The Anchor Holds
He was in the attic, sifting through things. Almost obsessively. Almost compulsively. Things in boxes, mainly. Or in black, glossy trash bags. Mostly older things, but ... not all of them. Not everything was dust-covered, or had spider-webs on it.
Though, even so, his whiskers twitched. And how his nose sniffed! Prompting him to ...
"Ah-choo!" Once. Pause. Twice. "Ah-choo ... " His eyes squeezed to a watery, helpless shut.
And, sure enough, dust DID stir upon the after-effects of the nose-tickles.
A sigh. And the mouse rubbed his nose. Sniffled a bit.
"God bless you."
The mouse turned his head, ears swiveling in her general direction. Adelaide. "Didn't hear you," he said, after a quiet moment. He was sitting. The attic was small, after all, with a roof that slanted. He'd hit his head if standing fully upright (from the part of the room he was in, anyway).
"Didn't scare you, I hope ... "
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I just got the ... "
" ... sniffle-sneezes." An understanding nod. "All the dust and stuff." A pause. "You shouldn't be up here," the bat said, crawling over boxes (filled with worn clothes, unused dishes, and even childhood toys). Her voice showed concern.
"I know." He bit his lip. "Just ... I don't know," he said weakly.
She'd made her way to him. And she let out a breath, sitting right next to him. The only light in here was an exposed, incandescent bulb, which was at a tilt. Coming out of a hole in the vertical wall to their left. The attic was a lot longer than it was wide. And the heat that had, throughout the afternoon, soaked into the black shingles just on the other side of the roof ... had made it very stuffy in here.
The mouse rubbed his nose, blinking a few times.
"What've you got?" the bat whispered gently.
"Mm ... just ... " A weak motion. "Newspaper."
She met his eyes from up-close.
He blinked, and ... his blue-greys darted, and then went back to her pinks. "Just a newspaper."
"I know how scared you get," the bat said. Her paws gently taking the newspaper from the floor, and away from him. She sighed as she looked at it. "I just don't want you to have nightmares."
"Just felt I should look at it. Just once."
A nod. She understood. After all, they had a telepathic link ... she knew how his mind worked. And, more importantly, his heart. "Well, don't look at it alone," was all she asked. "I'm here."
A little nod. "Okay."
The bat swallowed, eyes scanning the newspaper. The front page of the Indianapolis Star ... from ... well, five years ago. Only one image. And only one headline. In fierce, bold, black letters: "ACT OF WAR."
The mouse's eyes looked into the darker corners of the attic, and ... his heart, beating a bit faster than normal, seemed to skip a few beats now and then. From the stuffiness of this space. From the heat. And from the memories. And from the fiery, shredding image on the front of that newspaper. The paper which, after five years, had faded a bit. A bit crinkled. But a paper that had been kept. Couldn't really throw a paper like that away ... just ... and the mouse was a meticulous saver and tidier, anyway. Somehow, it had ended up in the attic. Used to, had been in a closet downstairs, but Adelaide had found it and hidden it up here. She didn't want the mouse looking at it. For, again, she knew him.
Knew how fragile he could be. His anxiety.
She would do ANYTHING to keep him safe. If she had to use her fangs, even, to guard him ... she would do it. Selflessly protective.
The mouse wished he could protect her like that, with such strength, in return. Would lament on it, sometimes.
She would assure him that he DID protect her: by feeding and fueling her heart. By keeping her healthy ... with his tender devotion, his innocence, his artistry. His love.
The two mates, though, at the moment ... sitting in the dim, dusty attic, were side by side on the floor. The mouse's knees were to his chest. His eyes closed and watery.
"Come on, baby," the pink-furred bat cooed. "Let's go downstairs. To the kitchen. The game's on in an hour ... " After church, they'd come home, watched the race (what a race!). While having lunch, and ... the Colts were playing in the nighttime game. "We can get a bite to nibble, and ... nibble on each other, even," she whispered, "before ... "
A quiet nod. "I just ... I had the television on, you know, and they showed it, and I didn't wanna see it, and now ... and I had to come up here to look at the paper, and it's ... in my head, and ... " Rambling. With his wispy, squeaky voice trailing out and in, and ...
" ... shh," went the bat. Shifting so that her winged arms could slip around him.
"I just ... I just ... "
"Shh ... baby," she whispered, barely audible.
The mouse sniffed, shaking. The tears falling down his cheeks. Matting and staining his cheek-fur. A little cough, and an exhale, and ... a shaky, inward breath.
