The Heart Shaped Mosaic

An ice fragment found its way to my mouth, and I thrust it forward to make Mal shudder and sigh. Pushing it in between her lips with my tongue, she trembled from the temperature difference. Three more chill intruders, and my lovely one shuddered on her mountaintop for a seeming eternity. She pushed my head away from her sweetness, and I licked her thighs and the inside of her legs as she recovered.

"Let's see what we can do for you, old man," she whispered huskily. She rolled me over to lay on my back, my forked radish wobbling slightly as it saluted her beauty. The vial of oil was opening and passed under my nose: olive oil with the barest hint of ginger. A small stream was poured on my twin oysters, and loving hands worked it up and around my quivering stem. "I want to suck your cock, Charlie. I want to worship you with my tongue, tease the rim and swirl your balls, wander the twin highways of the underside. I'm going let you feel my tonsils and swallow every bit of white honey you can give me."

The oil was rubbed in gently, the small tingling raising my temperature. Mallory was between my legs, massaging my manhood with both hands, following every move with eager eyes. A spot of dampness appeared and she kissed it off. Firmer and firmer the resolve became, and she closed her eyes as she engulfed the length in between her soft red lips. It was as wonderful an experience as when we first made love, and my mind's eye saw the awkward teenager as she performed her first fellatio on me. A moment's pause brought a piece of ice to her mouth; she sucked it while she poured more oil and massaged my libido, looking at me with eager eyes. Now came the cool cavern with its icy tongue, and as it warmed my admiration churned within me. My love continued her practiced, fervent adoration relentlessly until the white honey pulsed abundantly and I seemed to spend an hour on the summit of wonder.

As we lay in the afterglow, entwined, Mal said to me: "Have you read over Emily's work lately?"

"No, not for a while. Not for a couple of years."

"You should. You really should. She's ready for the majors, no doubt."

11.11.2012

Night was falling too soon, and by 6:00PM stars filled the sky outside the hospital waiting room window. Grandmother Dora had taken most of my children to the hospital cafeteria for dinner, while Mal was sitting on the sofa, breast feeding the six month old twins William and Christopher. They were taking their turns calmly, as if they knew what was happening and didn't want to trouble us. I stood by the window as I had since the sun had burned fruitlessly into the west and the stars swam out of the murk to challenge the darkness. Mallory's aunt Lucille looked thin and frail and lost staring across the room, while her aunt Jessica occupied herself by playing with the twin that wasn't busy feeding. My knees started to lock up, so I reluctantly sat down next to Mal and rested my cheek on her shoulder. It was a birthday from hell.

A Doctor came into the room. "Are you Andrea Sullivan's family?" Lucille nodded mechanically. "She passed away of a myocardial infarction ten minutes ago. I'm sorry, there was nothing we could do." He turned and walked out of the room briskly. If my eyes had been daggers, the stupid doctor would have laid on the floor in a pool of his own blood: what arrogance to drop that bombshell and walk away! The silence descended to another level, save the sound of a baby sucking at his mother's breast.

The events of the day passed before my eyes. Morgan had been in labor far longer this time than she had for Robert; Mal and I took turns sitting in the labor room with her overnight. The arrival of child number eight for this extended family seemed to be business as usual, although the kids were excited about another baby in the house. Her doctor raised the possibility of a C-section, but Morgan said, "Can't have the scar, Doc. Still have to look good for my public. I'm an athlete; I can get to the finish line without help." The monitors showed nothing unusual, and when Morgan entered the final stages of labor in the early morning, we were ready to celebrate.

Her breathing rose and fell regularly as she pushed, like a marathoner in the middle of the race. I was the only family member with her; Mal was needed with the other children. "I'm ready for this little gal, Charlie, you just watch her, she'll be special," Morgan gloated as she struggled to deliver.

In the Eleventh Hour of the Eleventh Day of the Eleventh Month, the cries of a newborn resounded in the delivery room. My little girl was born on an anniversary of peace. "Happy Birthday, Charlie! You've got another daughter, and her name is Emily," she said as the baby was placed in her arms.

