Just a Vagabond

He was a foreigner. It was plainly obvious, he was not from around here, and somehow, I could not think of him as being from somewhere specific. But that seems silly, surely, someone is known somewhere? But he always looked like a stranger, showing up unexpectedly, and leaving unannounced.

when he arrived in town, he looked so out of place, like as if the world had decided to send an envoy to Brigadoon. Telling us to wake up and enjoy ourselves! to change from our boring little sedentary ways.

In yesteryear, he would have been called a bard, one who wandered across the land with stories and songs to share with all. Nowadays, I guess the most accurate label would be transient, or indigent or just a gigolo . He used to do little jobs to pay his way here, but I know enough people would have eagerly given him free room and board. I know I would have.

But he insisted on doing what he could, cheerfully paying for some cheap room. Just the pack on his back and some well worn, yet still sturdy boots. Walking everywhere, town to town, across the continent. Alone.

I could always remember when I saw him the first time, when my heart flew, on the wings of imagination. His reflective eyes were somehow pictures, in their reflections things of normalcy seemed so much more vibrant, more exciting. I remember once when I caught my own reflection in those deep blue eyes. I looked so happy and unleashed. Free. I went to a mirror after he had left, but I looked just normal. I was disappointed. I could see so much of what might have been, the possibility, the dream the potential of me.

He came the year after, and we did not expect him, but most of us welcomed his return warmly. He again worked his little jobs, and people noted him around town. I wondered if he was always coming back here in the summer. Oh, lets stop dancing around the subject. I prayed he would come back next time.

So I approached him. I can say that honestly, to the suspicious ones, the grim gun toting fathers and scandal-wary mothers. I approached him, because I did not know if he would come back to me. I mean, come back to us.

I had not talked to him much after his first visit to this town. I know I wanted to talk to him, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. When he was near I thought he would be able to hear my heart beating deafeningly and look at me curiously, wondering why so much noise came from such a quiet-seeming form. But if he heard that great thumping, he did not remark upon it, did not even show that he heard it.

I woke early, I was too nervous to sleep properly. Too jumpy and agitated, and I was so terribly worried about how he might react. You know how it goes, your mind conjures up possibility upon possibility what may happen, from the best case scenario and rational, to the bizarre and fantastic. I felt very vulnerable, but I knew that if I lay there in bed trying to sleep, I would not rest, and what was more, I might miss seeing him before he left again. Perhaps for good this time.

I made haste to his boarding house, prepared to see him before the break of dawn. It did not even cross my mind that it would be too early to see him, that he would not be terribly accommodating to a young girl waking him while the day was so new. Amazing, for all my mindless mental meandering, that had never entered my thoughts back then. I blame the sleep deprivation. Or bless it, in retrospect.

The mistress of the boarding house said that he had already arisen. She did not know where he was. For a moment I was struck stock-still. Here I was, it was still almost-dark, and he had already left? It couldn't happen, my plans could not have been so horrendously disarrayed! I cannot express how despondent I was. When I rose from my bed, I had a feeling of destiny, of serendipity. That something wonderful was going to happen. And now the emptiness, the vacuum of kismet, that whatever power had blessed me with this glorious future, had taken it away without warning.

I did keep composure. I did not weep like a child as I walked down the street back to my house. But my head was heavy and my feet dragged like concrete. Running here had taken moments, walking back seemed as if it could take a lifetime.

But what was that? A silhouette against the almost dawn. Within that construction yard, someone standing against the sun. I knew then that my patron had not deserted me. I rushed through the gap in the badly-nailed fence and climbed the little tower of steel and wood stacked in a heap.

It was him, and I knew it would be. I started to speak, and he turned to me, a finger upon his lips, motioning me to silence. He just pointed towards the blue and silent sunrise, gazing at the light which hurt his night acclimatized eyes. But he didn't care. I followed in his example, opening myself to the beauty of the sunrise, I always enjoy them but I do not see them because I am not part of the dream, I have a workaday life.

But for him, I changed my ways. Here I was, witnessing this, sharing this mystical moment with him. We did not speak a word, just were together, not even touching. I dont know how long we stood there, just watching, feeling, breathing in the new air, as if the world was just made, and that we were the only two people on the Earth.

But the moment did eventually pass. I wished that it would never end, just him and I and the sunrise. Just in that magical moment between night and day. Forever.

