Our first marriage took place in the parking lot of a Kroger grocery store in between the soaking rain of a thunderstorm that signaled the beginning of the greatest flooding of my memory. We stood outside my broken down truck and exchanged what we later termed our parking lot vows with no witnesses other than God and the tow truck driver.

It had been hardly three weeks since Edna Merle and I had connected in love when she came, reluctantly, to spend the night with me in my big house. I say reluctantly not because she didn’t want to spend the night with me but because she had made a pact with Heaven that she would never sleep with a man who was not her husband. So I immediately proposed. She laughed and said, of course, she would marry me, yet when I suggested we marry ourselves she just shook her head. I couldn’t tell if that was a yes or a no.

On the morning after we had slept together, without having sex, I arose and drove alone to get a cup of coffee for her and a Sunday paper for me. After I had driven to the Starbucks and paid $3.95 for a regular coffee, I directed my truck to the nearby convenience store. It started to protest. First the steering got tight and then the engine started chugging. Then it just died. Having left my cell phone at home, I had no choice but to walk the two miles back home, shoving the paper under my shirt and holding fast to Edna Merle’s now cool cup of coffee.

It had begun to rain, and rain hard, by this time. There were huge pools of water on the street as I trudged, head down, into some of the hardest rain I’ve ever encountered. When I walked onto my back porch, through a lake of rainwater that was choking my walkway; I noticed rolls of towels around my back door. The water hadn’t risen that far yet.

Her eyes were wild with fear as Edna Merle waited for me just inside the door. “My truck broke down, but here’s your coffee,” I said. She leaped to hug me. “I was so worried,” she said. The rain suddenly began to come down harder than ever before.

“It’s OK,” I said. “Did you think the water was going to get in?”

“Yes. I was about to start taking your stuff upstairs,” she replied.

We both laughed as the rain came down in sheets.

She drank her coffee as I dried myself off. I didn’t know what to do except wait until the rain slacked off, which took a couple of hours. When it finally stopped, the sun came out and the steam started rising from the street. I said I was going to go back and see about the truck. Edna Merle refused to stay at the house.

We started walking. The sun was so fierce that we had to open the umbrella for some shade as we made our way the two miles to where my truck sat outside the convenience store. After several attempts to get it started, and a failed effort to jump start it with my jumper cables and a stranger’s automobile, I had the brilliant idea of trying to get it to kick start by pushing it down the little hill leading to the Kroger parking lot. It didn’t work. We finally had to call Edna Merle’s brother, Lester, to find us a nearby wrecker service to come to our rescue. The dark clouds began to move in.

Sitting there in my dead truck I looked over to see the most beautiful angel who had ever been a passenger in my vehicle. Edna Merle looked so serene in the eerie light that I knew no harm would ever come to us. It was so hot; however, that I opened my door and went around to her side of the truck, where I opened the door, leaned in and kissed my angel. I pulled her out of her seat and asked her, again, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Then let’s do it now. I’ll begin” And I spoke right from the heart, telling her that she was the one I loved and would always love, and that I would always be her friend and she mine. I promised her that I would be loyal and respectful and take care of her the best I could. I pronounced myself to be her husband now and forever.

Edna Merle looked both pleased and stunned. The rain again began to fall at that moment. It came down slowly at first, and then began to come harder and harder. But I wouldn’t let her go until she spoke. Finally, looking straight into my soul, she said simply, “You are my husband and I am your wife.” I kissed her and then pushed her back into the truck. I got back in and we sat in silence for a few minutes, just staring into each other’s eyes like puppy-love teenagers do.

The wrecker truck finally came, and Edna Merle was amazed at the difference in the new towing technology. Rather than a wench pulling the truck up, the whole bed of the truck moved down and pulled the truck onto it before going back to its original position. We got in the wrecker and hauled my truck to the repair shop. The wrecker driver took us back to my house where I had just enough cash to pay for his services. I pretended I was paying a preacher for marrying us.

That night we made sweet love. Afterwards, I fell into an exhausted sleep while a storm of epic proportions raced across the city. My bed sat under a window and Edna Merle later told me she was so scared of the thunder and lightning and heavy rain. It was coming down like crazy when I finally awoke. She reached over and grabbed me and held me with such conviction that I asked her what the matter was? She replied, “Nothing, my husband.”

