A/N: Poll regarding your leanings concerning 22nd Century gizmos is now on my author's page. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 11

Disclaimer: I neither own PotF nor live in the Pickford city limits ...

... except in my mind.

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Familiarity doesn't breed contempt or boredom, it creates comfort and security.

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The F-Word – Chapter Eleven – "In the Fortunate Light of Truth"

or

"Phil and Keely's Big Day Out"

or

"The Seven-Year Itch, part deux"

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... Suggested by Jul ...

... Faux Pas hunted down and killed by Jul and okaie ...

... being posted at last thanks to okaie's efforts ...

Then, a presence was felt by the couple simultaneously. There was someone there. The CC~C? Had they spoiled all their plans only to be discovered on his first day out? There were certainly enough cameras at a mall. A throat was embarrassingly cleared fifteen feet away from them, and though Keely's neck twitched, terror gripped her and prevented her from turning to face this unknown.

"Which one?"

"Pardon?" Keely replied, trying to sound innocent, but failing.

A little louder this time, "You said 'one' of the F-words. Which one?"

She looked at the girl. She was the same one, the only one who had addressed him during the entire interview. She was scrawny, like she had not eaten properly for some time, trying to remain skinnier than she should have. Her clothes were dark and fashionable, her hair? 'Daring' and 'Inventive' would be the polite terms to pick. Cosmetics? Skillfully practiced, maybe too much so, perhaps to hide behind. In summary, she was the girl Keely Teslow could have easily been on the path to becoming before Phil entered her life. This girl didn't know, let alone have, such a love, but she knew that she had a need. After all, she was the only one who came back to learn more.

"Lady?"

"Sorry. Senior moment." I hate being called "lady. It makes me feel so old. I'm only 23. She's, what, fifteen? My age when Phil's family was taken back to the future! What would my heart have turned into if I had lost him then? "Which one? Oh, 'Love.'" Keely took his other hand. This did not go unrecognized by the youth, so she let Keely's spelling error slide.

"How long have you two --"

"Nine --"

Abruptly, "Nine weeks? That's nothing. Oh, you don't know nothing. They're all the same at the beginning. They play the game until they get what they want, then they play their games to keep you down, on a leash, take away your soul, cost you your ..."

For the young woman, Keely's heart wept, for her and for young women everywhere who'd been treated so that the definition for "Love" was so diluted as to become just another four-lettered word. She felt her pain, the multiple assaults of her spirit, open, nerves screaming in exposed wounds that were so plainly visible, but she wouldn't let it suffocate her from a response.

"Years. Nine years." That wasn't true, but how could such a casualty from Love comprehend "Forever?" Nine years; still might as well be forever in her ability to understand what she was saying; better than trying to explain two years as best friends plus seven more as best friends and better.

The orator's rant ceased and her eyes grew wide. Her voice choked on the single word, "Years?" She studied the couple, their ease in each other's presence, their body language, their hands, and a smile formed in her mind, she'd never show it of course, but she believed them. They weren't putting on an act for her, themselves or anyone else. They were in love nine years. Nine years. Nine years and still intensely permeated in love; they actually appeared to run off the stuff. Her friends, her family, they were all wrong – it was possible. Try as she might, she couldn't dismiss the evidence before her. No illusion, this couple was real. They had attained "IT."

"How?"

They both just grew smiles, but said nothing. Their witness first was patient, waiting for either to speak and somehow expecting both to complete one another's sentences. When nothing transpired, she became upset. Here she had gone and recognized a couple with the secret, as far as she was concerned it was the secret to immortality. Isn't that what being happy from now on is? This couple had that and this was really living, while what she was doing passed for anything, but. Yes, she wanted what they had, but they weren't telling. Anyone watching the teen's face could practically read her thoughts from it:

Anger fought it's way to the surface, reddening my face; somehow I fought it down. No way I could let this go, but I couldn't blow this either; it might never come again. Everyone hopes to win the lottery's jackpot. Sure, a few win a couple of bucks, but how many real grand prize winners? What were the odds of actually running into the lucky winners here in the Pickford Plaza? What was that old saying about opportunity knocking? I'd ask again, politely; maybe they hadn't heard me.

