Moon Dance
Chapter 35-36
35.
I almost killed a man today.
Tell me about it.
So I wrote it up for Fang. As usual, he read like a demon on crack, and posted his reply almost instantly.
The Marine might be re-thinking his boxing career.
I suddenly felt indignant, perhaps to mask my guilt. Good. He was a pig, and boxing's certainly no way to make a living. Getting your brains beaten to a pulp day in and day out.
I see, so by knocking him out of the ring, you actually did a service to him.
Yes. He could think of it as career counseling.
Through the school of hard knocks.
Haha.
I think you are trying to assuage your guilt, Moon Dance, to justify your actions.
Okay, fine. I feel horrible! You happy?
No. At least you can admit your guilt.
He didn't deserve what I did to him.
Probably not. Then again, he sounded like he might have needed to be taught a lesson. Did you really kick him in the balls?
Argh! I'm horrible!
Yes, wrote Fang. You were today.
You don't let me off easy, do you?
Do you want me to let you off easy?
No, I wrote, thinking about it. I want you to always be dead honest with me. It's why I keep you around.
Gee, thanks. So what happened to the Marine?
They took him away in an ambulance. The paramedic said it looked like a concussion. I sent him flowers and a card apologizing.
Perhaps you should find other outlets for your anger, wrote Fang.
Perhaps.
You might have to be a little more, um, discreet with your gifts. You don't want to keep attracting unwanted attention.
I think you're right. I paused. But why call it a gift, Fang?
It's how you choose to view it, Moon Dance. You could focus on either the negative or the positive. As in all of life.
Thank you, Tony Robbins.
No, I'm not Tony Robbins but I'm certainly as tall.
Really? What else do you look like? I wrote, eager for more information.
As usual, he ignored any personal questions. Let's take a look at these gifts of yours. You have enhanced strength, night vision, speed and endurance. Not to mention the ability to shape-change.
Whoa! I wrote, sitting back. No one's ever said anything about shape-changing.
You've never shape-changed, Moon Dance?
Ever recall me mentioning turning into a bat?
There was a long pause, then he wrote: Most texts, resources and personal accounts are unanimous about this. You should be able to shape-change. Into what exactly, is open to debate.
I found myself laughing at my computer desk. Well, if your resources can tell me how to shape-change, then I'll give it a shot.
I'll look into it. Maybe you should look into it, too.
How?
Another pause: Maybe you need to look into yourself.
The doorbell rang. The babysitter was here.
Goodnight, Fang.
Goodnight, Moon Dance.
36.
It was late and I was restless.
Earlier in the day, I'd dreamed of Kingsley again, and now I couldn't get the big son-of-a-bitch out of my thoughts. In my dream, we were in the woods again, but this time we weren't playing a game. This time he had captured me early on and I was on my back. I distinctly remembered the pine needles poking into my bare back and the sound of small animals scurrying away in the woods. Scurrying away in fear. Kingsley was in his half man/half wolf mode, dark shaggy hair hanging from his huge shoulders, down his long arms. A tuft of it sticking up along the ridge of his spine like a hairy stegosaurus. He was on all fours and he was above me. I was pinned beneath him, distinctly aware that he was far too strong for me to push off. I was submitting to him. Body and soul.
In my dream, he was still wearing the medallion, hanging freely from his thick neck, suspended just inches above my face. Whenever I opened my mouth to ask about the medallion, he simply shook his great head and I knew I was not to discuss it, and so I didn't, although I wanted to. Badly.
Then he lowered his face to mine, a face that was still magnificently human and handsome, although in bad need of a shave. His breath was hot on my neck, my ears, through my hair. He was touching me with his lips or tongue, I didn't know which, nor did I care. I only knew I had not felt this good in a long, long time.
Then the alarm went off, and I could have cried.
A hell of a dream, I thought. I think you might like the big guy.
Ya think?
The question was: what did I do about it? I didn't know. Even though I knew in my heart my marriage was over, I still felt guilty for having feelings for another man.
You shouldn't. Your husband is long gone. You can't keep living like this, and nor can he.
But the moment I quit living like thisDthe moment my husband and I officially separatedDwould be the moment my kids are taken away from me, and I can't have that.
I can't have that.
So quit thinking about Kingsley.
Easier said than done.
It was late, and I was restless and I couldn't for the life of me keep Kingsley out of my thoughts. Damn him. What right did he have kissing a lonely and hurting woman? What right did he have of putting me through this?
I nearly laughed. It had, of course, been just a dream.