Parking Lot Vows

When we exchanged our parking lot vows

The sky opened up and drenched our souls

with cleansing rain

The wind sang our wedding song

as we were learning to breathe

The tow truck driver blessed us

then drove us to our honeymoon at the NTB

where the tires held a reception

We slept at the top of the mount

in a bed so large it was too small

When we exchanged our parking lot vows

God smiled

and the angels giggled

People drove past with

amused looks

The clouds roared by

bowing in approval

The traffic stopped

in respect for the newlyweds

and the birds sang our song

When we exchanged our parking lot vows

The world stopped for a millisecond

and we got off to live in our own universe

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6 Responses to Our First Marriage (9) By Jan Cordele

And the universe , with you in it’s presence, is in awe of your happiness.

Happiness to some comes late in life . I knew hers would.

This is one of the sweetest, most genuine stories I’ve read in awhile. It’s gives me hope and it makes me realize what I want love to feel like when it finally comes along

sounds like he found a way to get laid. please excuse me for being so blunt, hopefully you want all opinions and not just the pretty ones.

• ednamerle says:

July 19, 2010 at 11:59 pm (Edit)

yep, he sure did!

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1. John Doe says:

July 22, 2010 at 12:27 pm (Edit)

I like you ednamerle.

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I met slick after I’d been moved into a 4 person room across the hall from her two person room. I’d just been sent back from Washington prison in Davisboro, Georgia where I’d almost decided to have sex with an officer. I’m thankful to God for changing my mind. It turned out that the officer had already been doing that with some girls on mental health and some who were known to have HIV. He was discovered and fired. I was transferred back to Atlanta. But, I believed him when he told me I’d have been the first; a small preview of my gullibility. I was so new to prison, in shock and didn’t understand the legal lines between an officer/ free world person and the prisoner. I was learning to trust God.

Slick noticed I was kind of walking crooked and my shoulders were stressed, hunched upward into my neck. I was stressed and in pain.  She came over and said she could give me an adjustment. My first thought was, “Oh no, she’s gay and wants me”.  I quickly told her I would love an adjustment but I am not a homosexual. She laughed so hard, I was embarrassed. Then she told me not to worry she wasn’t either. “Lie down on your bed, arms to your side and try to relax”. I did. She fixed my crooked shoulders and gave me an adjustment once a week thereafter, for years.

Slick’s former roommate had been transferred to another prison and Slick needed a roommate. She requested me, even though she prayed to God for a nonsmoker. I smoked 4 cigarettes an hour on the streets. But in prison, the smokers were playthings for the officers. They’d take you to a smoke break, watch you light your cigarette and take a drag, but before you could take the next drag, they’d scream “Put it out, don’t take another drag or you’ll go to lockdown!” So, I started smoking at the vent, in our room, on Slick’s advice.  There I wasn’t harassed for my “short”, or toyed with by the guards. I could enjoy my own smoke. Right.

First, I must tell a little about Slick’s former roommate. Probably the worst case I knew personally. You know, not just by reading it, but I knew the person. Anyway, this person was married. Her husband preferred the baby’s attention over the mother’s and the mother got jealous. So the mother cooked the baby and fed it to her husband, the child’s father. .. The father asked, “Where’s the baby?”, and the mother just smiled and nodded towards the emptied dinner plate. The father became extremely violently ill and threw up and called the police. Mother was taken in and sentenced to: Not life?  What’s up with that? But that’s the story and it’s horrible beyond belief, I know. So let’s just move on.

There were also people there that I believe were not guilty of the crime(s) for which they’ve been sentenced.   One of those people actually became a good friend of mine, for a while. Here’s her story:

The Dancer with Handcuffs

She was an exotic dancer and had handcuffs as part of her routine. Her husband and father of her children drank a lot. One day he drove the children home while drunk. He was found by my friend passed out in the front seat of the car. She was livid with rage and handcuffed him to the steering wheel, thinking to teach him a lesson upon waking. They had a man staying in the home. Basically a stranger the father had picked up hitchhiking. The stranger ended up living with them all. Well the stranger happened upon the car with the handcuffed passed out man in the front seat and proceeded to tape up his whole head with rock and roll tape. The father then suffocated to death, and the hitchhiker went inside to ask for the keys to the handcuffs.  The hitchhiker needed her to come outside, “NOW!” She went with him and approached the car and saw to her horror what the hitchhiker had done. Now the hitchhiker said, “If you don’t help me get rid of him I’ll kill you and your family.” So, she did. Then she became a party to a crime, for which she was given Life. Out of fear she did nothing but what the hitchhiker told her to do. She said later, “If only I’d called the police as soon as I had the chance”.  Her kids were little when she went to prison, now they’ve since graduated from college. The hitchhiker also went to prison, but got out shortly after. He didn’t get life…

Anyway, I lived with Slick for 8 years in a two person room. She was my spiritual mentor and really lived her Christian beliefs.  She taught me how to handle confrontation without running away in fear. And she taught me about reflexology and how to stay healthy in prison. Our room was a sanctuary of peace. Others would come to our room just to step inside and feel the peace of God. Truly it was a place where the Holy Spirit lived too.

Slick killed a man in cold blood for money because the man was molesting his adopted young daughter. Slick had been molested by her own grandfather when she was very small. So when the girl’s mother asked Slick to do it, she didn’t have to think too hard to justify it. She went to a lake and drank some beer with the man, then said she was going to get more beer. She came back and shot him. She freaked out and saw her grandfather in her mind and she just kept on shooting. She froze and emptied the gun.  She got away for 3 years. But when the mastermind wouldn’t pay up, Slick went to collect and the mastermind called the police and said Slick was trying to extort money from her. So, Slick said, “I have a story to tell you.” And she did. Slick got life and the mastermind got 3 years.  Slick is now in her 18^th year of prison and regrets every day the taking of a life. She tells anyone who asks about her crime, that she was wrong and deserves prison. That was why she had to tell the truth. Being free then, wasn’t freedom at all.  It was torture. Slick was the best roommate I had during my whole incarceration.

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Big Bird was another room-mate that was certainly hellish.  I’d known Big Bird for over ten years from another institution we’d lived in together before we eventually became roommates.  Ten years ago, she was funny, smart, worked like a dog and  was honest.  At that time she was on medication treatment for schizophrenia, taking Halcyon and something else. I forgot what.  Anyway, years later after I’d moved to another institution and she came back to prison for her 3^rd or 4^th trip, she became my roommate because no one else would take her. We were living in a pre transitional dorm then, kind of like an honor dorm. I was voted the dorm representative and told the counselor since I’d known Big Bird before and we’d been friends, I felt comfortable with having her in my room. Now we were sharing a two person room.  I then learned that Big Bird has refused her medication for 6 months because she didn’t want to walk to medical to get it. It was about a mile and a half walk to medical and back from our dorm.

She didn’t have any money so I shared my store-bought foods with her. I paid her in food to clean the room and the floor. I tried to clean the room prior to our arrangement only to find her cleaning over everything I’d previously done. So, my cleaning was moot. I was wasting my time cleaning, for sure.

She was very predictable. Everything had a schedule from which there was no deviating. She would become very angry if things just happen to alter her schedule or delay her at any time. I learned her schedule and tried to work around her. Finally, one evening I had made some cherry kool-aid and had given her some lemonade. She wanted the cherry kool-aid, but I didn’t have enough left to give her. I went to eat dinner, she stayed behind. When I came back I took my cup and drank my kool-aid, which I noticed had a slimy strange texture to it. It also tasted watered down. I poured the remainder down the toilet and forgot about it.  3:00 AM I awoke with such severe abdominal pains that I immediately heard in my spirit, “you’ve been poisoned”. I got down off the top buck and alerted the officer to my door. He opened it and I went downstairs with him to call medical. I was taken to medical and given a sort of gastric cocktail. My blood pressure was “through the roof” because of the pain. The nurses asked me if I drank glass cleaner, because they said, that’s what the men did to get high”. I assured them I had not, nor would I ever do that.  Then they asked me who my roommate was. When I told them they collectively said, “No wonder, she’s done this before. But we can’t prove it”. I was shocked that Big Bird would do this to me. And I didn’t want to believe it. But I knew it was true.

