Vargtimmen (The Hour Of The Wolf)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters/actual persons contained in this story. No copyright infringment is intented and no judgement or assertion is implied regarding their personal lives, behavior or preferences. This is complete fiction and should be taken as such.


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Vargtimmen

(The Hour Of The Wolf)


Wednesday 3:17 AM


They say that the hour of the wolf is the time just between the night and the dawn. I read once, God only knows where, that the Romans thought this was the time where most people were born into this world. It’s also the time when most people are thought to die.

I don’t know if any of that is true or not but I do know the ins and outs of that hour. It’s a lean time. A mean time. The time when things come into such crystal clarity that it hurts to look at them.

Stephanie is lying next to me, sleeping the sleep that only the righteous can. I suppose that explains why I’m still awake. There’s a lone square of crêpe paper from my birthday streamer that still hanging on the wall. Almost as soon as all the decorations were up Steph took them down, she’s never one to tolerate clutter, but I figure that one piece must have eluded her because it was just too high. I make a mental note to get it down for her tomorrow as I know its probably driving her to distraction.

It was nice of her to go through all the trouble of arranging and throwing the party for me and whether I really wanted it or not was beside the point. I wanted to make her happy, she deserved that. She deserved much more than that. Now whether that’s guilt talking or genuine concern I don’t even know anymore. It’s late and I’m too tired to try and sort things like that out now.

I made a point to smile all the way through the party, through the parade of gifts that I didn’t want or need. I smiled at each and everyone of the people she invited. At the endless faces of my friends, none of them meaning anymore to me than the one before. I even smiled later that evening as I took Stephanie into my arms, as I practiced the art of making love to her body while my mind was a thousand miles away.

What I was really thinking about was you. Wondering where the hell you are.

When you didn’t show up on RAW I was pissed but you probably already knew that. That’s why you didn’t call to tell me yourself. That’s why I had to find out like some mark as I read it off the internet. We’d had plans, but as usual they were sacrificed on the altar of business to the monster that was becoming your career.

...I know that if I had said something like that to your face you probably would have walked out on me and deservedly so. I’m really one to talk about forfeiting happiness for work aren’t I? I mean isn’t that what I do? What I’ve always done? Isn’t that going to be my legacy? So how can I get angry with you for doing the same thing just because it leaves me alone for a night with cold food, tepid wine and candles melted down to stumps. Maybe its what I deserve for the way I’ve treated people in the past. Or for the way I’m treating her right now. Sometimes I think karma can get impatient and it decides to strike in this life instead of waiting for the next.

Anyways, I got your card, with only an ‘H’ for a signature and no return address and as bland as something you might receive from your dentist. That’s my Hollywood, ever the minimalist and still I treasured it all the same.

Maybe its good that you didn’t show up. Maybe I don’t deserve to see just yet. Not until I’m ready to make some real decisions. Last time we were together you told me that I was “hiding”. That I was trying to make everyone happy and consequently was making no one happy. As you put it, spreading myself “like butter over too much bread”. I was angry when you told me that, because what did you really even know about the situation, how long since you’d been in the business, been really back in the thick of it all. You had the luxury of just dropping into the ring and into my life whenever it suited you. No consequences, no explanations, just plaintive pleas to “make the best of the time we have”. You could demand that there be no anger, no tears when you left because none of it was a surprise. We both knew what we were into. We both had our eyes open. You had the indulgence of being selfish and I remember what that feels like.

You would say its not selfishness at all, its freedom. But its a freedom you don’t seem to understand that I don’t have. And its not just business. No matter what the fans say or hell even some of the people we’ve worked with for years this is not an “arranged” marriage or one of convenience. I don’t make backstage political moves a part of my personal life and damn anyone who says otherwise. I love Stephanie. She’s loyal, she’s kind, she’s thoughtful, unflaggingly dedicated to her work, her family and to me. And she’s the only person I know who’s come into this crazy world of ours, with its pressures, its addictions and it‘s never-ending demands and somehow managed to walk through unscathed. She hasn’t let it seep into her, she hasn’t let the futility of it all take root.

I know you know what I mean, I think that’s why you left. You felt it getting to you, changing you as it became not just one of the many things you wanted but one of the only things you needed. But you got out and Stephanie remains, still somehow intact. While I feel like I’m caught in quicksand, the only one who’s slowly sinking. So I asked you what was wrong with trying to spare feelings? What’s wrong with not wanting to be the first person to even truly shatter her world. She’s only 26. God, 26, I don’t even remember what that was like. She’s been so good to me when things were going so badly. Right there with me through the surgery, rehabbing, my comeback. How can I just tell her that the good wasn’t good enough?

