The world stood still for a moment; it always did when she was in the room with me. It always did when she would inadvertently brush up against my arm. Her skin was always soft; she smelled of lavender and lilacs. The scent was so faint probably from soap or lotion. I could always smell it when she was in the room, or maybe I just associated the smell with her . . . it set off synapses in my brain flooding my neurons with neurotransmitters that would mimic that olfactory hallucination of lavender and lilac. That's how I reasoned it. I was so good at breaking things down into the least meaningful scientific facts. I diluted all the special moments with my reason; I was afraid that someday I would have just a long string of random facts to represent my time on Earth. Someday was probably today; it was probably yesterday too.
She looked pretty today. It looked like she took the extra time to style her hair and put on makeup. The cosmetics were so faint against her skin, but it brought out her brown eyes and the pink tint of her lips. It was such a simple beauty. It was a beauty that I believe was not fully appreciated in our society. I never wanted the leggy supermodel or the Hawaiian Tropics Girl. I knew I could have been happy with her forever; I knew that she had given me the chance a million different times. I had turned her away a million different times. It was only recently that I began to think of how my life was severely lacking the meaning that I hoped it would hold.
My mother asked me to marry; she was dying. She wanted to make sure that I was taken care of; there was always the possibility that my malleus, incus, and stapes would become encrusted in bone as my mother's had so many years ago. She was terrified of me facing that alone. I had never told her about the surgery; I felt like I was cheating fate. My mother had not been so lucky . . . why should I be.
I imagined that she had dressed only for me and put on make-up only for me. I knew that was as far from the truth as possible; I had given her no reason to do such a wonderful thing for me. She was the only reason that I was interested in beauty, but the only beauty I was interested in was her. I carefully memorized all her curves, breaking each individual section into a million triangles, rhombi, and squares. I had created and extensive blueprint of her body in my mind. Each piece etched in my brain for eternity.
I wanted to see her alone. I wanted to tell her that I am sick of denying myself of beauty. She's here early; she's in the locker room unloading the few personal effects she brings to work into her locker. I moved silently to the doorway.
His hands are on her shoulders. His hands gently kneaded her scapular muscles; she sighed and fell back into him. He kissed her neck right where it gently slopes into her shoulders. She smiled. I heard him say that he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep his hands off of her. She smiled again and reminded him that they had tomorrow off. She commented that she loved his sexy accent; he blushed a deep red. He promised to try to behave; she said that the minute they walked through the door in the morning she would be his.
I wanted to pull him off of her. I wanted to tell him that she was mine, but I knew now that that was a lie. I had waited too long; I felt her beauty slip through my hands. I hated beauty. I hated that I passed on second, third, and maybe even tenth chances. He had capitalized on his first chance. I hated my career for the first time in my life; it was because of my obsession that I lost her. It would hard to go back to a world of grays, whites, and black after she had shown me color.
Turned quickly and went to my office. I through the paperweight with Lepidoptera at the wall; it shattered into a million pieces. I never wanted to see the beauty of a butterfly again because it would mean nothing without her.
FIN