When I came back the next morning she asked me what the doctors said. I told her they said it was my gallbladder. She laughed hysterically, which I thought bizarre.  I then proceeded to speak to the counselor and then finally the deputy warden of security who moved me immediately. After I moved to a different room. Big Bird became even worse, because now her money flow was gone and she tried to terrorize me. Big Bird wanted to fight me. I had been feeling the violence emanating from her, even while I was sleeping in the room with her. One night the feeling was so menacing, I slept with headphones on listening to the Fish Station. I knew the songs of prayers and praises to God floating through the air would keep me safe. During the night Big Bird got up and used the bathroom. I heard the toilet flush then snap, off went my radio. By now she was back in bed. She moved around so silently and fast like she was always in the defensive mode. Anyway, I got up checked the plug for my radio. It was connected to an adapter because the batteries burned out so fast. The adapter was plugged in over the sink, under the push button flourescent light. The plug was still plugged in. I couldn’t figure out what happened to my radio. I took the adapter out of the wall and looked at it. There on the side where the voltage is controlled, was pushed to the maximum voltage. That’s what shut off my radio. She did that thinking to burn out my cd/radio player, which cost $60.00.  I went back to bed. But I was so mad I had broken blood vessels in my eyes the next morning. When she got up I said, “Listen, I realize you thought that I had fallen asleep with my headphones on and you were trying to help me by turning off my radio. But next time, please just pull the plug out of the wall if it’s bothering you”.  She freaked out and started screaming, “I didn’t touch your radio!” I said, “Look, no one else was here at 3:00 AM to do it. I heard you flush the toilet and then the radio turned off”. She started crying hysterically, “I don’t remember anything, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”.  I knew her cyclical sickness was worsening. I knew she wanted to hurt me.  But there was no way on earth I was going to fight anyone in prison and then be known as “violent”, no way. Once a person starts to fight in prison, they have to keep fighting. I didn’t have the energy for that crap. Nor was I in condition. My brother and I took Karate when we were little. The one and only time I used it in 8th grade,  was at Sutton Middle School, formerly Dykes High School. One day as I was coming out of the gym a guy grabbed my arm and held it behind my back while he was forcing me down the hill  back behind the building. Knowing the first key to the upper hand was to get my opponent off-balance, I took an extra giant step forward, he faltered, I jabbed him in the esophagus then back kicked him in the groin. I was freed from his hold and I ran away. Problem was I never got to see his face. The rest of the school year I walked around in terror of an unknown assailant.

In prison, I remembered my karate lessons, but never wanted to use it, nor did I want anyone to know that I still might be able to.  I wasn’t a fighter.

She was called Big Bird because she was 6’3” and had flaming red curly long hair and a huge nose like a toucan bird. Thus; Big Bird.  She was finally moved to in the lockdown building to live until her sentence expired. At this point in her sentence she could not be granted parole because she’d violated her parole on several previous occasions. She had to “Max out”. Her sentence was for child molestation of her 3-year-old daughter   for which she was sentenced to 20 years, I think. On  her earlier  prison sentences she was granted parole. But the laws had changed and child molestation charges were tightened, so that after so many violations, parole was not a legal option. Now, if she does something else, not even related to a sex crime, and comes back to prison, she can be given 30 years, then the next time, life.

Big Bird was another bad roommate example I had endured. There were many more, but for much shorter durations. I wondered why the fates were doing this to me. It was one bad  roommate after another, 6-8 week intervals, for about 3 years. What in the world was useful about enduring them, I couldn’t imagine. To me it was just more hard time. Another thrust before I could go home.

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2 Responses to Big Bird in Prison (7) By Edna Merle

What is the defining line between evil and sickness?

1. ednamerle says:

July 16, 2010 at 11:45 am (Edit)

It is said that sickness is from evil. Not necessarily because the person is intentionally evil, but that person maybe hasn’t found the truth. which in my case granted me freedom from depression and drug addiction by the belief and acceptance of Christ.

Also, I believe that when a person schemes all day on how to hurt other people to make themselves feel good, and they devise the most heinous plans to do so, may have an incredibly high IQ, but are sociopath at the same time. In my opinion these are the most dangerous people.

