me gulping for air and soaked us both.

The longest days- part one

2007-02-28T13:44:00.000-08:00

February 12, 2006

When Tony picked me up he tried to be really lighthearted about what was up, but you could read the concern in his face. He brought me back to NCIS headquarters, I always thought the first time I saw where my secret agent worked I’d be with him. Tony had me sit at SAM’s desk to wait for Gibbs.

It’s a surreal thing to sit at the desk of someone you love but have never seen at work. So many people compartmentalize themselves so much that you can learn new things about them by witnessing them in the different places they go. I think that’s maybe a little true of SAM, at least in as much as I don’t really think the people that work with him know him as well as they think they do, but then, I’m the newest person in his life, so maybe it’s me who’s got it wrong.

SAM’s desk doesn’t give much away. None of their desks are terribly personalized and for good reason I know, but I confess to being just a little sad that there was no hint of us anywhere visible. I’m pretty sure that if I had a desk at a real job there would be something to remind me of him.

Gibbs handed me a coffee (black 4 sugars, how did he know?) and pulled a chair over to sit next to me. “Tell me about the last time you saw Tim.”

I don’t think I’ll ever forget those words. Maybe if Gibbs didn’t look so tired, if Tony’s eyes didn’t look so afraid, or even if I couldn’t see Abby pacing and biting her nails by the elevators, maybe then the phrasing would have seemed less ominous. I told him we were at my place, that we were alone, when the phone call came, how long he took to leave and my voice caught when I told him that I walked him to the door and watched him drive away. Gibbs hand covered mine on my knee, it didn’t stop the shaking.

He asked me to think carefully. Did I see any cars move, any doors open, anyone walking by when I said goodbye.

I had so carefully avoided using the word “goodbye”. I try never to say it anymore because it was the last thing I said to Danny, “Goodbye baby, be good.” and look how that turned out. Anyway, I didn’t notice anything, my eyes were glued to his taillights until he was gone and then I crawled back into bed.

“Helpful.” I barely heard Abby grunt this under her breath, but Gibbs did. He turned and raised his eyebrows at her as she moved into the bullpen of desks.

She looked at me. “Nice shirt.”

I was wearing SAM’s MIT sweatshirt. It was what I was wearing when Tony called, I didn’t see any reason to change. Apparently Abby wasn’t impressed with my fashion choice. The ringing from Gibbs cell phone redirected everyone’s attention. All he said was, “Good” before snapping the thing shut.

We all looked at him expectantly.

“Ziva has Sarah, she’s bringing her here.”

I blew out a sigh of relief; Abby sat hard on Tony’s desk and winced at the pain in her side. I’d nearly forgotten her stab wounds.

Gibbs continued asking questions I had no good answers for, which only made me feel worse. I wanted to help but I just didn’t notice anything strange.

When Sarah got off the elevator I almost ran to her. She was crying but trying not to; when we hugged I could feel her holding her breath. I looked her in the eye, “He’s going to be okay.” I had no idea if it was true but we both really needed to hear it.

Ziva brought everyone up to speed about the guy who’d been creeping Sarah out which reminded me of the guy at that show for the Navy vets. I hadn’t thought about it since that night but figured I’d rather they have more information than they needed than skip something I thought was unrelated but could have helped.

A red headed woman came down a set of stairs and everyone stopped talking. She introduced herself to me as Director Shepard, SAM’s big boss. She wanted an update from Gibbs which he seemed reluctant to give in front of Sarah and me. Bad sign.

At the same time a call came up looking for Abby. Ducky had some samples for her to run but she wasn’t in her lab. She grunted and looked at Gibbs. “I hate to say it Gibbs but I need help. I can do most stuff but my side’s killing me and some of this stuff is a bunch of reaching…”

I offered to help, if I could. I figured I couldn’t do much as far as computer stuff was concerned but that should be easy enough for Abby even with her wounds. What I could do was run some of her biochemical equipment. I could do DNA analysis, run a mass spec, do blood testing, and stuff like that.

Abby looked unsure, “You got a degree in forensic science?” “Biology, premed.” She relented, “You’ll do.”

I was kinda surprised really.

Gibbs agreed but sent Sarah to a “safe house” which I later learned is code for his basement. I promised her I’d keep in touch the second I learned anything but I guess it wasn’t necessary because Gibbs was sending someone with her to make sure she stayed safe.

I love Abby’s lab. In contrast to the agents desks Abby’s lab has her personality all over it. There are little goth dolls and some photos she took which I’m not even going to explain to you but are super cool. She turned the music on at a level that suggested we weren’t going to be talking much and pointed to her mass spec, “You know how to use this model?” I hadn’t used that particular one but after looking it over for a minute I felt confident.

She signed off on some evidence that a guy I didn’t know brought in and gave me some short directions before settling herself in front of her computer. We each worked lost in our own thoughts for a long time. I was grateful to have something to do, thinking of how crazy poor Sarah must have been going sitting by herself with nothing but worry to occupy her mind.

Tony turned the music down as he came in and we both turned our hope filled faces toward him. You could see that it killed him to have to disappoint us. “Nothing new. Just checking on you guys.”

As he and Abby talked about nothing in particular he sat on the floor and picked a stuffed hippopotamus up from its hiding place under a bench. “Hey Bert.” He said sadly and gave him a squeeze. Mild amusement crossed his face and he looked to me, “Bert’s a farting hippo.”

I waited for Abby to correct him but when she didn’t I told him, that noise isn’t farting, that’s what a hippo call sounds like. Tony thought this was fascinating information but I got the idea that Abby wasn’t happy I told him. When Tony was gone she picked Burt up and faced him toward me, “You shouldn’t have told him Bert’s secret.”

I asked why it was a secret. She said people expected a certain level of quirkiness from her. I guess that made sense in Abbyland, it didn’t to me, but at least we were talking. We had done about all we could, other than wait so she pulled out a chessboard. “You play?”

I told her that SAM’s teaching me but I’m not very good yet. She brightened a little and said that he’s not that great at it so I was lucky to have her to show me how to win. As we played (it was less like play and more like extended instruction. She’s far less patient that SAM but very skillful) we relaxed into each others company. At one point she stared at me until I met her intense gaze. When I did she told me, “You weren’t lying you know, when you told Sarah that he was going to be okay. He is. I feel it.”

Tears pricked at my eyes. I felt them well, I knew they’d gone red but I just couldn’t give in to the crushing fear and panic that they threatened if I unleashed them. Instead I bit the side of my mouth just a little and nodded my head vigorously. She told me it was okay to cry. I told her crying felt like defeat. She hugged me, I hugged her back. SAM was right, I really do like her.

A beep from her computer got her attention and the next thing I knew she was on the phone to Gibbs. I didn’t understand a word of what was said but she clearly found something she thought was a lead on the case they had been working before SAM went missing. No one had told me whether they suspected his disappearance was related but given the level of excitement about her discovery I guessed that they did.

I can’t accurately depict the next part. Time was excruciatingly slow while we waited for word back from Ziva, Tony and Gibbs who had gone out on the chase. Ducky came and sat in Abby’s lab with us, trying to rally us with stories of investigations gone by. He told us of the scrapes he’d seen Gibbs get into when he was a younger agent and assured us some day all of this would be just another of SAM’s catalog of stories of his early rogue years. I didn’t know if I could take seeing just this one day through to the end let alone an entire catalog of similar episodes but I kept this feeling to myself.

“I recall the first time I laid eyes on young Timothy…” the doctor began. Apparently SAM and Abby had been forced to work in the morgue to keep the computer equipment cool when the air conditioning was broken and my boy was a little jumpy about all the blood and death. As Ducky told his story I closed my eyes and allowed myself to think about when SAM and I met. Was it possible that it had only barely been a month ago? We fit so well it felt like he’d always been there next to me. I smiled when I thought of him walking with me to the bus stop in the rain and dug my nails into my palm when I felt a tear slip down my cheek.

I hate being seen acting like a self indulgent girl even more than I hate doing it. The bathroom seemed the one place I might get a sliver of privacy. Abby walked me there and said she’d wait outside. I entered a stall and sat fully clothed, waiting for the door to close and the silence to surround me. My cell phone in hand I punched in the code required for my voice mail and hit the key to listen to my saved messages. Shutting my eyes tight against any sensory input other than SAM’s voice in my ear I held my breath and listened.

The most recent message played first:

“I’m on my way home, should I bring anything with me? Call me when you get this.”

I rewound the message and listened again, “I’m on my way home.” I’m relatively certain I wimpered out loud.

“Hi baby, I’m working late. Don’t wait up. Love you.”

“Hey love, what do you think about thai food tonight? It’s okay to call me back whenever you get this. Love you.”

They went on like this. I’d saved nearly ever message. It was funny to hear him identify himself in the earliest ones, “Hey this is Tim, um, I was hoping I’d catch you before you went to work…” as if I’d even not known his voice in some deep part of my heart.

The tears I expected never came; instead hearing his voice strengthened my resolve. He had to be okay; he had to come home because I loved him. That was all I had.

When I exited the bathroom Abby was crying, you could see the bad news in her body language I threw up in the nearest trash can before I even asked. Tony was on his way in with some samples. Blood samples. They had found the house Abby had traced them to, what they saw there led them to believe something bad had gone down but no one was there.

He brought the samples. Abby ran them, I don’t know how. We were both so shaken by then it was a miracle we were able to put one foot in front of the other. When the match to the blood soaked towel came back to SAM everything went dark.

February 9, Missing

2007-02-16T10:18:00.000-08:00

Feb 9, 2006

I’m a little (okay, more than a little) freaked out.

I don’t have much time so I’m going to try and rush through this. Yesterday I was about the happiest girl alive. As the day wore on I expected to get at least a phone call from SAM. He left so early in the morning and I knew there had to be something up at work for him to get called in like that but he always finds a quick second when he’s in the car or whatever to call me or text me and just say hello.

I thought especially yesterday he’d make time to say something after, well, y’know.

He didn’t. I figured, okay, he’s super busy, or they’re on the trail of someone and he can’t be making calls. No biggie.

But then last night he never came over, never called.

It happens. He works all night sometimes. He’s told me of times when they’ve gone out on calls and not come home for days, so okay.

I didn’t call him, I’ve said it before here, if he can’t call me then my calling him and making his phone ring at a bad moment could get him killed. So I didn’t call.

Admittedly sometime around 3AM I started to wonder if maybe he was just avoiding me specifically. Maybe things didn’t go as well as I thought they had and he didn’t know what to say. I started to wonder if maybe he didn’t want to see me again. You think crazy things at 3AM.

It was 7 this morning when Sarah called my apartment looking for him. I told her the last time I saw him and she said she’s been calling him since 8 last night but his phone is turned off and goes right to voice mail. Strange, but again, could be a work thing.

Tony called me 10 minutes ago. I guess it took him awhile to track me down since all he had was my first name.

Long story short? His cell phone was stolen 2 days ago so he never sent SAM a text from it. SAM never showed up for work yesterday morning and today they found his Boxter pretty much stolen and stripped in Virginia.

I asked if they called Sarah. Her cell is off and she’s not in her dorm room. Ziva’s checking around campus looking for her now and Tony’s on his way here to pick me up.

I never knew I had this many tears inside me. You’re prayers and wishes worked last time, stay with me now, and keep a good thought that we find Tim.

