Achieving Perfection
"They think more of their father than they do of you!" The parrot on the head of her umbrella spoke indignantly as Mary Poppins watched the Banks' family almost dance down the street.
"That's as it should be," was her absent-minded response as she continued to gaze after the family.
"Don't you CARE?" demanded the parrot.
Not deigning to look at her umbrella, Mary said softly, "Practically perfect people never permit sentiment to muddle their thinking." She believed that was true, which didn't explain why it was hurting so much today.
"Is that so?" the parrot said derisively. "Well, I'll tell you one thing, Mary Poppins, you don't fool me a bit!"
Now she looked at it, a little angry to think that she could be read so easily — by her umbrella! "Oh, really?"
"Yes, really! I know exactly how you feel about these children, and if you think I'm going to keep my mouth shut any longer, I'm ..."
Mary calmly reached up and held his beak closed. "That will be quite enough of that, thank you!" she said firmly. The parrot solidified again, and Mary opened the umbrella, testing the wind. Then she smiled, nodded at the breeze, and held her umbrella up to catch the wind, smoothly taking off from the doorstep.
She was unobserved by most of the people out and about that early morning in London. One man's keen eyes, however, spotted her slender figure as it moved through the air. Hearing Bert's "Good-bye, Mary Poppins. Don't stay away too long.", she looked back and smiled when he lifted his hand and waved. She gave him one last lingering, wistful look, then, as she resolutely turned her face away and focused on the cloud ahead, she heard his whispered "I love you, Mary Poppins."
Blinking back moisture that had begun to gather in her blue eyes, Mary tightened her grip on her umbrella and it squawked protestingly. Ignoring the accusing look from the wide, unblinking eye of the upside-down parrot head, the slim figure dressed in dark clothes stepped onto the cloud selected as her transportation to her next post and sat down, primly arranging her long skirts.
She closed the umbrella neatly and stood it to one side. Almost immediately the parrot said tauntingly, "Now you're starting to wonder what you're missing, isn't that right, Mary Poppins?"
"I BEG your pardon?" she asked, haughtily, as she settled herself more comfortably.
"Not as perfect as you wish," the parrot croaked derisively.
"I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about," she retorted briskly.
"Practically perfect isn't the same thing as perfect."
Mary's eyes turned to the parrot. "The tape measure says I'm practically perfect in every way."
"But not perfect. Only 'practically' perfect."
"I DO wish you would be quiet!" she said crossly.
"You're missing something, Mary Poppins, and you didn't find it at the Banks', nor at any of your previous positions, and you won't find it at the next position unless you admit that you are missing it."
"What ARE you talking about?" now Mary was exasperated.
"You're missing out on love, Mary Poppins."
"I most certainly am NOT!" she snapped.
"Ah, but you ARE. One of the words for love the Greeks have turned into a god. Eros." Mary stilled and the parrot continued with relish. "That's right, Mary Poppins. You'll not be complete until you have admitted your need for love from a man, and acknowledged the love you have pent up inside, just waiting to be bestowed upon that same man."
"And I suppose you have a man in mind?" She found her tongue again. The parrot opened its beak, but she reached over and once more pinched it closed. "Never mind. I don't want to hear it." The parrot struggled to free itself. "That will be QUITE enough!" Mary admonished it sternly. "Not another word about this, is that clear?"
She released the parrot, and it clicked its beak together angrily, then muttered, "You haven't allowed yourself to experience the fullness of love, that's all I'm saying."
"And you have?"
"I'm an umbrella, not human!"
"Leave me alone to put my life back together ..."
"Without Bert? Without love? What kind of a life will THAT be?" At her fierce glare, the parrot subsided, grumbling to itself. Mary once more re-arranged her carpet bag. Suddenly she realized the parrot was speaking to her again, taunting her. "I know what they'll be saying about you in years to come."
"Oh?" Mary's eyebrows arched.
