Tha Womun Who Found Hir Fire: The Avery Victoria Spencer Fables, WEnglish, #3

By Vivian Ruth Probst

 Tha Womun Who Found Hir Fire is written in WEnglish™ a form of speaking and writing English created by author/linguist Vivian Probst to gender-balance English and bring respect to both genders. Welcome to The Avery Victoria Spencer Fables-Book Three

 

 Avery Victoria Spencer is becoming more conscious of who shi really is. Two incredible inner journeys have brought hir to a deeper understanding of hirself and hir power to create a wonderful life. Shi's kinder to hirself and others and at long last has made amends with hir strange and withdrawn father. Even love has peeked out timidly in tha person of George Robert Logan, a man with whom shi is enjoying a platonic relationship, while hoping for more. But Avery stumbles over two tough patches in hir life journey: Hir father dies, leaving hir with no sense of hir family's past, and George disappears suddenly. His father in London has had a heart attack, he claims. Avery thinks otherwise, because their attempt at intimacy has failed miserably.

 

Torn apart by grief and outrage, Avery can't get out of bed, much less go to work. A three-month leave of absence is arranged as Avery goes through what is rumored among social circles to be a 'mid-life crisis,' a.k.a. 'second Saturn return,' a.k.a. 'Dark Night of tha Soul.' Whatever it's called, Avery stubbornly refuses to request any assistance from hir inner realm, where powerful forces are still at work. Instead, shi clutches hir bed sheets refusing to embrace who shi is becoming. But life has a work-around.

 

Avery's third journey begins in a very small cave, surrounded by shadows of grieving and fearful wimin who comfort hir, until an intimidating and angry mountain threatens to turn hir to shadow as well, if shi refuses to face hir rage. It could be Avery's last chance to become real. Shi must complete hir course, no matter how terrifying. Every irritation, every morsel of disquiet, every piece of unresolved bitterness shows up on hir mountain trek—not for hir to battle, but for hir to love and embrace. Underneath hir rageaholic tendencies shi will find hir full and real self—which includes both hir masculine and feminine energies. It's called wholeness.  

Avery has never been a champion of femininity ('wimpy females' is how shi refers to those of hir own gender), and is obviously uncomfortable with hir own sexuality. As shi faces hir mountain, shi encounters an enormous serpent, claiming to be from tha Garden of Eden.Terrified of snakes, Avery would run away if shi could, but their meeting occurs on a narrow mountain ledge about 11,000 feet above sea level. There is no escape. At least, both shi and hir slithering guide like cigars.

It's that last piece—love—that Avery needs before shi can return to hir life and face everything shi had chosen to forget. If shi can do that, shi will be strong enough to move into full acceptance of who shi really is, restoring hirself from a heart-breaking past and stepping into true love. For without love, all is lost.

 

Tha thing about buried trauma is that it doesn't stay buried; Life wakes it up. A womun with a forgotten past, facing hir inner-world forces to restore hir true wholeness. Set in the uniquely historical city of Waukesha, Wisconsin, The Avery Victoria Spencer Fables are an intimate series of stories that brought this author to an authentic life. Welcome to Book Three:Tha Womun Who Found Hir Fire.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeMark Press
• Release date: Dec 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201885557

Vivian Ruth Probst

Vivian Probst Trained in culture, anthropology, and linguistics with bachelor’s degree in Multicultural Ministries 34-year veteran/national trainer and consultant to the affordable housing industry (theopro.com) Creator of the endowed CANIF Fund through the Women’s Center of Waukesha, WI Creator of gender inclusive WEnglish™ (vivianprobst.com/WEnglish) Author/playwright/songwriter/poet (through LifeMark Press): (vivianprobst.com) Website:  VivianProbst.com Contact for information and events: Sharyn Alden/Sharyn Alden Communications

Book preview

Part I

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1

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February 10, 1975

Avery watches numbly as a plain bronze coffin is lowered into its final resting place. Tears slide down hir face as hir father is laid to rest, as inexpensively as possible in a non-sealed casket. It was his last request.

Promise me—no fancy funeral. Just bury me, cheap, OK? Howard Spencer had begged. And don’t burn me to ashes, he had added, even though it would cost less. Got it? Avery’s father believed that his Presbyterian God might not be able to put him back together at tha resurrection of saints if he was a pile of bony dust.