Then you shot back at me, demanding to know if I’d really accepted the fact I had agreed to marry her, to spend the rest of my life with this woman, knowing that it was a lie. Had I thought about? How could you even ask that? Of course I’d thought about it, and nothing else since I’d made my cavalier proposal. After you said that, part of me could sense what was coming, maybe an ultimatum, one that would draw a very clear line in the sand and force me to choose where my life was really headed, once and for all.

I was infuriated with you, so angry in fact that I wanted to yank my arms from around you, roll over and make you suffer through my silence for the rest of the night. Of course I didn’t and if I had, right about now I would have cursed myself for being a fool. For being stupid enough to waste any of the precious time we had together, time where I could stare at the smooth contrasts of our skin, or when I could smell your cologne, or feel the rumble of your laughter and your voice as you were pressed so close to me that as far as I knew it could have been my own. It’s those memories that keep this hour from living on forever

But in spite of all that, I made a birthday wish just the same, one that I knew couldn’t possibly happen. The two of us, alone in some fantastic and obscenely expensive hotel room. Champagne, a small chocolate cake, a huge king size bed, a locked door with a Do Not Disturb sign on the handle that I would never intend to take off.

Yet birthday wishes never come true. I think that’s why we cross our fingers and hope so big as we blow out the candles, we all know the futility of it so we figure we might as well bid the moon.

There’s a line to a song, that I’ve never forgotten and it’s come back to me now with haunting persistence.

‘The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, is holding her and loving you.’

Poetic right? If you were here you’d probably just flash that smirk and roll your eyes. But you’re not here are you? And its the hour of the wolf and I can’t sleep and I’m caught between that shadow world of darkness and dawn and it feels like I’ll never find a peaceful rest again.

Happy Birthday to me.

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Vargtimmen

(The Hour Of The Wolf) Part 2


Wednesday 3:45 AM


When I was in my senior year of college and so close to my degree that I could smell it I went in for what I thought was a emblematic meeting with my guidance counselor. Well it turned out not to be and much to my surprise and his, we discovered unless I took a literature class I wouldn’t be able to graduate on time. As it happened the class wasn’t a big deal, I could have slept through it and still wound up with an ‘A’. The professor was an older woman who always seemed to have part of her blouse tucked into her skirt while another part remained decidedly out and there were always at least three pencils in the messy bun that was her hair. There was really nothing new to learn from her, nothing the high school English hadn’t covered ad nauseum. But there was one topic, one phrase she taught us that I had never heard before but that’s stayed with me to this day. She called it Vargtimmen, which means The Hour Of The Wolf in Swedish . She described it as that period between 3 and 4 in the morning when your mind won’t let you rest. She told us it was the universal moment of transition when life waits between the darkness and the light for what is to come. It’s also where you decide to be forever stuck in a time and place that has passed or to once and for all move on. The whole concept of being stuck, trapped, unable to move didn’t mean much to me then. Time flew so fast, there was always somewhere to go or something to do, no such thing as down time or even sitting still.

I didn’t understand it then, but I understand it now.

I always seem to wake up at this time of night, I have been since early this year but each night I’m awake longer and longer and it becomes more of a fight to struggle back to sleep.

I suppose its a bit easier for me when Hunter isn’t here. I don’t really have to hide it. I can sit up in bed, turn on the light and flip through a magazine or the channels on TV without being asked or having to explain what’s wrong. Not that I don’t want him here, I do, I like having him next to me. I like feeling the heat his body gives off when we’re barely touching. I want him here, even if it is a lie. And I suppose that’s the problem.

Tonight, I’m wide awake, the covers pulled up to my ears in an effort to ward off unwanted thoughts as I stare blankly at the wall. I don’t want to glance at the clock, I don’t want to see how early it is. I already know. I think Hunter is up as well, I thought I felt him stir, shifting uneasily at my side. I wonder what he’s thinking...what wolf is at his door.

I think I know.

He seems so much more distracted lately, ever kiss, every touch seems like an afterthought. There’s no one I can talk to about this, not Dad, not Mom not Shane. They’re all too invested, too close all they can see is what might be bad for business. Whatever might be bad for me is secondary. I can’t really blame them, I feel the same way...most of the time. I wish I still had all my old girlfriends from college because what I really need is for someone to just sit me down and tell me the obvious. I need someone to just tell me that he doesn’t love me anymore. That of course is assuming he ever really did.

No. I’m not going to doubt something like that now, not when its one of the only things I still have to hold onto. He did love me. The Valentines day proposal, the ring, the rose petals on the bed, I never doubted any of it for a second and I don’t think he did either. And its not a lie if you believe it, right? Of course I suppose that depends on how long the lie is supposed to last. Well with this one, we both promised forever.

