He has been given a name. For over 30 years I have been pretend "married" to a fictitious man (albeit very sexy and handsome, around 50 I think, but ageless really) whom I never actually got around to naming. I mean, I figured his fictitious mum would have named him, but he really never speaks of her and when he does he's speaking in his native tongue of Scots Gaelic; I really can't understand much of what he says. He smiles a lot, and that's good enough. Naked Bearded Man, or NBM, has been in my dreams, in my mind, in my heart and in my writings for so long now that whenever anyone asks me who I'm in love with I usually say "My husband" because when I say "Naked Bearded Man" it tends to cause a little confusion.
Really, who I am in love with, or whether I am in love at all, is no one's damn business. I can be absolutely head over heels with someone and the only people who would really know are my three closest friends, my kids, my dog, and maybe those who read my blogs. I do tend to let most of my secrets out of the bag and into the Blogdom that is Jude's Almost Daily Blog. Today, and it really was just today, I have decided to give the man I've shared my bed with for the past 30 years a real name. Funny story, I was actually married 25 years ago, so for about five of the last years I was married the bed was a bit crowded with NBM being placed quite nicely between myself and my then husband. To say I preferred an imaginary friend is rather revealing; wouldn't you agree? Our relationship has lasted the test of time; the actual husband, not so much.
When I first conjured the man I wasn't sure what to do with him. I talked to him, took him with me on those long walks you take to get away from life. I held his hand. He remained silent for the most part, and just listened to my every complaint. He was there, just being there, and he was smiling. If he has done anything well, it is that he smiled throughout these many many years of our knowing one another. I don't smile anywhere near as often as he does. (Just so you know, his teeth are a little spaced; they're not perfect. There's even a chip on one of his bottom front teeth, but I've never asked him about it. I may do that.) His mouth is hidden in his whiskers and when he even slightly moves it I am melted. He holds a very strong grip and yet, he is tenderhearted, easy going, and always a gentle soul.
I needed to ask him questions, but I wasn't sure if I could accept his answers if they disagreed with my own. I gave him the language of my ancestors. He could say anything and I would fall deeper in love with him; the Scottish brogue is an amazing lullaby in an of itself. I'm actually learning the language now through an online program just so I can understand the man when he whispers to me at night; don't judge me. He's quite beautiful and he has not really aged that much come to think of it. I think he has a bit of grey showing in the beard these days. The fact that he is naked most of the time could be why I called him Naked Bearded Man for all these years, but giving him a good look over this morning, I can tell you, he hasn't aged much anywhere on his firm strong and ever so muscled body. He has needed to buy a larger kilt. I'll say that. He has become a bit rounded as time has passed.
Today I decided that enough was enough. He has been my go to, my best friend of the evening. He is never far from my side, always willing to carry on a conversation or just listen to me as I rant about the goings and comings of the day. He has never once asked me to name him. He has never once asked me to call him by his name. As I said earlier, I'm sure he has one, but I don't know it if he does. I created him to be my friend and sound board; over time he has become my invisible journal. I tell him everything and I think about what he would actually say to me if he were actually visual. He needs a name. I want to call him something other than "NBM" or my husband.
I thought about putting several folded up pieces of paper into a hat and literally drawing out a first and last name, but then again, he would need a middle name too. I didn't want to leave his name, which is something so dear and so intricate a part of who he is, up to chance. I looked at him. I held his hands and I stared into his deep grey eyes; eyes that both send me to the heavens and call me back to Earth. I asked him to whisper to me and to tell me what I should call him. He returned my stare with those amazingly soft and subtle eyes of his and so barely opened his mouth and said "My name is Craig Allan MacKenzie. It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance." I nearly died. What a perfect name for such a genuinely perfect man. He even said it in a clear enough tone that I fully understood him. That was a plus. He's been so patient.
So there you have it. Craig Allan MacKenzie, a Highlander who was born sometime after 1701, and fought with the Jacobites at Culloden in 1745. He's never told me exactly how it is that he's living now and in my time, but I suspect that it has something to do with a glitch in the system. He has had many opportunities to leave me, to return to the wilderness just north of Iverness, Scotland, but he has always been so very content to keep me company. I am absolutely grateful for his worthy companionship. I honestly don't know what I would have done many many times if he hadn't been there to calm me down and to assure me that the world is never what we think it is. It's so much grander on the other side. We'll find out some day I'm sure. Until that day, Craig and I have things to talk about. After 30+ years we are still very much together and really, it's been nice to not have to worry about sharing my life with anyone else. I'm good.
Bha thu ann nuair a bha feum agam ort, agus tha thu air fuireach còmhla rium, fìor charaid.Tha gràdh agam ort.
Something like this - - something very very close to this.
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