"Yes, I do! They'll be asking questions ... questions like, 'Does Mary Poppins go to the bathroom?' THAT'S one they'll ask."
Mary chuckled a little. "I can assure them I DO."
"Ah, but what about the other? 'Does Mary Poppins have an orgasm?' Can you assure them of THAT? You can't, can you?"
Mary jerked around, staring incredulously at the parrot. "I SAID, that will be quite enough of that!" She tapped it severely on the beak, and it subsided into wood again, the mocking glint in its eyes fading.
Opening her carpet bag and rummaging through it, Mary began to mutter, "I can't imagine what has gotten into that parrot! What sheer nerve! I ask you? An orgasm, indeed!" She slammed the bag shut, glaring at the inoffensive object.
Reluctantly her mind kept turning over the parrot's words. She needed the love of a man? To be complete? RIDICULOUS! She was Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way! "Practically perfect is NOT missing perfection!" she hissed futilely at her unresponsive umbrella.
O o O o O o
As the cloud drifted along, Mary sitting correctly and primly in her spot, she paid no attention to the vista spread before her unseeing eyes. Instead, she was reliving the past. Seeing Bert just a few minutes ago had both delighted and terrified her, as had the last few whispered words she had overheard. They had delighted her because she had been wanting to hear them for years ... they had terrified her because of her strong, unsuspected reaction to them. Why, she had almost felt the need to turn around and go to him! She had actually wanted to turn her back on her duty, and go to Bert! Outrageous!
Meeting at the tender age of seven, she and Bert had climbed trees and waded through brooks, spending a wonderful two weeks together playing, talking and getting to know each other. Already showing the great forbearance she had come to associate with this special person, he had never pressed her for answers she was unwilling or unable to give, and he had shown great patience with her inability to disclose family secrets even after a changing wind had torn them apart and Mary had been swept away by her parents. Before she had left, the two had exchanged a childish but none-the-less binding vow to be friends forever, and a teasing Bert had even extracted a promise that at some point in the future, Mary would think about being "his" girl.
When Mary was sixteen, she had been sent to school to learn to be a lady, but the wind changing occasionally caught her out still. A few months after arriving at the school, Mary was first horrified then thrilled to find herself blown to an isolated walk by the sea where a boy had greeted her with a cheery shout of recognition.
"I was just thinking about you!" Bert had exclaimed, beaming at her.
They had talked again, and Bert had told her he figured she had depths the school didn't comprehend and probably didn't even realize were there. "After all," he had commented with a grin, "I bet they never suspect that by wearing red petticoats, you are expressing the passion within that they are trying to stamp out!"
"Oh, Bert, don't be silly!" Mary had blushed becomingly and Bert had obligingly changed the subject.
"Mary Poppins, just look at the beautiful day it has become! Even the sun has chased away all the clouds so your face won't be in shadow! And such a beautiful face it is, too. You are sweet sixteen, now, and probably have never been kissed, but you ARE my girl, and I don't want you kissing anyone else first. May I?"
Mary had nodded shyly, and Bert had taken her face between his hands and touched his lips to hers very chastely. It had been very pleasant, as she recalled, and she had kissed him again a couple of times. When the wind had stirred, and had begun to swirl around them, they had broken apart, both rather abashed, but grinning. His kisses had stirred feelings in her she hadn't been able to fully understand, feelings she had never before experienced. He had muttered, "That was truly supercalifragilistic!" and she had laughed and agreed. Then he had added softly, "Continue to be the very proper lady that you are becoming, Mary Poppins, but don't lose your inner passion. Keep that hidden, and just for me."
"I will!" she had vowed. "I said I would at age seven, and I haven't changed my mind!"
