Storms Never Last Ch. 01

"Now the race is on,

And here comes pride in the backstretch.

Heartaches goin' to the inside,
My tears are holdin' back, they're tryin' not to fall."

I had a sudden upwelling of pride along with a good dose of stubbornness. I refused to give in and turn around. I felt betrayed. I'd watched Casablanca with my mom the year before, but it was clear now that they had it wrong: a kiss is not just a kiss. A kiss changes everything, and for the first time I had glimmerings of how sex—in any and all of its manifestations—could ... would change a relationship.

Nevertheless, I was above that. I didn't need Annie. I started thinking about other girls at school, Janis in my math class, María, the quiet, but pretty girl in that I worked with on a project for science class. Faces, bodies, kept floating through my mind in some strange montage. By the time the bus pulled up at the junior high (this was a small school district with few students towards the east end of Dry Creek Valley—normally intermediate school and high school students would be on separate busses, but for this small district there just wasn't the money), I was feeling better. I'd never thought much about pride, but starting then and for the years to come, I thought about it a great deal. The kids piled off at the last stop before the high school and started making their way down the aisle, pushing and shoving, taking twice as long to get off as they would if they walked off in an orderly manner.

I was looking out the window when I felt something drop on my lap. I turned around to see Annie stepping off the bus when a tightly folded piece of paper dropped on my lap. I looked to see if anyone noticed my red face, but I was isolated within the crowd. With more than a little embarrassment, I pushed the note down into the deep pocket of my coat. I left it there until lunch time, and then walked to the football field and climbed up to the highest row of the bleachers. I looked around but no one was anywhere near.

I slowly unfolded the paper and started trying to decipher it. The letter had clearly been written on the bus. The pencil took off in random directions, words, and even lines were scratched out. I mean, really scratched out, the pencil having gone over the word or line many times. I eventually made out the contents, and then read it again with trepidation, followed by wonderment, then excitement, with a grand flourish of fear at the end.

Dearest Terry,

I've so looked forward to seeing you these last days. It wasn't until yesterday when your mom was visiting that I learned you had a cold.

That day was so strange. You were looking at me --there—and when I looked down, my God, you could see everything! I was so embarrassed but at the same time I felt weak. I couldn't breathe, my knees were shaking. Then you kissed me and it was like I must be in Heaven. Then I was confused. What were you doing? What did you want? I didn't know but whatever you wanted, I was ready to give it to you.

You were kissing me! Oh, Terry, you really were. Then suddenly the only thing I could think of was ... I didn't know how to kiss. What if you were disappointed? I was confused; what should I do? So I just ran.

Terry, darling, I've loved you since I met you, but I didn't know what it meant until that wonderful kiss. You changed my world, my life. I die a thousand times a day waiting for your next kiss, wanting you to hold me in your strong arms again. When I got on the bus I didn't know what to do, so I panicked and ran for the back of the bus. Forgive me, dear Terry, for not sitting with you.

Yours until the sun sets a million times,

Annie

I read it and read it, but it said the same thing each time. The rest of the day went by with me in a constant daze. I kept thinking that Annie was there for me to ... enjoy. It was exciting. Then I had a new feeling. Annie was something precious. I felt—protective. The two traits my folks had always instilled in me were honesty and responsibility. I was responsible for Annie. It was a sobering and scary thought.

After school, when the bus stopped at the junior high, Annie got on, quietly walking down the aisle and sitting next to me. When the bus started again, she put her hand under my arm and snuggled close. I felt a peace, and sense of pride, in me that I'd never felt before.

When the school bus let us off, we stood there for a minute, watching it pull away. Without a word being said we started walking towards her house. When we got the big oak, Annie pulled me off the road and, standing in front of me, she hugged me tight, putting her head on my chest. After a minute, I held her too, and we stood there together as one for a long time. Finally, she stepped back and turning her face up, gave me a quick kiss.

