She comes to me in dreams.
As I drift I'm reminded of her shiny blonde hair, soft like the sunlight on a winter's day, but blazing because it is still the sun. I could run my fingers through the length forever if given the chance. I always had a thing for blondes…
I catch a glimpse of her radiant, warm skin and I can't look away. Her skin is like milk, smooth and creamy and new. I remember all those nights I used to hold her face in my hands, feeling her warmth underneath my fingertips. Although I couldn't admit it, I still remember every freckle and mole across her body. Nevertheless, she hasn't aged a bit since the last dream, even as I get older…
Her lips are full as ever and she's smiling, of course. She wouldn't be herself without her beaming, stark white smile. The contrast between her not-too-light and not-too-dark pink lips and her smile made it that much better. Sometimes I have trouble remembering why it was so beautiful, but when I have these dreams it all comes back to me at once. Her lips remind me of a thousand different kisses and I instantly wish I could plant one more. To think I had the privilege…
Her body is still, uh, in shape, definitely. The curves in all of the right places, her height, all of it works together so perfectly to create what I define as a masterpiece. I stare at her neck, reminded of all of the love bites I previously left, smiling. Is she getting new love bites now? Does her neck look like a map with marked destinations all over it? I savor all of the spontaneous moments we had in the on-call rooms, sometimes at three in the morning, naked and in love, at least for the moment. She would always hold me close afterwards, almost as if she was afraid to be alone. Then, when she came to, she would pick herself up, get dressed, and leave, sometimes without a word, independently. That's another thing I love about her. And, her legs… She would wrap them around me wordlessly in moments of pure happiness or pure lust and it was adorable, and hot, and everything I loved but never admitted to loving. They're long and endless and like a sea of sweet skin and bone and flesh, and that sounds disgusting but it's said with adoration and love. Her hands are tiny, and I always teased her for it. Her picky's half of the size of mine, but maybe that made her more precise as a surgeon. Whenever I would hold her hands, I would rub my thumb against the back of it, in big circles. She never said anything about it, but I could tell she loved it. She probably still would. I wonder if anyone's done it since.
I hear her voice, and she's giggling first. It's the most mellifluous sound I've heard in my life, and I'm sure that'll be true for the rest of my life. She throws her head back, and I can't believe how much I've missed that. "Alex.." she says, and it feels so good to hear her say that again. It's like knowing you've just fallen in love at first sight. It's like hearing "I love you" for the first time, said by someone you love very much. It takes my breath away, because it's been so long and it's so refreshing. I want to respond, but my mouth won't seem to open. It's like I can look but I can't touch, like I can hear but I can't speak. It's driving me crazy, but at least she's here.
Aside from all of the physical things, I miss her. She wasn't just some great love, she was a friend. She was my best friend, and that hurt the worst of all when she up and left. She was incredibly funny. She made me laugh harder than anyone I've ever known, the kind of laugh where you're squirting milk out of your nose and spitting out your drink. She was kind, and a damn good doctor. A damn good surgeon. I never thought I would fall in love with someone so compassionate. She made me a better person, the person I am today and I will always hold her accountable for that, even if I never say it out loud. She was interesting, like a mystery puzzle waiting to be solved, that I never quite fit all the pieces to. That drives me crazy, too. The fact that she's still an unsolved puzzle… I wonder if anyone took the time to finish it. The dominant, most selfish part of me hopes that the answer is no. That no one has loved her the way I loved her, the way I still do. That part of me hopes she'll come back and refuse to go until I take her back. That's an offer I couldn't refuse. We'll have babies and spend the rest of our lives together. This is the only time I ever get so sappy, if you're wondering. In my dreams.
I'm suddenly thinking of a time when we were in the car, driving home from work in the rain, and she stops the car and pulls over.
"Izzie, what are you doing?" I ask, staring at the mischievous look in her eyes. Izzie was always up to something.
"Hush and kiss me." She laughs, exasperatedly. I pull her in and the night ends on the side of the road, naked in the backseat of her car, laughing and eventually falling asleep. The next day, when we wake up, we drive back to work in the same clothes as the day before. She was spontaneous, like a breath of fresh air.
She was my breath of fresh air.
Isobel Stevens is the love of my life.
I'm brought out of my deep sleep, coming back to consciousness. I warily open my eyes, looking around. I feel a rustle beside me and realize that it's Jo, whom I'm currently holding to my body. My wife, Jo Wilson, who I've tried and can't love as much as I love Izzie. My wife, Jo Wilson, who is pregnant and in love with me and all of the things that I should be happy to have.
And from then on I know, I'll live a life of second bests.