Mary hadn't seen Bert again until she was twenty one, finished school, and working for a family as their nanny. She had gone to her Uncle Albert's, and had met Bert who had appeared to be as much at home there as Mary herself was. It was Uncle Albert who had rambled on and had made them both realize that they were from the same sort of family - only children of roving, gypsyish fathers who nevertheless loved their rather staid, stable mothers. After a delightful tea, Uncle Albert had fallen asleep on the sofa and Mary and Bert had stepped out into the garden. Again the heavy clouds had broken up, and Bert had teased Mary about making every day bright and sunny just by her presence. Mary had waved a hand to cool her flushed face, and had commented that it would nice to be at a beach.
Bert had produced some chalk with a flourish and in moments had drawn a lovely tropical beach. They had talked about walking barefoot through the surf, perhaps meeting with a group of young people like themselves, playing games and frolicking in the cool waves as a group "just beyond that rocky ridge there" Mary had pointed out. Suddenly Mary had stood up, taken his hand, winked at him, and had said briskly, "We can be there in a blink. Ready? One, two, three ..." They had jumped into the picture. A pensive smile spread over Mary's face now as she remembered meeting the other girls ... Veronica, Millicent, Agnes and Jane who had been such fun, and the other three who had been the good sports when they had lost the game. What had been their names? Oh yes, Dorcas and Phyllis and Glynis. Naturally there had been a group of boys, too, and Bert had said they worked with him as chimney sweeps in London. They had told fascinating stories of their exploits on top of buildings in the city, and shown her some of the dances and antics in which they habitually indulged while taking a break from their rather dirty work in the flues and chimneys.
At the end of that delightful afternoon, just before they had gone back to Uncle Albert's, Bert had kissed her lightly again. Mary had felt an unaccustomed longing to feel his hands on her body, but he had drawn back and asked teasingly if she had kissed anyone else. She remembered being shocked and exclaiming, "Certainly NOT!" Bert had apologized for thinking that of her, knowing her to be a true lady. He had given her one more light kiss on the lips, and when they had opened their eyes, they had been out of the picture again, and it had been time for her to leave.
When she had been twenty-four, just four short years ago, Mary had been the nanny in a very unhappy home. She had been given the attic room, and while lying on her hard, single bed at night, she had dreamt of roaming the rooftops with Bert and his chimney sweep friends. One night she had dreamt of Bert saying softly, "Wind's from the east... Mist comin' in... Like somethin' was brewin', about to begin... Can't put me finger on what lies in store... But I feel what's to 'appen, all 'appened before...!" Suddenly she had been awakened by a knocking sound on the skylight. Jumping out of bed and grabbing her robe, she had been actually unsurprised to find Bert beckoning her to join the jolly crew. Uncaring that her white gown and robe would be dirtied, Mary had accepted his hands and he had pulled her up and out into the air.
"I see you still have the red touches about you," he had commented, grinning as he eyed the red ribbon threaded through the lace at the neckline and cuffs of her robe, and the red tie at the waist of her gown. "I'm glad your passionate nature hasn't been totally buried by these disagreeable people!"
"Oh, Bert, they're not always disagreeable ..."
"How can they remain like that around you?" he had grinned. "Come along, we're going to dance!"
Mary had had a wonderful few hours, learning new dances and even a new ending to Bert's fun word. Bert, being the gentleman that he was, had made sure that the other chimney sweeps had watched their language and their actions around her. Then, after the others had departed, Bert had escorted her back to her skylight and had jumped into her room to help her down. He had grinned down at her blackened form and had murmured softly, "Even dirty, you are a proper lady, Mary Poppins!" He had kissed her quickly and had added, "When a few more families are raised to your satisfaction, maybe you'll be able to think about yourself."
"Oh, Bert, I couldn't be that selfish."
He had just sighed, as a true gentleman would never push a lady! Mary had fallen asleep, his taste on her lips, thinking Bert was truly "supercal..."
Now Mary began to fidget, something she was not wont to do. Then the cloud jolted as if she had arrived at her destination. Coming out of her reverie, Mary looked around and realized to her confusion that the cloud she was on had gone in a full circle, and she was hovering above the same park. Looking down, she saw Bert packing away the last of his kites since the park had been emptied. Why had she not gone on to her next post? The clouds always knew ... Could it really be, was it remotely possible that ... that she was going to be permitted to remain ... with Bert? Forever?