"Would you like to hold her?" the nurse asked, and I gladly took the minute old infant in my arms. Morgan's smile could have lit a continent, but as she was touching my arm, her eyes began to unfocus and alarms started shrieking. The medical team pushed me aside and started working on her frantically, desperately. After a minute, I was pushed out of the door, still holding the naked newborn, while medical personnel flew past in both directions. Emily slept peacefully in my arms, still wet with amniotic fluid, and I found a white cloth to wrap over her little body and head to keep her warm.

It was the longest thirty minutes of my life as I stood there, holding Emily and waiting for any word from inside about Morgan. Finally, people staggered through the swinging doors defeated, and I asked what happened. A nurse looked at me with tired eyes and whispered, "We lost her."

It was another couple of minutes before the obstetrician stumbled out, and caught my eye. "Oh, Mr. Fredrickson, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened, but we'll find out right away. If I had to guess, I'd say she had some kind of congenital defect that ruptured in the last moments and she was gone quickly. We'll know for sure soon; 42 is too young to die."

A scream reverberated from down the hall. Andrea, Morgan's mother, flew into the room and tried to go into the delivery room. "Where's my daughter, where's my daughter, for God's sake Charlie, where's my daughter." Nurses tried to corral her and she burst back out the doors she came from before they were able to pin her down and sedate her.

At this point, the maternity nurse noticed I was still holding Emily, and came to take her from me. "Everybody seems a little frantic right now, Mr. Fredrickson, but if you'll help me, we'll take care of this little lady." I did my best to help the nurse bathe, measure and weigh her; after she put the silver nitrate solution into Emily's eyes, she wrapped Emily in a clean blanket and took her off toward the nursery.

I walked like a zombie down to the waiting room, still in my hospital garb stained with Emily's birth fluids. My family was waiting for me, and I sat heavily beside Jessica. They had hear the news about Morgan and wanted to know about the baby. "Emily's fine: she's 20 inches long, six and half pounds, and perfect. Perfect," I said blankly, as I sipped a cup of cold coffee with a trembling hand, and accepted all the hugs my little ones could give me.

The afternoon was fraught with double waiting. Andrea was heavily sedated, but there were problems with her reaction to the sedatives; she suffered a massive heart attack of her own at three o'clock. Her sisters sat by her side until five o'clock, until they grew tired and rejoined us to relax and talk. I managed to find a place to shower and ate a couple of tasteless sandwiches over the course of the afternoon. A grief counselor sat with the kids, paying special attention to Morgan's son Robert, but he seemed unaware of what was going on. I watched the clouds through the window, lost in my birthday from hell.

A half hour after the announcement about Andrea's passing, Dr. Albert Stein, an old friend and classmate of mine came by and beckoned the adults to follow him into a conference room. The grief counselor offered to sit with the kids, and we sat around a conference table.

He began gravely: "To do this in reverse order, Andrea's passing was the result of a drug interaction, prescribed by inattentive psychiatrist who didn't check her file. He was the idiot who told you about her death and ran. The hospital is most regretful of her passing, and I'm sure that your counsel will be talking with ours about appropriate compensation. I've thought the bum who treated her should have been bounced months ago, and I hope this is the last straw. I'm sorry, so sorry about this." He paused, sniffed and blew his nose, and took a sip of water before he proceeded.

"To continue about our findings with Morgan. The examination of Morgan confirms what the OB/GYN speculated in the delivery room: she had a congenital heart defect that ruptured just after birth. I don't know how she stayed conscious so long post partum; by all the rules she should have stroked out immediately"

I responded glumly: "She wanted to hold the daughter she longed for and worked so hard to conceive for six years. She wanted to make sure I had Emily before she went." I broke down and wept.

Albert shrugged his shoulders. "I've seen stranger things happen than this, Charlie."

"But Morgan was such an athlete, Albert," Mal interjected. "She was always very physically active, never had a sick day, bounced right back after Robert was born, exercised like a maniac all her life, even up to Emily's birth. Why didn't this show up earlier?"

A sad shake of Albert's head told the story. "I don't know. They should have found this when she was a girl, and never allowed her to play sports. It's like the Pete Marinovich story: he'd been a professional athlete most of his life, and the defect that killed him in his forties after a pick-up game should have killed him in high school. Morgan's ability to do what she did was a miracle, but this time, after this long labor, her luck ran out."

