The Story Too Good Not to Share (Part 1)

Gather 'round the fire, settle down and listen to a tale. This story is true. I've been meaning to put this down for sometime now, had even managed to get it together once and lost it, have just today decided to try once more, and even now the task seems daunting, but I know it will be worth it in the end. As the title says, this is a story too good not to share.

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So, without further ado, let us begin.

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Name: Autumn Dawn (yes, really. And, no, I'm neither under twenty nor was I named by hippies; my mother was 40 years old when she gave birth to me and I am now over 30...you do the math).

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Age: already answered that one, but as for the date: 10th of July, 1974. It was a Wednesday. You remember Wednesday's child, don't you? U'm, yep, that's the one that's full of woe.

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I was born in Chicago, Illinois and not given much chance of survival. I had a plethora of health problems which I see no need of getting into here, but my Mother - an amazing and talented woman - never gave me up to the death sentence the doctors gave me...and so my story continued.

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I was six weeks old when she (my afore mentioned female parental unit) moved us (me, her and my much older sisters) to Florida (a nice place to visit, but you really don't wanna live there - OK, well YOU might THINK you want to live there, you might even, indeed, really want to - but I never wanted to live there). My grandparents had moved there the year before and she wanted me to grow in the light of their positive and intellectual influence (the only thing good about the place). As will be seen, being witness to their amazing relationship would be the most definitive factor in my life.

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Up until my 29th year I felt that most of my life just wasn't one, it was an existence. Oh, I had a great, supportive family. I had inherited some of my mother's musical and writing talents, as well. But, without funds behind you, without someone to market and sell you, without knowing the right people, on talent alone one won't make it. I had a marriage-that-never-should've-been behind me and a string of rejection and bad relationships to fill all too many badly written taudry romance novels. The marriage-that-never-should-have-been left me with two beautiful daughters. However, that was a sadness in and of itself: knowing that I had brought two innocents into a situation they did not deserve.

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I was in such a sad emotional state by the time I turned 29 that I didn't want to live another year. I just couldn't bear the thought of going on. As I always tell when relating this story, it hurt to breathe. There are some people who will understand that, and a great deal of people who won't. Whether you comprehend or not, the fact remains, it hurt to breathe.

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In late July, 2003, I turned to the computer in a desperate attempt to escape from the depression that had dragged me into an abyss-like state. Now, I had experienced two miserably failed internet relationships and had done the chatroom scene before, so I'm not quite sure what I thought I was looking for...other than a bit of relief - or distraction, at least, from the pain.

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My distraction came in the form of a website devoted to a certain author of fantasy - another one of my distractions - which I enjoyed reading. You see, books - story - especially high fantasy - have always engaged and captured my imagination, so many of the stories - and characters - speaking directly to me, sometimes encouraging me, almost always comforting me and certainly always entertaining me...but, it was more than entertainment.

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I orginally went onto this author's website in order to find out when the next book in the series was coming out. While surfing the site, I was surprised and pleased to find a posting board for fans. I immediately joined under the username Songmistress, a title I'd been dubbed by my best friend, and the name that would intrigue The Reason I Breathe and make him want to talk to me. I was pleased further, when I found that the board encouraged member creativity (in the realm of writing, mostly), and so I made a thread to post poetry in - my own, of course, but I opened it up for others to post their original works as well. Somewhere deep inside me I knew that the artistic expression - and the sharing of it - would be cathartic.

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An Englishman named Jamie was the first to respond with works of his own. I was struck at once by the powerful, emotional, and truly excellent way he wrote - and what he wrote (I came to say that he "wrote my heart" because the things he posted were things I could have written myself)! He had joined the board a few days before I had; he, too, was using the internet as an escape: refuge from his own marriage-that-never-should've-been. His then wife had no time for him or his interests and talents, had no time to appreciate this beautiful man; all she had time for was going to the pub with her mates and getting drunk. She didn't care about his writing, his photography, his drawings, much less his feelings, and she was much too self absorbed to consider his needs, let alone fill any of them. She's one of those women I talk about all the time who give women - and wives - a bad name (no, I really don't have anything nice to say about the bit, u'm, cow, u'm woman).

