Vespers
"Hey," was the whisper.
And a look up. And a returned, "Hey." With that slight, sweet smile. The one that dawned in his eyes ... when she entered a room. When she stirred his air. When she came near. They were both outside, currently. On the concrete steps of the porch. And evening falling, tripping over itself. Like it'd left its shoelaces undone. Or like it was just simply tired, maybe, and ready to ... give a paw-shake to the night. Change the guard. For half a day. 'I'll see you in half a day,' the sun seemed to say. Wasn't the sun such a genial fellow?
"What you doin' ... ?"
"Sittin' ... " Behind him, his tail side-winded. This way and that.
The bat smiled, and gave a little head-bob. "A bit obvious. But ... you know what I mean." Her paw went for his tail. Stopped it. It wriggled quite a bit, and she let it go, chittering.
The mouse leaned his head on her shoulder. And closed his eyes. "Can't you just ... read it from my mind?" he whispered.
"Your words fly away?"
A little nod. His cheek-fur ruffling on her clothed shoulder. "I don't have the wings to give pursuit."
"Never known that to happen before. Your words leaving' you like that."
"Haven't you?"
"Mm-mm," she went.
"They must've gotten the best o' me." A pause. "I don't know ... " A sigh. "It's stupid."
"Come on ... you can say ... " Nudge-nudge.
The sun was nearly/almost/already gone. In stages you never really SAW. For you were too busy looking at the grasshoppers on the rain gage. Caught up in the crickets near the flower-bed bricks. Seeing the heron stalking at the creek, or ... all the blues above. All the greens beneath. The quiet and the questions. The ones that needed no answers. The quiet, lilting kinds. And the breeze like vespers. And ... oh, sigh ... to sigh, and to breathe back in. And to sit. And lean your head on her.
"Field," was her whisper.
"Mm?" He blinked.
"You day-dreamin' ... ?"
"It's not day," was his quiet, smiling response. Nose sniff-twitching in the sweetness of the air. The lingering scent of alfalfa. Of coming dew.
"Cheeky mouse."
A giggle-squeak. "Mm."
"Night-dreamin' then ... or evenin' ... dreamin' ... "
"I'm just sittin' ... and just ... mm ... " A trail. "Remember, earlier, at the store ... you know, when we went to do our big shopping?" They had gone to the big discount store. The bulk store, rather. Always crowded there, and it was around lots of busy streets. The mouse always got his photographs developed there. It was a lot cheaper. Only fifteen cents per print. That was, like, half of what you'd get charged anywhere else. And ... well, for an artist with no reigns (except on his budget) ...
"Yeah?"
"Well, when you went off to start getting the food, and I was ... using the computer thing to get my pictures off the ... disc, and ... I wasn't paying attention. I was just excited, I guess. About my pictures. I thought they were gonna be really good, and ... "
"Well, they were," Adelaide assured. The mouse's pictures (in and out of frames) were spread about the house. In every room.
A quiet nod. A flush of his ears. "Thanks," was his effeminate whisper.
She nosed him.
"Hey," was his weak response.
"What? You don't like nosings?"
"I like nosings ... but ... I'm the one who noses."
"How come?" she prodded lazily.
"My nose twitches. It sniffs. It goes all over. It's ... built for it."
"For nosings," she finished.
"Mm." He closed his eyes. Breathed slowly.
"Can't I nose, too?" she asked playfully.
"You can nose ... but now I wanna nose, and ... then we nose, and then we kiss, and then we're ... " He trailed, ears going rosy-pink.
She grinned. A toothy grin. Showing her white fangs. "We're what?" she whispered, muzzle tilting toward his ear (a bit).
"We ... " A giggle-squeak. "I was telling a story!"
"I didn't stop you," she assured, bright-eyed. "You stopped ... "
" ... myself. Mm. Well, you started the nosing, and ... "
"No more noses. Just ... what were you saying?"
"Hardly remember now," he said lightly, and breathed inward, and sat up a bit. Lifting his head. And he sighed. The sycamore stood tall on the other side of the creek, which was still. The chorus of frogs having dwindled a bit. The sky had a few wisps, but they were nearer the horizon. Where the color was. Maybe the clouds liked to skinny-dip in the sunsets. Field wouldn't have put it past them ...