"It doesn't make sense," I muttered.

Mal jumped in again, "Would she have survived with a C-section?"

"Had she ever been operated on before?"

"I don't think so."

"With her defect, it's a toss up. The shock of the surgery might have done her in as well, or the anesthesia. And there was no guarantee we could revive her there, either." He paused and took another sip of water before he continued. "At least Emily has a large, loving family to welcome her and make sure she gets off to a good start despite what's happened. In time, you'll be fine. Make sure she's checked for this defect regularly as she's growing up. If any of you want to stop by my office, I've got a bottle of Scotch that may help dull the sting a little bit."

Lucille, Jessica and Dora followed Albert out the door, leaving me alone with Mal. She put her hand on my shoulder, and we stayed there for a lifetime.

They let me show Emily to the family shortly afterward, taking her down to Morgan's hospital room where everyone could congregate in some privacy. Weeping, I carried her back, a frail, freshly-hatched little bird in my arms. My daughter would learn someday that she lost her mother and her grandmother the day she was born, and it frightened me. "I'll protect you, Little Bird. I'll be here for you. I'll take care of you until it's time for you to spread your wings on your own."

11.11.2030

The Green Room of the Waldorf Astoria ballroom was abuzz with activity, and I was responsible for it. Almost my entire family was buzzing around preparing for the formal dinner and program to celebrate my 80th birthday, and the bedlam was giving me a little headache. Edgar and his wife, Elizabeth and her husband, Robert and his fianceé got dressed in their tuxedos and evening gowns early to have a civilized conversation, but Samuel and the twins were avoiding putting on their coats and ties to the last minute, engaging in mild horseplay with their nieces and nephews to their shrieking delight. Sylvia was trying to get her daughter Melissa and Edgar's son Benjamin to stop running around the perimeter of the room, and Emily was fussing over my attire and grooming. In every way, the bedlam was all my fault: they were all my progeny.

A couple of days earlier was an opportunity for a picture series of the Revered Elder Poet, and since the photographer was willing, we took the opportunity for some family shots as well since Mallory was able to be in New York that day. We spent a chaotic morning at the fountain in Rockefeller Plaza, posing in every conceivable combination of parents and children, while fighting the kids and kids at heart to keep them presentable and dry. My dearest Mal was so lovely that I could hardly believe she was 50, and the photographer thought Elizabeth, Sylvia and Emily were her sisters as the lovely ladies posed in their matching strapless, knee length black dresses with open toed shoes. Testosterone dripped from the shot of my boys and myself in our suits and ties, and we got the grandkids still just long enough to capture their likenesses for posterity. My publisher treated us to a picnic in Battery Park that afternoon, and we had a grand time after we were able to dress down.

Bernie Johnston from the Academy stuck his head into my family's chaos, and after drawing a deep breath to summon courage, crossed the bedlam to speak with me. "Dr. Fredrickson," he said, "We'll be ready to seat you in about ten minutes. If the rest of your family would like to take their places now. . ."

"Of course." I replied in a dignified voice. Putting two fingers in my mouth, I emitted an ear-splitting whistle that silenced the room and switched to my paterfamilias tone: "All right, kids, time for you to go to the hall. Boys, put your coats and ties on. Melissa, Benjamin, time to settle. If you'll follow Dr. Johnston, he'll lead you to your places. Time to look dignified." A pair of snickers came from William and Christopher, but the Patriarchal Look quieted them. "This is your night, enjoy it, flaunt it if you can, but look dignified doing it." They filed gradually out of the room behind Bernie except for Emily, who was my escort at the head table in Mal's absence.

She danced around fiddling with my tie until I batted her hands away. "Little Bird, you might want to put your shoes on. I'm as ready as I'm going to be, and if something's out of place, then that's part of my eccentric persona. I don't give a rat's ass about my appearance; you need to get ready." Sitting down, she put her sheer stockinged feet into three inch open toed shoes. Her feet had always been carbon copies of Morgan's since age seven (I didn't know Morgan before then), and she stood gracefully, pirouetting for my approval.