Just then, Bert looked up and, even at that distance, met her eyes. Somehow Mary felt the surprise and the joyous disbelief written on his face. Her post must be here. She wished she had received more instructions, as usually she did, but the certainty was rising in her that she belonged with Bert. The cloud was still, not moving at all. Trusting the cloud, Mary took a firm grip on her carpet bag, opened her umbrella and stepped off the cloud to drift back down to Bert.
"Mary Poppins?" he managed to say as she landed on the ground a few feet away, her eyes never leaving his. "Mary Poppins!"
"Hello again, Bert," Mary spoke in a tremulous voice. Then she took a deep breath, trying to sound crisp as she usually did. "Kindly close your mouth!"
"Did you ... forget something?" Hope warred with the disbelief still etched on his features.
"I don't think so."
"Aren't you, well, off to your next post?"
"You DID say 'don't stay away too long', did you not?" Mary asked rather pertly.
"Well, yes, but ..."
"Well, then." She carefully set her bag and umbrella down. "I just realized a moment ago that perhaps the parrot was right."
"The parrot was right?" Bert echoed stupidly.
"Yes. I DO need love to complete my life and I DID come to the Banks' hoping to find it." Mary admitted aloud AND to herself for the first time in her life.
"Love? And ... DID you find it, Mary Poppins?" He seemed to be holding his breath.
She smiled and stepped closer to him. "I think so. I ... hope so."
"Here? In London? With the Banks family?" Bert seemed afraid to move, but his eyes were beginning to be lit with joy.
"Here. In London." Mary confirmed. Then, as she closed the distance between them, she added huskily, "With you." She liked Bert. A lot. She had always known that. She leaned closer for his kiss, expecting a nice tingle, a comforting warmth, expecting the same deliciously friendly kisses she had previously experienced with her best friend. She had not expected the jolt of desire that shot through her body at the touch of his.
In a flash, his arms were around her and his lips were on hers, hard, hot and hungry. Kissing him suddenly was like sliding into molten silver, and she felt the instant heat that pumped from his body into hers. Her arms went around him as if they belonged there. Strained against his, her body throbbed until it was one sweet ache. This was an ache that, once felt, could never be forgotten and would always be craved.
Bert began murmuring almost incoherently in between kisses. "I've wondered what this would be like for almost twenty years, Mary! From boyhood to manhood, I dreamed about you, imagined you, wanted you. None of my fantasies ever came close to this. You're like a volcano, smoldering and shuddering, then erupting hot. I love you, Mary Poppins. I love you."
Mary felt as if she had been taken to a new place, an extraordinary place, and she knew it was Bert's doing. Her body was quaking with passions long suppressed. Suddenly Mary realized she was experiencing fear for the first time in her life. She was losing control! She had to show Bert that she could give him pleasure, make him enjoy and continue to want. What if she fumbled now, and he found her less than his fantasy? She tried to keep her head, but her knees were watery, her mind was spinning from the onslaught and her entire system jolted along a battering tide of sensations. She felt hotter and hotter, and when at last his lips left hers to trail along her jaw, Mary opened her eyes dazedly to see the sun shining brightly all around her.
"It is supposed to be dusk!" she managed to force the inane words out, unable to think of anything else to say.
Bert laughed. "I told you, when you're around, the sun always comes out!"
"Oh, stop your larking about!" She looked around and realized they were no longer in the park. Instead, they were standing in front of a quaint, little old stone church. "Where are we?"
"I THINK we're ..." Bert began, but he was interrupted when the door of the church opened and an elderly vicar appeared.
"Come in, come in!" he called impatiently. "We've been waiting for you!"
"For us?" Mary asked, surprised. She looked over at Bert, who was looking just as confused as she felt.