Thanks y'all

2007-02-15T13:13:00.000-08:00

February 8, 2007

Wow you people are good wishers!

Thanks to all of you who got together and put a good thought out there for me and my sweetie yesterday. It worked.

I did make dinner and it was excellent, even though we ate it cold and many hours after it was intended to be served.

I’m not spilling more detail than that but suffice it to say that things went well and when I was awakened at 4:30 AM by the beeping of a text message on my fella’s phone I still had a smile on my face.

Duty called. Well, Tony texted, but it’s the same thing in the end and I couldn’t be too mad because at least we’d had time alone to really enjoy each other’s company first. I slept while SAM quickly showered but woke when he attempted to say his goodbye via a soft kiss on my cheek. Instead I wrapped myself in the comforter and followed him to the front door for a long kiss and the murmuring of those things you say to someone before sending him off into the cold.

So it’s official for those of you with scorecards. I’m head over heels in love. People who know me in real life and also read this blog should sit down before you read this next part because I’m going to say something that I’ve never said before.

I think he’s THE ONE.

And yes, you’re right, I know, that for years I’ve been known to scoff at the concept that a “ONE” even exists. I’ve been a strong proponent of the idea that we fall in and out of what we call love but are really infatuations all through our lives and that giving in to that infatuation and calling it love and trying to make it stick is archaic. It’s a throwback to when we only lived into our 20’s and it was easy to say that you were going to love this one person for the rest of your life. It was probably a 5 year commitment.

I’ve been known to say that people that do stay together forever only do it out of fear of being alone, complacency or lack of imagination and passion in their soul.

That was before I met SAM.

And now I get how you can look at someone and just “know” and still not be able to put into words what makes this different from any other time before. Because I feel like I know and I’ve typed a million words here and erased them trying to explain how and why.

If you see me out and about today tie a rock to my leg or something because I’m sure I’ll be walking on air.

Wish with me or else!

2007-02-13T12:03:00.000-08:00

February 7, 2007

It seems harder and harder to write here lately. I blame SAM. We’ve started writing together and it’s flowing so beautifully. I kind of want to save all of my words for him and my project with him.

But I love you guys (even though you never ~~bring me flowers~~ leave me comments anymore.

Probably my writing with SAM is only part of the reason I find it difficult to come here now. I think it’s the weight of telling Danny’s story. There have been a few days when I’ve wanted to come and tell you all something cute SAM said or something embarrassing that Poo did (there’s always something from Poo) but then I realize I’m in the middle of this story of Danny and that I can’t just let it hang there and I’m suddenly so tired I can’t even think about sitting down at the computer.

So we’re going to have to make a little deal you and I. I will share the rest of Danny’s story in pieces. I will try to tell you something more about him each week, sometimes more sometimes less, but I cannot just tell his story straight through without losing the fun spirit of this diary.

Sometimes I have to just have this space to laugh at the fact that Poo and his new “guy pal” got ARRESTED for making snow angels in the park at 2AM on Sunday. (They were naked snow angels by the way). And sometimes I just need to totally girl out and squee about my ‘oh isn’t he the cutest’ boyfriend. Because if I don’t do it here then all my real life friends have to hear the squee’ing non stop and will abandon me.

(My real life friends never tire of naked Poo stories though. Funny huh?)

Speaking of my beloved SAM we ended up having a great time Saturday night. Poo was home when Sarah (I so want to nickname her SOS-Sister of SAM just because it makes me laugh in a really irrational way) was here and they hit it off quickly. Sarah has that dark sarcasm that Poo cherishes the way most people do religious icons. We had planned to play a board game but you know how things like that are so fluid and you always end up doing something else. Our something else centered on watching reruns of 80’s sitcoms on tv and ridiculing pretty much everything.

Okay, I warned there would be some girly bits when I’d talk about how great SAM is, we’ve clearly gotten there so I’m going to tell you something weird.

I confess that I watched more of SAM than I did the shows. I can’t take my eyes off of him sometimes. Especially when he doesn’t know I’m watching him. When he sleeps, drives, reads or watches tv I find I can just stare at him for long periods of time and be completely enthralled. He’s boyishly handsome but all man. I honestly can’t get enough of him.

I’ve woken up with my fair share of guys, shared bathrooms with them, whether they were family members, lovers, friends or roommates and I’ve seen them shave in the morning since I was tiny. My dad shaving never held any fascination for me. I had this talk with some friends and some said that they did like to watch their dad’s shave, that it was this strange ritual that was distinctly masculine but I never did. I ignored it. I had no interest either when men in my life were shaving, or brushing their teeth or any of the other things that people do to ready themselves to present to the world.

But SAM. He brushes his teeth in the most adorably obsessive way. He has the exact same pattern and uses the same amount of strokes for each part of his mouth every day. I don’t even think he’s aware of it. If he stops to talk to me while he’s brushing he has to start at the beginning. Sometimes I’ll force him into a conversation just to watch him begin again and again.

The shaving though is where I lose it. I’m not sure what it is that I find so unnervingly sensual about watching him shave but sometimes I have to actually leave the room to stop myself from ravishing him while he has a razor to his carotid.

I think it’s safe to say that if we don’t take it to the next level physically soon I’m going to implode. And yes, I know how crazy it is that we haven’t gotten around to that yet but things have been in the way. Things like his job, my job, and oh, how’s this for fun, we were about 20 seconds from sealing the deal the other night when Sarah let herself into his apartment and wandered right into the bedroom asking him to borrow some money. Yeah, mood over. (It didn’t help that she always reported that she saw that scary library guy again but this time at her gym).

I can’t complain though, the working up to sealing the deal has been the best I’ve ever experienced and though SAM had a chat with Sarah about being more respectful of the fact that his apartment is more like “our apartment” I really don’t want her to feel like she can’t just stop in whenever she feels like it. She seems to need her brother in a way that’s really sweet.

Sarah gives SAM a lot of crap but they have such a nice bond. It reminds me much more of how I am with Poo than how I am with my sister. I don’t think we ever got that sibling bonding thing down, we were much more involved in sibling rivalry. A rivalry which, by the way, she seems to think she’s won because she actually finished her degree and is working in a big advertising firm as a graphic designer or whatever the correct term is. I don’t know, she’s in New York and she should stay there.

Oooh, just a little bitter slip there, I’ll be curbing that now.

We did all end up going to my show after but it wasn’t really Sarah’s speed (unsurprisingly) and so Poo took her under his wing and shuttled her off to Lord knows where after being warned to keep her safe and alcohol free by my gun toting boyfriend. I’ve heard from them both that they had an excellent time and that while she was safe she was not exactly a teetotaler all evening.

What can you do with these kids today?

Tonight we’re staying at my place. If he doesn’t have to work late I’m making us dinner. (Hopefully we’ll both survive my cooking.) I’ve given Poo strict instructions to not come home tonight and I’m asking each of you to say a little prayer or affirmation or whatever it is you say when you want something to come true, wish on a star for us, that Twink and SAM finally get to get it on before we both go postal and end up hurting someone.

Remember, the life you save may be your own.

Danny, part 2

2007-02-07T14:13:00.001-08:00

February 3, 2007

I’ll continue with Danny’s story in a moment but I thought I’d update you on Abby. She’s got some stitches and is moving a little slower than normal but she’s going to be just fine. They caught the kid who stabbed her, it was some idiot little punk who was getting jumped into a street gang and seems to be completely unrelated to whatever craziness is going on in SAM’s case. This has eased his mind some.

Gibbs never came out and said he forgave SAM for letting Abby do his work for him but he has stopped treating him as though he doesn’t exist which is progress I guess in Gibbs land.

It’s freezing out today so we’re staying in and making cupcakes and junk for tonight. Sarah is coming over for awhile and then we’re all going to go to my gig together.

I’ve stalled enough…more of Danny’s story:

Saying Danny couldn’t walk might have been overstating it. He could, but he’d wobble. It was holding the hand of a Weeble and trying to get him to follow. He lilted to the right quite heavily and had difficulty getting one foot in front of the other. I called one of the nurses in to have a look.

She thought it could be a head injury from the accident but when we checked for bumps we found nothing.

It was nearly daylight before I was asked to return with him to the ER. It turned out that his mother had been the cause of the accident. Far over the legal limit for blood alcohol she’d been weaving all over the highway until she finally cut directly in front of a gasoline truck.

She had been treated and was nearly ready to be released into police custody when she remembered that her son had been with her in the car. I told the attending about Danny’s coordination issues and waited while he asked her about them.

“He’s just a klutz like his old man. Always falling down drunk.”

It took a minute to realize that the “drunk” comment was directed at Danny’s father, not the boy.

I showed her the cigarette hole in his pants. She waved it off saying that he was always walking into her and climbing on her when she was trying to smoke. I didn’t need to ask exactly what she was smoking.

They took her to jail to deal with the DWI and social services was called while Danny was given a more thorough exam by our peds attending.

After interviewing Danny and looking him over an MRI was ordered. I skipped my classes for the day and held him as the gadolinium was injected for the imaging. The little guy was a trooper; he just locked his eyes on mine and held tight to his ball while the first of too many needles for such a short life entered his vein. When the neurologist asked if I was his mom I told him who I was and what I was hoping to specialize in. After that he was a gem at including me in each step of his discovery (most docs aren’t interested in med students unless they’re getting paid to instruct.

It was bad news. The bright spot in his cerebellum suggested a tumor but knowing more would require a biopsy which we couldn’t do until his mother gave permission or social services sorted out his situation at home.

His mother wouldn’t hear of it. She accused us of wanting to make money by using her son as a guinea pig. Social services with its usual lightening quickness took two months to investigate the home and even then decided it was safe for Danny to stay.

I went back to my life, but thought of Danny frequently. I flagged his name in the hospital system so that if he were to return I’d be notified. (Something I shouldn’t have been able to do but there are all sorts of things you can do if you hang around enough.) Four months later a babysitter brought Danny in again. He had fallen and cut his head, requiring stitches. Luckily I was at work so when the call came up to the peds floor I was able to rush down to see him before his mother showed up to take him home.

His speech had become slurred and his movements more jerky. I couldn’t stop myself from pleading with her to allow us to do the biopsy. I attempted to explain how it would be done and how Danny could be helped if we could catch what was going on soon enough but she was too drunk to listen. I did the only thing I could. I called social services again.

Eventually he became a nuisance to his mother, his growing tumor impairing him further with each passing month that she ignored it so when social services came knocking a third time (as a result of a call from a neighbor that the child was crying uncontrollably for hours) she willingly handed him over.

When he finally made it back for a biopsy I was doing my medical clerkship at the hospital. This meant Monday through Friday I was at the hospital with either my resident or my intern (we’re assigned to both) from 7:30AM until at least 5PM. If my intern was on call so was I, if my intern had weekend hours or night shift so did I, even if I was in at 7:30 with my resident. For most of us doing our clerkships this meant sleeping in the on-call rooms and living out of lockers, but I was used to preparing my presentations on the tiny coloring desk in the ped’s room and sleeping in the rocking chair in the ward.

The tumor turned out to be a medulloblastoma (malignant primary tumor of the cerebellum). Most of that tumor was removed in the same surgery as the biopsy but a lumbar puncture revealed that the medulloblastoma had metastasized to his spinal cord. At the time a bone scan didn’t reveal any cancer in his bones so no marrow biopsy was performed. I was with him for each new procedure, holding his hand or just being where he could see me.