He still didn't speak. Silent, as he had been watching the dawn, but he smiled at me. I didnt know what to say anyway, or how to respond with words. So, I just smiled back. He leaped down from the stack of materials and offered his arm, as if I was some high-born lady coming out of a stagecoach. I took it easily, yet I didn't want to seem eager to touch him. I remember gulping nervously as I did take his arm and step down, he might have thought it was the possibly hazardous way down, but it was just the feeling of something sacred about touching him. Maybe sacred was not the right word.

Perhaps it was like Percival finally touching the Grail. Perhaps Ponce De Leon finally drinking from the Fountain of Youth. That what I had been yearning for, for a year now, I had finally achieved, a touch from the man whom I had held a torch for was so close I could hear him breathing, feel his heat. I would dream a dream.

We parted. Painfully, abruptly. I had spent too many sweet silent moments with him. I had to get to work. I tried not to show how much leaving would hurt me, that he would think me foolish and infatuated. But again, he just smiled at me, and walked back to his boarding house. Stopping once and turning back to look at me, still smiling.

At work I could hardly function. Having no sleep, and when I could think, all I could think about was him. I jumped whenever someone entered, I thought it was him. I saw him everywhere, smiling, around me and as unsettling as this seems, it was like some pleasant dream. Thankfully no-one knew of my laxness, I had a reputation of a steadfast worker, and this reputation would save my job today.

I could not wait to leave however. As the clock neared that ever elusive 5, I was ready to burst. I toyed with the idea of leaving early, I was so tempted to give in and risk everything still just on a whim. I had it bad, he was in my blood and I could not get rid of him. As if I would try.

Don't get me wrong. I've had crushes before, pining away on some unattainable hunk, cursing fate for not allowing my dreams to become reality. But this was different. My feelings did not flutter like a butterfly, light and of little substance. I was drawn to him, our year of separation had not diluted this pull between us one bit. And I didnt even know him! My mind argued with my heart so much, and I suppose it was my mind that forced me to endure those last 15 minutes. That it could all go wrong and I shouldn't lose my job over something that might just be a stupid crush. But my heart had no doubt at all.

But he was there waiting at the boarding house, eyes bright, eager to see me, again with that smile reflected in those deep blue eyes. Again, even in the common room of the boarding house, it seemed like we were alone, that the others playing poker did not exist. Not the bored college students playing some card game in the corner. Not the disapproving mistress looking at both of us with distrust. When he smiled at me, I could not help smiling back, and the world might have crumbled all around us, and we would not have noticed.

We left, again, I'm not sure how we stayed in that timeless moment, but it was dark outside as we walked along the street. I did not feel afraid, he was with me, and perhaps foolishly, I did not see myself needing anything else. We sauntered around, eventually ending up upon a high hill overlooking the city, amidst the wildflowers that were running rampant up here, a cool breeze wafting down from the mountains. Too cool, as I got closer and closer to him, leaning into the curve of his body as we stood there, feeling that heat of his flesh again. Growing heady on the feeling, the slight fragrance of his skin mixed within the flowers, I clung to him, as if he would be torn away in some fierce storm. We sat down, half sprawled upon each other, looking up at the sky, moonless and clear, the stars radiant, the only light in this wilderness we shared. The night was a cathedral of stars, our cathedral, and ours alone. This moment was ours, and nothing could take it away from us now.

We talked about all manner of things, his voice almost lulling me to a dreamy sleep, encompassed in his gentle embrace. He held me tight to keep me warm against the chilly night. there was peace and serenity in his sweet, soft hands. I lay my head against his chest and felt his warmth on my face, and heard his heart beat against my cheek. Feeling his power, feeling his passion, the flames never banked, as I heard him speak with such fervor on all different things, his ideals and his dreams. He was so open with me, so trusting, a woman he had not even known a day, and he told me his innermost secrets of his soul. I could not hold anything back, I spoke of everything within my heart, and how I had been waiting for him to come back to town. He smiled and stroked my hair at that.

"You know, I'm glad you found me this morning."

"What? But I'm glad I found you also," snuggling deeper into his chest, my face turned upwards to meet his gaze, a little triumphant grin upon my face. He was mine now.

"I didn't know if I would keep coming back here. I didnt know if there was any point."

