1Before There Was Darkness LongLashes1

Part Fourteen

It had been years since Jim last stepped foot in the ring, laced up his gloves for the final time and felt the exhilaration of winning a hard-fought battle; but he could still find a significant measure of gratification, going a few rounds with the speed bag; the solid smack of clenched fist against leather, the effortless cadence of his hands and arms as he worked the bag, hand over hand, until his whole torso was drawn into the fluidity of the exercise. The passage of time hadn't registered any adverse affect on his abilities; he still moved like a fighter.

Working the bag was one of those things that required absolutely no focus on his part. He could do it with his eyes closed, he was that familiar with the reaction of the bag and that sure of the rhythm of his body. Once he was in that groove, had arrived at that place where his mind and body performed in perfect synchronicity, he could immerse himself in the nothingness. With a severe case of nerves wreaking havoc with his thoughts and tying his stomach in knots, he needed that nothingness this day, more so than he had in a long while.

He had already second-guessed himself a thousand times over the past twenty-four hours; the unrequited doubts constantly needling him, because, as Walter had so astutely pointed out, he really did think too much. His heart had already accepted that Christie was the one, the only one who could make him feel whole. As much as he wanted to listen to the voice of his heart, his head was preoccupied with an ongoing analysis of the glaring differences that existed between her world and his.

There was no doubt that she challenged him, asked of him things that he wasn't ready to give, demanded an openness that no one else had sought from him. But those moments, the moments where she pushed him to share, dared him to talk about things he had hidden long ago, to let her in, were eclipsed by the quiet contentment he had found with her; long walks together, hand in hand, the conversation flowing easily between them, lazy Saturday mornings, snuggled together, unmoving, appreciating, the silence between them unforced and unbroken, relaxing Sunday brunches that more often than not took them well into early afternoon, the simple pleasures they knew from just being with one another. Those were the moments that defined their relationship and affirmed Jim's knowledge that he had found his mate, his partner, his lover, his friend.

It was so easy for him to picture her, enjoying a Saturday afternoon at the ball park, her long raven hair pulled through the back of a blue and white Yankees cap, her slender legs clad in a pair of well-worn jeans; the woman could make an old sweatshirt look good. Try as he might, though, he simply couldn't conjure up the same image of his adjustment to her world, accompanying her to Style Magazine affairs or fashion shows, making polite small talk about a subject he knew absolutely nothing about, had, at least to this point, absolutely no interest in, with a group of people that he had absolutely nothing in common with.

And, yet, unavoidably, he knew he would, if she were to ask. He would make the adjustment to all of the elements of her world that were foreign to him. He was willing to make the sacrifice because her happiness meant that much to him. Any extra effort on his part would be worth it because she was worth it. He could still hear his mother's voice, as clearly as the day she had spoken the words, " If you are lucky enough to find the person you want to spend your life with someday, remember that it's good and bad; you can't know one without the other."

Taking one last swing at the bag before steadying it with his hands, he headed for the locker room and a long, hot shower. The only thing left to him now was to wait and worry, try to control his rampant nerves and ignore that voice in his head.

The sweet sound of jazz filled the room with its spell, weaving it's magic through the smoky air of their favorite jazz club, the voices of a packed house hushed by its excellence. The sax player blew a softened version of Moon River, the light feather rasp of the brush on the snare and cymbals, the deep tonal notes plucked from the cello strings, the only accompaniment to the smooth timbre of the sax.

She had moved her chair around so that she now occupied a place directly at his side, as close to him as the two chairs would allow. The enjoyment of good music, good jazz especially, was one of those things that they did have in common; she was obviously entranced in its hold right now; her shoulders swayed slightly to the music. On this night, she was nothing short of stunning; her selection of a deep violet satin blouse, a wide line of gold beading edging the plunging vee of the neckline, all served to just further enhance what already Jim considered to be her best attributes. Her hair appeared that much softer, darker, the blue of her beautiful eyes that much deeper.