I wanted desperately to be in the room when the surgeons installed his shunt (a tube used to divert excess fluid from his spinal cord to his abdomen for better absorption) but I wasn’t allowed. My surgical clerkship was only 2 months away but some rules never get broken.

Danny perked up quickly after the biopsy and shunt. His eyes became brighter and his speech repaired rather quickly. Though I tried to give equal attention to all of the children on the floor (I retained my evening volunteer job, but with much fewer hours due to my workload) somehow Danny always coaxed me to sit on his bed cuddling him against me until he drifted off to the land of Nod.

I was allowed to put in the catheter that would provide chemotherapy to his spinal cord. It was for this cath that I installed the first buttonhole in his favorite cowboy pajamas.

That’s all for today, SAM is threatening to frost the keyboard if I don’t abandon it and pay attention to him and our apparently ‘now deemed cool enough for frosting’ cupcakes.

Before I go though let me just tell you all something. I’ve carried Danny’s story in my heart for awhile now. It’s like a painful, heavy, hard thing inside me and I’ve been afraid that cracking it open would literally kill me. I could never have attempted to share his story without the support and encouragement of SAM. He lightens my mood, lifts my spirits and with just a glance can remind me just how amazing life can be. This man is an absolute blessing.

Danny, the begining

2007-02-06T14:19:00.000-08:00

February 2, 2006

Sorry for the break, I started typing out the rest but got so upset I had to stop. I’ll try again.

Hearing him say Danny’s name out loud stopped my heart a little. I was sure I’d never told SAM anything about Danny; I never talk about him to anyone.

“Who?”

“Danny. You say his name in your sleep. Sometimes like you’re calling him, other times you just keep telling him you’re sorry over and over. I’d never seen anyone cry in their sleep before, but you do.”

I told him, and now I’ll tell you, but forgive me, it’s a long story.

I’ll begin by telling you something I’m not proud of: unlike my beloved SAM I didn’t enter my chosen profession with dreams of saving the hopeless. I’m sorry to say my love for medicine was based on the science, not the humanity. Naturally I was glad to be able to make people feel better, but what drove me to pursue the career was scientific curiosity. If I was good with the bedside manner and setting patients at ease it was only because it was a way to perform, to entertain, my second love. When I began medical school I had two pathways in mind and decided to let my aptitude for my classes decide whether I would pursue my first choice of neurosurgery or my second of forensic pathology.

It was spring of my second year of medical school. I was volunteering in the Children’s Ward of the hospital in which I was likely to do my clerkships, hoping to get to know some of the doctors and staff. I didn’t choose the job so much as it chose me, one of instructors told me of the opportunity and suggested I take it, knowing that I could sing and tell stories and all round be silly.

Children’s Wards have all sorts of activities during the day, parents in and out; doctors visiting, mealtimes, tv, movies, games all meant to entertain and divert their minds. I worked at bedtime and beyond. Most parents weren’t allowed to spend the night and the nurses were too busy or burned out to provide what the kids needed at the end of the day. For me, after a long day of classes’ bedtime was exactly what I needed. I would sing lullabies or other quiet songs, depending on the ages of the kids. Sometimes I’d read or just make up stories to send their imaginations off to sleep with dreams of far off places where no one was coming to give them bad news or stick them with something sharp. Once most of them were sleeping I’d sit by the sides of the older ones, or the ones who had the most trouble nodding off.

Every night was different. Sometimes it helped just to sit next to them and hold their hands; some just wanted to talk out their fears but couldn’t do it with their parents who were so afraid themselves. There were nights when everyone drifted off easily and I would pull out my assignments and work by a small light, staying in case someone woke up.

It was one of those easy nights when Betty, one of my favorite nurse’s aides, came in to get me. My presence was requested in the emergency room. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I had a little rush of excitement. The science junkie in me has always loved the ER, even when I was an undergrad and it was me who was sick. There were so many possibilities, so many different types of medicine being practiced in this small space and so quickly.

(You might well ask why then I didn’t consider a specialization in emergency medicine- I’ll tell you. On one of my visits to the ER as a patient I spoke to the attending, interviewing him about his day to day and expressing wonder at how exciting it must all be. He snorted and told me I watched too much television. Then he recalled for me the last 14 hours on shift, runny noses, lonely old people and one broken bone. That was the end of my consideration of ER medicine for a career.)

A six car pile up on 93 had produced a number of critical patients and a few non criticals. One of the non-criticals was a small boy of three with a broken arm. He begged for his ball but had been found thrown from a car, no one knew which. A number of patients were unconscious so it was impossible to tell at that point to whom he belonged. I was enlisted to calm and entertain him until we might find his family.

His name was Danny.

His clothes and skin were filthy, and not just from the crash. There were juice stains on his torn sweatshirt and what looked like a burn hole in his little jeans. He had been checked out by our docs, seemed fine except for that arm so they gave him a mild painkiller and had me bring him upstairs away from the noises of the ER.

He cried in the elevator, and fussed when I cleaned his face and hands with a soft towel. I found a small ball in the toy room and gave it to him to hold while I rocked him and sang softly. I’ve never seen a little one settle so quickly in a strangers arm.

He seemed to love the ball but would drop it easily and then fuss until I gave it back to him. When one of the other children woke I set him down and held his hand, encouraging him to walk with me but he wouldn’t.

As time went on I saw that he couldn’t.

More tomorrow, I don’t think I can tackle all of this in one day.

A bad day

2007-02-05T12:31:00.000-08:00

February 1, 2007

My sleep schedule is severely messed up. Now I’m fully aware that this piece of information isn’t exactly “We now interrupt tonight’s episode of America’s Next Top Model…” newsworthy but still.

I haven’t slept well in a very long time, but I did get myself into a sort of pattern that worked for me. In med school you never get to sleep so that taught me that if I pushed myself to a certain point I COULD and WOULD fall asleep pretty much anywhere and stay asleep for at least 2 hours.

In the past year or so that I’ve been here I’ve found that staying out ridiculously late at night and coming home a little after the sun comes up means that I can drop off to sleep while it’s light out which always seems easier for me. It’s not as vampiric as it sounds. I think I just dream less during the day and dreams, or more specifically, nightmares are my enemy. I don’t know if it has to do with the light/dark thing because I have to keep my room completely devoid of any hint of light in order to sleep, but somewhere in my conscious I think just being aware that it is light outside my room helps.

When I started seeing SAM he kept a pretty regular schedule and so in order to see one another we both had to adjust our routines a little, meaning each of us got a little less sleep on either end.

Once we realized though that if we could sleep in the same bed we both slept a little easier things started to level out and I know from my perspective I started getting the best sleep of my life.

Then he caught this case and everything got all sent to hell again. I never know when he’s going to be home, and when he is he’s usually trying to catch a little sleep. I mentioned how well that goes in my last entry. Poor baby.

When he called me at 4:00 yesterday afternoon and asked if I could swing by his place I was happy; hoping we might actually get a little awake time together. I took the car and got to his place by 4:25 (driving around DC between 4 and 7pm is an experience that cannot be described to the uninitiated so you should be highly impressed with my speed).

I found him sitting in the one comfortable chair in the place (strangely it’s in his bedroom, right next to his bed. I haven’t thought to ask yet why that is). He still had his coat on and was staring at the wall looking shell shocked. My stomach did a slow, miserable flip as I asked him what was wrong.

At first he didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted to pull me onto his lap and sit with his arms around me, his cheek (which was red hot) pressed against my hair. The shadows changed and the light from the window grew dimmer as the minutes ticked by and neither of us said a word. When I felt his tears dampen my head, I slipped my fingers through his and encouraged him to speak.

“Abby’s in the hospital.”

I had to wait for the lump in his throat to allow him to speak further. His face was wet with tears and his lip was bloody from where he’d bitten it through trying to hold them back. When he was finally able to speak he told me the gist of it: Abby was stabbed. The wound was a bad enough to keep her in for observation overnight but she was expected to be released tomorrow.

The thing was SAM felt responsible. Apparently there were cookies that needed to be analyzed (don’t ask me, I didn’t ask and he wasn’t about to tell me) and Gibbs sent SAM to the bakery to buy some for comparison. SAM was chasing a phone lead and getting close to what he needed so Abby apparently offered to run what should have been the simple errand for him. At the moment they weren’t sure whether the stabbing was related or linked to the case but it didn’t matter, Abby was hurt and SAM was, in his mind anyway, to blame.

He was on his way to the hospital to check on her when Gibbs told him emphatically to go home.

The thing is that Abby may be an ex, but she’s clearly always going to have a special place in my guy’s heart. It’s killing him that he let her down but on top of that is the fact that Gibbs is pissed at him and blames him.

SAM has a mild case of the hero worship when it comes to his boss. Letting him down is a double blow.

It was less than an hour before SAM became like a caged animal, pacing the room. He wanted to go out and find whoever did this to Abby. I don’t think arresting the guy ever entered his mind. He tried calling the hospital for an update on her condition but because he wasn’t family they couldn’t give out information over the phone. Finally he called Tony’s cell and thankfully Tony was at the hospital with Abby. Speaking to her seemed to set him at ease at least a little. When he hung up the phone he looked less crazed and more exhausted.

We decided to forgo eating and just climb into bed to try and put this day behind us. Wrapped up together in bed he sighed heavily and I tried to comfort him by reminding him that there was no way he could have known that Abby was heading into a dangerous situation but the dark clouds could not be cleared away.

“I always wanted to be the hero.” He murmured it quietly into my hair, his voice sounding desolate. I wanted to reassure him but instead let him talk it out. When he became an agent he had fantasies of rescuing damsels in distress (nevermind that he works for the Navy and is much more likely to be doing just about anything else). He wanted to be the man that everyone knew they could count on to do the right thing and that made the women he cared about feel safe. (From Deep Six and many comments from SAM I get the feeling this is what he thinks of Gibbs, thus the hero worship thing I mentioned before). Instead he feels like he’s always letting everyone down.

Especially women, and even especially Abby.

He recounted for me the story of meeting a woman who was a witness that no one believed. The two of them connected quickly and were flirting on the phone when the person who committed the original crime she witnessed broke into her apartment and murdered her.

That’s tough to take. He was nearby and thought he should have been closer. He still blames himself for her death.

He told me about one of the agents he worked with when he first joined NCIS, a woman named Kate whom he liked very much. She was a mentor and a friend when he needed one, someone to help him survive the fear he had of Gibbs and the constant hazing of Tony. She was killed on duty, he was close by, but not with the rest of his team. He plays the scene over and over in his mind trying to decipher where he could have been, what he could have done to change the outcome of the day.

The room was fully dark and silent except for the occasional whoosh of the heat.

He began to tell me the ways in which he’s let Abby down. Things that weren’t at all his fault but somehow he’s convinced that if he were a better agent, a better man, he would have handled them differently.

He pulled me closer to him when he’d finished telling me about Abby’s brushes with scary men and situations and then whispered, “And now you, and Sarah.”

Until that moment I’d been lulled into a cozy warmth of hearing the things that haunted the soul of the man I was falling in love with, things that weren’t pretty but were so deeply personal that they bound us together just in the act of sharing them. My name and Sarah’s being added to the list made me cold with fear, and I asked him to explain.