"You weren't going to come back?" My fear was apparent, transparent in my once relaxed state, my eyes shading to shock. This could have been the last day I had ever seen him. The sense of almost-loss cut through me, a chill that even though I was wrapped up in his flesh, I still felt cold.

"I wasn't even going to come back this time. When I left this town last time, I thought about why I should come back. I take all different roads on my travels, and normally, if I repeat a stop, its just passing through. Once Ive learned something from a place, I keep moving. Id learned everything from this town."

"So why did you come back this time?" Gripping him tightly, as if to reassure myself that he was here. I no longer felt so relaxed and happy, I was worried about him leaving.

"There was this girl in a faded pair of bluejeans, And when I looked into her eyes, there lay such dreams they could fill book upon book written down. And well, when I was close to this town on my wanderings, I thought I would see if she was still here, and if she still had those dreams in her eyes."

He smiled at me, and I wonder if he knew that I was the only girl in town who liked wearing bluejeans. Most of the other girls I know just don't look good in them and wore dresses with lace , but Ive always liked my appearance in them, even if people say I looked too boyish.

Looking deep in my eyes, he told me, "And she still has. And what's more, she came to see me just before I was going to head off on the road again. I was hoping you would. I was just hoping so hard, that this lovely woman would approach me and show me those dreams. At least in part. I don;t think, even if I spend my entire life with you, that I will see them all. Some kinda lucky on my part I guess."

Again, that crooked grin, but in his eyes I saw something deeper, as if that slightly self-mocking grin was just a veil over his heart.

But veils? I guess my bright red blush was some sort of veil too.

" You really see that in my eyes? I remember then, when I first saw you, I saw my eyes reflected in yours, and they looked so wild and beautiful. But then I saw them again and they were dull as always. It seemed that I could only be that way within you. Within those eyes, with such wisdom raining down upon me, these insights he had into things, into different truths and knowledge. He humbled me sometimes with his thoughts, not meaning to, but I was in awe of his knowledge and introspection.

"Dull? He snorted. "Of course you cannot see the wonder that you are, being so modest. I am the vain one here, I fear. Again, that self-mocking crooked grin, but I looked sternly at him, he did not seem vain to me. You are yourself, and that is special. You are special. You might have taken yourself for granted, since you see yourself every day. You don't know what its like to see you after a year of absence.

This is something I wrote just for you:

I’m called to you, moi goddess do with me as heavens do
For all the earth and galaxies glow bright with painted hues.
And as I rise into your skies no earthly language speaks
The god-thoughts penned in our undress make heaven'’s starry streaks.

And so I pen this symphony of vapors in your sky
Consuming just the thoughts of you as sacred wishes fly
And any time I listen to just any mortal'’s pen
I dream of you in language where no words are there to end.

For you are everything within the All-of-me
And as we soar past heaven’s seas your vapor sets me free
Without a need to ever know language of any kind
Dissolved in you who needs to speak? I’m always in your mind.



My voice low and deep, "Oh,yes you are." And I kissed him, yearning for the taste of him within me. He held me closer, and we just stayed that way, until we fell asleep, warm in each others presence on that hillside, connected beyond the flesh of the body.

The moment was with us once again. That blessed, sacred moment of achieving the Grail, of drinking from the Fountain. Filling our shared dreams as the sun rose upon our sleeping physical shells, as our souls danced and played far above the mundane, mortal world.

I don't think I have been any more happy. Ever. Just one day, just one night and my world would never be the same again.

But our time was too short. He said he had to go again, wandering. I wished he did not, but I knew each place he visited he learned something new. And he promised he would return and share it with me. But I did not want to let him go, now that I had found him, now that he was mine. But he went. He promised he would come back soon, again. With a kiss, he was gone again.

I could still feel that kiss on my face, and I cried for his absence. I was inconsolable. None of my friends could help, it probably didn't help that I never told them why I was upset. Then when things were at their worse, lying in bed, tossing and turning, just like that first night, my mind a whirl with thoughts, a memory surfaced. Something hed said almost by the by, in our time together. You are in my heart, and I am within yours. There is no distance, we are one being separated by the thickness of a shadow. I am always with you, and you are always with me. Come what may.

I slept. Whenever I felt upset, I concentrated on that, and it made me think of him, feel him inside my heart and soul. And I did not mourn him as if he was dead, but celebrated his life within me.

But he was true to his word. He came back after a few months, walking straight into the tiny office, his face still covered in road dust, pack slung across his shoulder, and an inch of dust upon his boots!