One of the first signs of mental illness is self absorption. The Bible teaches people how to be the opposite of self absorbed; to have compassion for others and to give from your heart, even when you don’t have much. It is in doing this that God grants to us more blessings. So we’re rewarded for our love and obedience, which precipitates more giving.

The feeling of walking on the correct path is very encouraging. If I’m rewarded from Heaven, then I have confirmation that I’m OK, and that I’m staying on the path God has for me and that’s my aim in life.

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Actual confinement wasn’t as bad as is the part about who you’re confined with. That’s the bad part of prison. For example, I’ll just call her Trunkwoman.  Trunkwoman was in the first year of her sentence, convicted of a heinous crime  serving two life sentences without parole.  I was in my 12 year of prison. We lived in an “honor” dorm then, and the theory was that if you lived in the “honor” dorm you were honorable, safe and most assuredly not violent. Well, Trunkwoman would walk around the room and the dorm saying that she was leaving to go home by the summer, which was then only 4 months away. When the 4 month came and went, she became more and more difficult to live with. She refused to wash her blankets or sheets, (and since she slept below me, this made me increasingly uncomfortable). I began to notice flies and gnats flying from her locker into the room and most of the time would settle on her bed. I discovered her eating fried chicken in bed at 2:00 in the morning one night. I knew we’d had (what they called) oven fried chicken 3 nights prior, and I thought, oh my she’s going to kill herself by eating that old bad chicken. So the next day I discussed it with the other room mates who then informed me that Trunkwoman had been paying someone to bring her “free world food” weekly. That’s why the bugs loved her locker and her bed.

Trunkwoman had previously run every roommate she’d had, that slept above her, out of the room. Generally they were gone within a week. I wasn’t leaving, she was.  Though I didn’t want to get into an altercation with trunkwoman it was only with the grace of God that I didn’t lose my mind. Trunkwoman would use her bed as a launching pad from which she’d propel herself onto her feet, landing in the middle of the room. When she did this, the bunk bed frame would jerk violently and even shift the entire bed from its designated spot. The worst part was when she’d come in for a landing; she’d throw herself into a lying down position, from her formerly standing one. Bizarre. She said it was easier on her body to do this. And saved her time…Well, I could have said some real mean things to her at that point about saving time, but I never did. It was hard though at times restraining myself. But the more she knew things bothered you, the more she’d do them, while praising God.  That made me  mad. Living with Trunkwoman was doing hard time.

Finally, she began using tissues to touch the television or door handles in the room, as she was afraid of other people’s germs. We had two other roommates at that time, in the room and we all knew Trunkwoman was not a sane individual.  When she used the bathroom (for both purposes) she did it standing  and  not ever touching the stainless steel rim with any part of her skin. We knew then that things had gone to a new level of sickness.  When she was finished she’d use a dirty rag and a jar of old reused chemicals she kept by the toilet. Then the prison increased the population. They removed the TV and table and chairs and installed  another bunk bed. Now we had 8 people that shared a bathroom with two stalls. She used the same one each time, thank God. But that meant no one else used hers, so we had 7 people sharing one toilet. When we would complain, they would tell us we could move. We showed the officers and counselors her toilet,  they’d acknowledge it, commiserate with us and do nothing.

Things progressed to a violent phase when Trunkwoman proceeded to open our room door by kicking it with such  force that the handle began taking chunks of concrete out of the wall with each violent thrust. Several times people were almost hit by the door being kicked open, which made Trunkwoman laugh uproariously.  She professed to be a Christian yet had  psychotic tendencies. I believed her to be insane or in shock or both.

We called her Trunkwoman, never to her face, because she killed a man for his money so she and a boyfriend could by some drugs. She kept the dead man in the trunk of her car for so long that the smell is what alerted others to the crime. Trunkwoman would pace the room we lived in as if trying to get away from something chasing her. Then she’d stop, look at me and yell, “I can’t get the smell of blood out of my nose”!  That was hard living. I often thought she was going to say something else. But it was always about smelling blood.

Because I’d been a special education teacher’s aide in prison for several years, I could tell that whatever illness Trunkwoman had, went in cycles and was getting worse. I wrote a letter to the Director of Mental Health describing the situation and asking if he perhaps thought an evaluation might help her. He came and she was told that I wrote a letter about her. God protected me then too, because she was extremely angry at me for that.