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So, Jamie poured himself onto the pages, and I drank him up; after all, I was dying of thirst.

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Jamie posted his poetry and, eventually, his drawings and photography and, for the first time, he found people - including one suicidal American woman - who were interested in what he had to give.

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Did I admit to myself that I was in love with this man? For a long time my heart could not afford to. But, in the end, the truth, as ever, would not be denied.

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Remember how I mentioned my grandparents at the start of this? No? Go back, read it again. Yes? Let's continue, then. I grew up in the light and warmth of their love; I was witness to something far too many never see and far less than that ever experience for themselves. It does no justice - words, adjectives fall short - to try to describe their perfect relationship. Now, don't you dare roll your eyes at me here and stop reading! I know what most people think when they hear that "perfect"; I can just hear you snapping back at me, 'No relationship is perfect!' - that's what the world has jaded you to believe...and, you would be as wrong as the world in that belief. See, you can't convince me otherwise, because I was there, and saw it - day in, day out - for over 20 years, my sisters for 18 years longer than that, my mother 40 years longer. This isn't just something I've made up - or the work of selective memory. Their relationship was the benchmark, the example, the aspiration...and what became for those of us who wanted not only to see it - but, because we KNEW it was real - experience and have it for ourselves, an unattainable desire...or so we thought.

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Now, I'm not going to write overmuch about my grandparents, as there are other places I have gone into detail about what made their relationship what/how it was, and since what is important to this story here is not their personal story but, rather, their story's impact on mine. Should anyone want to know more about them, I am contactable, and would be happy to share that story with you, as well.

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What witnessing them did was assure me that relationships like theirs' were real, not just a fairy tale unreachable ideal. And, it made all the shit around me look all the more crappy. Light has the tendency to make darkness appear all the more, well, dark! I felt very privileged that I got to see such a relationship - which is, as I've said, more than the majority of people get - but, once exposed to the wonder of it, the beauty of it, I wanted it for myself...and despaired of ever finding it personally; my early relationships were all about rejection, neglect and emotional abuse and the later ones were just about the sex and attention I had been denied in my marriage (the marriage-that-never-should've-been) and feeding my need to be wanted...and none of them were healthy...none of them were right...most definitely none of them were anything like Mom and Pop's (my grandparents).

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Jamie and I started to correspond via e-mail and chat via IM. He always showed concern for me when I was deep in the abyss and even more down than usual (all days were bad, but some days were worse than others, everyone could tell I was depressed - it wasn't like I tried to hide it - it was obvious - I was trying to get someone to assist my suicide - but the only answers I ever got from people was that suicide wasn't the answer, and all the other rubbish things people say to the suicidal, none of which are a help), and even though he did say some of the things other people said when caring and trying to be a help, he didn't just parrot pat answers, he was genuinely concerned; little did I know - at first - that the reason he was so concerned was because he was in love with me, but not admitting it to himself. For a long time he kept it secret about how miserable his marriage was and, because I was so absorbed in my own turmoil, it took me a while to put it together that if his marriage was peachy and wonderful he wouldn't be spending the inordinate time online he was (waking early in the morning, and staying on into the wee hours of the night), away from her!

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During this time, we discovered the joy of collaboration. Neither of us had ever written with anyone else before but, because of our similar "voices", we found we could write in perfect harmony with, complimenting, each other. We ended up calling the connection, "Two Pens, One Heart" (a saying which we now both have tattooed upon our persons). We wrote stories, songs, and loads of poems. Everything seemed to be saying the same thing, just in different ways: we wanted - needed - each other and the only way we had to touch, connect, and become one was through words.

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One day online, Jamie surprised me by activating the voice chat feature on IM (since we both had microphones). Suddenly words left me and I didn't know what to say. About all I could manage to get out was to ask if he could hear me. He typed back that he could but, for some reason, his mic wasn't working, so I couldn't hear him. After we had admitted our feelings for each other, he told me that the sound of my voice then had caused him shivers - good ones. He discovered later that he had simply plugged his perfectly good mic into the wrong port - just going to prove the importance of always putting things into the right hole!