Adelaide looked a bit ... to the distance. Trees. Close. Far. Silos ... and fields. The corn having been harvested. The combines having eaten it all up. Leaving bent, bottomed-out, dried-up stalks. And the hay all done, and the leaves on the trees? Well, they weren't quite done yet. Still green, most of them. A few more weeks ... come October, they would do their autumn jobs.
The mouse, his whiskers twitching lightly (in the coolness of the evening, and the purple feeling in the air ... it even SMELLED like purple ... or it would've, maybe, if colors had smells; and they must've ... amber smelled like wheat, and blue smelled like country air, and so on ... )
"You're thinkin' about how colors smell?"
"Mind-reader," the mouse teased, beaming, and shaking his head a bit.
"You went all quiet. I got curious."
"Mm."
"Colors having smells? Mm ... green."
"Grass. Tree leaves."
"Black."
"Auto races. Indianapolis Motor Speedway ... cause of the pavement, and the tires ... "
"Alright, smart mouse. Grey."
"Grey ... grey is rain. Smells like rain."
"Wouldn't rain smell like blue?"
"Well ... the RAIN smells like blue, but the RAIN-CLOUDS, I guess, smell like grey. Yeah ... " The mouse nodded, as if sure of that.
"Pink," was the bat's next whisper, her angular, swept back ears ... picking up all the sounds of the settling birds (anchored in their settling trees).
The mouse turned his head ever-so-slightly. "Pink," he whispered. His eyes were shining. "I do wonder ... "
"Do you?" Her muzzle so close to his.
"I was just thinkin' ... "
" ... thinkin', huh?"
"I do that ... sometimes," Field said, his nose to hers. His nose was sniffy and twitchy. Hers was quiet. His nostrils flared. Hers were calm.
She giggled. "That tickles," she whispered.
"Mm." He kept his nose to hers. Kept it, and ... pulled back (barely an inch). "Pink," he repeated. "Pink ... is cotton candy. It's lemonade. It's Easter dresses. It's magnolias on trees, and ... blossoms, and it's watermelon-flavored candies, the kind you suck on. And it's bubble gum. And it's the sky, sometimes, on certain evenings. It's ears and noses in a winter snap." A breath. "Oh, it's ... it's my naked tail. And it's ... it's you," he whispered. "Pink is you."
A smile from her. She drew her knees and foot-paws up a bit, still sitting on the concrete steps with him. "Mm ... but how can I compare to all that other stuff? So many pinks."
"You're a pink with a capital P ... you're the Queen of Pinks."
A giggle-chitter. Chittering into the air, and ... nodding a bit, looking to the grass, to the old, unused swing-set, and to the roof and windows of the old, proud barn. And then back to him. "Well, that's quite a lot to live up to."
"No, it's ... just a state of being. Pink is."
"What color are you, then? If I'm pink?"
"I'm honey-tan." The color of his warm, soft fur.
"Honey-tan ... like ... well, like honey," she said, "and like sand. And ... like cinnamon-sugar cookies. And wheat. Lots of things in nature."
A bit of a squeak. "Mm." A smile. And a breath inward, and a breath outward. "Sounds good enough."
"I can't think of many specific honey-tans, though." A pause. "Guess that makes you unique."
"I guess so."
A pause ... the countryside expansive and quiet. Oh, so quiet. At a reverent hush. Hear it. Hear the Lord walking through the pasture there. See between the lines of distraction, of artificial hellos. See something lasting, and see ... behold ... breathe ...
The mouse's eyes almost watered. He didn't know how to describe it. There really wasn't a way. It was just a feeling, an instinctual welling of ... KNOWING ... that you had. When you lived out here. When you were born out here. When you knew what peace was, and when you swam, daily, in the evidence of things not seen (evident all around).
"I wonder where the dragonflies went," he said.
"Mm?" Her head, now, was leaned on his shoulder.
"Those white, chunky dragonflies ... they would come up to the house, sometimes. Later summer bugs. Never remembered them until August came. They like the heat."
"They like the heat, but, uh, not when ... "
" ... you catch 'em and eat 'em." A helpless giggle. "Oh ... no wonder they stay away!"
"It's PERFECTLY normal. Perfectly ... "
" ... normal to eat dragonflies?"
"They're a delicacy, Field. I'm a bat."