He is concerned. He has concocted in his troubled mind that the men Sarah and I had been leery of are related to the man who stabbed Abby and that all of this is tied up in his current case. I reminded him that both Sarah and I were fine, and for the record, when we felt like ‘damsel’s in distress’ he was the first person we ran to. He was our hero.

That earned me a smile and a kiss.

We laid quietly for awhile, each lost in our own thoughts and then he asked, “Who’s Danny?”

It was a long night

2007-01-30T12:49:00.001-08:00

January 30, 2007

So, strangeness.

Last night I took a gig that I wouldn’t normally take. It was a last minute thing, at a place I’d never heard of let alone played, for people I don’t know.

That’s not to say I don’t do shows for folks I don’t know it’s just that usually they’re booked well in advance, and they want the whole band. Last night though they just wanted me, said they had a piano guy and that’s all they wanted, just a torch singer sort of feel. It seemed pretty straight forward, it was a group of old Navy buddies, retired mostly who were getting together. They had hired someone else but she’d backed out at the last minute saying she was sick.

There’s a small group of us who do various types of shows and we have an unofficial rule about shows like this, take someone with you and always let another person know where you’ll be. No one was around to take with me but I left a note for Poo and a message on his phone so I figured I was fine.

When I first got there it felt a little weird because though they were ex Navy men (you can tell, trust me) they weren’t really very old. Now plenty of people do a “quick” Navy tour when they get out of school and can say the retired from the service but when they’re having a reunion and request a singer like me…you just assume it’s going to be older guys.

I met the piano guy, he seemed like he might’ve been Navy too. I sang a few songs; no one seemed to pay much attention except one guy at the bar who watched me a little too close if you know what I mean.

There’s always one, if you’re playing a straight party (and sometimes even if you aren’t), there’s always one who wants to talk to you during the breaks, buy you a drink. When it’s the older guys I don’t mind. I humor them and we all end up having a fun night that ends at the door, usually with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, rarely but occasionally with a pinch on the bottom, but harmless.

I’ve never met a guy I would date at one of my shows. Ever. When its guys in my age range that want to chat me up they always come off seeming desperate.

Wait, let me say this, for those of you who haven’t seen me IRL, I’m not that cute. I mean, I’m okay, but I’m average. No guy is going to drop his jaw when I walk down the street y’know? When I get on stage though I become quarry for two types of guys (again, we’re only talking about the ones in my age group, the older guys, the 70’s,80’s and up, well, they’re just trying to recapture their youth y’know?).

Type One: The Stud. He’s gonna score with the stripper at the bachelor party and the singer at the wedding, or the hot waitress or bridesmaid. If doesn’t matter if the stripper has stringy hair and a swayback, she’s the stripper so he’s gonna nail her.

He thinks he’s doing me a favor by buying me drinks and entertaining me.

Type Two: The geek/loner. This guy doesn’t really fit in with the rest of the party. He had to come for whatever reason but now that he’s here it’s clear that everyone here knows him and has no desire to socialize with him. He sees me as someone who doesn’t already think he’s a loser so (and possibly as a social outcast myself because my show is kinda odd) he’ll pal up to me and neither of us will be lonely.

This guy didn’t really fit either category. This guy looked more like an ex-bouncer. He still had the body to toss guys around but he was older, maybe mid-fifties and he looked mean. He drank tonic water, no alcohol. (I watch these things from the stage if I can, helps me to avoid the drunks)

Between sets I usually make my way to the bar for a water (or if the show isn’t going well, something stronger) but I wanted to steer clear of this guy. I headed to the ladies room and spent my entire break telling myself that this wasn’t so strange. I checked my phone, just a message from SAM saying that he’d be working late again and I should just give up hope for seeing him tonight.

He’s been working a case lately that’s really messing with his head. He’s almost never around and on the occasions that we end up in the same bed (usually mine, usually he wanders in before I’m home, I crawl in next to him and in the morning he’s gone) he tosses and turns and wakes up with a start covered in sweat. He talks now and then, or shouts, but if I wake him and try to get him to talk about it he says he can’t. I’m making a conscious effort not to worry about it because I figure this is how his job is and we’ll just have to deal with it.

I never call him at work if I can help it. I know that if he has a minute he’ll call me. I hate to think of his phone ringing at a crucial moment. I always picture him crouched somewhere, about to spring on a bad guy and then I call and the phone rings and the bad guy turns and shoots and I’ve killed SAM because I wanted to tell him I felt like having pasta tonight.

I’m a drama queen. We’re all aware.

Where was I? Oh, right, the bathroom.

When I came out the guy from the bar stool was leaning against the wall at the payphone just outside the little hall that lead to the restrooms. He had the phone in his hand but wasn’t saying anything. When I got back to the stage he was already back at the bar.

It was probably nothing, I know, but it creeped me out. I did a few more songs and then excused myself to the bathroom again. On my way I detoured a bit around the room and found scary guy mirroring my moves. In the bathroom I called Poo and got his voice mail. I called Michael, voice mail. I checked my watch, most everyone else would be working by now. Reluctantly I hit speed dial 3. SAM.

I apologized immediately, he said it was fine. I told him I was sure I was being silly but explained what was going on. He told me to sit tight, he was on his way. I told him that was overkill. He insisted and I have to say, that scared me the most. When it was just me overreacting to some guy who probably wanted my number that was one thing, but when SAM was concerned enough to leave work and come get me, that was something else all together.

I went back out, afraid that if scary guy was really a bad guy he’d just follow me into the ladies room. I grabbed water from the bartender and went back to the stage. Two songs later I turned when the door opened and watched SAM enter, when I looked back the bar stool was empty. SAM waited by the door while I finished the song.

I hugged him hello but he pulled me away, asking where the guy was. I did a quick visual of the room but came up empty. I told SAM to wait while I grabbed my coat in the back but he followed me. The back door to the club was open, I figured some of the workers were back there smoking but Secret Agent Man stuck his head out anyway. Nothing.

Poo had taken the car, I’d splurged on a cab to get there so SAM insisted on driving me home. He asked me a bunch of questions and I answered as best I could but I think he was overreacting. I guess it comes from working around hardcore bad guys so much, you think every little weird thing is going to turn out to be sinister. We were most of the way home when I noticed we weren’t heading toward my place but his. It turned out to be for the best because I didn’t have my keys. I thought I’d left them in my coat pocket but I must’ve forgotten them at home because when I got back here today they were on the kitchen table.

He walked me inside and locked the door behind us. Then he kissed me.

He’s picked me up after shows before, and he always kisses me in the car outside. I had thought he was upset with me for calling him at work when he pulled out of the lot without a kiss.

I was just snuggling into him and getting warm when he broke the hold. “I’m sorry honey, I’ve gotta go back to work. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I left Poo another message on his cell to let him know I wouldn’t be home then grabbed one of SAM’s t-shirts to sleep in. I love sleeping in his bed, even if he can’t be there next to me. It’s more comfortable than mine, his sheets have a higher thread count by about 200 and he has a kick ass plasma screen tv on the opposite wall.

None of those are the real reason. All you girls who’ve been in love know the real reason. The bed smells like him, it feels like him, and the moment you sink into it you feel closer to him. (Have I mentioned that I love this man? I’ve got it bad, kids.)

The clock said 4:30AM when I heard keys in the door. Imagine how shocked I was to not hear SAM make his way into the bedroom but instead a woman’s voice whispering into the apartment calling out his name.

I got up and went to the door of the bedroom. “Can I help you?”

I mean, really, what else do you say? I guess there are a lot of things, but half asleep at 4:30 AM you don’t really get all the options zinging to your brain right off.

“Where’s Tim?” I flipped on the light and found Sarah, his sister, looking scared.

I told her he was working and introduced myself. I recognized her from the pictures he’d shown me on his phone the day we met (he had been shopping for her, remember?). I made us some chamomile tea that I’ve started keeping at his place and we settled in on the two office chairs in the living room. (My boyfriend’s home is woefully negligent when it comes to comfortable seating.)

Turns out he gave her a key after she’d had some trouble involving some cheerleaders at school. This was her version. The real version is much juicier I knew because SAM had told me all about it, but that’s her story, not mine and I’m not sharing it here. She was there last night because she’d been at the library studying late and noticed that there was a guy there who looked a little out of place. She’d moved a few times but he always seemed be close by. When she started toward the exit he wasn’t far behind so she thought better of walking to her dorm and instead took a cab here. I looked at the door.

“Yeah, I locked it.”

I told her about my night and it’s safe to say we did a great job of freaking ourselves out. When SAM got home just after 6 this morning he found us both wide awake and jumpy.

In the cold light of day it’s clear that we were being careful but that the two incidents couldn’t have been related. On the upside I finally got to meet Sarah and I really love her. She’s a little snider than her brother, so maybe a little more like me I guess.

He wanted me to stay at his place today until he had to go back to work but I couldn’t sleep and wanted to come home so we came back here. He’s been sleeping fitfully for just under two hours and his cell phone is ringing.

Tony, and just like that, with a kiss and a warning from me to be careful, he’s gone.

Meeting the workfriends

2007-01-26T12:12:00.000-08:00

January 26, 2007

Wow you guys I’m sorry it took so long for me to update.

First let me say thanks to those of you who came out Wednesday night, hope you had as good a time as I did, and thanks for being so nice to SAM. It was his first time seeing me perform in public. Many of you told him how you read about him here and I’d like to say thanks for that especially, now I spend every day fending off requests for the url, but he’s a good little agent and I’m betting he’s found me by now but smart enough not to tell me. (I’m on to you Timmyboy!)

What other updates are there to share?

Missy won Miss Dragmama 2007 last Sunday night so I’m sure she’ll be insufferable throughout her reign as is befitting such a title.

I met most of SAM’s coworkers last Friday night. It was actually pretty cool; they’re a weird bunch which made me feel right at home. Ziva (who is on loan to NCIS from Mossad, which I don’t even know what that means really other than that she’s a super spy with crazy ninja skills according to Tony) was having everyone over for dinner and told SAM to invite me. She’s really beautiful and an excellent chef.

Maybe I should give you a brief synopsis of who was there before I tell you about the night itself.

Ziva. Tony-I’ve mentioned him here before I think. He’s kind of like having an eighth grade boy trapped in the body of a super sexy 30 something hunk around. It’s both more and less fun than it sounds. Gibbs- SAM’s boss. He’s impossible to reduce to a few sentences. He’s older, very attractive, unexpectedly funny but in a really dry way and while he tries to come off gruff you can see how much he cares about the little group. Ducky- older still. He’s the medical examiner which made me both gravitate toward him and panic at the same time. He tends to run on a bit when asked a question but is full of interesting facts and stories. Abby-SAM’s ex. She’s the lab tech and all round everything sciency expert. Abby’s tattooed, adorable and goth and not even the tiniest bit what I’d expect as one of SAM’s ex-girlfriends.

Tony and Ziva seemed the most excited to meet me in a way that made me wonder if they thought SAM had made me up. I wonder what he told them about me to make them think that. Anyway, they were very nice to me but tease SAM (whom they refer to as Elf Lord) endlessly.

Shortly after meeting Gibbs I pulled SAM into the small office off of Ziva’s living room for a chat alone. I had known something was up before this…okay, let me backtrack. Remember when I told you SAM spent the night? And remember how I told you he found my copy of Deep Six and I gave him this big mouthed review of it? Since then he’s asked me if I’ve finished the book about 4 times. Each time he wants to know if I like how it’s going, if I can guess who the criminal is, all that sort of thing. At first I thought maybe he had read it too and wanted to compare notes but then, then I met Gibbs.