Her paws on his back, her blunted claws scritched at him ... through his shirt. And her nose was on his neck. "Shh," she went again. Again and again. Just soft, hushing sounds. Their heads touching. And her mind, close enough to his, reaching out ... helping him.
A shaky breath. A sniffle, with a light squeak from the throat. He kept his eyes closed, afraid that, if he opened them, with them all red and wet, and with all the dust in the air, and ... he would start crying again. He kept them closed and clung to her. His stronger, more-stable mate. A blessing he'd been led to. By the grace of God ... she was in his life, and ...
... her paws kept rubbing at him. Her own eyes closed. "Feeling better?" she said. Muzzle barely open. Voice very quiet.
A nod. But his breath was still a bit erratic.
"You can talk about it," she said.
A swallow. "I ... I don't wanna ... "
" ... you're not a burden. You're never a burden. Talk to me, Field," she said.
"I just ... remember, is all. You do, too. I mean, I'm not the only one ... I wasn't even THERE."
"That doesn't mean it didn't hurt you. That doesn't mean you don't need to talk about it ... to deal with it."
"It was five years ago."
"Doesn't matter. Just ... I'm here. I can listen. I know I don't have mouse-ears, but ... my ears are pretty good," she said, flicking her swept-back, angular bat ears. Meant for high pitches. Not as strong as his ears, but ... strong enough. And pretty. How they curved, and ... how he could whisper into them, and ...
"I just ... I was at school, you know. I was in, like, tenth grade. I mean, you were there ... "
"Wasn't in your class," she reminded gently.
"I know. I ... was in the library. I wasn't supposed to be. I was supposed to be in the French room, but all the ninth-graders were taking a test that I'd already taken, so I got sent to the library." A pause. "They had the TV's on."
A nod. Her eyes closed, and her breathing quiet (this whole attic was suddenly very quiet) ... she pressed her nose into his neck. Above the warmth of his pulse. And in the midst of his scent. And breathed of it. And sighed. And whispered, "Go on ... "
A bit more stable, he continued, licking his dry lips, and swallowing, "I, uh ... well, a teacher came in, and said to change the channel, and ... " He trailed. As his eyes trailed ... almost blanking out. "I watched. Just like everyone else watched, and I ... knew, in the back of my mind, that it was deliberate. That it was evil. It wasn't an accident, or ... a misunderstanding ... it was ... what it was, and ... " He trailed. Paused. "I just have these defense mechanisms," he said quietly, "in my head."
"Cause you're a mouse."
A nod. "Yeah. It's ... we're very anxious creatures. It's ... so, I blanked it out. Any fear. It was like a detachment. But, you know, I ... I've never been good at that. At staying detached from situations. I'm too emotional."
A nod. "I know," she whispered. "And, believe me, Field: that's not a bad thing. Being emotional. Don't ever think it is ... don't ever wish or want to be a holed-up, icy creature. Don't be afraid to feel or love ... don't shut down in order to avoid hurt."
"I don't," he said with an honest breath. "I don't. I've given you ... my soul. I ... everything. I love you," he whispered, "with all my soul, and ... I love the Lord, and I ... have my faith. My Savior. I FEEL all of that. I've opened up to ALL of it. I don't shut down," he defended, stammering.
"Shh ... hey," she whispered. "Hey ... "
A swallow. A sniffle. "What?"
"I know you don't. And that's what I'm saying: I know you don't, and I'm glad you don't, and please ... never, ever do that, Field. Because your emotions are a PART of your light. The light you give. The light you shine. And, like, a city on a hill, if you don't shine your lights ... no one will see you, and be changed by you, or ... you know?"
A nod. He did ... " ... I know ... "
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to interrupt you ... "
"No, it's ... it's okay ... "
"Just don't put yourself down, or ... think you're weak."
"You're stronger than me."
"In certain areas, yes. But in others ... ?" She trailed. And she breathed in. Breathed of him. And kissed his neck. Her eyes closed, and saying, with moist, delicate breath, "You and I, darling? We're a pair. A mate-ship. And I love every bit of you to pieces ... and I don't care that you're not perfect. And ... you know? You're here, and I'm here, and we've each God-given purposes ... and we'll each be in heaven together. Am I stronger? Maybe. But that's only because I have YOU with me. You're such a part of that strength," she said ...
"You're gonna ... " A sniffle.
"Okay?"
"Gonna make me cry again ... " Sniffle, and ... squeak.
She nosed his neck. "Keep going, Field. You were ... telling ... "
" ... my memory." A swallow. A nod. A sniffle. And his eyes closed again. Both of them nestled and lost among the boxes and bags and the short roof. A deep, deep breath, and he tried to remember where he'd left off. "I don't ... I don't remember," he said weakly.