Then one day her locker was hit in a random shakedown. They do this all day long every day in the prison. No one knows who’s locker is going to be searched or when. I’ve been hit 5 times in a week before. When the officer started pulling out a stash of empty chip bags, she had questions. Why are you keeping these? The truth was that Trunkwoman would take a potato chip bag in her pocket to meet the person who was bringing her in food. She’d put the food in her chip bag and carry it back to the room.  I never remember an officer stopping anyone to look into their chip bags or cookie bags. So that worked for her.

When the officer pulled out a cup with bleach in it, is when the problems began. The officer said what’s this? Water, Trunkwoman said. Clearly the officer could smell it was bleach and wrote a disciplinary for lying and another for possession of bleach. Bleach was given out on a daily basis to clean with. Never is one allowed to keep any chemicals in their locker. It’s too dangerous with unpredictable people. When Trunkwoman tried to pour out the cup of bleach, she got another charge against her. Then after the officer put everything in the officer’s station, trunkwoman ran in there and tried to grab the cup of bleach one last time.

The officer finally had had enough and called for CERT (Correctional emergency response team) to come and take her to lockdown.

Finally she was transferred to a maximum security prison after her insanities came to be seen by more than just her room mates and her closed security status made it mandatory.

Closed security it the highest security one could have. It basically means that the person is deemed to dangerous to be trusted in anywhere but a maximum security prison. Or they have life without parole, or the death penalty.  We were in a minimum security prison. Trunkwoman was definitely in the wrong prison.

After she left the entire dorm breathed an audible sigh of relief.

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One Response to In Prison with Trunkwoman (6) By Edna Merle

1. Susan Asher says:

July 6, 2010 at 3:31 am (Edit)

Please keep telling us more stories like this about what it was like in prison. I’d love for that part of the story to go on and on, starting with your first day on through your last. Thanks for these wonderful stories. Keep ‘em coming. You could get published with these stories.

All day long I had  felt that something was very wrong. It was with me while at work and stayed with me even after mom picked me up from work. I didn’t know what it was but I suddenly had a knowing that something was wrong with Jan Cordele and I told mom. She said call him. I said,”No” because I didn’t want to be presumptuous. Then as it got later the feeling became stronger and again I told mom. She said a little more strongly call him. Finally, I did. I almost hung up when he didn’t answer directly, thinking that maybe he had gone to bed. It was almost 1o:00 PM.  Just as I was about to hang up a faint voice I could barely hear said hello. It was Jan and he didn’t sound well at all.  I said pretty much right off the bat: Look Jan, I don’t know what’s wrong over there but I feel something awful has happened to you and it’s worried me all damn day long. And I just want you to know that I care about you. Always have, and I hope you’re ok.  Silence. Oh hell, I thought, what have I done. He’s thinking whatever the hell is she talking about. Or, how dare her say something’s wrong with me. who does she think she is. But he said none of those things. Then I realized that as I’d said how I felt about caring for him, I suddenly had an in-love, heart palpitating, fireworks explosive feeling, coursing through my body. This was an entirely new sensation for me.  Not just because of the last 14 years in prison but I’d never had a relationship with a man as a drug free adult, ever. Nor had I ever truly been in love.  What he did say was that for some reason he wasn’t exactly clear about, I had suddenly become an important person in his life and that he was coming over tomorrow to discuss it.

Oh, he was coming over tomorrow!  What was he going to do and say? I was terrified, really scared. I tried to imagine being kissed and touched. But I couldn’t let my thoughts go there. I turned red with embarrassment in a room alone, with just those thoughts. So, I ran and told mom. By now it’s probably after 11:00 PM and mom was in bed. She said, “So, he’ll come over and you’ll make him a nice lunch”.  Stunned at her coolness I just shook my head. She said “what, you don’t want him to come over?”  I said, “no, what or how will I make lunch?”