Even after everything we’ve gone through, all we had to do to be together, all the stuff that threatened to tear us apart, I’m still not mad, not anymore. Oh I was at first, I wanted to punch him, to call him on it the second I found out for sure. But the anger died down and eventually gave way to sadness. That sadness only multiplied when I realized this wasn’t a fling for him, it was the real deal. As real as I thought what he and I have...had...was. And I don’t want to make him suffer, his conscience is doing a fine job of that on its own.

I think its funny that Hunter still thinks I don’t know. Almost sweet, that he thinks I’m that naive. That I can’t smell the cologne on him that is most definitely not his but still so familiar to me. That I didn’t take note of that conspicuously sterile birthday card he got a few days ago, with its supposedly indecipherably cryptic signature. The ‘H’ was for Hollywood, I knew that. He’d used their pet name on television for crying out loud. Had any other man done it there’d have been no mistaking the veiled malicious intent. But not Hunter, when he’s being cruel you’ll know it and he would never purposely do that to me.

But that doesn’t change what’s going on. It doesn’t change the fact that he makes excuses not to spend time with me. That he spends his free moments having rushed, soft conversations into his cell phone that abruptly end when I come into the room. It doesn’t change the detached look in his eyes when he’s above me in bed.

Would it have changed things if this wasn’t going on with a mutual friend? If it wasn’t going on with another man? If he had told me himself instead of sneaking around? Would any of that have made the final moment hurt any less? Probably not. But I would have gotten more sleep. And I wouldn’t wake up each morning with an ache in the pit of stomach that seems to coil tighter and tighter each day. Maybe he wouldn’t look so tired all the time, so weary...so torn.

So now it comes down to the question, what do I do. If I call it off I can’t even count just how many people will be devastated, not including myself. This was PR heaven for Dad and he hates it when something that’s good for the business turns bad. I can’t imagine how Mom would react, or Hunters mother for that matter. There’d be so many plans to cancel, so many people to notify. Worst of all, how would I tell Hunter. How could I face still having to see him at work day in and day out? What would he say? Would he be relieved? Angry? Repentant? Why do I even care and what am I hoping he’ll do? Knowing me I’d hope he’d call my bluff and knowing him he wouldn’t. I don’t know if I could take that. Nothing changes the fact that I still love him and I always will. Is it better to just go on, to keep turning a blind eye and walk down the aisle anyways hoping things will work out in the end? I hate to sound so pathetic, I hate to betray the great feminist sisterhood but I think I’d rather have a piece of him than nothing at all. That’s pitiable isn’t it?

So, every night, I sit here, in this dead time and cry for the loss of a man who’s still sleeping at my side. Every night, just like tonight, I decide that tomorrow is the day I tell him, the day I break it off. The day I let him off the hook and let myself free. Every night I sit here in the hour of the wolf, and the hour never really ends

I know that one of these nights I’ll have to make up my mind whether I’m going to stay here in the past or move on. I know I can’t mourn for him, not anymore, not when his heart is already long gone.

But I’m not willing to let go, not just yet. We set the date for October 25 of this year and that’s still over two months away.

And there are so many more hours until then...

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Vargtimmen

(The Hour Of The Wolf) Part 3

Wednesday 4:41 AM

I was in my hotel room watching this movie the other night. Some Swedish flick, I know, I know, a wrestler watching a foreign film...well I’m just full of surprises. Anyways its a horror movie, Bergman actually, you know the cheery guy who made the film about playing chess with death? So I’m able to follow it thanks to subtitles, it’s really late and I couldn’t sleep but honestly the film isn’t that bad. It’s his only horror movie and its about this couple who move to an island that may or may not be inhabited by dead spirits. The title of the flick was called Vargtimmen and what the subtitles didn’t tell me is just what the hell that meant. I had to look that up on my lap top and what I came up with was Hour Of The Wolf. I found out there was a whole lot more to that phrase than it just being the name of a movie.

Apparently The Hour Of The Wolf refers to that time that comes to us all. That period at night or early in the morning when you just can’t sleep and all you can see are the troubles and the problems and the way your life should have gone. It’s the time when nightmares are palpable. And its when lost lovers come back to be held in your arms, one last time.

Of course that’s the part that got me to thinking about you. But are you really lost to me? I’m not sure. I don’t think the future is set, I never have and most of the time I’m still sure that that page has yet to be written...but sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I’m not so certain.

If this little stream of consciousness I’m having needed a return address stamped on it I’d just scribble Hour Of The Wolf...cause that’s where I am, you see. I’ve been here since late June, ever since production got into full swing and my time with you started to consist of hushed and rushed late night calls and anonymous letters.