"Of course! Your Uncle Albert is pacing inside, looking at his watch every few minutes and muttering. He said you should be along any time. You DO both want this, don't you? Neither one of you is coercing the other?"
"Want this? Want WHAT?" Bert asked guardedly.
"To be married, of course! All the guests are here. You are the important people in this ceremony, and you are LATE!"
"Married?" Mary and Bert repeated together, and looked at each for a moment. That's when Mary realized she was in the same white dress with red waistband that she had worn when she and Bert had taken Jane and Michael into the picture. Bert was in the same outfit he had been wearing on that jolly holiday as well.
More than the clothes, however, was the look in both of their eyes, and the love for each other burning fiercely in their hearts. Both recognized the truth ... recognized, accepted and welcomed it gladly. "Oh yes," they assured the vicar. "We want this!"
Mary put her hand on Bert's arm to keep him at her side, and looked at the vicar with limpid blue eyes. "Might we have just two more minutes in private?" she asked.
"Anything for YOU, Mary Poppins!" the vicar beamed, and disappeared back inside the church.
"Mary?" Bert asked quietly.
"I just want to say... I just need to say ..." she began to stammer, and her face flushed. Why could she not say it? Because practically perfect people never permitted sentiment? Taking a deep breath, she cupped Bert's face in her hands and said, slowly and distinctly, "Bert, I love you."
"I know," was his simple response. Then, before she could flare up with such seemingly callous disinterest in her revelation, he continued, "I've known for a long time. And I was willing to wait for YOU to know it, too."
"Bert, you're too good for me," she said soberly, her hands falling to her sides.
His cheerful grin split his face again. "Oh, no, Mary Poppins, you're not backing out on this now! You love me, and I love you, and we have a churchful there waiting to hear us announce it publicly ... But first ..."
His head dipped to hers and his lips covered hers. Her bones turned to water, and for the second time in memory, Mary wanted only to feel the sharp and sweet sensations she had racing through her. She was strong and had always been strong, but not strong enough to prevent time from standing still. It was for moments like these, in Bert's arms with his lips on hers, for which she now realized she had been waiting all her life. Then she felt something move through her that was more than desire, deeper than passion. She felt happiness. Hope. Love. Perfection. Mary Poppins had at last achieved perfection in Bert's embrace.
Hand in hand, they entered the church, and so began Mary's new life as Bert's wife and the mother of his children.
O o O o O o
"Years from now, do you think people will be wondering if we ever made love?' Mary asked as she lay in Bert's arms that night, sated from their love-making in the most romantic setting she could imagine – a large, comfortable bed in front of a blazing fire.
"I would hope they would realize that I simply can't resist you," Bert chuckled, stroking her cheek gently.
Her breath shuddered out between her lips. "I didn't want you to. I ache needing you, wanting to touch you." On a sigh, she ran her hands over his bare chest. "When we're together, alone together, nothing else matters."
"I'm half-mad for you, Mary! I have been ever since we met all those years ago. Thoughts of you haunted me, day and night, all those years. Your face ..." He skimmed his fingers over Mary's jaw and down her throat. "Every time I closed my eyes, I see it. Your taste ..." He pressed his lips to hers. "Every time I took a breath, it was there to remind me what it was like to kiss you."
"And I lay alone in bed, night after night, wanting your touch." Heart racing, she shivered when he ran his fingers lovingly over her smooth skin. "Remembering how you looked at me ... Bert, make love to me again!"
The fire burned down to mere embers. Murmured promises were heard, desperate answers, a low husky laugh, and a sobbing gasp. From patience to urgency, from tenderness to madness, they drove each other. Through the dark, endless night, they were tireless and greedy. A gentle touch caused a tremor; a rough caress caused a soft sigh. Each time they thought they were sated, they would turn to each other once more to arouse or to soothe, to cling or to stroke, until the fire sputtered out and the grey light of dawn crept into the room.
Bert and Mary, together, achieved wholeness, love, and thereby perfection.