I didn't care about the dust, I kissed it, kissed him and just savored the beautiful man in front of me. My other half, my soul. My boss is a sweet woman, and she always let me off early when he came into town, she remembered what it was like to be young and in love.

My friends did their inspection of him, as if appraising his worth as my love. But he was so charming, and again so beautiful, they were captivated and envious of my success. But I didn't care, I did not revel in their undisguised jealousy and sneer from a lofty perch at my happiness. I was in Heaven, and petty concerns like that no longer concerned me.

Again, when we were together, the world may not have existed. we had our own little world, and we were above all other concerns. There was only that moment, the moment that was ours, that we shared with each other. All else in life was of no importance.

I can only vaguely describe my bliss. Words cannot do justice of how my soul flew with him. He was my life, my love, and my soul. The flame of love never wavered, my soul was glowing with my joy. Nothing could take that away from me.

No one else trusted him. they had their judgments, spent hours logically driving home how ridiculous I was, how I was throwing my life away. How nothing would ever come of this. They asked me where he went every time he left, they asked me all manner of questions I had no answers for.

But the question that laid me low, I cannot even remember who had asked me. I just remember the hateful voices poisoning my heart. Hes so handsome and charming, how can you trust his fidelity when he is on the road? So many eager young women must be interested in him. How do you assure yourself of his loyalty?

I hadn't thought about this. I guess I had not wanted to think of this. What if he met some woman that was prettier than me, more interesting, smarter? Doubt leaked into my soul again, I wondered what he saw in me. Maybe he said this to all the women, and he had one in each town? Telling each of them the same thing, with that charm of his, that wonderful way he had? He could do it, and I would be none the wiser.

I knew of a man's needs, my cynical heart started to wonder how any man could restrain himself after months of abstinence. Even if I was his only woman in a relationship, he could relieve his tension with some woman of ill-repute when the need took him. Then return to me for a brief stay, and then stay with his whores of the highway.

He came back, and I was ready for him. "You were gone a long time, where did you go?? Did you meet someone else perhaps?"
He slowly looked over my face, his smile fading "You really need to know? Truly?"

I had him. He was guilty, evading my question.

He sighed, and my heart tore. Hed been unfaithful to me. I was just another rag to rut with, a comfortable ride while he was in this backwater town. I just waited for him to confirm my suspicions.

"No. I never have. And I never would. You really needed to ask?" His words were soft, torn from his throat reluctantly. "You were my only. You were the woman I loved, and I wouldn't have done anything to hurt you. I would have done anything for you. Anything at all. I never wanted to spoil this, so as to loose it."

Something within my heart screamed in torment, as my eyes dulled from their indignation. My eyes filled with tears, my heart felt like it was dying, growing cold and lifeless as I almost folded up in pain.

We had lost the moment. It had passed. No longer did we exist together in that perfection, it had decayed before my eyes, from my actions.

"I came here, I had missed you, so very much. I was hoping to see you, feel you beside me once again, and talk with you about my experiences. Most of all, I just wanted to be with you. But I come in and I see no love here for me. I have seen those looks in the eyes of many, but I did not think to see them replace the dreams in your eyes."

I reached out a hand to him, but he was already turning away from me, I could no longer feel that beautiful, wondrous love we shared. It was as if a sumptuous meal had turned to ashes in mid-bite. My hatred and mistrust oozed out of me like an inflamed wound lanced, but it did no good. He still left, as I crumpled up upon my floor and cried. I saw him walk out the door, heading toward the train tracks, those dusty boots clumping noisily as they threw up the dust with every step.

It has been many years, and he has not come back. My friends and family have assured me that it would have been a mistake, to spend time with such a gypsy, a vagabond with no home and no prospects. A wild man with no roots sewing wild oats. My father threatened to chase him away with his shotgun if he ever stepped foot in this town
again to seduce his daughter.

But I know he will not come back. There is nothing for him to find in this town. The girl with the dreams in her eyes laid bare a nightmare, and there is a haunted, lost look in her face now. I tried to make him mine, but he was never mine. He just loved me, and I loved him. I still do, years and years since I have seen him. I wonder if some of him still loves me, even though I hurt him so. I still wonder if he ever heard the last words I whispered to him, between the sobbing as I lay there reaching for one last touch,

"I still have books and books for you to lay open. I still have dreams."