Taking my hand, she started skipping down her lane, pulling me along with her. When we got to her porch, she caressed my cheek, and smiled. I walked home, feeling all was right with the world.

Chapter Two

The next few years seemed to fly by as our love grew. We made no pretenses that we were just pals, and openly showed our affection in front of our families. We had an ongoing discussion, which years later gave me the feeling that we were more mature than we thought at that time. About six months after that first furtive kiss we talked about our relationship. We were in her barn sitting on a bale of hay, just after finishing one of our ever more progressive petting sessions. For the first time, I'd had my hand on her bare breasts—she not having a bra on certainly facilitated my being able to do that.

"Terry, I love you, you must know how much. I realize that you care just as much for me. We haven't talked about it, but I can't imagine that we won't spend our lives together."

I took the opportunity to pull her close, nuzzling my face in her hair. I can take a hint.

She continued, "We haven't said anything to our families, but I'm sure they realize that our feelings toward each other have changed. I don't want to hide our love; if they know about it, I'm sure they would feel more comfortable if we showed it naturally. Do you see what I mean?"

"Yeah, I do. My dad has always expected me to be honest with him. Do you mean that we should maybe, like hold hands and maybe even share a kiss when we see each other and when we leave?"

"That's it, Terry. I don't think we should be, well, crude, but they know we have something special, and if it's not visible, they are going to worry that more is happening than is really the case." She leaned back and hit my arm, "I know you want a lot more than what we are doing, but I don't think we should do anything more than that," she blushed furiously as she looked down at her lap, "You know, down there."

Yeah, I knew exactly what "down there" meant.

I actually did agree with her, which probably made me some kind of nut case for a sophomore to be. I pushed her hair back and looked into her eyes, "Sure, Annie, I know. I want to spend my life with you ... I can't imagine a world without you in it. There are some things we can do when we are alone." I put my hand on one of her small, but growing breasts, caressing it gently. "But I'm okay with showing our affection. Shoot, they must be okay with it, or they would have said something."

A couple of days later I followed up with mom and dad at dinner. "Unh, can I talk about Annie?"

Mom smiled and nodded.

"Well, umm, this is hard for me, but Annie and I like each other, a lot!"

Mom put her hand on mine and rubbed it, but dad faked a look of shock and said, "My God, I had no idea."

"Come on, Dad. This is important. You know how you have always talked to me about responsibility, right?" Looking more serious, he nodded. "Well, Annie, well, we talked about, you know, sex and stuff. We want you to know that ... nothing will happen until we are in college. I mean, mom, dad, you can trust us. We don't want to hide our love from you. We want to share it."

Mom stood up, and with tears welling in her eyes, and gave me a big hug."