"How can I have what you have?" I spoke with just hints of it being both an order and a plea.

He looked up first, but she spoke, recognizing the hunger in this too familiar version of herself. "You know that boy, the one that you can talk to about anything, the one who really listens?"

"There's no one like that for me."

"He's out there. Find him. Spend as much time as you can getting to know him and doing likewise. With a little luck, you'll become friends, perhaps even best friends, and there's nothing, noth-thing, as sexy as being in love with your best friend. It will go from warm fuzziness, to being complicated, and finally, if you take the chance, it'll consume you from your eyelashes to your very core."

Her own feeling of worthlessness viciously leapt out, "Easy for you to say, look at you, I'm ..."

He spoke at last. Not waiting for her to run out of insults or breath, he spoke without offering any signals that he was going to interrupt her. It was the warmest, most reassuring instruction that she had ever received. Nothing like the way her gorgeous boyfriend ordered her to do stuff, not even like any manner her parents had ever employed. "Close your eyes."

She hesitated only a couple of heartbeats, then, in the middle of the Pickford Plaza, she did as he asked, not even taking the time to feel self-conscious and silly, let alone question or challenge his direction. He continued with a voice that was both warm and strong, "Picture your ideal man speaking to you in the dark, just talking to you and you to him; nothing more than voices. Take a moment." Leaving her to that exercise of self-indulgence for a sustained pause, he then continued. "Did you notice things about yourself? How it's the most comfortable that you've ever felt, the most trusting, the safest? There's no place else you'd ever want to leave it for. Your heart is totally exposed, your guard isn't just down, it's nonexistent. Here's the secret: that's precisely how he feels about you, too. Perfection. Togetherness. Love. How could he not love you with all his being? How could he not want to be with you and share a future?"

"It won't last. It can't. Men get tired of monogamy and there'll always be new women around younger and prettier than --"

"No, that'll never ever happen; mathematically impossible. You're now his standard for beauty and perfection. Everyone else, no matter how closely they resemble you, will always and forever be too tall, too shy, too loud, not heavy enough, their feet will lack your size, sad creatures having corners of the mouth sitting the wrong way, they'll be overly graceful when they dance, too aggressive, too polite, not old enough, too tan, short of wrinkles ... just plain wrong. They'll never measure up and he won't bother trying. Instead, he'll pity them their shortcomings, and wish them well, but that's it." The man gave his bride's hand a little jiggle, "He wants you. He needs you, he'll only take account of the person you are each day – perfection redefined. He'll spend every day reminding you you're wondrous so you won't forget either, that he's amazed at how special you are, and how he still can't believe his luck. He won't have to put you on a pedestal, but he still finds you lighting up the room when you enter, and deadening the very air when you depart. It'll be the hardest truth that you'll ever have to accept: He loves you just for being you. You see, you're always in his thoughts. You're the one he wants to share everything new with, everything with; and when he realizes that, then he'll know that you're the one that he's in love with and always will be."

Her eyes were still closed, so she wasn't aware that the man had long already shift his gaze from her to his love. When he didn't continue, she peeked out of her right eye. There they were with their fingers curling together like twin hooking clasps, with just a little shake to them from the tension that they both were exerting. Realizing that she could be seeing the same image fifty years from now, a sigh escaped her. There they were, inhaling one another's kisses. They moved when they looked up at their audience, and a reflection from the woman's wedding ring caught the girl's sight. It was a beautiful ring. She looked to the man's left hand and found it naked.

Nearly reflexive, her eyebrows raised, then she looked to Keely. Keely understood completely and shot her a smile. It wasn't a "that's the price you pay"-type smile, nor a "I don't want to talk about it"-smile; no, this was her "he doesn't wear a ring smile. Phil was hers, possibly more than any man had ever belong to a woman, a wife. Faithful, he had never given her cause to consider otherwise, even before he went Lilliputian for seven years, and she knew Phil never would.

But one eyebrow just wouldn't go back down and the owner wouldn't relax completely either. Again, Keels understood: girl talk; no boys allowed.

