Normally, I don’t feel comfortable citing my preferences (my family doesn’t even know). But since it is now nearly 5 o’clock in the morning--and I am practically an insomniac anyway—I think I should like at least to describe the characteristics, of she whom I belonged to (and forever will, I pray).
She was way smarter than me; positively gleeful while at work; very humorous (laughed while reading the newspaper even); and, was religiously inclined (though, not a loony either).
She was fairly neat and organized too (though, again, not an obsessive neat-freak). Really, she was just very self-reliant about everything. I preferred always to be her helper, in any way she’d allow it—and which, I regret, was not often enough—but I admired her so, nevertheless. What an able person she was.
Truly, and in all ways I can think of: the woman that I belonged to, was everything I could ever aspire be myself. And she was very good, all of the time, to everybody. She’d TALK—a lot—to anyone; total strangers even, at length. And I absolutely adored her voice. Yet oddly enough: when we were alone together, I remember she would speak very softly, and use fewer, if any words. Really, she more sort-of glanced at me a lot, in order to convey herself.
I’m not one for speaking much either (I prefer to write); but she had a beautiful speaking voice—something, maybe, between a Kathleen Turner, and a Mackenzie Phillips. It was a deep, strong, but still distinctly feminine voice. I liked to listen to her sing at mass, but she was very self-conscious (and would sing low) because of the women she lived with. Frankly: she had a sexier voice than any of them (but again, wasn’t overt in any respect about it either).
She liked to make waffles, and took a lot of pride in them, and in whatever she was up to cooking. Originally, my love came from Kentucky; and as you might expect of a southern female, was a superb cook. She made me ribs once, to absolutely die for.
I worked with her (that’s how we met), and I learned a lot from her. I think that’s very important in a relationship too—to be able to learn from someone, and share your talents with. Though I don’t honestly believe: that there was a darn thing ever that I knew, that I could have ever taught her; I still felt somehow that she appreciated my sensibilities too; and also the many dumb things that I made for her over the years.
She was a genius really, and was perfectly confident in herself, as far as academic and domestic things were concerned (like sewing for example—she made her own clothes too!). Yet somehow—and even despite how great she was—she lacked confidence in the sort of things that are maybe more artistically inclined. I truly feel however: that if she ever felt like sitting down and actually painting a portrait or landscape, she would have executed it far better than me (and supposedly, I was the artistic one); and yet, she never attempted to for some reason. It’s one of those things I had intentions of instigating in her, one day. She needed a shove, I thought.
She was a sports fan—liked football—and even though I’m not much of an athlete myself (nor do I follow much), I respected that about her immensely. It honestly made me want to learn how to play; I always figured that she liked the football player type (though she never said).
Physically speaking: she was tall (about 5’10”) and very broad-hipped. She was bosomy also, but narrow in the shoulders (which sloped nicely), and her hips were much bigger than average. Such that: even the most simple, no frills, mono-chromatic house dress, looked particularly lovely on her. She had a feminine neck; nice long arms, which were soft at the top; lovely hands; and a big toothy grin (which gave her trouble sometimes, but I still thought was so very cute).
She had beautiful, crooked, natural teeth. And when she smiled, she smiled big; just like a little kid. She was 55. And not gray, but silver-haired; and had beautiful brown eyes.
SHE NEVER WORE MAKE-UP, or painted her fingernails; and she (believe it or not) always wore a dress, when I knew her. Not an extravagant or revealing thing, mind you; but rather, something she literally made on her own (with a length, a little below the knee). Truly, she was one the only one of her kind.
Overall, I would say that she was pleasantly plump. AND, this is the ultimate: she had the absolute softest cheek I have ever kissed. From a little boy, I remember hearing about how women have softer skin than men; but I never understood what that meant exactly, until one day, I finally kissed her. No lie: she was like kissing a warm buttermilk pancake, lovingly crafted by GOD.
There will never be another like her. Her name was Jayne Goebel. And if she had finally agreed to marry me, before she died, I would have happily become Francis Goebel instead of she Jayne Ziegler. It’s the name I want for myself even now., because I know that I belonged to her.
Nerds, I suppose then, maybe just need to belong to a woman.
May she rest in peace.