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After rectifying the problem with the mic, Jamie was all ready to try again. I was, of course, just as nervous as before, and at a loss for what to say. Oh, but when I heard his voice! I was the one with the shivers then; the lilt of his Leicestershire accent carrying over the miles between us, I wanted to just sit and listen to him talk to me...here was yet another way for him to hold me in thrall. I wanted to hold up my end of the conversation, however, and so I decided, if I couldn't talk well enough to impress, I would do the most impressive thing I could do: sing.

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I had recorded me playing and singing a few of my songs, which I converted to wav file and shared with a few people I knew online. These recordings were poor quality, but one could still get the idea of what my contralto pipes sounded like. Jamie, a music lover of eclectic taste, was interested in hearing me but was unable to open the files on his 'puter. So, while trying to think of what to say, I said, 'Well, since you haven't been able to hear those files I sent...I could sing something for you.' Then, of course, put on the spot like that, I had to think of something to sing! I found myself unusually unprepared...or was I?

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People often ask me when I started singing. Since I can't remember a time that I didn't sing - and sing well - I always tell them the age I was the first time I sang in concert, with my mother. I was 4. Three years ago, right before the first time Jamie came to visit me in the States, Mother and I did a Christmas concert together. Someone came up to her after the concert and asked her when she knew I could sing "like that". She replied, 'When she was 4.' They responded with, 'No, really.' She said, 'I'm serious; she's always sung like that.'

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Always. But at the age of 4 was the first time I felt what it was like to PERFORM, what is like to perform for an audience. The energy, the power to entertain...and something deeper...the power to touch without hands...the power of music...the power...of a voice. Now, I've never taken the talent for granted, and always acknowledged it as what it is: a gift from God - and, it is a gift - I just want to give the reader an idea of the importance of singing in my life (that's why I include this here); it's always been one of the things that defines me as me: I am a singer. And, whatever else I may be besides, it's the description, title, designation of singer that is the essense - and starting point - of what I am. It could be the reason for the dramatics that flows into near every other aspect of my life. Speaking of drama...back to the story, now.

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I didn't even consider singing one of my own compositions acappella, prefering to be able to accompany myself on them when singing them. All of a sudden, without giving it much thought, I said, "Well, here's a classic, " and then lit into belting out Elvis's I CAN'T HELP FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU! Hello!?! I am sure that even the dimmest crayon in the box could see the glaring significance of that. But, honestly, I didn't even think about it at the time; I just got lost in singing a beautiful song that I have always sung well, both with and without accompaniment. Before I sang the song, I wasn't even aware that Elvis was one of Jamie's favourites.

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When I finished, Jamie, struck emotional, was silent for a few moments before telling me how gob-smacked he was, how beautiful it - and my voice - was, and that it was a perfect choice because he's always liked Elvis and his songs (even though his favourite favourite is Buddy Holly, and after we finally admitted to each other how we felt, it was True Love Ways that Jamie sang for me the first time we had opportunity for voice chat after we admitted and accepted it...but, I'm getting ahead of myself here). It was the perfect choice for more than that reason! It was the perfect choice...because it was the truth. Truth denied is truth nonetheless.

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During this time, which seemed (still seems, in fact) like such a long time but, in reality, was only a couple of months, many things happened...and, this is where things get sticky (not in a good way), and I really don't want to spend overlong on this part and get bogged down with it, but I don't see how not to...so, you, Dear Reader, will just have to bear with me and beware the run-on sentence!

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Since Jamie never complained about how unappreciated he was at home, or the extent of his wife's neglect of him (and because I could not fathom how this woman could not appreciate and want him), I didn't know how bad things were for him. Now I know that he just didn't want to talk about her at all when he was online; he wanted a true refuge and escape. I had started to suspect that things weren't as good in his marriage as they could be or should be - why else would he spend so much time online, so much time with ME online - but I wasn't aware of just how miserable he was with her; after all, I thought all his love poems were about her! I didn't know - and couldn't understand - how this woman that was his wife didn't love him - I thought she was the luckiest woman in the world; I was jealous of her! Imagine! Jealous of her! Little did I know that the woman I was jealous of was myself! I was exactly what I wanted to be: the woman Jamie loves.

