“Hmmmm. Delightful arms. Shorter than me. Brunette. Seems very loving and affectionate. OOOH! Likes to grind her mons into my ass. Let me narrow tha... down a little ... would you care to dance, Patti?”There was a small squeak. “How’d you know it was me?”“How’d you know I was Dave? I like you and am learning your look and feel.”“I want to have you study that in depth a little later after things thin out. Could we go off again? And, yes, I’ll dance with you.”Dave adopted an intimate dance posture. That amounted to sanding the rough cut shape down into something usable. I’d already taken my woodworking chisels to the bow in an attempt to even out the arms and smooth any rough spots that detracted from the design. I’d then taken a rough edged stone and I’d rubbed the bow down with it. It had helped remove some of the rough spots that the chisels couldn’t remove without damaging the bow. My final effort had devolved into rubbing the bow with a piece of rawhide containing grit from the river. Laughing all the while, I wrote back letting him know that I don’t even live in the same state as he shared with me in his e-mail. Yet, I extended myself as a friend, if he wanted to continue to correspond. Well…all I can say now is that talking with him, seeing him, feeling him, and knowing him has been somewhat of a mixed blessing. Our good days and our bad days as friends via telephone and in person have been challenging and intense to say the least. As he goes through his pain and healing,. "You don't want to look at it for too long, believe you me...". With those words, she put her arm around my shoulders and steered me out of that room, towards daylight and mundane life of a big city. She parked me on the sofa and disappeared briefly, I guess to cover up that incredible piece of glass, and then busied herself with making a coffee and holding my hand and talking to me, about trivia, not expecting any response - just to deposit a detritus of normality over the terrifying.
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