"Darling ... "
"We've been over this before." A smile. "Unless you want me to tease you ... " The mouse obsessively sniffed all his food before taking even a single bite.
"We have been over it," he whispered knowingly. "And I know," he whispered, "you're a bat."
"I keep forgetting," she said, matching the playfulness of his tone. And the gentility of his manner.
"Forgetting?"
"That you've unlocked all the mysteries of my bat-ness."
"Well, you've given me some pretty good ... well ... "
" ... lessons."
"Lessons," he settled, "on bat-ness."
"Well, you've given me good lessons on mouse-ness."
"Mousey," he corrected, "ness. Mousey-ness."
"Mousey-ness. Of course."
A pause.
And a sigh from him. It was that chill in the air ... it was there, and it was reminiscent of bonfires. Of making marshmallows. Catching them on fire, on purpose, and then waving the stick until the flames went out, and your marshmallow was gooey and so caramelized, and eating only ONE ... made you totally full, but you made three more, anyway. Just because you could. Just because the air was cold, and it was telling you to do so ...
"Apples."
"Mm?" he went.
"Apples. The air reminds me of green apples."
"Apples," Field whispered. And he closed his eyes. And he breathed. "Mm ... it does, kind of."
"Doesn't it?" he she asked absently.
"Mm." Another nod. "Silage. Pumpkins ... orange pumpkins with black faces on them, scribbled with permanent markers."
"Gourds."
"Mm ... beautiful," Adelaide whispered, looking around their farm-land. Behind them, their white-washed, still-standing (through tornadoes, blizzards, and droughts) farm-house. And their barn (not as active as it used to be). Autumn was a season for reflection ... perhaps. And then the bat blinked. "Oh."
"Mm?" The mouse perked a bit, whiskers twitching, ear swiveling. "What?"
"You were, uh ... what happened at the store? You never finished saying?"
"Oh." His ears turned rosy-pink. A little tilt of his head. "I just, I was thinking about my pictures, and about ... you, and ... well, showing my pictures to you, and as I was turning, I bumped into a feline. Some jungle thing. You can always tell the jungle ones from the domestic ones."
A definite nod from her. "True."
"No, but I bumped into one, and ... he was carrying things, and he dropped them. I almost tripped, and ... but I picked up his stuff, and I stammered an apology." A pause. A whisker-twitch. A bit of a frown. "He called me a varmint."
"A varmint?"
"Yeah." A nod. "Mm ... yeah."
A bit of a smile. "Hmm. Didn't think anyone USED that word anymore."
"Well, I wasn't so much offended as I was ... you know, like ... "
"Miffed?"
"Wasn't miffed." A pause. "Varmint, though?"
"Maybe he's from the West. Mountain cougar."
"Maybe."
A pause. And Adelaide, putting her paw on his thigh, said, "I don't think you're a varmint."
Field bit his lip, and ... nodded a bit. "Well ... " A burgeoning smile. "Good to know."
"I think you're a good mouse. And a bright mouse. And a fun mouse."
His ears, by now, becoming rosy-pink. "Adelaide ... "
"Well, it's true," she assured.
"Well ... "
"You just gotta know," she said, putting her paw up. To his chin. And directing his gaze right at hers. "You just gotta know what you're worth."
His eyes shy.
"And ... well ... " Her eyes into his. Her pink eyes.
To his blue-greys.
"I just tripped myself up there."
"Did you?" he whispered, barely audible.
"I was, uh ... gonna look right into your eyes, and say something deep, but I ... sorta got lost in 'em."
"Yeah?" he mouthed.
"Yeah." A swallow. "And now ... "
His muzzle was tilting toward hers. "Mm?"
" ... I wanna kiss you."
Pause.
"So ..."
"I wanna kiss you, too," he whispered.
A swallow. "So, let's kiss, then."
"Let's." His lips, an inch from hers ... went closer, closer ...
... until lips met. Slightly moist. Soft. A succulent, little suck-suck sound, and the kiss already done. Both of them exhaling through their noses. And both of them blinking a bit. The bat going, "Mm ... "
"We gotta do that again," Field assured.
"Well ... when we're inside," she said, "cause ... your scent's all swimmin' in my head. Makin' me heady."