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However, knowledge is power and, alas, I didn't have that power for a while. I didn't think The Englishman and I were even a remote possibility. And so, still searching - and needing - something (even after giving up finding it, still subconciously seeking what my grandparents had), I found myself "involved" with someone else online that I had met on the same board where I had met Jamie. Now, there was absolutely no chance I would have ever had what my grandparents had with this other person, and nothing about the relationship was right, in the least; albiet, in my desperate state, that's where I found myself. As I say, this relationship was wrong, and eventually that fact blared in my face even before and irrespective of me and Jamie, but, at first, I had taken complete leave of my senses. One of the major clues that this "relationship" was all wrong, was that I was still an utterly miserable abyss-dweller: I was just as much, if not more, depressed and intent on not living past 30 than ever before.

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The Englishman kept quiet about how it was killing him that I was "with" someone else, while I remained quite vocal about how life was killing me. Now, you are either, at this point, screaming at that contradiction, or you are nodding in understanding (like the breathing thing). You might ask, if I was so suicidal, why I hadn't tried to kill myself before this. The answer is, I had tried...unsuccessfully, obviously. The thing is, I never did what I knew would be painful (i.e. taking a razor to my wrists or a gun to my wherever...with the gun I was afraid I would just make even more of a mess of myself and some how still not manage to die), which left pills chased with alcohol.

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See, I wasn't afraid of death. I've been close to it on more than one occasion but, in my anxiety-ridden mind, it was one thing I've never feared. On the other hand, I am afraid of - and despise - pain! What I wanted was for people to stop trying to get me from being suicidal, stop suggesting meds that would kill the best parts of me off anyway so that I might as well be dead, and assist me in killing myself. I got no takers.

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To further complicate the F.U.B.A.R. situation, I was somewhat romantically involved with my best friend (the one who, ironically dubbed me "Songmistress" even though he shares none of my musical passion). Our relationship was based on mutual need: I needed to be taken care of, and he needed someone to care for. We didn't have music in common, but we had other interests (like a passion for books and story) in common, and what started out as - and has endured - as deep, abiding friendship, evolved out of a sort of necessity on both our parts. It was comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. Comfortable because it was easy...no, because it was resigned; I had a place to live, I didn't have to work (which had caused me no end of grief when I had tried to), I had a cat to pet and get tuna for, I had companionship and laughter, I even had decent sex. Uncomfortable because there were some essential things missing, otherwise I never would have gotten caught up in that completely wrong internet relationship thing, would I? And, if I regret anything in all this, it is that hurting a someone I love dearly was unavoidable. Would that I could end that yet enduring pain even now.

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By now you may be thinking, 'Good grief, you really were fucked up', and, I'll agree with you; saying that it was "a mess" is a gross understatement. I mean, let's recap and sum-up: 29 year old neurotic divorcee with two kids she wasn't even capable of caring for because she couldn't care for herself, living in a romatic capacity with her best friend (let's clarify the fact that the best friend is MALE), "involved" with another man online (the completely wrong man), in love with yet another man who lived 4000 miles and an ocean away from her (oh, yeah, and was MARRIED!), in the depths of depression, with unfullfilled dreams of a singing career hanging heavy over her and generally miserable about existence as whole. I mean, if one wasn't suicidal to begin with, that's more than enough to drive someone to it!

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By this time, however, I had a suspicion that Jamie had feelings for me, too. First, he wrote a poem about me called The Songmistress and posted it in the thread I had created for poetry (The Live Poets' Society, I called it), but he sent me his original via e-mail, and the original was a lot more...personal. It still wasn't blatantly clear how he felt, but it was a lot more...well, just a lot more of what the other poem was. I wrote back telling him how touched I was, then contemplated a moment before adding, 'I might as well say it: I love you'. We didn't discuss this because, I found out later, that when he read my response, at first he nearly fell out of his chair, but then rationalized it by saying that I must have only meant it "as a friend". And, sadly, that's how I rationlized the poem, too. But then, he wrote and posted another love poem that I knew couldn't have been about The Cow! When I questioned him about it he remained vague. But I knew it was about me. I went back and read all the others, and it hit me like a two tons of bricks: Oh...my...God...they're all about ME! But, did he know they were about me? I mean, was he aware that he was in love with me or that they were about me when he wrote them? Was he in denial? What level of acceptance was there on his part? I thought, if there is any awareness, there must not be much acceptance or he would have admitted his feelings already. I wept as I read his words of devotion and desire. I thought, in despair, how tragic.

