1971

It was a Saturday, April 24th when I knocked on Harmony's front door. She yelled from a top
window for me to come around the side. As I entered the door, she escorted me in. Passing
through the doorway, the first thing that caught my eye as always was that fancy daybed in
the parlor. It looked like a surrealistic couch with overly accentuated pillows that shined like
yellow gold. The wave coming out of its wooden spine made it look like it belonged in another
country! An even stranger looking couch was situated at the far end of the living room. This
she called a settee. As I approached the kitchen table, there was a chiffonier displaying
exactly twenty three assorted dishes. Some old and some new.

"Can you excuse me a moment, I need to run upstairs for something?" "Sure I said,"
and waited for her to return. I glanced at the paper on the table and saw there was
a mass march planned for today at the nation's capitol. People were protesting
North America's involvement in the war in Indochina and hoped that by everyone
banning together, the antiwar group would succeed in finding some resolve.




                                 *They wouldn't*


Harmony returned and I could see from a distance, how she struggled to get her hair just right,
before delicately removing the metal hair clip from between her lips and attaching it in place.

Together we sat down at her kitchen table and talked about the weather, the neighborhood and
people in general. We talked about our family members and our family history, and we laughed.
I was Irish, Austrian and Italian with a wee hint of Scottish going way back. Harmony, on the
ther hand, was Indian, Philippine and Colombian. She said her mom, Jacinthe grew up in this
house, having immigrated from Colombia at a very early age. At the age of twenty four she met
Raj and in six short months the two were engaged. In the spring of 1952, Harmony was born.

For the first year of her life, she lived in the Dhar district of Madhya Pradesh
with her father's family. Raj would learn from his parents how to run the textile
mills and Jacinthe got to know Raj's fairly large community of relatives.



After a year and some time, her parents flew back to the states where Jacinthe remained with
her child in this very house. Raj could only stay briefly, but encouraged his wife to press on
without him, until the time came when he would make his return for her and their child. By the
year Harmony turned four, her parents were already struggling to keep the profit margin up with
a second textile mill, and Harmony would have to reside with her Aunt Sophie in California.
There was no other way. About her mom Jacinthe, I know almost nothing about.

Harmony was always kind to me for that was her nature.
Never at anytime did she come off as being fake or condescending
in any way. No, Harmony was way too scrupulous for that!

"You're lucky you're so cute," she once told me as she touched my nose real fast. This got
my heart stirring for affection! Would anything become of it? I didn't know, but I prayed to
God every night that he would bring us closer together. I had no idea what love was all about,
but I knew it had something to do with the way two people kissed. Before anything can happen,
I need to get that special kiss from her, but how? It seemed I would just have to bide my time
and wait until the ineludible moment when she would be most susceptible to my advances; only
then could I make my move. Harmony was always singing for me as she played her acoustic guitar,
and that made me feel good, but what I really wanted was for her to sing to me. To feel that bond
of togetherness. That heartfelt cloying of over exaggerated needs. I think it's called love. During the
course of the next few months, she would often say that I was like "her younger brother" and she
could never know how much that saying troubled me, deep down inside. I wanted our friendship
to be something more than a love that is found between siblings, but I was totally clueless when
it came to the dynamics of love. I knew only what I saw.

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Aside from her physical attributes, I was enthralled in the very makeup of her own
individual characteristics! So appealing was this lady to my senses! How a gentle woman
with unembellished beauty could mesmerize my world and take hold of my very soul,
was the mystery of mysteries for me at this time! Unbeknownst to her, she had gone
as far as to open my eyes up to feelings so unique and incredible, I would literally
revel in the thought of waking up in the morning!

Apart from all that, I loved that wild accent of hers! It was a cross between Mayan and Indian,
and every time she spoke, she had my full attention. Even if she didn't say a word, I could spend
the remainder of each day just observing how she moved about the rooms. With a body so petite
and curvaceous, and a smile that could stop my heart from beating, I would offer up my very
existence for but one loving kiss. A child I may very well have been indeed, but around harmony
I felt more like a man trapped inside a boy's body.



So helpless, so yearning to love and feel loved by her that I would forfeit all childish joys
in a vain attempt to become something I knew I could never be. . . Worthy of her love.

As a child, I knew she would not be able to love me, but I refused to give up hope.
God if only she could reach out and give me a sign or a signal that I would be able
to interpret. An opportunity for me to take charge of the situation somehow. Then I
would use it to the best of my abilities to win her love. "Show me baby, I'm right here!"
Who was I kidding? I never even kissed a girl, let alone persuade her into a sultry affair
I had no idea of consummating. Even after we paddle tongues, then what?

Quixotic tales of love and longing filled my head
and began to empower my universe.