"Honey, why don't you stretch your legs, do some more window shopping, maybe see if there's something good playing at the movies?"

Phil really didn't want to go, to be on his own, alone, in a big, scary mall filled with strangers, but he read his wife's messages without words better than most husbands. A quick kiss from Keely and he gave them their privacy.

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The young inquisitor took up the seat Phil had left warm, took just a moment to get comfortable, then resumed her interrogation.

"Nice wedding ring."

"Thank you," Keely beamed about this for the first time in public.

"He doesn't wear one ... on his finger ... I noticed. Does he fool around much?"

"Oh, yes. Constantly ..." A sour face frowned back at her. "... but only with me." Keels grinned and added, "He's truly incorrigible," then blushed despite her best attempts not to. She just couldn't help it.

"So the secret is to be lucky like you and find the perfect man?"

"Perfection is overrated, and, no, he's not perfect. Neither am I, but he loves me anyway. Amazing, huh? Because of love, anything either of us does is something that we both benefit from – it's not work, and it's not a matter of splitting the work 50/50 so each does their fair share. It's about doing what has to be done, then doing what needs to be done to make things even better."

"Huh?"

"We made breakfast this morning. I made waffles while he picked fresh fruit for juice. That had to be done to make breakfast what it was. He didn't have to bring flowers for the table, but he felt a need to make the morning special. The flowers didn't make the waffles taste better or be more nutritious, but those simple daisies brightening the table did make breakfast nicer, more special for both of us -- not just him, nor me. Us.

So, I just need to find a guy and love him hard enough to make him into a good man? I've tried that. I do everything that he tells me to and he still hits me.

That's because you're stupid. Don't give me that look, like you've never heard that before. You're smart enough to see that he's not in love with you and that he's never really going to change. Why should he if he doesn't value you?

So, --?

So, find a boy who does listen, does care and does respect you. He doesn't have to be perfect, but that's the one who will change because your happiness is paramount in his life. You don't have to live high on a pedestal, but it sure is nice to have someone who worships the ground that you walk on.

How'd you change him then?

Oh, lots of little things.

Come on, give me a freebie! Something that I can use to get started. Please?

A quick look around to see if anyone is listening, then she whispers, "Chick flicks. Share a movie night and get him to watch as many of those as you can."

Are you joking? Gag! Even I don't like those. Give me horror cinema any night.

"Fine, don't take my counsel, but answer me this: would you rather learn something in school next week from a textbook, or watch a video in school?" It was a no brainer question. "So, you can learn easily from just watching a video. Now ask yourself what your boyfriend is going to learn from that horror flick about listening to you, treating you, and respecting you. Mega-zilch, but a romance DVD, that's completely different. Ninety minutes of sensitivity training without his even knowing it." She winked and the girl's eyes went a little wider. This old lady was slier than she let on. She liked that.

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"Now, let's go find my husband," Keely announced, signaling to her youthful investigator that this interview is now over. Now, where would Phil go to on his initial return to civilization, a mall? Okay, she didn't really think of malls that way anymore, but still ...

Keely's young pupil refused to disengage, and instead peppered the mother-to-be with question after question as they searched for Phil's whereabouts.

"After so many years (makes Keels feel old), don't you run out of things to say?

"Sometimes, but those are times that we can always use our lips for something besides talking."

Unable to shake her teenager-in-tow, Keely and her conjoined twin checked out Loose Soil, a trendy gardening shop, figuring that her green-thumbed spouse would likely be there. Not in the hydroponics section, not at the genetically engineered seed rack, no, Phil wasn't even among the organic manure sacks at the outside entrance to the store. How about ...?

"I'm sorry, you'll just have to listen from out here." There's just no more room in the store, " replied the junior assistant store manager.