Jethro Gibbs. Apparently Leroy Jethro Gibbs. (I asked about the Jethro and Ducky expounded on it for me.)

L. J. Gibbs.

The main character in Deep Six is L. J. Tibbs.

That’s right. So when I had SAM in a private space I asked him if there was something he wanted to tell me. He was nervous that I meant something more about him and Abby but I redirected him. “No, maybe about your boss. Agent Tibbs, Gibbs? Tibbs?”

And then he confessed. He WROTE Deep Six.

So those antibiotics I took for my foot in mouth disease is apparently had no effect. He said he wanted to tell me after I finished the book because he thought my criticism was constructive and didn’t want me to temper it to save his feelings. He also said that some of the stuff I had found fault with he had done on purpose but that we’d talk about it another time. Fair enough, but I had two questions that couldn’t wait.

1. Did Ducky really have an assistant that shared sexual escapades with corpses? (Of course not.)

2. Was he exaggerating when he describe what I now took to be Abby’s bedroom? (He plead the fifth.) Worrysome at best. I’ve reread that chapter about a million times since.

Abby seemed the least excited to meet me and took her sweet time warming up to me. I guess it makes sense; no one looks forward to seeing someone they were intimate with and are still close to with someone new. I can’t blame her for that. We finally bonded over our mutual love for Living Dead Dolls though I think she’s still keeping a close eye on me.

Ducky got me alone after dinner and told me that SAM had mentioned that I’d gone to Tuft’s Medical but left just shy of my degree. I worried that he’d ask for explanation but in what I’m coming to find is true Ducky fashion he instead regaled me with yarns about his own days at school and the many times he considered packing it in. Somehow it put me at ease.

Tony really was excited about the stuff that I sing, SAM had been right about that. After we’d all spent some time chatting and drinking wine I found myself somehow persuaded to sing a few Doris songs for them. I figured I’d give a little back to Tony for all the grief he’d given SAM and dragged him up to put his music where his mouth is. Together we made our way through “Ain’t We Got Fun”, “Baby It’s Cold Outside”, and “I Said My Pajamas” he really impressed me when he knew that last one.

Tony is actually quite good, and also: a ham. He continued when I dropped out gracing us with a selection of Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra selections.

As I was dozing off in the car on the way back to SAM’s place

(for the record, we still have not…consummated our relationship, but have shared a bed most nights finding that we both sleep better when we’re close to one another. The why not consummated question should fall in a none of your business category but since I know I’ll end up telling you when it has been I’ll just say this, first it was too soon, then he was always working or exhausted from working and at the moment I’m having…well, let’s just say in around 5 days we should be good to go.)

As I was saying, I was napping in the car as SAM drove us home but he woke me saying that I seemed to really enjoy Tony’s company. I replied sleepily that I thought he was charming in a sort of “Look at me! Look at me!” sort of way.

Elf Lord was quiet for a little while and then, “Maybe you’re dating the wrong guy.”

Okay, I’m awake.

“What?”

He thought us singing together…I don’t know, I still can’t follow his fuzzy logic but he thought I was flirting with Tony. The strangest part was that he didn’t seem angry, it seemed more like defeat.

I thought about arguing the point that while Tony is sexy and funny and charming SAM is something you can’t even put into words but so much better. I quickly realized that wasn’t the way to go so I insisted he pull the Porsche over to the side of the road at the absolute soonest opportunity. I think he was expecting a fight.

With the car tucked safely at the curb I leaned across, took his face in my hands and told him that I had found everything I was looking for and more. And then I kissed him so hard he didn’t catch his breath for 10 minutes.

Solved.

I figured I’d let my lingering jealousy over his closeness to Abby sit on the back burner until some other time.

The Weekend Saga Continues

2007-01-23T12:50:00.000-08:00

The Weekend- continued

I keep about 6 new toothbrushes in a ziplock bag under the sink, still in their packages.

When SAM first saw this I think it made him a little nervous but when I explained that because Poo and I frequently do late night shows at clubs there are usually friends who want to come home and unwind with us after the show (if you read between the lines here the real reason is that Poo is a boyslut) and are generally too drunk to be allowed to get themselves home. Nobody wants to sit across the breakfast table from last night’s club crowd with morning breath so I keep a stash. SAM was awarded one of the nicer models (I buy a few dollar store throw aways for folks who won’t likely stay again and a few of the better ones for the few people who might make overnights a habit) and borrowed a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from Poo.

A word about this. Poo and SAM have very different body types. SAM is a healthy guy, he’s broad shouldered and well balanced. Sturdy. Poo makes the Olsen twins look like Rosie O’ Donnell on a burrito binge. Fortunately for SAM Poo also insists on wearing all of his clothes 2 sizes too big, which is just about a half size too small for SAM but close enough. Worked out especially well for me because there aren’t a lot of secrets in a pair of slightly too small sweats or a too small t shirt and I was a happy gal. Our Secret Agent Man has a lovely tushy.

We put up the shade in my room so we could watch the snow fall in the moonlight and crawled into bed. I’ll admit it was slightly awkward at first, it being too soon for anything serious to happen physically but given the make-out fest Poo had broken up in the living room we weren’t exactly in the “keeping on your own side of the bed” stage either. I think he was worried that if he made a move in my direction I’d think he expected more than he did so I made the first move in for a horizontal kiss.

He’s very good at this, all of it, the kissing the cuddling, knowing exactly when to sweep the hair from my face with his gently tapered fingers and when to move on to more…ahem…personal space. Not that anything much happened but I’ll just say that if I could have his hands permanently sewn to my backside I would.

He’s a spooner, which is lucky for me because I love to be spooned, and we fit so perfectly together. He curled around me, his arm around my waist and for awhile I lightly stroked his forearm while we talked about snowstorms we had lived through in Boston.

He remembered crunching through snow at midnight across campus from the computer lab; walking the girl he had a crush on back to her dorm. He has an elegant way with words, you can absolutely feel the cold on your face when he describes it and you wish he’d never stop telling you story after story.

As I fell asleep I felt him lacing the fingers of his hand that was resting on my stomach upward through my own that had lazily fallen onto his, abandoning his forearm.

I slept for a few solid hours; an accomplishment for me, but when the sun came up it was directly in my eyes. I was loathe to move from under SAM’s protective wing to pull the shade down again so I turned into him and we shifted sleepily together until we found ourselves in another comfortable embrace. Try as I might I couldn’t find sleep again. I listened to his heart beat and deliberately played at matching my breathing to his, mimicking his resting body but while my body was willing my mind raced.

I had come too close to telling the story, had allowed myself to picture Boston the way I remembered it. Danny played at the edges of my brain, tugging at me to remember him and whenever sleep came to drag me under Danny was there waiting with all the questions I’d tried to run from when I quit Tufts and turned my back on Massachusetts and medicine forever.

He wore the cowboy pajamas that I’d taken home myself, sewing in buttonholes to give access to the dreaded tubes that would penetrate the cotton and wind their way into the tiny boy’s body inside.

“Will you be here when I die?”

No Danny, not in body I wasn’t, but the irony is that my mind never really leaves him.

The smell of coffee from the kitchen finally roused SAM from his slumber and we padded out to find Poo in the process of making obscenely shaped pancakes. Everyone needs a hobby I guess, and embarrassing me when he’s threatened by a new male presence in my life is one of Poo’s favorites.

I made eggs and chopped the pancakes into less offensive pieces before setting them and some bacon on the table. Thankfully my roommate decided to ask me about my show the night before instead of grilling SAM about his job or regaling him with inappropriate stories about me. We traded horror stories about bad performances which kept our guest pretty well entertained, it seemed, and he shared a few of the more fun stories about days when things went wrong at his work. Sounds like this guy Tony he works with is a real handful.

We watched the news and found that the streets were still not in great shape but the cleaning crews were out and by mid afternoon the snow should be but a memory everywhere but on grassy surfaces.

SAM (its so weird to call him that now that I’m used to saying Tim, but we’ve started it so we’ll stick with it, unless it makes you guys as crazy as it makes me. I’m taking a vote. Do I stick with SAM or just call him Tim?) sat in my spot on the sofa and found my book tucked in the cushion. I’m reading that Gemcity book from the NY Times Best Seller list, “Deep Six”. He asked what I thought of it and you know me, I can’t just let it go at, “It’s okay” because there’s a critic living in my brain who insists on pulling everything apart.

I gave him a long winded answer about how the characters were kind of broad stroked, how it sort of seemed as though the writer knew these people but instead of bringing their complexities into the book he used them to sort of build caricatures. The storyline itself was compelling but the telling seemed heavy handed. It was clearly written by a man who was pulling out all the macho stops.

He seemed deeply interested in my analysis but was probably just being polite. It doesn’t strike me as the kind of book he’d read, given what he does for a living. I don’t think most people want their entertainment to mirror their daily grind.

Poo mentioned that I was just jealous and hated all books that got published because I was a frustrated writer myself, which I’m certain I had mentioned to SAM before but renewed his interest in reading what I’ve written. I dug out a few short stories I wrote as an undergrad to give him the flavor but refused to let him read what I’m working on now. It just isn’t ready for viewing.

He said he writes a little too and loved my style, he even joked about us collaborating on a story some day. The more I think about that the more I fall in love with the idea. I’ve never been able to picture writing with someone else, that’s why I resisted the idea of a writers group for so long. My process doesn’t work in an orderly fashion, I just sit and write, long hand, for hours until I hit on something that works at which point I’ll switch to the computer and fuss with it forever. When I feel like it’s finished I’ll type it on the Crandall as a sort of birthing into the real world. Still the thought of sitting down with him and brainstorming about plots and characters seems intriguing; I think it would be an excellent way to get to know how his mind works.

When the roads seemed clear we said our goodbyes. We didn’t tell each other our Sunday night plans (I had writers group) which I kind of like. I hate those couples that have to know exactly where each other are every minute of the day.

Are we a couple?

We feel like a couple.

We’re having dinner tonight when he gets out of work, whatever time that might be. I’m going to spend the rest of today writing, I’m inspired now to write something I can share with him.

Oh, and for those of you in the DC area I’m doing a show at the Monarch Hotel Lounge on 24^th and M Tuesday night. Be there or I’ll hunt you down and make you listen to my Barry Manilow collection.

Go ahead, call me a tease, I earned it

2007-01-22T14:35:00.001-08:00

January 15, 2007

Where to begin? I know I don’t update nearly enough for some of you but given the VERY tiny amount of sleep I manage to squeeze in you should all be grateful that I occasionally string a few words together that make some sort of sense and share them with you. I’m certainly not writing anything else lately, which is kind of a problem since I joined that writers group specifically to make myself become a more disciplined writer, but I get ahead of myself, as usual.

I just realized that sounded bitchy. I didn’t mean it to be bitchy. I meant it to be funny and self deprecating but I’m severely sleep deprived so I don’t think I’m pulling it off. Pretend I said some thing here that’s witty.

I didn’t get much sleep Saturday afternoon, I spent the whole time tossing and turning in my bed in that state between sleep and conscious where you picture scenarios and then fall into a dream of that scenario only to wake yourself up in 5 minutes time and start again. They were all a variation of SAM coming by to kiss me. They mostly ended up with an NC-17 rating not suitable for sharing with a random audience (not that I don’t love each and every one of you).