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It all came to a head in September of that year (2003). That's when I hit bottom and was just about to reach the point where I would have risked the pain in order to get to the other side. I stopped going online. I shut down and went to bed, and stayed there. Dana (the best friend - yes, Dana is a man's name, too), became concerned about me; I was sleeping all the time - sleeping to escape - and, therefore, eating very little (one can't eat while sleeping...well, not unless they have the disorder where they eat while they sleep... I didn't have that particular disorder...but, I digress). He was frustrated because he knew how dangerously down I was, and because he wasn't able to do anything about it. Little did I know that Jamie was so concerned about me that he nearly called the Florida police. Dana, however, knew, even if I wasn't sure, that Jamie, indeed, loved me. Dana had been online and had read Jamie's posts and seen how worried he was. Dana recognised the love in Jamie's writing; only Love fears that way for the loss of the One it loves. And so, he came into the room where I was laying and made me wake up. I didn't want to. I awoke to blinding and choking tears. Dana said, "You should go online, Autumn. Jamie loves you." I could not control the flood; I sobbed, 'Oh, God, what am I going to do?!'

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I walked, with shaky steps, to the computer. My head was dizzy and heavy, I hadn't eaten for a few days. I felt sick and weary...and utterly overwhelmed. I signed online and started to check e-mail, private messages, and threads, and began to read the notes from many who were anxious about my whereabouts (the guy I was "involved" with among them...his concern made me feel even more ill). I quickly signed on instant messenger to look for the only reason I came online: The Englishman was there. I remained invisible because I didn't want to be inundated with loads of IMs from all the other people "looking for me". Honestly, I didn't care about any of the others. I sent a simple message to Jamie, 'I am here.'

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He told me later that he screamed "THANK GOD!" as soon as he saw my name flash on the screen. Although neither one of us discussed or admitted to the other one, at that time, we knew, then, something had to happen. Whether either one was prepared to do what needed to be done, that remained to be seen, but there was no denial anymore...the wall was down and we both knew it. As I say, we didn't talk about it that night, or even the night after that, or the night after that, but whatever barrier that had been there before had been demolished, preparing the way for the time when one of us - me - decided to say what needed to be said. What we did do that night was laugh - Jamie made me smile and laugh again...and, I felt hope spring up from the dark depths where it had been buried...and, hope would not be denied any more than truth.

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And the days, as days are wont to do, marched on...

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One night I had a dream. In the dream Jamie and I were both at this party - a black tie affair - with all these people we knew from the posting boards. I was on one side of the room, surrounded by people wanting to talk to me and pressing in against me. It felt very claustrophobic. I could look across the room and see that Jamie, on the other side, was in the same situation. We caught each other's eye, and held on with a look that refused to let go, a look that was to say, 'I'm trying to make my way to you...if only I could just get all these people out of the way...if I could just move'. Again, a dream analyst isn't needed to figure this one out! In the dream, I excused myself and, somehow, made my way to the ladies' room. Knowing that I couldn't hide there all night, I finally emerged from my makeshift sanctuary before some noisy so-and-so could come and disturb me. I found Jamie, holding my coat, waiting for me. He said, 'C'mon. Let's get out of here!' There was no argument from me as we slipped out some side door and made our way down to the beach to walk on soft white sands. We didn't speak. We had exhausted all we could say before; words do reach their limits. We held hands and walked and walked until we reached a cave, and we entered. There we were lost in each others eyes. Reality coming back painfully, I choked out, 'The others...they'll be looking for us.' Jamie held a finger to my lips and shushed me. 'They don't matter,' he said. And so it was that those were the last words spoken. After that, it was touch that said everything. It was beautiful, vivid. I awoke expecting him to be beside me. The disappointment when I discovered he wasn't there was heart-rending. The dream left me aching.

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The next day I told Jamie the dream. At this point I saw no need to keep it from him. When I got to the part where I said 'the others will come looking for us' and he said 'they don't matter', Jamie responded with, "They don't." He typed it, but I could hear him whisper it to us both. The revelation. I cried...again.