Annie had a similar talk with her parents and after that we were gradually more open with our love. We agreed that we shouldn't do anything in front of them that would embarrass us if they did the same thing. We were somewhat surprised how easy it was. After a few months, it was nothing for Annie to come in and plop down on my lap while I was watching television with my parents.

~~~~~

The next several years flew by. We had a fight once in a while, but never anything serious. Sometimes I think we invented a problem just so we could have the ever sweeter make-up, make-out session.

I graduated first and started the following fall at the University of California at Davis. I entered their renowned Enology program ... I had a vague idea that I wanted to be a winemaker. I enjoyed the classes and knew that what I learned would always be valuable no matter what I did. In high school, I'd gradually started writing more seriously. In particular I had an English teacher that took an interest in me. I had two classes from her, but even when I wasn't in her classes, she bugged me to keep writing, mostly short stories and critical essays. I wrote some poetry, but when Annie kept laughing at my efforts, I quickly gave that up.

Mrs. Stewart, the English teacher, said I had talent, and over my four years of high school, I began to believe in myself. I was on the school paper—the editor my senior year—and while I enjoyed journalism, I knew that wasn't for me. It was the same with non-fiction writing in general. I had some skill, but the excitement for me was in creating an environment, a world if you will, from nothing. I always felt a strange sense of excitement as I created people, the personalities, their relationships ... everything about them out of thin air. I felt a wonderful sense of satisfaction when I got it right; and was happy even when I didn't.

My junior year, I bowed to reality and changed my major to creative writing. I'd talked it over with my dad, almost feeling like I should apologize to him.

"Terry, let me tell you how it was with me. When I got out of college the first job I was offered was with the Bank of California. I never worked anywhere else. You know, son, I came to hate it! However, with a family and a mortgage I was locked in. The more my responsibility and salary increased, the more I came to hate what I was doing. All I really wanted to do was to sit on a porch somewhere in the country, and have my family near while I smoked my pipe and sipped a glass of good wine.

"With my vast experience," he laughed at this, "I can only say, do what you enjoy. If you don't get satisfaction from your work you will certainly be unhappy. Keep in mind what I've always told you about responsibility though: do what you want, but do it in such a way you can care for yourself and your loved ones. You know you have my blessing in any case."

So I changed my major. Even though I preferred fiction, I quickly realized there was (for me) some relatively easy money to be made doing other things. The first opportunity was something I stumbled into. At a dinner party at the home of the owner of one of the local wineries I made a contact with someone from the local Santa Rosa paper. After a couple of glasses of wine and much discussion, he suggested I try writing a series of articles on tasting rooms of wineries in Sonoma County. He suggested trying the winery of our host first, an idea I liked since I knew him well.

He literally dragged me over to talk to the winery owner. The guy loved the idea. I wound up visiting the place a couple of times. Jeff, the guy that we had been talking to, suggested I go in blind the first time. Later I talked to the winemaker and several other members of the staff and eventually wrote an article that both paid well and was well received. By the time I finished, I'd written over thirty weekly reviews and made enough to pay for my senior year of school.

~~~~~

During my first year at Davis, I came home most every weekend and holiday. Once or twice I needed to stay at school to complete a project or study for an exam, but it was rare when I didn't see my folks and Annie at the end of each week. I'd stayed in the dorm for my first year—the school required it—but I had no interest in continuing to do that. With what I got for a few writing efforts and a bit of help from dad, I was able to find a small studio apartment close to the school for that next fall term. Annie, of course, when she started at Davis a year after me, would also have to do the dorm thing for her first year.

We each told her folks when we got ready to go back for my third year and her second that she was moving in with me. We weren't sure what they thought, but they didn't say much. I think they were just happy that we had waited that long to have sex. And we did wait. It wasn't easy, but the wait was well worth it that first night after we moved in together. In a way it was anticlimactic, but still passionate in a caring sort of way. We knew each other so well by that time that it seemed loving each other was the most natural, but wonderful, thing in the world. What we had just felt so right, though to make sure of that we kept trying with some frequency.

Annie had always dreamed of being a surgeon. She had lost a cousin, who was also her best friend, to leukemia when the girl was ten. Since then, her dream was to help people with cancer. Her first four years at UC Davis were spent in an aggressive pre-med program. She was a much better student than I was, more focused on learning, not just going for results. When she was studying, she was so tightly focused that I might not as well have existed. She had this gift of walking away from whatever class she was working on and turning that same intense focus on me, totally bringing me into her life almost instantly. I never felt shut out; I had a great admiration for her intensity because I was the happy recipient of that same dedicated attention.

When I graduated, I split my time between our small studio apartment and living at home. As Annie received her BA and moved on to her medical studies I began writing seriously. I started a novel based on a short story I'd been able to get published. I also started a wine column that I was able to get into several local papers and tourist magazines. I had a different focus than some of the other wine writers. Instead of comparing a few wines each week, I would discuss a varietal such as Pinot Noir, its history, and a couple of wineries that produced it. It was in depth reporting: info about the winery, the winemaker, interesting things about the winery such as gardens, picnic areas and if they had a restaurant attached what the menu was like.

I started getting known in the area and had a number of wineries asking me to write fluff articles for them. It felt it bit like not being real writing, but it paid well.