In prison you eat with what is called a spork. It is a plastic spoon with 4 – 1/8 ” tines on the end. Thus, the name spork. They are very light and disposable. All dinner ware is made of plastic as well as are drinking cups and glasses. So, imagine after 14 years how heavy an actual fork felt in my hand, how heavy and dangerous was a glass! Glasses were so heavy to me that I felt in danger of putting one down a little too hard on the glass dining table at mom’s house. I was very self-conscious of this handling of flatware that I dreaded dinner time with any guests. I had caught the attention of everyone at the table when I put down my fork or knife with a crash. Or people would look at my funny when I picked up a glass of ice tea. It was so heavy, I had to be so careful in bringing it to my mouth. At times I wondered why I never noticed in my earlier life that glasses and dishes are heavy. Though it was exhausting at first, muscle has memory and I recovered quickly.

Now things were happening very fast. My thoughts couldn’t keep up with the feelings in my heart. And this I did not understand. I don’t think I slept at all that night. But the next day when he came, oh my God!

I was in the garage with the garage door open. He got out of his SUV. I didn’t know how to stand there and be cool. I was so nervous I was shuffling from one foot to the other, feeling very stupid and embarrassed, holding my hands in front of me, then, behind my back. He came towards me and I backed up. I was smiling but he had a different look on his face. It was love infused with amazing need that he grabbed me and started kissing me. I mean really kissing me, like I’d never been kissed before.  By now I’m up against the garage wall and suddenly I felt like I’d done this before and knew again just what to do. I opened the door and with our arms still around each other made it into the hallway. Thank God mom wasn’t home. We stayed in the hallway kissing and kissing and I’m climbing the wall or trying to become taller so I’m going up on my toes and I’m feeling like I’m queen of the whole world and I want this man now!  But we just couldn’t do that yet….not that we didn’t want to.

God has done so much for me during my prison time. He supernaturally healed me of injuries, cysts, and illness.   I’d witnessed also the same that God did in the lives of others there. He kept me safe from any kinds of danger. And of that there was plenty. He blessed me over and over so much that I could never not worship the God who saved and helped me and who continues to help me today. So, I didn’t want to have sex outside of marriage. But I didn’t want to get married. This was not good. At the same time Jan was on heavy duty blood pressure meds for 6 months to regulate his blood pressure. During which time the doctors told him it would affect his ability to have sex, but then later he’d be fine. He had about 4 weeks to go.  What a relief we don’t have to worry about being disobedient to God! I was thrilled. I didn’t know what was going to happen after that, but for the time everything was falling into perfect place.

I was living with my mother in Jonesboro and Jan was living in Stone Mountain. It was a hike for Jan to visit me. But day after day he came over and stayed far into the night. Then he’d drive home. I worried about his falling asleep while driving. But he said he was too happy to fall asleep unless it was in my arms.

Days and days went by like this with him coming over until the day came when he said he had a project and it required a lot of computer work late into the night then he’d have to get up early and go to where the production was. And that he couldn’t come over until he got a break which would be about 5 days or so. I thought he was tired of me. We emailed each other our feelings, longings and more. At night even without Jan being there with me after reading his beautiful email poetry I’d felt as if I’d been physically made love to. When I awoke the next morning I’d felt as if Jan had been sleeping by my side. I felt that he was with me and it made me very happy. Though I missed seeing and touching him.

Finally Jan called and said I can’t stay away from you, it’s too painful. I’m coming over tonight. I was very glad. I noticed that I too did indeed feel a physical pain because I missed him and needed him near me. Now I understood the song Love Hurts.

I realized then it wasn’t the physical act of making love that hurt it was the heart that ached with love that was painful. But it hurt soooo good!

So he came over and we lounged around in my room talking and touching. I felt like a teenager. At one point we had all our clothes off and were exploring each other when mom knocked on the door. Jan flew off the bed and tried to hide himself in the closet which was impossible because it is so narrow. But he looked so funny standing right in front of my clothes with, oh my, the doctors were wrong!  It does work! Look Jan, I yelled and pointing at it while trying to help hide him from my mother, who was still on the other side of the door, I later found out, laughing silently! When I did finally open the door and asked her “what?”  she said some nonsensical thing. It was just a ploy to mess with us. That night, mom told Jan while I was in the shower that he could just spend the night since it was such a long drive back.  I assumed she meant he could sleep on the couch, when she said, “and you’re not sleeping on the couch”!  I said, “then I’ll sleep on the couch”. Mom said, “I don’t like people sleeping on my couch”. I was so embarrassed. I told Jan that I didn’t think I could sleep all night in the same bed with someone. It was only a double bed. And it was so hot in that month of August. I couldn’t have slept with a nightgown on even if I’d wanted to. But mom had a thing about messing with us. I was almost asleep and Jan was, the lights were out, when she knocked again. I was against the wall and scooted down to the end of the bed to reach for my robe when my elbow slammed into the corner of a table and I yelled out “ow”! I knew mom was again enjoying herself immensely on the other side of that door. And again, she didn’t want anything but to tell us a certain show was on TV. Darn her I thought, with a smile on my face. She had told me once before I went to prison that she lives vicariously through me. Yes, she was having a real good time now.