She used her mind to clear his thoughts ... " ... remember now?"
A nod. "Thanks."
"It's okay ... " A paw was on his chest.
"I just ... I mean, anyway, it ... it was all blank, you know, at first. And then I got really scared. Really, really scared. It was ... it wasn't until the news of the Pentagon stuff that I ... you know, before, it was a dawning horror, but when the REST of it trickled in? It was like that dawn became a day. I mean, a ... dark day," he said, unable to put any good poetry to this. "I went to my next class. And that's when it all fell."
"The buildings," the bat whispered. Her own voice ghostly. She, at the same time, was remembering it ... from her own memory.
A sniffle. Silence.
Adelaide exhaled.
"The teacher ... had her head in her paws, at her desk, and ... we didn't really do anything." A swallow. "The next class, I just ... all I could think about was my mother, you know? I mean, maybe that's strange. You watch all those old war movies and stuff, where, in the most terrifying moments, the soldiers all cry our for or write to their mothers ... I ... I wanted my mom." His eyes stung. He huffed out, the tears streaming down his cheeks again. Dripping off his whisker-tips like bits of crystal. Sniff. Sniff ...
She held him tightly. Wings wrapped ... as securely as she could make them. Her own throat raw, and ... she cried, too. No use holding it back. She felt it, too. She was strong, yes, but ... a living creature. And she couldn't hold it back. She was with him. Her mate. She was safe. The both of them feeling the same things ...
The mouse, sniffling, continued, "I ... I ... " He had to stop. Tried to clear his throat, and ... wiped his eyes continually. They hurt. He ached. "I ... they came around," he said, voice wavering, "to every classroom. Shut all the TV's off. They didn't want the students panicking, or ... whatever. It was just a lame way of trying ... to make us all not worry, but we'd all seen it. I mean, everyone had seen it. You know, there was nothing we could do the rest of the day ... just sit there. And ... blindly go through lessons. Just to have something to do." A sniffle. "It was ... I ... I just wanted to be home." Another pause. A deep exhale. "I ... after, I had this spelling contest. This practice, I mean, after school, and that went by really quickly. I like writing, and I like ... it was better than the classes, but ... at the end of it all ... " A weak squeak.
Adelaide, wiping her own eyes, nodded, her mind prodding him to continue. Spill it out. Get it off your chest.
Let us grieve.
"And my mom ... she picked me up from school." A quiver. "I should've ... the first thing I should've said to her was, 'I love you.' But I ... I didn't ... I just ... I just asked her if she'd seen what was going on. Of course she had. That was a stupid thing for me to ask. I was just in such raw pain ... I knew that, if I told her I loved her, there, in the car, I'd start sobbing, and I didn't ... I was afraid if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop." The mouse's honey-tan form, slender, shaking ... his tail, normally snaking about, was limp. His whiskers were drooped. One of the rare times they weren't flaring and twitching every-which-way. Sob ... and ... pause. And ...
" ... breathe," was the urging.
"I ... I ... "
"Field," was the bat's plea. "Please, just ... slow, deep breaths."
The mouse's paws tingled. He'd been on his way to hyper-ventilating. And he held his breath. Held it. And slowly, slowly let it out. And slowly ... drew one back in. Until the feeling returned in his paws and toes. Sniffling ...
"Shh ... baby ... " The bat's own eyes, normally so bright, were wet. Were weak. But showing a drive and a spiritual guidance ... that overcame any sense of terror and pity. Any sense of lasting defeat.
The mouse finished. Saying, "I ... you know, the sky was so clear. And so, so blue, and ... the thing I remember most: was the sky. It was so CLEAR," he stressed, crying quietly now, "and there were no planes." Out in the countryside, where the fields and pastures stretched forever, and where redemption could be found, you ALWAYS saw white trails in the sky. Always. Didn't matter WHERE in the sky, but at all times, every day, when the sky was clear ... you saw jet-trails. Jet-planes going over the Mid-west, over Indiana ... on their way to somewhere else. They left that trail behind. But not then. No jet-trails, no clouds. No nothing. The sky, for the only time he'd ever remembered it, was TOTALLY empty. TOTALLY blue. The bluest blue, and the quietest quiet. The birds probably didn't stop singing on that day, but ... he didn't remember their sounds, if they HAD sung.
They, the both of them, male and female, mouse and bat, mates ...
... cried together in the attic.
For just a bit more.
Before she stopped. And just breathed.
And before he sniffled himself to some kind of calm. Eyes drying.
