In Spring
by JHJ Armstrong
Rating: PG
Content: MSR, V
Summary: A year in the life.
Distribution: You want it, you got it. All the usual
suspects,
of course.
Disclaimer: Mr. Carter, I don't think you want 'em anymore.
I'm taking 'em, and Season 8 can go hang. So there.
Feedback: Save a starving fullback at piglit1975@aol.com.
Find this and other works at When Pigs Fly:
http://copygirl.softballjunkies.com/pigsfly.html
Notes: To Livia (thanks for the food), Fi and the Token,
and cofax and M. and ... Virginia. As always, you are the
perspiration behind my inspiration.
===========================
Summer.
It was a Thursday in July. Breathlessly hot.
Rose petals wilted as they lay on the sidewalk beneath a
cafe's outdoor table, panting for air, edges wrinkling,
hoping for a zephyr of relief that would never come.
The world, complaining and congested, rushed in great
waves from freezer to oven to freezer, as if life might
vaporize if left outside too long.
A man and a woman were among the hordes, letting the world
hurry around them. As they walked, their words argued but
their voices caressed. He slung his suit jacket carelessly
over a shoulder; she watched his graceful movements with a
wistful eye.
Her posture was proud, straight and tall, smaller legs
striding as he loped. She had no trouble keeping up.
On a day when tempers flared within three feet, they were
within three inches, his hand gently guiding her around
smelly tourists and squalling children.
She wore a secret smile when he did it.
Waiting for the light, she spied an ice cream cart,
scratched gray metal sweating almost as much as its
proprietor, a cherubic man who winked at her and lifted
his waffle cone filled with creamy cheesecake swirl in
toast and temptation. She licked her bottom lip, then bit
it and shook her head ever so slightly in regret and
self-denial.
Her escort saw the whole operation. But the light turned
and she stepped briskly off the curb, so he filed it away
for another day.
---------
Another week and a few more days found them back at the
same corner. Still hot, ice cream man still there, still
selling vanilla and chocolate, but now he offered bottled
water, too.
She bought one, handing over a limp five-dollar bill,
shaking drops from the clear plastic and holding sixteen
ounces of cold to her neck while waiting for change. She
walked to the corner, not noticing that she did so alone.
She missed him a second later, turning around to be
greeted with a double scoop of the cheesecake swirl. She
looked up at him, trying to admonish but actually grateful,
and his eyes twinkled at her in invitation. She laid her
hand on his and leaned forward, wrapping her lips around
the mound of sugar, eggs and cream, tongue just grazing the
side of his index finger. Pulling back slowly, she gave him
a little-girl-with-pigtails smile and an "mmmmmm" of
appreciation, then started across the street.
He stared after her, licking sticky rivulets off his own
fingers, wondering what she would say if he asked to taste
her.
In summer, she said maybe.
======================
Autumn.
He chased her while they chased monsters. She eluded
capture.
On a Saturday, they went for a walk.
The path crunched as they strolled. Wind ruffled their
hair, but it had a chapping bite and none of the summer's
balm.
The night before, they'd sat together in a dark theater
and watched people fall in love. She wished it really could
be that easy, but if wishes were horses they'd have ridden
off into the sunset long ago.
On the way to the car, his right hand swung next to her
left, asking to be held. She watched it sway back and forth
out of the corner of her eye, but the more she thought about
it, the more intimate it became, and she couldn't make the
gesture.
Today, they both had their hands in their pockets. He would
often take one of his out, smoothing back the strands of
her hair when they got too unruly, or running a path along
the back of her arm.
She knew he needed to touch, knew he didn't share her
reservations about tactile connections. She didn't know how
to tell him his need could be overwhelming.
They sat on a bench, watching leaves make kaleidoscope
patterns as they fluttered down to faded grass, giving up
life so that life could continue.
He reached for her. She let him, just let him, and he
realized it wasn't enough.
He asked her what was wrong. She didn't answer. He pushed.