When I awoke the next morning I was shocked that I had stayed in the same bed all night with Jan, and had actually slept a very sound and peaceful sleep.  I felt so much love.

The following is the email I sent to him the day of our first kiss:

Dear Jan:                                             Aug. 30, 2009

Knowing I hadn’t been touched, much less kissed in over 14 years made me afraid of when that time would come. It came today.  And as you witnesses the combination of so many feelings occurring at the same time within me, was written all over my face. My overwhelmed and heightened awareness and intense desire for you , and the comfort of your hands, your lips and your body against mine, made me feel more that right.

My body seems to be calling for you. And even now I feel tingling in the secret places we have only thought of, but have awakened in a savage way today. I’m pulsating with joy and happiness that you are going to be my lover. I pray that I will give back to you the love you radiate towards me and that you are happy in this, your new life going forward, even as my own is.

Then Jan wrote me back:

Edna:                                 Aug. 31, 2009

Your body is calling to me and I am so damn frustrated that a certain peice of my anatomy cannot respond. Driving home I thought of just calling the doctors and saying that I was stopping the pills. My blood pressure is OK now, even though I felt it rising in your presence. But why stop the pills now that I’m so close to the end of them? You said it was probably the best thing that we would have to wait. But now, after holding you and touching you and kissing you, it is an eternity ahead of us.

You felt so right to me…You feel so right to me. I hope you know that I have fallen in love with you. Rather that toss and turn last night, I went to sleep with your taste on my tongue, your touch on my chest, your smile in my eyes. I think I slept in your love. It was so comforting. I wanted you to be there when I woke up so we could talk and kiss. You make me feel like a teenager who has fallen in love for the first time.

So now I have work and can’t seem to find my focus. Look what you’ve done to me! I’ll have to stop thinking of you, from your beautiful face to your tiny red toenail. But your are there, at every turn in my brain. Yes, I am unasshamedly happy. I do feel that you are the next chapter in my life. It will be fun and amazing to watch this chapter  written by the hand of God. I think He has good plans for us. So just pray for my body to heal so that we might enjoy the fullness of our love.

Thank you for the great abundance of love you have shown me in a very short time. I just can’t wait.

Love, Jan

“Oh Lord, help me”, I prayed, because I couldn’t wait either.

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4 Responses to Our First Kiss (5) By Edna Merle

If your Mom was so hip why didn’t she just say hey we’re all adults here, just spend the night. That would have been way too cool.

• ednamerle says:

July 5, 2010 at 10:43 pm (Edit)

Well, she did ask him to spend the night. Only I felt like a stupid teenager among two adults.

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I love the blog. Your comments about using a glass and silverware were so fascinating. Also the observations of how technology had changed so much while you were incarcerated. I appreciate your view of our world as seen in ways as an outsider. You mentioned God a few times. How does he play in this? Did ya know him before prison or as a result, or after?

1. ednamerle says:

July 5, 2010 at 10:49 pm (Edit)

I knew God was the all powerful one ever since I was a child. I knew nothing about Jesus or the Bible. In prison I read the Old and New Testament cover to cover several times. I still see new things every time I open it. I learned in prison about the Holy Spirit, who enlightens my mind and teaches me daily. I’ve learned that God is utterly awesome and that there are not enough glorious words to describe him, even adequately. I know that God restored my mind from one of major depression and the sickness of drug addiction to realizing a hope of goodness and mercy in this life. And I am so thankful every day that there is a plan for my life. My husband and I pray daily that we are walking within God’s plan for our lives.

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