This was more than a carnal attraction.
It was adoration in its purest form. The sentiment of all rapture.

When she was happy, she could be heard mildly humming a melody or singing a song as
she delicately dusted or cleaned up. I asked her why she didn't have a boyfriend and told
her that a woman as beautiful as herself should have a boyfriend. She said to me, "Men are
such a drag. They're like "little boys" who only know how to take and not give." In a huff,
I sprung up and walked over to the couch; my disgust etched into a scowl. "I'm sorry" she
said, giggling as she followed, "I don't mean you! You're so sweet for listening to my ramblings.
A man would have said, shut up already!" As she sat down next to me on the couch, I reached
for her hand and held it. She then rested her head on my shoulder and sighed. I think in some
way she knew I was yearning for later on that evening she asked me a very personal question.

"And I want the truth," she said. "How do you feel about me?" Like a complete fool I replied,
"you're like a big sister to me." I could have went home and stabbed myself! "You're sure about
that?" I hesitated before saying yeah, in a sad tone while looking down at the floor. "Okay then,"
said Harmony with a smile and brought out two ice cold bottles of Nedick's. Upon tasting it, I
replied, "It's like sweet orange soda without the fizz."She laughed and told me it was orange
drink. It was so sweet and so tasty that it instantly became my beverage of choice!



As I sat beside her on that couch sipping my orange drink, I felt turned on, but I was too young
to be turned on! What the hell was a "turn on" anyway? Maybe it was the feeling in the middle
of my chest that felt like batteries charging. I think they're overcharging cause now I'm shivering!
Yes, I was indeed turned on!!!

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Every day without fail I would pay Harmony a visit. If I didn't see her at least once
a day, then I would think of her all night long, and I would not be able to sleep. By
the end of August, she gave me the key to her back door and told me not to lose it.



"If you lose this key," she said to me in a stern but loving voice, "I will remove your pants,
put you across my knee, and spank you with the palm of this hand." She held her hand out
so that I could get a good look at it. This is the hand, I thought. The hand that she is going
to use on me, and I just looked at it. Every line was so exquisitely drawn that I fell into a
trance. Her hand was so shiny I could almost see a reflection, and my circuitry was beginning
to overload! There was something so sensuously arousing about it, I thought my heart was
going to pop! I wanted that hand around my entire face. Her fingers to move across my lips,
how they almost seemed to glisten in the light the room was conveying. I was paralyzed with
apprehension as I pleaded to myself from the depths of my meek, trembling spirit, "hold me,
kiss me, I love you!!!" I started to feel so weak and powerless, and was hoping she would just
do it already. I wanted so badly to put my mouth inside her hand and kiss it, but I went numb.
As I was preparing myself to run my fingers on top of hers, she whispered in my ear with breath
of fire and said to me very slowly, "You never know; you might even like it." I looked up into
those beautiful brown eyes of hers and everything went white.

I awoke on the couch (settee) to find her laughing about this. "You've really got to stop doing that,"
she said hysterically! I smiled for I was no longer embarrassed. In fact, I was so "turned on" by the
whole thing, I got my very first erection! Of course I didn't know what to do with this erection, so I
just pushed it down, so to speak with my hands crisscrossed. Kind of like the way you would perform
CPR on a chest. Whenever I was alone, I would think about what she had said to me. I would then
begin to imagine us in all types of scenarios, which ended in her having to use that hand on me!
I was literally obsessed by it and could not figure it out.

Would I like it?
Would it hurt?
If it hurt, then how could I like it?
Ah yes, my little brain was working. . . Overtime. 

That night while I sat at the dinner table with my mom and dad, I found myself
staring at seven Brussel sprouts in my dish. My parents knew I hated certain
vegetables, and yet still, they suffered me to eat them.

"You're not leavin' this table till every vegetable on that plate is gone!
I'm watchin' ya, so don't start!!!"

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Tonight, however, there would be no animosity at the dinner table for I was going to try an
experiment. In my mind, I envisioned Harmony sitting next to me. My parents have departed
on a vacation and are no longer in the United States. They are enjoying the world somewhere
in Europe, and Harmony is in charge of me. They have implemented a number of rules and
have given Harmony strict orders that she has been instructed to follow. The most important
rule of all is that I must finish my Brussel sprouts. Under no circumstance is there to be any
leniency! In my mind, I envisioned Harmony sitting next to me. She leans over slowly to
whisper in my ear, "Do you really want to see how hard my sexy hand can slap? I'll leave
handprints all over your entire body, and you'll cry like a baby. Do you want me to make you cry?
If you don't finish every single one, I am going to stand you up, remove your pants and crack you!"
As I began to chew on the Brussel sprout, all that bitter liquid filled my mouth and the first thing that
came to mind was turpentine. Just knowing what was going to happen to me if I didn't eat them, far
outweighed any nausea, which accompanied me eating them! As I devoured the first one, my heart was
beating so strangely, it was getting me aroused. Could this be love? The effect of the terrible vegetable
had turned into somewhat of an aphrodisiac! My God I thought, what is happening to me?

