(In his own words)
I’ll never forget the first time we met, early Saturday evening on the 22nd April, 1967. I had just finished practicing with my band and was heading down Grayson Street, towards the old bridge. The sun had started its daily descent, but the air remained reassuringly warm.
It was one of those evenings when growing up in a small town didn’t suck; it made sense. The puffed faces of the people I passed betrayed their seriously suppressed smiles, waiting till they get home to their loved ones before really letting loose with the lips. The younger children cared less about looking cool, and their beaming grins betrayed their mood gladly.
Turning left onto Creek Lane I happened upon a young lady, kneeling down to pick up a pile of books. I noticed that continued to smile, unshaken by the upset. Waving the blonde hair from her face, she carried on an uninterrupted conversation with her friend who had stopped a few feet ahead.
By the time I clumsily clanked my guitar down beside her, she had already picked up all but a couple of the books. More concerned with saving face than rescuing her, I hurried to help before there was embarrassingly nothing left to do.
It wasn’t her confidence that stole my attention, I was rather cocky myself back then. And in the late sixties, young women were encouraged to be self-assured. She then did something that consequently changed everything for me, forever.
In spite of the fact that she was presently in the middle of her own muddle, she picked up on my pressing predicament and slowed herself down ever so slightly, so no one else would notice. To save this stranger from feeling awkward about offering to help when there’s nothing left to do.
When I picked up that last book my mouth opened to thank her for being so considerate. But as her blazing blue eyes found mine, from behind her blonde strands, I stopped stone still. And as she swept aside her hair, she swept away the surrounding street too. The next thing I remember is the pair of us grinning at each other, as she warmed her hands on my crimsoned cheeks.
It was as though she moved in her own separate space, some place above the daily stage. She had kept chatting with her friend during dropping all of her books. It seemed that she was so thought-full, her actions were already alleviating my apparent awkwardness, long before my overdue offer of help.
Needless to say, I was hooked line and sinker, there and then. The more time I spent with her, the more I grew to love her. Sadly, our life together was severed short….. But that’s another story, for another day. Come back soon and see how we make our relationship work, from either side of the grave.
Because we never got the chance to cohabit in life, Jessica says we should already be planning for our hereafter home. She’s collecting decorations for our Haunted House, and she’s talking about buying furniture in the next big sales and storing it safely away, till she dies too.
Here’s a photo of the
Psychopath Scalps Mat
I made for the front door
Jessica was the love of my life, now she’s the love of my death. She’s the soul reason I am staying Just and only punishing the sickest sinners out there. Personally, I’ve got a bone or two to pick with every one of you skin-coated sissies.
She thinks that if I go round killing anyone I please we’ll end up having to live in the hotter part of town. She doesn’t mind the HEAT or the Nefarious Neighbors but like Jessica says “What’s the point in buying nice furniture if it’s only going to end up smelling of smoke and covered in scorch marks in a few years?” When you put it like that…
PS – This is the first and last soppy blog that you’ll see with my name on! I made the effort for my sweetheart. Don’t expect any Fluffy-Fanged Future Blogs inviting you to Share Your Feelings… Won’t be happening!
Till next time my Wicked Witchy Wizardy Wanna Be’s