She turned, caught his gaze and smiled. There was something different in her expression, a softness to her radiant smile, a look that Jim could only interpret as adoration on her face. Her hand found his back and she gently rubbed his shoulder, every once in a while moving up to toy with his hair. That touch, the tenderness of it, the way it could soothe his jangled nerves, the spark it often elicited in him, was something he hoped would never change.

He leaned toward her and they met in a kiss, a little longer, a little more to it than he had anticipated, given that he felt so on display. When he finally let her go and she pulled back, he said softly, "Christie, I think I need a breath of fresh air. Do you want to take a walk?" She smiled and nodded her head in agreement.

He waited while she pulled her jacket from the back of the chair and draped it over her shoulders. He took her hand and led her out through the doors at the back of the bar, to the trellised river front patio. The air was clear and cool, a million stars pinned to the rich black cover of the mid-evening sky. They were alone on the patio, the magnificence of the city skyline spread before them, its image mirrored in the calm waters of the river.

She put one arm around his waist and leaned back against his shoulder, taking in the splendor of the view. He wrapped both arms around her and buried his head against her hair, breathing in the subtle, clean scent of it. It was one of those moments of quiet contentment that he found so compelling.

"Jimmy?" she said softly.

"Hm..." He didn't want to move or to talk. He wanted to savor the peace, the tranquility in his heart, the simple, pure joy of standing there holding her.

"Do you realize that we are all alone out here? "

"I do. That's nice, don't you think?"

"It is." She turned and gave him a long, lingering kiss. "I hope you know how much I adore you, Jim."

"I'm not sure I do. Can you show me again?"

"Stop teasing, Jimmy. I'm serious."

"I am too. I'd like you to show me again." This time he reached down and cradled her beautiful face between his hands. There was a gentle passion to this kiss, it was long and deep.

"Let's sit for a minute okay? I'm not ready to go back in yet." He indicated one of the tables at the far corner of the patio, tucked intimately under the canopy of the ornate trees that edged the patio in decorative pots. He disappeared briefly behind the short serving counter to the side of the patio doors, and returned with a silver champagne bucket, a bottle of Dom Perignon chilling in the ice. A crystal champagne flute was tucked safely in each jacket pocket.

"Jimmy?" She questioned him.

"Ah, no questions, okay? Just sit, please," he said, pulling a chair out for her. He lifted the champagne from the ice and pressed the cork, the explosion of it splitting the silent mood of the patio; they both laughed.

As he poured the champagne, the patio doors swung open and the haunting sound of a single sax, rendering I Don't Want To Walk Without You, echoed into the night air. He could feel the warmth of his emotions filling his heart and bringing a mist to his eyes. This was one time when he would have to fight to suppress that swell of emotion, to make it safely through what he was about to do without giving in to the depth of those feelings. He took one small gulp of champagne, set the flute back on the table and moved to her, pulling her up to stand with him.

Inside, he was shaking; he hoped it wouldn't be reflected in his voice. Clearing his throat just once, he began slowly, quietly, "Christie, you have to know that I love you. I think I fell in love with you the first time I laid eyes on you."

"Jimmy..." He placed his finger gently against her lips to quiet her.

"Let me talk, okay?" There was so much already written in her eyes; he didn't need her words to confirm that what he was feeling was in her heart too. "I know I'm not easy, I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but I think we're good together... I have never been sure of very many things in my life; but I am sure about us, about you. Christie, I want to spend all my days feeling like this, with you."

Tears filled her eyes, her lips trembled. He pulled the small velvet box from his jacket pocket and opened it, revealing the ring, the one he had spent the better part of a day searching for. "Christie, marry me, please? Walk with me for the rest of my days? I can't imagine my life without you in it."

Her tears were now flowing freely. She held out her left hand and he slipped the ring on her finger; he wasn't sure whose hands were shaking more. As it found its place at the base of her ring finger, he felt the first tear trail down his cheek; more would surely follow.

She lifted his face to hers and brushed that tear away. Reflected there, in her eyes, was the love he had been waiting his whole life to find. Through her own tears, she managed, "Yes, Jimmy, I will marry you."