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It wasn't long after this I finally said, plainly, "I'm so in love with you that it overwhelms me, Jamie!" He asked me if I meant it. What? He actually thought I might be playing a joke on him! He was scared because he was so in love with me it was overwhelming him. I assured him I was most certainly serious!!! And that's when the issue was cleared up at last. He said, "Autumn, what are we going to do?" I said, with acute anguish and relief all mixed together, "I...don't...know!"

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I definitely never imagined what The Englishman was prepared to do. I mean, my goodness, I would have thought it too wonderful to be reality! But it so happened, that just days after making it clear to each other of our mutual feelings, Jamie left the Cow. An event that was inevitable, the Cow knowing that whatever good that might have ever been there between them, it had long eroded away; she just hadn't had the courage - or the kind concern even - to do anything about it. She actually helped him pack. He didn't mention me at the time. His leaving her wasn't because of me. His leaving her was because of her, and the fact that they were never meant to be together. I - among other friends - merely encouraged the self-respect he needed, highlighting his discontent, and giving him the courage to do it.

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With no delay, he bought tickets to come see me in December! He also, immediately, asked me to marry him, which did surprise me a bit. I mean, it made me ecstatically happy, yes. But, I never thought, after having 12 years of a marriage that was primarily shit and very little else, that he would be so eager to make that commitment so soon (for some people, if they've had one crap marriage - a marriage-that-never-should've-been, that is - marriage as a whole leaves a bad taste in their mouth...they are wrong, but they've been coloured by past experience; I was concerned that it might have been that way for him...but, YAY, it wasn't). The thing is, we both knew that this was the-marriage-that-was-meant-to-be; we were created to be together.

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I broke the news to Dana. He was heartbroken, as expected, but took it as well as he could, saying that he just always wanted me to be happy, and that he knew Jamie really did love me, so, while we had his sorrow, we had his "blessing", as well. Jamie and I both broke the news to "the other" guy, and that got ugly for a while, but, in the end, even he admitted that he had been silly about a lot of what he said and did during that time.

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So it was, on the 15th of December, 2003, I waited at Orlando International Airport for The Reason I Breathe to arrive. His plane was delayed, and the suspense was building when, finally, two hours after the time scheduled for the plane to get there, the big, silver bird carrying my Englishman landed.

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Oh, I hate waiting. I’ve never ever been long on patience. Once the plane landed, the passengers had to de-board (or whatever it‘s called), go through immigration and customs, and finally get on the shuttle which would bring them out to the corridor that would, eventually, lead to the lobby where I was waiting. Ooohhhh, I was getting so anxious! I ended up having to go pee, so I rushed to the Ladies' and then back out as quickly as mother nature would allow me for fear of missing him; I didn’t want him to get there and think I had stood him up! Right as I came around the corner to face back towards the passageway he would be coming from, he moved over to the side where I was standing, and I caught my first glimpse of him and screamed, “JAMIE!!!”

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Then, a funny thing happened: time stopped. From the time I screamed his name (not for the last time, mmmm), and our eyes met, everyone else in the insanely busy, Christmastime Orlando International Airport, DISAPPEARED! All the clamour and noise ceased. There was silence, we were encapsulated. We ran into each others arms and embraced tightly, drinking each other in, soaking each other up, breathing each other, tasting each other…finally, at last, FEELING each other! It wasn't until Dana, who had driven me to the airport and waited with me, came over to hand Jamie a bag he had dropped, that the sights and sounds of the airport came rushing back upon our senses: for those first few amazing moments we were the only two in the world. I always thought that was something that only happened in the movies, but it was very real - Jamie and I both can testify to it.

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The next day, after spending an amazing night in each others' ravenous embrace, as we were getting ready to go out and get breakfast (we'd worked up quite an appetite), I looked over at Jamie and spied him looking at me. That's when I saw it! I recognised that look: it was the same way my grandfather looked at my grandmother.

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(End Part One)

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COMING SOON:

Part Two

of

The Story Too Good Not to Share,

where you'll learn about:

Visas and the horrors of Immigration,

The Wedding,

The Beauty and Power of Interdependence...

and much, much more!