So SAM the sleep stealer strikes again.

I was in second wind mode (might have something to do with the leftover margaritas) by the time I needed to perform. I did a wedding that was supposed to start at 7:30. They never do, I mean everyone knows that so you never even consider that you’ll be anywhere near the stage until 8 but this one was especially late because the bride had some sort of drama with her gown so we finally got started at 8:45. Naturally by then all anyone wanted to do was eat and ignore the band so I had that thing I hate where you’re up there singing and everyone is basically just pretending that you’re not there, having their dinner conversations and being either angry that it’s getting so late or belligerently drunk because they spent the entire wait time slamming $7.00 vodka tonics at the bar.

Some people finally started to dance by around 9:30 but my second wind had died down to barely a whisper of a breath so when the “happy” couple asked me if I’d consider adding on an hour at the end (I was due to stop at 10:30), I declined.

I was heading to my car after scraping most of my stage makeup off my face when my phone beeped. I nearly didn’t look because I was certain it would be Poo. He frequently texts or calls me when an “early” gig is ending to let me know where everyone is so I can meet them. I checked the phone, knowing I would turn down whatever they were doing to go home and try to read myself to sleep but when it showed the text message the from box wasn’t Poo.

It was SAM.

“Hope your show went well. I’m home, call me if you’re in the mood for dessert, otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow. – Tim”

A hurricane force gust third wind swept through me. I called him back as soon as I started my car and told him I was exhausted but always available for dessert, where did he have in mind and could he wait while I went home and showered and changed.

He picked me up a half hour later. I met him outside the door because he said he wanted to take me to Love Cafe and they close at midnight on Saturday so there was no time to waste. Even though I was on the doorstep when he pulled up (I’m the master of the quick change though if I have my way my showers go on for days, for SAM I’m do the speed shower) he jumped out of the car to walk up and meet me and give me a hug and a quick kiss.

Give me a minute to relive that. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Okay, sorry, so in the car we compared notes about how poorly we had slept that day and SAM won because at least I dozed a little here and there but he had no such luck. You could tell because he looked sort of tired but it looks cute on him.

It was sweet because we were both so desperate for sleep and yet much more interested in being together.

I have to tell you about the cake we had at Love. There are so many choices it’s nearly impossible but this one stood out as the clear winner once I saw it. I’d link the picture here but none of you would ever forgive me if you aren’t from the area and can’t get there. If you really want to know follow this link and scroll down to Toffee Crunch.

http://www.cakelove.com/cakes_layered.php#toffeeCrunch

Here’s the description:

Featuring homemade toffee chips, rich caramel buttercream and layers of soft chocolate cake. Available with vanilla cake, too.

Heavenly. We got two great big glasses of milk instead of any kind of coffee drinks because the cake pretty much demands milk.

When we were tossed out on the street from Love at five after midnight it was clear neither of us were ready to say goodbye. Rather than head off to one of the clubs I decided to ask him back to my place to see the Crandall.

(and yes, it felt as much like the old “C’mon up to my studio and I’ll show you my etchings” line then as sounds now but neither of us seemed to care)

I made us decaf because really, what we didn’t need was something else keeping us awake and took him to my library/writing room. He went directly to my Crandall, looking but not touching, the mark of someone who really appreciates something. I wanted to let him caress the keys, but I never let anyone type at it, ever. No sense giving it all up on the second date right? I have to hold out a little. So I let him look, and then watched him as he prowled through my stacks of books.

He asked me if any belonged to Poo and I laughed so hard I nearly choked. The last thing Poo read was the directions for the maze on the back of his Coco Puffs. Watching someone else, someone who matters, and who reads themselves pour over your bookshelves is like sitting in a waiting room after a job interview. I caught myself actually holding my breath while he touched the spines of some things and merely passed by others with hardly a glance.

“You have a lot of medical books.” It was more than an observation, it was a question.

I hadn’t told him this part of me yet. I mean, it’s not some deep dark secret, but it’s not exactly the first thing you blurt out.

“Yeah, I went to med school and dropped out with half a month of one rotation left.”

It’s not something you lead with, and it isn’t something people let go easily. There are always so many questions.

Why did you leave? Can you go back? Is your family pissed? What made you want to do it in the first place? Isn’t that an enormous waste of money?

I sighed and told SAM the short version of the truth. “I was a med student, it didn’t work out.”

“Medical school to Doris Day impersonator is a long road.” He didn’t even look up from the bookshelf.

“I’m not a Doris Day impersonator, I just sing songs from her era.”

“Dressed pretty much of the same era.”

“Sometimes, not always. Depends on the crowd.” Good let’s stay with the current career, let’s not go down the harder road.

“Where’d you go to school?”

“Oh you don’t need a lot of training to sing Doris Day songs; they let most anyone do it these days.”

Now he looked over at me expectantly.

“Tufts.”

“No kidding. I went to MIT. How far’d you get?”

So I told him. And he asked. And I must have looked beat because when I asked him if it would be okay if I saved that story for another day he backed down immediately.

So we packed in the library tour and I walked him to the door where we both lingered. It was clearly time for him to go but we just kept kissing instead. Finally Poo came in, covered in white dust, soon identified as snow and declared the roads unsuitable for man or beast.

I made a case for him spending the night, the Porche not really being a snow vehicle. He resisted half heartedly and then offered to sleep on the sofa. I insisted that I could be trusted to not molest him while he slept.

Oh, the phone is ringing and I have to go get it. I’ll tell you all the rest later.

To be continued…

Lookit him!

2007-01-19T12:54:00.000-08:00

January 13, 2007

Poo and I promised ourselves that we’d stay in last night. I know, it was a Friday night which makes us staying home seem like an impossible feat but we bought fixins for margaritas and rented a bunch of dvds.

We did facials and hair masques and practiced with my new headdress (it’s SO depressing that he’s better with it than I am) and I listened to him gush endlessly about new work boy and he listened to me gush endlessly about SAM.

An excellent night in, all in all. We haven’t done that for so long. That’s the trouble with having your best friend as your roommate, you think it’ll mean that you spend all your time together but really it just means that you don’t make time for one another because you always just figure you’ll see him at home.

So we snuggled on the couch and watched our movies and then at 1 he couldn’t take it anymore and had to run off to the Banana to flirt. He tried to get me to go along but I was happily lounging in my jammies watching Antiques Roadshow.

SAM called at 1:30. He was adorable because he said he nearly didn’t call, even though I had assured him I’d be awake. He just isn’t used to calling people that late. In our house the phone never rings between 6 and 9pm, Disco Nap time, but after midnight it’s a free for all.

I thanked him for the flowers. Oh did I forget to mention the flowers? I told him last night how I love these blue flowers, they’re like pond lilies almost only blue and impossible to get live. You can get them shipped here from Hawaii or Egypt but only as dried flowers, never live because they have to stay in the water to live. I saw them when I was in Hawaii on spring break a few years ago and never forgot them.

This afternoon a delivery man came to the door with a box with all sorts of fragile warnings on it. I thought it must be something for Poo because I knew I hadn’t ordered anything but when I looked at the name it was mine.

Inside the box was a glass bowl filled with water and covered with this little plastic cover so it wouldn’t spill and inside were two of the most beautiful blue flowers I’ve ever seen in my life. I have no idea how he made that happen and so quickly but he did. I’m starting to get the idea that this guy is going to be full of surprises.

He didn’t really say much about his gathering with his coworkers. He’s told me little bits and pieces about them and a few work stories but we always end up talking about other things. He did say that everyone has been accusing each other of being secretive lately which led me to ask what kinds of things he kept secret. He wouldn’t give up anything useful. He told me about secrets he kept as a kid (he used to Velcro the legs on his teddy bear and stuff it with m&m’s to eat after he’d been sent to bed at night) but told me that I’d have to uncover all his current secrets in my own time.

I do love a challenge.

He asked what I did all night and I told him about my “girls” night in with Poo and then his abandoning me while I watched the Roadshow. He got all excited because he had the Roadshow on too so we watched together over the phone. There’s a geekfest of a Friday night for you huh? But we were happy. We argued over whether this one armoire was original Louis the XV period or a fake. I guessed reproduction because the walnut looked too new but SAM turned out to be correct, it was real and it was gorgeous.

Someone came on the show with a Nocoblick (it’s a typewriter) and SAM lost his mind. He was so excited about it but I told him I still liked my Crandall New Model better. He went dead silent on the other end of the phone, I almost thought the connection dropped but then he very quietly accused me, in the friendliest way of course, of being a big fat liar, liar pants on fire. I had to smile. I met a guy who understands how special my little Crandall is.

Let me bore you for a moment. A Crandall New Model is a typewriter produced somewhere around 1886 in Syracuse NY. I won’t go into all the patent drama or the typesleeve info which, for the record SAM knew right off the top of his head, but I will tell you that this thing is the most elegant machine in history. You’ve never seen anything like it. That's it's picture up there right underneath the picture of the very handsome man.

Those are mother of pearl in-lay flowers. It’s stunning. SAM was so impressed, he made me promise to show it to him someday (soon I hope). I told him it was a gift from my grandfather, which is a long story that you won’t care about but he loved.

We talked about family and how important it is to us both. He was really close to his grandma but she passed away not very long ago. You have to love a man who loves his granny.

Oh, and David emailed me some of his pictures from Poo’s show, I found one with my boy in it and cut it down so it’s just SAM so that's the very handsome man at the top of this post . Maybe not the best picture but it gives you an idea of what a cutie he is.

We were still talking when Poo came home with an unnamed club boy and disappeared into his room at 3. We were still talking when the sun came up at 5.

It’s too quick to be in love isn’t it?

Now it’s 6AM, we finally managed to hang up the phone. He wanted to see me but I have to sleep all day to prepare for my show tonight. We’re going to try to have brunch tomorrow but then we both have plans in the early evening.

He said the sweetest thing just before he hung up the phone. He told me he wanted to drive to my house so that he could kiss me before we said goodbye.

I so wish he had.

What a difference a day makes

2007-01-16T12:25:00.000-08:00

January 12, 2007

Wow!

“What a difference a day makes, 24 little hours…” (Okay so it’s Dinah Washington and not Doris Day, shoot me)

SAM called me to say that he was going to be late because of work. No biggie, he wasn’t all that late anyway. He got to Starbucks (I made him meet me at the one on 8^th so I’d be pretty close to Banana Bar in case Poo called with any last minute emergencies) at 7:45.

Forty five minutes late is early in my crowd. I killed some time over at Backstage (a costume shop of sorts) and found a killer head dress that I’d love to work into my act. It’s heavy but if I practice with it I bet I could pull it off. I finally bought it and they put it in this bag for me but it’s so high the feathers kept sticking out the top. What can a girl do?

SAM looked dashing. He had come straight from work and had on a really nice Armani jacket. Don’t get the wrong idea, I don’t care about how much something costs, it’s just that the fit was amazing. You know people say you can buy the same thing for so much less money at cheaper stores, but the fit is never the same. He just looked…sigh.

I was on my second Caramel Macchiato when he came in. He hugged me hello, a very quick but warm hug. Sweet. I waited while he got himself a half caf espresso (he regretted the half part of that caf later but I’m getting ahead of myself) and a black bottom cupcake for us to share (I refused to eat one on my own, I have to have some sort of good behavior on a first date don’t I?).