"Heady," he whispered, knowing the feeling. Feeling it to. A bold kind of commitment. A daring kind of all-exposed love. The kind you could only really know when you were this close. "Inside."
"Mm ... "
"Guess we should get up."
"And miss the stars wakin' up?" she asked. For above them, the first stars twinkling and glowing into vibrant view. Hundreds of stars. Would be thousands. And the arms of the Milky Way itself, like elongated, never-moving clouds ... would go across the zenith of the sky, and ... there was no moon tonight. The moon was on vacation. The stars had full reign of the sky. And Lord only knew what they would do with it ...
"Oh ... well," Field whispered. "The stars. I ... we should stay for them."
"Let ourselves simmer for a bit," Adelaide assured, her carnation-pink eyes seeming to betray an inner light.
"Mm. Simmer," he went.
"Mm ... hmm ... " They were kissing again. Unable to keep back. The kiss a smoldering, wet, close, warm ... thing. Such softness. Such tenderness, mixed with such passion. Never with them, were kisses just kisses.
"Oh, I ... " The mouse, panting a bit, put his nose on her neck. "Mm ... I ... love you," he went, half-expecting to see his breath turned visible (by the chill setting in). But, no, not that cold. Not yet. Just a nip ... nipping at their ears and tails and paws.
She moved her muzzle so that it was right at one of his ears. "Love you, too," she whispered with the utmost delicacy. And they, still sitting, leaned on each other. And were quiet for a moment. Until the bat said, "Field ... "
His eyes were closed. "Mm?" was his tiny, squeaky sound.
"Next time someone calls you a varmint ... tell them that they best stop, cause Mrs. Field Mouse, little, ol' bat-femme Adelaide ... well, she'll come and rightly have somethin' to say 'bout that. And you don't wanna mess wings fangs like hers."
Field giggled at his mate's mock-Western accent. "Mm ... okay," he went, smiling widely.
The pink-furred bat sighed a bit, her winged arms stretching. The filmy parts of them feeling the coolness of the softly-stirring air, and then ... wings slipping around him. Paws in his fur.
"Mm," was Field's sigh. "Mm ... "
They sat for a bit longer. Watching the stars emerge, unobstructed, so far beyond anything (in distance, in scope). Humbling, peaceful, and ...
... in his mind, the mouse prayed.
Thankful for the stars. For art. For being able to create ... as God created. Like a child mimicking his Father. A gift ... to be able to do that. To have the drive, the passion for it, and to ... oh ...
... thankful for her. Adelaide. Oh, so much. His mate. His love. And for ... his own life, and for, more than that, eternal life. The hope and joy of his salvation, and such a sense of purpose, and ... everything. So much. Too much. More than he deserved.
Everything he had ... a gift. God-given.
The mouse vowed to never take that for granted.
'Keep me humble,' the mouse prayed, silently, inside ... ' ... even in my dreams. Let me not scurry off on my own ... '
The bat, so close to him, knew he was praying ... and waited for him to near the end. So she could finish, silently, soulfully, for the both of them:
'My Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be Thy name.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts as we've forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory
forever.'
And Field, breaking the silence, whispering aloud, as a finish, "In Jesus' name we pray ... amen."
The bat opened her eyes. And took an inward breath.
The mouse, too, opened his eyes. Greeted by such a breadth of sight. The stars, the dark-blues, and the shadows of the trees, and her. Her most of all.
"Hey, there," she whispered.
"Hey."
"Wanna go inside? Get warm?" she asked.
The mouse bit his lip. And giggle-squeaked, swallowing. "Get warm, huh?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Does that involve ... more kissing?"
The bat gave a bit of a nod. "I'm pretty sure it does." Her head tilted, and her fangs showing.
"Well, I think that's ... a pretty good idea."
Some chitters from her. "Mm ... "
They both stood. Slowly. They stood and stretched on the steps, beneath the moth-eaten blanket of stars. And beneath eternity. So far removed from the eves of bittersweet that so many furs were in. Evenings, now, for the two of them, of hope, promise, purpose. All the burnt-over districts of their past ... replaced by townships of flourish. The nature all around, and gravity keeping them anchored to the ground (for, if not, they'd surely float away ... with all the heat they were emitting) ...
... they went in through the swinging, creaking screen door.
They went in and turned off all the lights.
And made lights of their own.