Annie had this amazing ability to live in two worlds. When I was with her, she made me feel like the most important person in the world. When I wasn't there she was totally wrapped up in what would turn out to be both her vocation and avocation. Throughout our later life, she mostly read trade journals and technical articles about her specialty, ocular oncology.

When she finally got her degree, we decided to go ahead and get married. We had a small ceremony at her home, and instead of a honeymoon we moved on down to Mountain View. She had been accepted for her internship at Stanford, but since we clearly wouldn't be able to afford to live in Palo Alto, we looked at the neighboring cities. We found a nice two bedroom apartment a few miles south of the campus. We set up the second bedroom as an office for both of us, putting in two desks.

We moved down right after the wedding, so we could get acclimated to the area. The bonus was a plethora of fine restaurants. Annie spent the summer as a research assistant at Stanford helping to classify results of cancer studies. She did volunteer some time at their hospital getting to know people, particularly doctors and nurses in her area of interest.

Chapter Three

After her internship, Annie was offered a position at the UC Davis Hospital. Moving back to Davis worked out well for me. We found a nice three bedroom, two bath house in a good area in Vacaville, just a twenty minute drive from the hospital. The distance for my work wasn't bad; it was maybe a half-hour drive to Napa. When I needed to drive to western or northern Sonoma County, I'd just stay overnight at my folks place. I usually did this every other week or so. I'd generally stay for two nights on those trips.

One thing that caused us a lot of unhappiness and stress was that Annie suffered a miscarriage. We hadn't specifically decided to have children, but if it happened, we agreed that this would be a good time. Initially, of course, her pregnancy was a time of joy and triggered much excited planning. We, and her gynecologist, had no expectations of any problems. Annie was healthy and the baby looked fine. Afterwards we met with her doctor, Ginger Wilson. She had run a wide spectrum of tests to try to isolate the cause.

"There's no easy way to put this. A developing baby is half made up of foreign genetic material from the father. Some women have miscarriages—I should say repeated miscarriages --because their bodies see a baby as an invading organism and attack it with antibodies. Normally, many elements of the immune system work together to ensure that your body does not reject the baby. However, when this coordination fails, a miscarriage virtually always follows."

Annie turned white, and asked, "Is there any treatment?"

The doctor put her hand on Annie's, holding it tight. "No, honey, there isn't. There are some experimental procedures, but I would strongly recommend against them."

Annie was silently crying, and grabbing at straws, I asked, "Is it just my "contribution" that her body rejects?"

"No, Terry, it doesn't really make any difference who is the contributor. Her body just rejects the intrusion."

We were both down for several months, Annie more than me. She didn't want to take any drugs for the depression that came upon her, it being no surprise to either of us. She did meet with a therapist for a while, and that helped. In any event, we were both scarred by our loss.

We had a few desultory talks about adoption—in vitro fertilization was also a no-no. I don't think either of us was ready to consider it seriously. That became even clearer when we moved to Austin. We both wound up so busy that we wouldn't have been able to give a child the time needed.

With the major exception of the miscarriage, life was good for us ... we had been happy for the last year and a half. That changed after Annie was accepted for a two year Ophthalmic Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery fellowship at the MD Anderson Cancer Center. The center was at the University of Texas in Austin—known to every Texan (and to those wannabe Texans living in Oklahoma, who fervently wished they were from Texas) as UT. The cancer center was a huge place with thousands of employees.

Living in Austin changed us—in retrospect, mostly in ways that weren't so good. It seemed that each plus came with several minuses. Boating, and the associated fishing, was great. There was any number of good lakes and rivers to fish. Restaurants and nightlife were also great, as would be expected of any city with a large, world famous university and all the extras that being a state capitol added. The climate was good ... though not like the wine country in Northern California. The weather bureau called it "humid subtropical" with hot summers and mild winters. We found that the evenings cooled off to be quite pleasant most summer nights.