I took her pocket camera in hand and took a picture of my baby on her 18th birthday. She was tall like Morgan, about five eight, beautifully proportioned with her mother's twinkling almond eyes and a shoulder length, luxurious black mane that came from my side of the family. Her dress was black, strapless and knee length, and made her look wonderful. Her skin was clear and her smile a starburst. "How do I look, Daddy?" she asked me.

"Honey, I wish I had a pistol, because you'll need an armed guard looking that good."

A peck on the cheek was my reward, and renewed attention to my tie. I stopped her and reached into my pocket. "Little Bird, there's something I need to let you have tonight, but tonight only for a while. Mal and I have been talking, and we think you should wear this tonight." I brought out the Heart Shaped Pendant and held it in front of her eyes.

She gasped and turned away, then back. "Really, Poppi? I–I can't believe it. This isn't real? It was my great-great grandmother's wasn't it?" Then a curious look crossed her face. "Doesn't there have to be a contest to see who gets it? Don't I have to suck somebody's cock for this?"

"No, Little Bird. When your Great Aunt Charlene set up the contest, the relative that exemplified the mutual, unselfish sharing of life, laughter and love she was got the Pendant. Charlene had many different objectives, as usual: it was the only way she could bring Mallory and I together, it was a chance to teach two generations of women about unselfishness, and now I think it was the way the Pendant would have ended up with a poet in the family right away.

"Charlene had to be devious, Mal and I don't have to be. Elizabeth and Sylvia are fantastic women and we love them with all our hearts, but you're the poet of the next generation. Mal has already written it into her will: the Pendant will go to you, and your sisters understand.. Tonight, it's yours on loan; someday, it will be yours for good."

The chair rocked with the force of her embrace and she sobbed wildly into my shoulder until Bernie Johnston came to fetch us. I hung the Pendant around her neck: it rested serenely in her modest, lightly tanned cleavage and her face glowed as she accompanied me into the hall.

The banquet was good enough, and the speeches in honor of yours truly as a living legend were maudlin enough to induce a diabetic coma. My boys Samuel, William and Christopher regaled me with a series of visual antics in response to the speakers when I looked their direction, and a couple of times I risked a choice facial contortion their direction. I could just see a picture of me gurning at them circulating around the Internet the next day.

My dearest Mallory appeared via a satellite hook-up, much to the cheers and cat calls of my children nearby, and said a few kind words that left me in tears. My publisher, Harry Benton of Benton and Pettis proclaimed me the soul of an era that wasn't over yet, and plugged my entire library, including the book coming out the next week. Emily thrust her arm through mine and held my hand within interlocked fingers throughout; when I looked at her, the smile sparkled for me brighter than I'd ever seen before. At last, it came time for me to address the throng, and she helped me rise slowly to walk over to the podium, while those present gave me a lengthy standing ovation. I settled my hands on the edges of the podium and began.

"Mr. Vice President, Mr. Governor, Mr. Chairman, Trustees of the Institute, Distinguished Guests and Colleagues, Ladies and Gentlemen. To say this is a great honor for me, this Lifetime Achievement Award and the title of Poet Laureate, would be a great understatement. When I was a child, I was entranced by the rhythms of the freight trains that rolled through my neighborhood, and I wanted to be a train engineer when I was in kindergarten. I know it's hard for some of you to believe I was a little boy once, but it's true. As I grew up, I became entranced by the rhythms of life and relationships as they rolled along, joined in different combinations or cars and in different sizes of trains with multiple engines at times. The best I way I could share this fascination was writing, and that's all I've ever wanted to do but write. I am amazed and pleased that so many people over the years were interested in my paltry thoughts.

"There are many people who've helped me, been with me over the years that have made me what I am, and it is my sorrow that most of them are no longer with us. Especially dear to me was the great poet Charlene Thompson, who was my mentor, great love and personal inspiration for twenty-five years. There are also many other great teachers, particularly Pearl Stevenson and Donald Cartwright, who worked with me, and many great students, particular Simon Downs and Harry Whitson, who taught me more than I ever taught them. My publishers at Benton and Pettis, especially Harry Benton, have show me great kindness over the years, and I'm sure that a little of that is true human affection and not the result of my making them a lot of money." That got an undeserved chuckle and a wink and thumbs up from my publisher. "Harry has been a true friend, a true bedrock of support, in all honesty. To all go of you my undying gratitude and prayers.