The bat reached for the newspaper, and she carefully put it away. Into a bag with other papers. Out of sight. Not out of mind, but ... seen. Grieved.
"Let us heal," she said to him, looking to him. From up-close.
"Aren't we ... already? I mean ... I don't think about it," the mouse said, "anymore. Only, now, just because it's been ... "
"I know ... I'm not just talking about that. About that, and ... about when you strayed," she said, referring to his traumatic past, "and my own losses. Everything, Field. Every sob, every ... THING," she stressed. "Every sadness," she told him, "matures us. We'll learn from it, and be stronger ... and we'll heal. From everything. Together."
An inward breath through his twitching nose. A quiet nod.
"In the midst of all that, on that day ... and on every other day ... we've our faith, okay?"
A sniffle, and a nod. "I know."
"Our God, our Savior. Our eternal life. Death has no hold on us. We've no need to ever lie prostrate in the shadows. We'll lives in our lives in light. For we have it inside ... He put it there. And that," she told him, "and our love for each other, our passion, our ... our faith, and our love, and ... those things, Field, are anchors." A breath. "Those anchors hold," she told him.
The mouse breathed inward. And opened his eyes. And met her gaze.
She smiled slightly.
And he couldn't help but smile back ... she was just so contagious. So beautiful. So intelligent. As she would profess him to be (handsome and intelligent), but her beauty and ... she outshone him. Each was head-over-foot-paws for each other, and selfless in how they expressed it.
The effort, and sacrifice ... and openness and honesty, and the raw, burning intimacy they put into each other ...
... had given rise to such fruit.
The same things they put into their faith. And how fruitful that was, as well!
"We're okay," she assured him. And she smiled a bit wider. "We're gonna be okay."
Field bit his lip, eyes dried, though cheek-fur still a bit matted.
Let us grieve.
Let us heal.
"Let us live," he whispered. "Let us live, then, and ... and love."
The bat grinned. "That's the spirit." She nodded, and ... taking a deep breath, looked around. "I don't know about you, but my legs are cramping. It's too small in here."
"It's not all THAT small ... "
A giggle-chitter. "Coming from a mouse, a lover of dark, safe, burrow-like places?"
"Well, maybe, for ... maybe, if God made you to be in the sky, you'd find tight spaces a bit ... "
" ... uncomfortable," the bat supplied, nodding. "And that's why we're getting out of here. Right now. Before I break into a cold sweat ... " Honestly, she didn't like cramped spaces. She was claustrophobic.
"I guess that's," the mouse said, as they rose, and hunched themselves (to avoid hitting their heads on the ceiling) ... as they walked over the bags and boxes and et cetera. "I guess that's a bit funny, isn't it?"
"What is?" she asked, as they reached the door. As they left the attic, and made their way through the upstairs room, and down the stairs ...
" ... well," the mouse said, as they went. "I'm mated to a bat, and I'm afraid of heights. And you're mated to a mouse, and you're afraid of small spaces."
A giggle-chitter. "Hmm," she went, pausing at the bottom of the stairs, and turning around to meet him. And to lean against him. "That is a conundrum." Her smile was bright, and her fangs glinting, showing.
Making his pupils to dilate. And making him to squeak with joy ... burning away anything cloudy. Anything grey. And, suddenly shy, his whiskers twitching once more, and his thin, naked, pink tail snaking, and his dishy ears swiveling (his mousey motions, oh, back alive!) ... he pawed at her arms a bit, biting his lip.
"Something you wanna ask me?" Adelaide asked, grinning. Already knowing.
"You said ... we could nibble on each other," he whispered wispily, leaning back a bit, clasping his paws in his effeminate way. "You said we could nibble on each other," he said, meeting her eyes, "before the game ... "
"Well, we still got an hour, I think, so ... you don't have to just nibble. We can, uh," she said, her heart beating a bit faster, and her breasts welling with heat ... " ... we can make a meal of it."
The mouse giggle-squeaked, and ... put his paws back on her sides, and eyes sparking, said, "Can we?"
"I'd love to ... bat and mouse souffles? Sound good?"
"Mm," went Field, already mouthing at her neck. "Tasty ... "
Chitters from her. Giggling ...
... and causing him to innocently squeak. As they both, fully alive, fully in the moment, fully moving forward, found themselves stumbling, swaying, circling across the carpet, through the living room, falling upon the couch (they weren't gonna make it to the bedroom!) ...
... finding pleasure and joy in each other's company. In body, mind, and soul.
Finding purpose.
As they did, daily.
Faith and love.
Such glorious tides.