I’m having second thoughts, and I mean about everything and you know if there’s one thing I’ve never doubted its my decision making. When I left the business, it was hard, but it felt right, when I left you, it was even harder but it still felt right. I needed a break from both of you, I needed to get my head straight and you...you needed to figure out what you wanted. But now, I think that was all complete bullshit on my part, smoke and mirrors, because how can I claim to love you as much as I do and not stay there and fight.

I know if I was there as soon as you heard all that you’d start to get excited and probably even self righteous, saying it was my fault, that I’m the one who vanished. I’m the one who up and disappeared and left you all alone. You’re right, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry for a lot of things.

The reason I wasn’t there on Monday, the reason I wasn’t there for your birthday was because I couldn’t face you. I feel so guilty. When we first realized what was between us I was ecstatic, I thought I’d found exactly what I’d been waiting for. Sure it wasn’t perfect, there were going to be obstacles, Stephanie for one, but we could beat it, if only we were strong enough. And when I looked at you, into your eyes, I thought that you knew that, that you felt the same way. But now I don‘t know if I ever saw anything like that at all. I was so eager to name this, to grab it and own it before it slipped away that I might have doomed it from the beginning. What I do know is that I pushed you, too hard and too fast. And now we’re both paying for it.

God Hunter I wanted to be there with you. I know you’re angry but I hope you can believe that. I relive that last night we spent together over and over rolling it around and savoring the memory like candy on my tongue. How I miss you, how you haunt me thousands of miles and a world away. And I know that even though you’re with her right now, whether she’s in your arms or asleep at your side that you love me too. But I don’t know if that’s enough anymore.

They also say that the Romans believed that this hour, this temporal hallway between the dark and the light was the time when magic was most potent. I liked that and I held onto that idea. That’s probably why its this time of night that I think about you and call to you the most. I figure maybe someway you can hear me. Crazy, huh?

The weather up here is so beautiful. People talk about Canada like it snows all year around and the temperature never gets above -10, but its not true. It got up to 66 here in Vancouver the other day and I started to think about the times that you and I could be having up here. In fact I though about it so much I forgot my lines and had to be prompted like a kid playing a cabbage in an elementary school play. I figure that would have made you laugh. I love to see you laugh. Remember the times I forgot my lines in the ring? You were fake glaring at me, I’m fake glaring at you and neither of us are saying anything and I see you eyes start to crinkle at the corners. I almost lost it right then but you covered for me, I could always count on you to be there for me. I don’t know if you’d say the same anymore.

You were so mad at me last time when I had to go and blurt out that you were hiding. I’m surprised you didn’t just slug me and leave. I think that was when I realized that I’d been going about this all wrong. Sympathizing and empathizing are not at all the same things. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through. But I do know that Stephanie is more than an obstacle to be overcome, she’s a person, a good person with feelings that you’ve always taken to heart. My glib and constant prodding for you to “Tell her, tell her, tell her” couldn’t have helped matters. Maybe when you look at me with those beautiful hazel eyes and tell me, “I can’t, Dwayne, I just can’t, not right now.” you really mean it. You really can’t... just not right now.

But then I think I’m underestimating you. You can do anything and no one could ever accuse you of not being strong. I just want you to prove it. Prove it to me Hunter. Tell me. I’m shouting this to you as loud as I can. Every time we talk on the phone, ever letter, every encounter that I wanted to be so romantic and the ended up feeling so tawdry, is coated with it. Drenched with my pleading for you to just prove it.

Everyone has their own time table, right? Or as the song goes to everything there is a season. But I’m starting to feel that the problem isn’t that you’re continuing to take too long, the problem is that I’m continuing to wait. I keep demanding that you make a decision, but as I lay here in bed, alone, I think, maybe you already have.

So when you tell me that you just need more time and I sit here in this endless hour that goes on night after night, I have to think that ironically time is one thing that I’m running out of.

I took you for granted, I didn’t realize how much I really needed you until you weren’t right there for me to run to, to hold, to argue with...to love.

Lost lovers. Isn’t that what I said this was about when I started this whole synaptic misfire. Are you lost to me Hunter? Do I remember the difference between someone who’s slipping away into the past and someone who’s refusing to move into the future? Or have I conveniently forgotten? If I’m still in control of this, any of it, I’m still willing to fight for you.

I hope that wherever you are right now you’re having a peaceful rest. I hope that you’re lost in imaginings and dreams so pleasant that they’re almost heartbreaking. And I pray that if you listen hard enough you can hear my voice and that you can feel that I’m here.

Can you sense me?

I’m calling to you, from this forsaken hour for you to come to me now. So you can hopefully pull me into the borderland of sleep as well. Where we could be one, once again.

I’m calling to you and I wonder can you hear me now?

Could you ever?