B and C Part Three

In the crisp autumn air, Bea's junior year began and she geared up for another stay at The Shack. Over the summer the bond with C had become stronger and disturbing stories began circulating on campus. Rumors of C showing more favor to Bea; what was really happening at his house and why did they spend so much time together? For when one saw Bea, C was not far behind. What kind of relationship did they really have? Bea and C laughed at the rumors, it was no one's business what they did but they became very careful on campus and at The Coop. They made a habit of inviting guests wherever they went to dampen the gossip. To keep a lower profile Bea would park her car at The Shack (the 1974 Plymouth was easily spotted) and walk to C's house to give the impression that she was at home. When, in fact she was seated in C's living room with a plate of pound cake, mug of Ovaltine reading a book while he corrected exams in the study.

In that semester C opened a new, unexplored territory for Bea; the land of great music. He introduced her to Miles Davis, Prokoviev, Chopin, Handel, Sarah Vaughn, Glen Miller, Billie Holliday, Duke Ellington, Nina Simone, Verdi, Puccini, Beethoven, Mozart, Noel Coward, Cole Porter and the Gershwins. He had two rooms in his house stacked with music and books, it was heaven.
One evening, as they sat in the kitchen C said, "I want you to hear to something, it's a surprise. I think you'll really like it. Now close your eyes and listen carefully. I'll be back in a few minutes."
She sat with eyes closed, listening to the silence and then quietly music began. It enfolded her like a warm blanket. The glorious sound touched her soul yet she had no idea what the woman was singing about (Musetta's Waltz from Puccini's La Boheme). She was overwhelmed by the power and passion in the voices. What would move a person to burst forth in such a grand manner? It was so lovely and at that moment she realized the depth of her love for C. He'd taken the time, been patient (when it was a rock solid fact the man had an impatient streak that rivaled the mighty Mississippi), taught her the fine art of listening and understanding conversational subtext, opened his home and magnificent library, cooked amazing dishes, freely gave her tokens of affection, and looked after her in a way that no one else ever had. His generosity humbled and scared her. A life without him would be devistating. He'd become her rock, her sounding board, her confessor, her best friend, her love and he was 60. Age didn't matter but time did. For on the physical plane we inhabit, all things fade and pass. It is a harsh fact that once birth occurs, so must death. Rashly she vowed to channel every ounce of her will into keeping C young. No effort was too much, no sacrifice too great, if she focused, anything could be accomplished.

After semester finals, C proposed. The manner of his request was as unusual as their relationship. Bea, not being the brightest candle in the universe misunderstood and giggled nervously. There was an awkward silence. She asked if he was serious and he stammered, she could see the lie in his eyes as he told her it was a joke. They never spoke of it again.

The following year Bea graduated with a Bachelors degree. They discussed permanent living arrangements but he was not comfortable with this; neither of them knew how to explain their relationship with their respective families. It would get terribly complicated and possibly messy. It was agreed that they would write and phone and she would come up for visits on weekends. The phone bills were high but it was a happy time on New Street in those days.

From a distance, Bea worked diligently on keeping him young, but the slow advance of time cannot be undone. After he retired, C's family decided that it would be best if he moved closer to them, his mind was slowly fading. Bea's weekend trips became less frequent for she moved south and the commute to her beloved was much longer. She still kept writing and calling but it was not enough.

The last time she saw him, she did not recognize the man she once knew. His decline had been worse than she imagined, it broke her heart to leave him that day. Two months later she received a phone call from his cousin. C was dead and had been cremated as per his request, there was no memorial service, no buriel. Two days later Bea received a parcel. In the box, wrapped in an old flannel shirt that smelled faintly of his aftershave, was the orange marmalade stuffed cat with a note, penned in his hand, thanking her.



Here ends the tale of Bea and C