"Are you all right?" questioned my mom who was sitting perpendicular to me at the table.
"You seem out of breath." Due to the difficulty in swallowing what tasted like poison, my
face immediately began to flush causing an increase in both heartbeat and heart rate! Mom
swiftly springs into action by jumping up and taking a throat pulse from the carotid artery.
I must have been breathing quite heavy for her to become that concerned! "His heart is
beating a mile a minute, he's having an allergic reaction! "Can you breathe? There's no
swelling." That was the last time I was ever forced to eat Brussel sprouts! I don't
know what I would have done, had I been left to myself in that state. 

Another month had passed and it was starting to get chilly out. October was here again and it
was Friday. I remember coming home and going inside for something, though I do not remember
what. I do know that I put away my schoolbooks and poured myself a glass of apple juice before
going back outside. I then left my house and walked carefully across the street before remembering
that my mother was waiting for a very important letter. I then walked back across the street and
opened the mailbox to find two pieces of mail in there. Since they were both addressed to my father,
I didn't feel that it warranted another trip back inside the house, so I gently placed the two letters
back into the mailbox and proceeded once again to cross the street.



Always looking both ways and ever watchful of speeding cars. After unlocking the side door,
I walked in and helped myself to a bottle of orange Nedicks. Turning on the television, but not
really wanting to watch it, I checked to see if anything of interest would come on. I then took
off my shoes and waited for my beautiful friend to arrive. Occasionally, she would leave a
sweater draped across the chair that I would take with me to the couch. I'd hold it close to my
body and take in her scent, mixed with the smell of her fading perfume. It comforted me in a
way that made me feel somehow closer to her, though I usually put it back before she came home.
That heavenly fragrance always seemed to remind me of pears!

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Harmony had said to me on more than one occasion that she was going to teach me as much as she
could about the opposite sex, and by the time I was of age, I would be able to get any girl I wanted.
The only problem with that was I wanted her. Every night without fail she would sit me down
and slowly go over all the little idiosyncrasies women have that men need to put more emphasis on
understanding. "When a woman is going through her cycle, it is very important that you treat them
extra kind, because her hormone level goes crazy. Sorry, our emotional state becomes disrupted.
You do know what I'm talking about right?" "Not really." "Okay, then I will explain it to you."

                                                             *And she did*

"Why do you think we spend so much time in the bathroom and so much time shopping
for clothes? It is because we are trying to look good for you, so we take our time, and we
try to make sure everything is perfect, and for this we are criticized. Or do you think we are
doing it only for ourselves? That is why you men should never rush us. Relax and don't be
so self absorbed! Show us that you care, and that you love us by telling us how beautiful
our hair looks or complement our appearance. Men can never say that enough. Make sure you
notice when she is trying to "proudly display" a new pair of shoes for you or even sunglasses,
for that matter. The problem with most men is that they become overly confident when they
get to be too familiar with us (or) when they get too comfortable in a relationship, they think
they can abuse us by taking advantage of our good nature. Don't. . . Ever!"

*Now pointing her exquisite finger at me*

Harmony went on as I listened happily to everything she said. Eventually,
I knew I was going to apply all this knowledge, but to whom, I thought?

God please, let it be her!



When it came down to love, Harmony knew more about men at nineteen than they could hope to
know about themselves in a lifetime. Not only did she have a gift for remembering everything she
saw and heard, but also, she had a heart that overflowed with love; only she had no one to give it
to. Before these short lessons in love, I would listen very carefully to everything she said about her
busy day and tried so hard to be the adult, I thought she wanted. Afterwards, we would go back to the
couch and watch a show or two before I had to go home. This went on for the remainder of the year.

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Reviews for Chapter 32

Joey Cruz - heart beat and heart rate are the same

Charles Pendelton - Heart rate is the number of times per minute that the heart contracts. . .
Heartbeat or (pulse) is the mechanical pulse of blood flow through
the capillaries caused by the contractions of the heart per minute.

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PG 164) Duality of Humanity #1 by Shepard Fairey

PG 164) Village women poster

PG 165) Unborn Ideas by Catrin Welz-Stein

PG 165) Together in eternity by Elizabeth Silk

PG 166) Key of love by Vladimir Kush

PG 167) Mr. Zip - 1963 to 1986

PG 168) The invisible lover