I almost killed a man today.
Tell me about it.
So I wrote it up for Fang. As usual, he read like a demon on crack, and posted his reply almost instantly.
The Marine might be re-thinking his boxing career.
I suddenly felt indignant, perhaps to mask my guilt. Good. He was a pig, and boxing's certainly no way to make a living. Getting your brains beaten to a pulp day in and day out.
I see, so by knocking him out of the ring, you actually did a service to him.
Yes. He could think of it as career counseling.
Through the school of hard knocks.
Haha.
I think you are trying to assuage your guilt, Moon Dance, to justify your actions.
Okay, fine. I feel horrible! You happy?
No. At least you can admit your guilt.
He didn't deserve what I did to him.
Probably not. Then again, he sounded like he might have needed to be taught a lesson. Did you really kick him in the balls?
Argh! I'm horrible!
Yes, wrote Fang. You were today.
You don't let me off easy, do you?
Do you want me to let you off easy?
No, I wrote, thinking about it. I want you to always be dead honest with me. It's why I keep you around.
Gee, thanks. So what happened to the Marine?
They took him away in an ambulance. The paramedic said it looked like a concussion. I sent him flowers and a card apologizing.
Perhaps you should find other outlets for your anger, wrote Fang.
Perhaps.
You might have to be a little more, um, discreet with your gifts. You don't want to keep attracting unwanted attention.
I think you're right. I paused. But why call it a gift, Fang?
It's how you choose to view it, Moon Dance. You could focus on either the negative or the positive. As in all of life.
Thank you, Tony Robbins.
No, I'm not Tony Robbins but I'm certainly as tall.
Really? What else do you look like? I wrote, eager for more information.
As usual, he ignored any personal questions. Let's take a look at these gifts of yours. You have enhanced strength, night vision, speed and endurance. Not to mention the ability to shape-change.
Whoa! I wrote, sitting back. No one's ever said anything about shape-changing.
You've never shape-changed, Moon Dance?
Ever recall me mentioning turning into a bat?
There was a long pause, then he wrote: Most texts, resources and personal accounts are unanimous about this. You should be able to shape-change. Into what exactly, is open to debate.
I found myself laughing at my computer desk. Well, if your resources can tell me how to shape-change, then I'll give it a shot.
I'll look into it. Maybe you should look into it, too.
How?
Another pause: Maybe you need to look into yourself.
The doorbell rang. The babysitter was here.
Goodnight, Fang.
Goodnight, Moon Dance.
36.
It was late and I was restless.
Earlier in the day, I'd dreamed of Kingsley again, and now I couldn't get the big son-of-a-bitch out of my thoughts. In my dream, we were in the woods again, but this time we weren't playing a game. This time he had captured me early on and I was on my back. I distinctly remembered the pine needles poking into my bare back and the sound of small animals scurrying away in the woods. Scurrying away in fear. Kingsley was in his half man/half wolf mode, dark shaggy hair hanging from his huge shoulders, down his long arms. A tuft of it sticking up along the ridge of his spine like a hairy stegosaurus. He was on all fours and he was above me. I was pinned beneath him, distinctly aware that he was far too strong for me to push off. I was submitting to him. Body and soul.
In my dream, he was still wearing the medallion, hanging freely from his thick neck, suspended just inches above my face. Whenever I opened my mouth to ask about the medallion, he simply shook his great head and I knew I was not to discuss it, and so I didn't, although I wanted to. Badly.
Then he lowered his face to mine, a face that was still magnificently human and handsome, although in bad need of a shave. His breath was hot on my neck, my ears, through my hair. He was touching me with his lips or tongue, I didn't know which, nor did I care. I only knew I had not felt this good in a long, long time.
Then the alarm went off, and I could have cried.
A hell of a dream, I thought. I think you might like the big guy.
Ya think?
The question was: what did I do about it? I didn't know. Even though I knew in my heart my marriage was over, I still felt guilty for having feelings for another man.
You shouldn't. Your husband is long gone. You can't keep living like this, and nor can he.
But the moment I quit living like thisDthe moment my husband and I officially separatedDwould be the moment my kids are taken away from me, and I can't have that.
I can't have that.
So quit thinking about Kingsley.
Easier said than done.
It was late, and I was restless and I couldn't for the life of me keep Kingsley out of my thoughts. Damn him. What right did he have kissing a lonely and hurting woman? What right did he have of putting me through this?
I nearly laughed. It had, of course, been just a dream.