You know how something seems like its going to be a really good idea and then it starts happening and you feel sick to your stomach? Like when you decide that you love roller coasters so you get on the highest scariest looking one you can find and you’re all excited but then you’re suddenly at the top of the hill and you can’t for the life of you figure out why you thought this would be a good idea? I kinda felt like that while I was waiting for him to come back to the table. I mean, he looked great, was sweet and all but…

How to describe this? The guy who walked in wearing the Armani suit didn’t feel like the guy who stayed up until 4:30 this morning with me arguing who the more accomplished Muppet was (I say Bunsen Hunneydew, he says Kermit but I don’t think fame and accomplishment are the same thing).

I was sort of considering bolting, but then he sat down across from me and smiled and this total calm came over me.

We ended up talking for much longer than I would have thought possible. I’ll tell you something sweet, when he’d disagree with me (we disagree a lot, on fun things, on serious stuff we seem mostly to be on the same page but he’s not afraid to debate me which I love) he’d touch his index finger to the back of my hand softly. I know it sounds sort of like ‘so what?’ but it was this really gentle gesture that made me feel connected to him or something.

At his insistence I tried the headdress on for him and ended up getting applauded right there in Starbucks for managing to walk across the room without it falling off my head. Go me! Score one for the klutz home team.

It was almost 9:30 when he asked if I wanted to go get something more substantial to eat. I knew I’d have to make my way over to Banana eventually and I figured I might as well throw him into the water and see if he could swim. I asked him if he liked Caribbean food, he said he didn’t really know what that was but was willing to give it a go.

Banana Bar, in case you don’t know, in addition to being a gay piano bar where my roommate and I practically get our mail, we’re there so much, is also a great place to get Caribbean food.

Poo’s show wasn’t until 11 but I knew people would be coming in and out well before that so on the walk over I gave SAM a little advanced warning, the scene playing something like this:

TWINK: “So this place that we’re going to, I’m kind of a regular there.”

SAM: “Cool.”

TWINK: “And it’s probably going to be filled with a bunch of people I know.”

SAM: “Okay.”

TWINK: “It’s, um, a gay restaurant and bar, so it might be a little, intense.”

SAM: “Intense how?”

It’s important to interject here that he didn’t seem freaked out about the gay bar thing, or the fact that he was now carrying a bag with feathers poking out of the top of a headdress to a gay bar for that matter. Yup, that’s right, he insisted on carrying my bag for me. We might go back to the choir boy thing.

TWINK: “Just like, y’know, people coming up and being very…energetic…and excited. And wanting to tell you all about me, and wanting to hear all about you.”

He perked up.

SAM: “Should I be taking notes?”

TWINK: “They all lie. Don’t believe a word they say.”

SAM: “I’ll take that under advisement.”

TWINK: “There’s one more thing. It’s sort of the weirdest part.”

SAM: “I haven’t run off yet, hit me with it.”

TWINK: “My roommate’s doing a show there at 11 that I promised I’d go to. You’re welcome, but don’t feel like you HAVE to come.”

SAM: “I think I missed the weird in that sentence.”

TWINK: “He’s doing a Shaun Cassidy tribute show.”

SAM: “Ah.”

He was actually smiling a little.

TWINK: “You’re taking this awfully well. I kinda thought you’d be worried about who you were getting mixed up with by now.”

SAM: “Someday I’ll introduce you to my ex-girlfriend Abby. The two of you will love one another.”

TWINK: “Abby ran in freak circles?”

SAM: “Da doo ron ron.”

He did really good with the food. He’s more adventurous than I’d anticipated. I had the Cesta de Empanadas and he tried the Anticuchos with hot mango salsa, though we both ended up eating off each others plates the whole time. I couldn’t help myself, that mango salsa was to die for.

Unsurprisingly there was a constant flow of characters to our table. Missy seemed especially anxious to get to know SAM. ‘S’he was always was a sucker for a straight looking boy. He blushed a few times (have I mentioned SWOON!) but gave as good as he got and made me really proud.

The first time he seemed a little uncomfortable all night was when Poo found me before the show and needed calming. I can see why SAM would be a little put off, Poo’s a really good looking guy (even when he’s got his hair all feathered a la Shaun) and when he needs comforting he gets very affectionate with me. Not many guys I know would want to watch their first date cuddle with her good looking male roommate.

Poor SAM. He didn’t let it get him down for long though, excellent recovery time I’d say. He said he wanted to stay for the show even after I warned him that if he stayed I’d force him to dance.

Now I know why he wasn’t scared. I didn’t have to grab him to dance (unlike the last say, EVERY guy I’ve ever dated) he grabbed me as soon as Poo started “Hey Deanie”.

A fast song. The boy grabbed me to dance to a fast song.

The wedding invitations are in the mail.

Really he was a good dancer and knew how to keep contact with me and move me around the floor which I find so sexy. He kept me laughing most of the time too, I felt like it was my first school dance and I had the one date who wasn’t afraid to get out there and have a good time.

We stayed for a bunch of the show and then I suggested we get some air. Holding hands, we walked slowly for blocks. I told him he was a great dancer (not lying) and he told me I could thank his sister when I meet her. She used to make him dance with her when she was a kid.

I said, “I’m gonna meet your sister?”

He said she loved the game and wanted to meet me so she’d have someone to play with.

I wanted to push for a more romantic (as in, ‘well, she’ll be at our wedding won’t she’) type answer but decided to let it go. I’m not usually the gushy romantic type but there’s something about this guys eyes that make me go all gooey inside.

We found ourselves almost back at the club and walking even more slowly than before. It was then that he stopped walking, I being the moron that I am kept walking but he had my hand so I kind of jerked back a little then turned to see why he’d stopped.

Then he pulled me into him, into this warm, heady space that smelled like his cologne and he kissed me.

My knees buckled. Just like they do in old movies, but I didn’t do it on purpose I swear I didn’t. Thank goodness our Secret Agent has strong arms because he held me tighter without missing a beat. It was one of those kisses that you know you’ll never forget, absolutely perfect in every way. Everything else fades away, there’s no noise in the street, it’s not cold or hot or windy, there’s just this bubble and the two of you are in it and time stops.

He wanted to drive me home but Poo and I had the car at the club and I knew I should stay and help him take down his props and load them into the car. I offered to drive SAM back to his own car which was back near the Starbucks but he refused saying the cold air would clear his head for driving. He hadn’t had more than two drinks all night so I’m hoping he meant that he was as blown away by our kiss as I was.

We shared another lingering kiss before he started back toward his car and I went into the club. He’s working tomorrow and has plans with work people tomorrow night but said he’ll call me late tomorrow night when he gets in after I assured him that I’d be awake.

Of course when I went into the Banana everyone was RAVING about him. Even Poo, who is usually so protective of me and super critical of anyone I want to date, loved him.

Some of the gang were taking pictures, I’ll see if anyone got one of SAM so you can all see him.

OH! I almost forgot to say that Poo’s show was a complete smash hit. Everyone loved it and he remembered almost everything he wanted to do. There was a short part during “That’s Rock and Roll” when I was kind of worried about his painted on tight jeans maybe not making it through the entire show in tact but he managed to keep his butt hidden from public view (this may be a first).

January 11, 2007 The day after the late night before

2007-01-12T09:31:00.000-08:00

Anyone want a roommate? I’ll rent Poo out to you on the cheap.

This morning he was especially chipper, I think it’s because he has that new boy starting at his work (I should probably learn the new boy’s name; knowing Poo he’ll probably be at breakfast some morning soon.)

Chipper morning ~~Poo~~ (wow, there’s a sentence you never think you’re going to write…maybe we’ll use his irl nickname for this sentence) Chipper Morning Winnie is annoying as all hell. He cooks vile smelling foods, banging all the pans around and has to blast Partridge Family songs through the apartment loudly enough to shake the walls.

Normally I can avoid Chipper Morning Winnie by locking the door to my cave/bedroom and burrowing deeper under the covers until he leaves for work but this morning he wanted company and dragged me out into the kitchen. I was forcibly railroaded into a Reba McIntyre/Linda Davis duet (I did get to be Reba for a change though) before my eyes were even all the way open.

I hate him.

Well, no, I love him; it’s just that I got less than no sleep last night.

Wonder how Agent Choir Boy (I like the Agent part) is feeling at work today. He kept me up until 4:30AM.

Minds out of the gutters kids, here’s how it happened:

Just after midnight I got in from Missy’s early show over at Capital Cabaret and was sufficiently full of wine so I grabbed a snack and went to email Choir Boy.

I sent off a quick, flirty reply saying that I’d love to meet him for “not coffee” and warning him that if he wanted to surprise me at one of my shows he’d better choose wisely.

In seconds I had a reply in my inbox:

“Do you play a lot of prisons?”

Hmmm.

My reply:

“Not usually, no. Why?”

And Choir boy:

“Wondering what there could be to be afraid of at a Doris Day show.”

So I told him that I ran in some pretty strange crowds and he assured me that he could handle it. Eventually after all the back and forth emailing he suggested we take it to an instant message session.

I was a little apprehensive, you have to be much quicker on your toes in IM, I think.

He has a very cute IM name which I’m not going to put here, but it prompted me to ask about it and I found out that he plays a lot of online games. I’m not much for them, I’ve tried because Wim and Chem Boy used to play them relentlessly and always tried to involve me but I just can’t figure out all the levels and the powers and stuff.

Agent choir boy thinks they were using the wrong incentives to teach me.

Agent choir boy isn’t really so much of a choir boy after all.

So we talked about games for awhile and how I prefer board games and he says he likes board games but that he also likes the online thing and we did the pros and cons of both. You wouldn’t think that would be fascinating enough to keep us both interested for something like an hour but it was.

He asked me, after all of that, what I was doing online so late. He was online gaming (natch) . I told him I just got back from seeing a friend perform, but left out the drag queen part, then I told him I was snacking and catching up on email.

Cue a 15 minute debate on snack foods. You see, I was eating Screaming Yellow Zonkers which everyone knows is far superior to Fiddle Faddle or any of those other imposter type candy coated popcorns. ~~Agent~~ (now he’s not a choir boy, we’ve established so I need a new name for him…Secret Agent Man…I like that, SAM.) SAM said …oh, heck, I saved the session, here’s part of the transcript (names changed to protect, well, SAM)

SAM: I would have thought a girl like you would prefer Cracker Jacks.

TWINK: A girl like me?

SAM: Old fashioned.

TWINK: What about me suggests that I’m an old fashioned girl?

SAM: Your career, as an obvious starting point.

TWINK: I prefer to see that as Retro.

SAM: What’s the difference?

TWINK: Retro girls do things old fashioned girls never would.

SAM: I think I’m going to need some examples. Type slow, I’m visualizing.

TWINK: Like eating Screaming Yellow Zonkers instead of Cracker Jacks. You just like the Cracker Jack’s because of the sailor on the box.

SAM: I’m not really into sailors.

TWINK: I didn’t mean it that way, I mean because you work for the Navy and all.

SAM: Oh, that, right. I’m just saying that MY snack choice has a Surprise Inside.

TWINK: Some surprise, a piece of cardboard. Maybe back in the old day when there was fun stuff in there, but c’mon. MY snack choice has a list of things you can do with them right on their box.