She does hir best. No funeral; no flowers–just a burial on a cold and windy February day, only two months after his touching speech at Avery’s charity fundraiser–tha very night Avery and George kissed that first time, which led to more, ending in fizzled passion. It has been utterly humiliating.

George. Avery’s sobbing escalates. Tha minister stops and looks at hir sympathetically. Evelyn puts hir arm around Avery and indicates with a soft smile to him that he should wrap things up--because, as Evelyn knows, Avery’s tears aren’t for hir father--not at all! Shi weeps for George. George is gone, and Avery can’t bear to think of why, although shi’s absolutely sure it’s all hir fault.

Enormous regret consumes hir, for shi realizes too late that shi truly loves George Robert Logan, no matter how poorly shi’s shown it.

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George would be at Avery’s side if he knew hir father had died; but Avery refuses to contact him. Shi lives alone with hir regrets, believing shi’s ruined everything. Yes, shi will miss hir father a little—so much of hir past will now remain forever unknown. But that’s nothing compared to how deeply shi aches for George. He’s an ocean away now, back in England with his family, due to my father’s heart attack, he claimed in a hasty phone call. Avery isn’t sure shi believes him. He left because I’m a miserable failure at love! Avery knows what shi’s lost. Such grief!

As winds howl and icy rain stings hir face, Avery recalls hir inability to reciprocate George’s gentle approach to love with anything remotely resembling hir true feelings for him. Instead, shi went into lock-down. Shi lives with a new companion in hir psyche, as accusing whispers assault hir day and night. ‘Frigid. Ice Queen. Spinster. Prude. Bitch.’ Grief, remorse, rage, and profound loss all tangle up together, leaving hir breathless.

Avery attempts to bring hir focus back to hir father’s graveside service. But tha minister’s final benediction is a metaphor for hir future without George. ‘Earth to earth; dust to dust.' Shi sobs even louder. Evelyn takes hir hand and squeezes it gently. Avery wants to slap hir. After all, it‘s Evelyn’s fault. Shi introduced Avery to George, even suggesting that he might be ‘the one.' Avery is swallowed up in memories. Could it really be only four months ago? Shi mourns.

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October 1974—Four months earlier

Avery, you simply must drop everything you think is important right now and meet me at a new shop I’ve discovered just two blocks from your bank. Evelyn had ordered. "You aren’t going to believe it! I’m there right now. Come out your front door and turn left—you’ll see me. Right now, Ms. Bank President! It’s your duty, after all, to welcome new businesses into town."

Dr. Evelyn Morgan was not typically all that excitable. A professor of wimin‘s studies at Carroll College in Waukesha, Wisconsin, shi and Avery had become fast friends in spite of their differing sexual preferences. Evelyn was a lesbian—a wonderful balance to Avery’s more serious and hetero-sexless life.

Full of curiosity, Avery did just as Evelyn instructed that day. Within minutes shi was standing beside hir friend in one of those long-vacant storefronts on tha corner of Madison Street and St. Paul Avenue, that suggested a city in decline. Somehow, without hir knowing, it now housed a shop called Soul’s Decor, owned by Englishman George Logan, Evelyn explained, who was newly-arrived from London. Yes, that George Logan that now causes Avery such sorrow.

A bank president is usually aware of everything that goes on in a small city. Lenders are popular with retail merchants who come looking for loans with limited resources, their heads full of dreams. No one from Soul’s Decor had darkened Prairieville Bank’s doorstep, which meant George Logan was relying on independent capital. That alone intrigued Avery.

As shi stepped into a shop full of rich, colorful furnishings, hir intrigue catapulted into an almost eerie sense of wonder for shi found hirself among fabrics, objects, textures, and coordinated color and patterns that expressed hir own preferred décor perfectly. Avery was getting ready to renovate hir house. It was as if someone had reached into hir imagination and put hir desires on stunning store displays. Shi knew instantly that shi’d found someone to handle every detail of hir project. It was also too good to be true, which always made Avery suspicious.

A bit of graying hair at George’s temples hinted at maturity, but it was his eyes that drew hir in—so green and sparkling with enthusiasm, yet sad, as if suggesting an old grief. Avery tried to be formal and professional, but felt more like a giddy, giggling teenager. George fascinated Avery and no man had ever had that effect on hir. Shi wondered, of course, if he was gay, and hoped he was—or not.