She shook her head. It's not you, she said. It's me. Please
understand. You're asking more of me than I can give.
She said she needed some time, and she walked away. He
stayed behind and cried as broken bits of foliage fell
softly upon his grief.
In summer, she'd said maybe. In autumn, she said no.
======================================
Winter.
They stayed partners, though it was somewhat harder to
remain friends.
She'd never thought innuendo could be frosty.
Her car wouldn't start; she took the bus to work. Once,
she knew he would have picked her up, warm gaze and hot
coffee at the ready, even though it was out of his way.
She didn't know anymore, and half expected a cold shoulder.
Time passed. She found herself watching him, trying
unsuccessfully to find out, without thawing, how much she'd
hurt him.
Shivering, she looked up at barren elm trees and refused
to dwell on might-have-beens.
She took refuge in the lab, in frozen corpses that weren't
offended by her briskness.
Grey days became black nights. She dreamed in monochrome,
fighting through swirling blizzards, struggling to reach
a pinprick of light in the distance that held out a faint
hope of shelter, of companionship and warmth.
But when she got there, there was nothing -- absolutely
nothing. She would lose her will to go on then, and the
maelstrom would swallow her whole.
She'd wake exhausted, sad ... alone. But still on her
chosen path.
After all, there were parts of her no one else should see,
and she was sure she liked it that way.
If she took him into her heart, would there still be room
for her?
If she took him into her heart, it would shatter if she
lost him. It was not worth it. It simply wasn't.
Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, said the wise
men (and Elvis, he would remind her); who was she to argue?
But it is human nature to ask what if. Being human, she did.
It was a Tuesday in Pennsylvania when she had an epiphany.
They'd wrapped up the case, and she was packing for the
next day's flight. She heard him yell, and yanked open the
door, grabbing for her gun.
She saw him, snow in his collar, hiding behind a blue Honda,
hands hastily packing snowballs to hurl back at one of the
detectives, a short, stocky blond with incredible aim.
He looked at her, and he was smiling, his face illuminated
with the simple joy of a parking-lot snowball fight. Come
out and play with me, his eyes asked.
She gave him a tentative smile and closed the door,
pretending not to notice how his smile faded as she did so.
She snuck out the back window and helped the detective
cream him.
Later, over steaming cocoa with jumbo marshmallows, they
talked.
That night she dreamed of the blizzard again, but this
time, she found the shelter and he stood within. He wrapped
a blanket around her chilly shoulders and led her to sit
before the fire.
When she woke, the sun was shining outside her hotel window
with a beckoning brilliance. She smiled.
He found her outside, making angels, red hair bright against
new snow. She said she wasn't afraid anymore.
In summer, she'd said maybe. In autumn, she'd said no. In
winter, she asked if they could try again.
======================================
Spring.
This was her favorite of all the seasons, things growing
and becoming and leaping.
She was growing, too; becoming a participant in the dance
he'd started, finding the courage to leap with him, though
she kept her eyes wide open.
On a Friday, she asked if he had plans for the next evening.
He said he'd meet her there. He did, and brought her yellow
roses.
They had spring rolls and a crunchy pork-garlic dish that
neither of them could pronounce but both decided was very
good.
Over green tea ice cream, one dish and two spoons, their
hands touched more than once. She hooked his pinky with
hers, playful.
Her fortune cookie told her the truth: "One cannot control
the wind, but one can adjust the sails."
Later, they kissed. It wasn't the first time, but for them
each time was a rediscovery.
On a Saturday, she stood in her bedroom, contemplating the
golden man bared before her, and she couldn't help but think
that perhaps everything would be okay.
Birds sang in the park. The world blinked sleepily, awaking
for the first time once again.
Cherry trees budded, promise and beauty in pink and white.
In spring, she said yes.
--30--
==================================
Did you like it? Drop me a line at piglit1975@aol.com
Thanks for playing in the sandlot with me.