SAM: It does?

You get the idea. As I reread it now I guess it seems less witty and exciting than it did at 2AM, when I was full of wine, but the point is that he was fun to talk to. There was definitely more flirting but I’m not putting that here. He also explained his job a little better. It’s a pretty cool job, but a little scary.

He finally had to go because the sun was coming up. He said his boss was going to kill him when he came in dragging his backside today. He said “backside”, like I might be offended if he said “ass”, is that the cutest?

After having a tough time getting off the computer (parting is such sweet sorrow) (oh, maybe I’m the dork in this relationship) we agreed to meet for “not coffee” at 7 tonight.

Now I’m glad it’s just a short meeting because Poo’s big show is tonight and he’d kill me if I missed it for a date and I’d hate to have to tell SAM that I can’t go with him the first night he asked me out. This way I can still go with SAM and there’s no way it will run late enough to affect my getting to the Poo Review (wouldn’t it be brilliant if he called it that?) on time.

I’ll keep you updated!

January 10, 2007

2007-01-10T13:01:00.001-08:00

January 10, 2007

Okay, it’s enough with the cold now.

I know, I know, it’s supposed to be cold, it’s winter, it’s DC, we should be getting somewhere around a foot and a half of snow, but last week it was 70 degrees and I liked that.

I could do with an entirely snow-less winter. Poo says I wasn’t just born at the wrong time but in the wrong place. 1950’s Florida he says. He could be right. (Don’t let it go to your head Poo)

I did a small gig last night for a retirement party for one of the docs from Georgetown U. Hospital. They were a good crowd, better than I expected- one of the retiree’s sisters in law even hopped on stage to sing “Sisters” with me. She could belt it out, I’m thinking of inviting her into the act. Kidding, but she was good.

This morning I got an email from the Choir Boy. Until he earns something else this will be Tim’s official “blog name”, y’know, like poor Winston has been saddled with Poo, which has bled from online into real life. I heard someone calling him that at the Banana (the local gay piano bar for those of you not in the know). I’m choosing to believe it was because they read it here and trying not to think about any of the other possible reasons.

So this email. He asked me how I’ve been feeling since I fell for him. I can’t decide whether that’s cute or irredeemably dorky but I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for now. To be fair he did acknowledge that it was a lame joke so you can’t hold it against him too much.

He confessed to looking up my website from the card I gave him and said something about how he bets his coworker “Tony” would love my shows. Didn’t say anything about whether he’d like my shows so maybe bad sign. Not too bad though because he did say that he’d like the opportunity to take me out for another “mystery liquid candy bar drink”.

He also jokingly threatened to maybe show up at one of the gigs I have listed on my site. Now I’m going to be checking every audience for a 6 foot choir boy with lips that make me think not such churchy thoughts.

I haven’t answered him yet; I don’t want him to think I was sitting around checking my email to hear from him every 5 minutes. (It was every 15 minutes.) I’ll agree to the “coffee”, but do you guys think it’s weird that he didn’t ask me to dinner, or a movie or something? Why just the coffee type date?

I bet he just wants to see how different I am without a brain injury, which: not very.

I wish I could figure out what it is about this guy that’s got me thinking about him so much. He’s nothing like my past guys, he doesn’t seem very artistic, he’s not some wounded soul needing rescuing, could it be that I’m becoming attracted to nice, normal, grown up guys?

Save me!

Que Sera Sera

2007-01-10T10:27:00.000-08:00

January 8, 2007

I ended up going to the M Street Barnes and Noble yesterday afternoon, exactly like I said I wasn’t going to. I know, I know, the last thing I need is more books, and I don’t have the money for more books, but that place calls me home like a mother ship. Three floors! How does anyone resist its gravitational pull?

The visit had a higher purpose than just feeding my usual addictions, just so you know. It’s Poo’s birthday in a little over a week and I needed to find something appropriate. Okay, so it’s more likely that I’d find something appropriate for him at the Salvation Army, but I can’t get a Toffee Nut Crème while I shop at the Salvation Army.

It turned out to be a pretty strange trip to old B&N. I met a guy. Stop groaning. He’s not my normal type of guy actually.

(As an aside? When I came home and told Poo that he said, “So like, this one has a job?” Oh, so funny that roommate of mine.)

I was trying to get a book off of one of the top shelves so I used that sliding ladder thing they have. You can see it coming can’t you? The book was one unit over but rather than push the ladder over I figured I’d just climb and reach. That’s right, me, Grace. So I climbed and I reached and I lost my footing and the next thing I know I’m sort of crashing down onto this guy.

He had super reaction time because he dropped the 3 books he was carrying and caught me before I took us both down but not before I slammed my head on the shelves. My hero. He set me on my feet and asked if I was okay, he even started feeling for a bump on my head, which, y’know, I don’t think most people would do. I think most guys would let you feel that for yourself.

It was oddly comforting.

My ego was bruised but I was too woozy to try and play it off like I was fine so he walked me over to one of the big cushy chairs to sit. He wanted to get a manager but I wouldn’t allow it. I mean, it was bad enough that there was one witness to my general klutziness, did there have to be a staff meeting about it too?

Before I go too far, let me describe him, his name is Tim and he works for the Navy as an investigator (I didn’t really get this part, something about CSI, but he didn’t go into details). He’s tall, somewhere around 6 feet I’d guess, and he has good boy hair. Choir boy hair.

I told you he wasn’t my normal type.

He kind of has an overall choirboy look now that I think about it. His eyes are hazel, or green, sort of, but when we moved to different light they looked more like they might be blue. And they’re round, big and round in this Japanese Anime kind of way that makes him look mildly surprised a lot of the time. What really killed me though was his mouth. He has this fat bottom lip that makes not kissing him almost impossible.

Tim did the “How many fingers?” thing on and off throughout our little ‘getting to know you’ session. I flunked the first two, prompting him to offer to drive me to the emergency room to get checked for a concussion. I told him if he could keep me awake for the next hour I’d probably live.

It was a joke. Our boy Tim is a pretty literal guy.

He offered to buy me a drink in that handy in-store Starbucks and even though water probably would have been the advisable drink for a head trauma patient I went with my Toffee Nut Crème.

Oh, and we had this conversation:

Tim: “Toffee Nut Crème coffee? Why not just eat a candy bar?”

Me: “It’s not coffee.”

Tim: “What is it then?”

Me: “It’s a drink.”

Tim:(Insert major eyeroll here which made me swoon just a little) “I KNOW it’s a drink, I mean, it’s not coffee, it’s not soda, what is it?”

Me: “It’s Toffee Crème.”

Tim: “Thanks, you cleared that right up for me with that last part.”

It’s not much but it does show that choir boy has a little snark in him. Good sign.

Because it was a bookstore the topic obviously went to what we read. I’m pretty impressed with his recently read list. I’ve been a huge slacker lately and didn’t want to lose him by letting him know that the last three books I’ve read have been detective novels so I had to fib a little. I mean, I named books I’ve read within the past year, they just haven’t been my MOST recent. Whatever.

We were both there looking for birthday presents too, isn’t that strange? Okay, I’m not saying it’s a sign or anything, but still, two total bibliophiles both in a bookstore shopping for other people’s birthdays. Hmmm. No, I guess it isn’t that strange.

He was looking for gifts for his sister, Sarah. She’s an English major so he wanted to get her classics. I talked him out of it. The last thing an English major needs is classics, she’s either got them or she’s holding out for the early editions which you aren’t going to pick up at the M Street B&N right?

I talked him into buying her this board game that’s kind of great. It’s called Anagramania. Those of you who know me in the real world know all about it because you’ve probably been forced to play at least once. Anyway it’s a game where there are clues and the clues are anagrams for the word you need to guess. Whatever, shut up, it’s a great gift. I mentioned to him that I have it but that none of you bastards will play with me and he said he’d play it with me.

(He’s a little geeky, I bet he’d kick my ass.)

He asked what I do for a living and I gave him a pretty broad stroke overview. As in, “I sing.” He dug for more but I kept it vague. I told him I do mostly weddings and anniversary parties and then kind of moved him along to another topic.

I don’t know though, the more I think about the more I think he might be exactly the kind of guy who would want to date a girl who mostly covers Doris Day and Rosemary Clooney songs for a living. Maybe.

OH! I almost forgot to mention one of the best parts. I’m only reminded because of course Poo being the fashion whore that he is asked what he was wearing. He had on jeans, nice jeans, not the too nice, you know he irons them kinda jeans but expensive fashiony jeans that Poo would buy if he were straight. He had a button down shirt on over the jeans, tucked, but the best part, the BEST part is that he had a trench coat on.

If you know me at all you know that I’m a complete sucker for a man in a trench. He totally pulled it off too. You know how some guys just can’t wear them, they look like they’re just wearing their grandma’s raincoat? Not Choir Boy Tim. CBT looked mighty fine in his trench.

We talked non stop for so long that I grabbed his wrist mid sentence (he talks with his hands, but only a little, not enough to be annoying, but enough to suggest that he’s passionate and expressive) and noticed that I didn’t have a lot of time to make it to the 31^st street corner to grab the Metro.

(Another aside, I didn’t look at the watch long enough to get a look at the name, in fact I think my eyes were still a little hazy from the hit, but it was clearly expensive and one of those fat watches that are so sexy on guys that are manly enough to pull it off. He was.)

I apologized for having to run and explained that I wanted to make the 35 bus. (I hate nights when Poo has the car.) He knew the route, says he used to take the bus all the time up until just a few months ago, but offered me a ride instead.

Okay, he’s cute and says he works for the Navy, and yeah, he didn’t let me fall on the ground, but I’m still not getting in a car with him, I mean, he’s still a stranger. I thanked him but said no, the bus would be fine. He insisted on walking with me, it had gotten dark out while we were inside and when we opened the doors it had started to pour.

I tried to tell him there was no need for him to walk a half mile in the rain with me, it’s clearly well lit and it wasn’t even 6pm but he insisted. He told me to wait inside while he ran to his car (a Porsche Boxter no less-I swear I’m not making this boy up). He came back with a huge black umbrella under which he safely escorted me to the bus stop.

He’d end up soaked when he’d move the umbrella over so to be sure I was completely under cover until finally I walked closer to him, our arms touching. We fell into step easily with one another and my mind flashed in the oddest way to an image of us taking a walk, hand in hand when we are old, like in our 80’s. I think I was hypnotized by the sound of the rain. Is there any sound better than rain? I asked Tim that and he couldn’t think of anything better, at least not in that moment.

He asked if he could call me sometime, to check and make sure I’d lived through my concussion, and maybe to play a game of Anagramania. I gave him my card. It’s the one I hand out to people looking for a singer with my website on it (so if he does a little investigating he’ll know I’m not some rock goddess but instead a strange throwback girl) and my email but no phone number. I told him email was the best way to get in touch with me.

When the bus arrived I thanked him and he rubbed the back of my head gently one last time looking concerned.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him the entire bus ride home. Choir Boy Tim is a far cry from Performance Artist Jake of my November heartbreak fame and I think that might be a really good thing. Except for this, he used to take the bus, just a few months ago, and now he has a Boxter. And a really expensive watch. And clothes that look expensive and new. Maybe he lied about his job, maybe he’s some sort of criminal.

I don’t know if I care if he is, I just hope he emails me.