Concentrating on looking for her Phil, Keely didn't think about listening for him. Christmas crowds in the mall are one thing, but this crowd wasn't moving; it was congealing. Already there were shoppers piling up behind Keely, eager to get a closer listen to what was spewing out of the entryway of Pickford Pianos. Inside was commotion of the musical sort, all the product of a single musician, playing both a synthesizer and the drums. Only half-impressed by this, Keely half-smiles. As his only audience, she's listened to Phil jam much harder than this on his Fybel; still, drums and piano at the same time ... Keely just watches him and smiles. There he is, surrounded by strangers, on his first day out. It was like watching a child go to school for the first time. Filled with pride, she nonetheless resisted the urge to capture a video of this with her camera.

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Walking home, I muse aloud to him, "We really are lucky, aren't we, to have found one another? He just continues walking. Did he hear me, is he brooding, mad, reflective, what? Maybe his feet hurt. He's not used to wearing shoes. His left biceps, I capture them with my right and give them a squeeze. He squeezes back, but that's all. We keep heading back home. "Wanna stop for ice cream?" He shakes his head. He's not in a communicating mood.

"I don't think that I'm ready for this, Keels; this going out into the world. Maybe in a few months."

She looks him straight in the eyes, and sees him quivering. "Always my hero – remember that. We just took on too much today. Your first trip out was bound to be overwhelming, and to a mall, no less. Tomorrow, --"

"I mean it." For support, he stops and leans against the trunk of a dusty green sedan parked on the street. "I can't do this yet. It's just too hard. I'm used to being in control at home, but out here it's, it's CHAOS!"

Leaving the sidewalk, she crosses the strip of grass to stand away five feet facing him, just out of arms' length, to take stock of the situation:

Phil fell off the horse today and he's even paler than usual now.

I can't expect too much from him too fast. As much as we've dreamed of this day, I gotta remember what he's been doing for the last seven years with only me as his occasional and solitary contact with the human race. Basically, he's been in prison and just like that story I did on former inmates trying to fit back into a noninstitutionalized, nonregitmented world, he's without his bearings. Sure, he drove a skyak for years, but he only drove a car a little while and that was almost a third of his life ago. Baby steps.

"Chestnut, I'd be the happiest woman in the world to keep things as they are, keeping you safe and to myself, but that's no life for our daughter. She deserves to grown up, have friends, meet that special boy and grow up to be as happy as her mom and dad. She can't do that in a sock drawer. It's not going to be just about us anymore, we need to put her needs first." Come on, Pal, I believe in you! Come on!

No sigh, no straining, he just pushed away from the trunk and walked away from me down the street. He didn't even look back. After a half-dozen steps, he calmly said, "Are you coming or not? We've got a lot of work to do and less than seven months to get it all done." Then, he looked back and raised an eyebrow.

Yes, my hero. I claim him. All mine. Swinging our hands together, I start laying out my plans for the next day's outing, "For tomorrow, I'm thinking about a picnic. Now, the beach is nice. Lots of people, but no one really talks to anyone not sharing their beach blanket. Everyone's separated by invisible walls that seem to compartmentalize the multitude of beach blankets scattered across the sand. This way, there'll be people around, but you'll only have to talk to me." Or, we could go back to the park. But there was that birthday party sign. Come on! There's always --"

"Your backyard. Sunshine, fresh air, noises from the surrounding neighborhood, yet tranquil, peaceful, intimate. A good first step, well, second step, into the real world. What do you think?"

Without people about, not what I had really hoped for. Still, maybe I was pushing him too fast. And then there was the incident at the mall today. Maybe I took him there just to show him off to the world, or to show myself off? Hey Pickford, look! Stop the presses! Our lead story tonight: Keely Teslow is seen with a man at last. "Sure, it's a date." Compromise. It makes for a better marriage. Besides, Mom won't be home for another week.

Arms around one another's waists, she goes on and on with him saying nothing or just a sound of guttural agreement. She notices that he is reaching around her waist even more, making every bit of contact that he can as he deepens his one-armed embrace. Looking at him for the first time since the roundtable interrogation in the mall, she finds his face tracked with the paths of recent tears. Deep hug, deep, pit-of-the-being, energy transferring-styled smooching.