Avery, I’d like you to meet George Logan, Evelyn had said in an unusually tender voice, as if she, too, was captivated. Before shi could reverse and formally introduce Avery to George, he had taken Avery’s hand and placed it between both of his. In his lovely British accent he had said "Avery, darling," and had stopped suddenly, as if he’d said something wrong.

That short sentence sealed George’s sexual preference as far as Avery was concerned. Those two words told Avery shi was safe—disappointed, of course, but safe. Evelyn would correct Avery about that later, but right now, it created a protecting shield for George and Avery to become reacquainted. Avery had no idea who George was, but he remembered everything. Seeing hir after so long startled him into using that old, familiar endearing term Darling, that he’d always used for only hir. Shi was his wife after all, even if shi didn’t remember.

Indeed, Avery has no memory of tha tragedy that morphed into dissociative amnesia. After twenty years, shi still doesn’t remember that George is hir husband or that Thay had twin daughters, one long dead, the other crippled from the accident. Doctors had told George that if shi ever remembered, it could kill hir. Worst of all, Avery’s subconscious feeling of horrific guilt haunts hir in ways shi doesn’t realize. Shi blames hirself for the accident. After all, shi sent tha twins off on a snowy evening with their nanny, Bee, to see holiday decorations, so shi could study. How selfish! How deadly! George’s return to Waukesha now was to see if he could convince Avery to fall in love with him even though shi obviously doesn’t remember him.

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A-men. tha minister’s words bring hir back. As shi stands to leave hir father’s gravesite, Avery feels hirself letting go of both hir father and hir brief but glorious friendship with George, destroyed in a poorly-timed attempt at love. It’s utterly humiliating to think back to those tender times with George; but Avery can’t stop hir ferocious drive to recall every awful detail. Avery’s stomach twists as hir memories insist on another torturous replay.

As Evelyn drives Avery home from tha funeral, Avery remembers fondly how, even during their first encounter at his shop, George’s thumb rested thoughtfully under his chin as he asked about hir project. His eyes watched hir intently, almost intimately, shi thought. He frowned slightly as he listened, his index finger tapping his nose from time to time, as if turning on some sort of idea machine. It was a gesture Avery would learn to treasure—and now misses dreadfully.

There was never a contract between George and Avery; their ability to sense what needed to be done and do it companionably was enough. Such trust and compatibility easily became love. Until…

2

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Avery can still feel George’s first kiss under tha starry sky after Prairieville Bank’s holiday gala in December. It sends a wave of pulsating warmth through every cell of hir being, even now. His love embraced hir like a warm blanket and exploded that very night. As Avery lay in bed recalling George’s kiss, disappointed that he claimed to be too tired to spend any more time with hir that evening, hir doorbell rang.

George had apparently changed his mind. As he stood there snow-covered and looking askance at Avery, shi took his hand. Leading him upstairs to hir bedroom, articles of clothing fell off their bodies. Avery couldn’t believe how intensely shi desired him. Shi wasn’t a virgin—that sorrowful encounter had already occurred, and shi had sworn off sex as messy, gross, and completely unnecessary. But George was different. Now shi wanted it/him/both desperately. Shi knew George and trusted him more than any other man.

Yet falling naked into one another’s arms, something inside Avery snapped; shi went rigid and froze. George was above hir, looking down at hir quizzically.

I can’t do it, George, Avery had whispered at last, completely honest. I don’t know why, but I can’t. It’s been a long time—I don’t recall ever really going so far with anyone. I guess I’m a prude. George remembers his wife as anything but, but he understands.

Moving slowly to Avery’s side; George had taken hir hand and kissed it. I understand, he had said quietly, but with obvious pain in his voice. It’s too much, isn’t it? Too much, too soon. We’ll just take it more slowly. Inwardly calling himself every nasty name he could think of, George stayed and held Avery until shi fell asleep. Shi woke up hours later. He was gone.

But George was still careful for Avery. He called hir; he took hir out on dates. There was no going back to just being friends and both were in anguish. Avery tried to open up to him; he tenderly tried to encourage hir. Avery knew shi cared for George, but shi couldn’t make love to him, no matter how desperately shi wanted to. What shi didn’t know was that George couldn’t either. Had thay proceeded further that night, he wouldn’t have been able to satisfy hir. He had been impotent since the accident. Before crossing that delicate threshold from friends to lovers, George had believed that making love to his wife after twenty years would be like coming home. He had ached for that comfort—had lived for it and breathed life into it for so long. Reality was