This has been an emotional experience for Phil, the equivalent of Keely's first virtugoggle trip – to a mall of all places. It would be easier for him to go back to living in the bureau, but she won't let him retreat. This is going to take time; maybe this was too intense today. For the first time, she realizes that it's not going to only be a matter of integrating him back into the public at large, but the other way around, as well. He never went out of his way to develop any friendships other than hers. He was cordial to her friends, their classmates, and anyone else he met, but if she wasn't involved, neither was he.

Fortunate. That's what they are. They have what can't be bought or sold, only realized, given, accepted, and hone. Made perfect.

"Nice girls."

"You think so?"

With a mischievous twinkle in Phil's eyes, he replied, "Well," smirk, "they did give me some interesting ideas for when we get home."

"Please, tell me that you're kidding."

They shared a practiced glance, each trying to read the other's face.

"I'm kidding."

She squeezes him again, but he stops walking and delves into her eyes promising, "Really, Keely, I'm kidding!"

"Good. Please don't joke like that again. I'm not ready for that kind of humor yet; hopefully never."

Keely composed herself, then remarked out of the blue in true Keely fashion, "The blonde had a nice piece of belly button jewelry, did you notice?"

"The emerald flower; what about it?"

"Well, you know that I like flowers and I thought ..."

"No. No, you don't. Don't even consider it. Haven't I been through enough today?"

"I was just kidding."

They continued to walk silently, taking turns smirking and glancing. Quite unexpectedly, she reached up and removed both of the earrings decorating her lobes, nonchalantly placing them on a weathered wooden gatepost without breaking their stride. He noticed. Ten, twenty, thirty-five steps ...

"Okay! Why'd you do that?"

"You have never liked me wearing earrings."

"I never said --"

"Yes, you did. I just didn't hear you. Sorry."

"When did I ever say --"

"What did you give me our first Christmas?"

"A sapphire pendant."

"My sixteenth birthday?"

"Sixteen silver bracelets."

"Our first anniversary?"

"Which one? Our 100-percent honesty compact? Our first kiss? The first time we officially dated? Our wedding shower? The first time we --"

"Our wet wedding."

Unconsciously choreographed, both of their left thumb tips reached over and rubbed the foundations of their ring fingers. Yes, they agreed after the fact that despite never making anything official in the public record, that was their wedding and they celebrated it as such. The wedding ring simplified the woman's having to deal with potential suitors vying for her attention, but it was just a prop to her. No one but them could feel the invisible, indestructible wedding bands that adorned their fingers. Not made out any futuristic element, containing neither inscriptions nor gems, these abstract garnishments would never be lost or tarnished, always fitting perfectly, and providing a reminder of promises made whose continuance need never be questioned.

"A lavender bathing suit, one-pieced, v-neckline, ..."

"Exactly. Notice a pattern?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Never have you given me earrings. Not a Valentine's Day, not a birthday, Christmas, anniversary, or just putting them under my pillow. You should have told me."

He opened his mouth to defend himself. Thinking better of it, he closed it. "Sorry."

So, I forgave him, "And you should be."

"Still friends?"

"The best. Still marry me?"

"You're right."

"Huh?"

"The blonde was kinda cute. Ow!"

"Wrong answer!"

"OW!"

"Nope, still wrong."

"OW! OW!! OW—I mean, Yes! Unequivocally YES!"

"Better, Montegue."

"Montegue?"

"You still need a new last name, and after that last remark, I think that you deserve 'Montegue.'"

"Hmm ... Phil Montegue ... Mrs. And Mr. Phil Montegue. Mrs. Keely Montegue. Didn't think of that, did ya?"

She kissed his "ring," "Well worth it. Like earrings."

"Exactly like earrings."

"It's not the earrings, is it?"

"Nope."

"It's the putting holes in my skin, isn't it."

"Yes, and it always will be. Selfish of me? It's just simply because I know a masterpiece when I see one. Adding piercings is like poking holes in an oil painting just to add earrings to it."

With that and a kiss, Phil picked Keely up in his arms and carried her back down the sidewalk toward their "little" home. His bride smiled, her face nuzzing his own, "My protector. (sigh) My prince. Back to the castle, Montegue!"

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A/N: One more chapter in the works. I'll be back until the day that Mandy Teslow's cats all start wearing earrings.

09/27/2009