Chapter Fourteen
Background Theme: Born to Love You
With a bewildered look, mingled with the
sleepy haze of the recently awakened, I took in my surroundings. The room was slightly illuminated by a tall,
thin black lamp that stood against the far wall, to the left of the doorway to
the kitchen. The lamp was topped with a
reflective bowl; most of the soft light was cast upward, toward the
ceiling. The lamp's design allowed most
of the glow to spill over in a cozy
ambiance throughout the rest of the living room. The on/off switch, a small, round, brass
dial that controlled the lamp's degree of brightness, was located on the lamp
pole halfway up, its control switch turned to the lowest setting.
Slightly
silhouetted against the gentle radiance, Alisha was seated on the left armrest
of my couch chair, her right arm extended for support along the top of the
backrest, her left hand reaching for me to gently caress the right side of my
face. The tender touch of her fingers
was slightly warm against my skin, cooled by a few hours of air conditioning as
I had slept. Carefully turning my face
to meet hers, she whispered reassuring words of calm, mindful of the confusion
of my slumber-sodden wits. As I became
fully awake, I noticed her gaze shift to my temples, becoming a look of
quizzical concern, observing where the tracks of my tears had flowed into my
sideburns while I had dreamt. My head
apparently had lolled back while I slept in what must have been a completely comical
display of snoozing. I could imagine an
almost anime-ish scene of me with my mouth wide open, my tongue hanging out to
the side, and a snot bubble fluctuating in size as I breathed in and out. I self-consciously wiped at my nose and side
of my mouth, thankful to find evidence, or the lack thereof, to the contrary.
Shaking the image from my head, I looked
again at Alisha. The inquisitive gaze
linked with something in her mind as a question began to form on her lips. I gently reached up, placing a forefinger
over her lips. "Shhh," I shushed. "I'm okay."
"Why have you been crying?" she asked
insistently. She softly traced the
track of a stray tear that had slipped across my cheek and down to my chin
before it had dried.
"It's probably just allergies," I
lied. I rubbed my eye briefly, wiping
away any remnants and to distract myself from the growing awareness of just how
close she was sitting to me. It was
very difficult considering the lingering scent of lotion on her hands and a
touch of perfume on her wrist. Damn.
"Then why are your eyes so damn red?"
I closed my eyes briefly, sighing, as I
secretly relished the tenderness of her touch.
I opened them again. "Don't
worry about it," I said with a bit of finality. I sat up. She withdrew
her hand, sitting back herself on the armrest.
"I was waiting for your call," I continued. "I didn't expect a visit.
Not that I'm complaining, though," I grinned as I stifled a yawn.
"I bet,"
she replied. "What am I going to
do with you?"
"Anything
you want?" I replied hopefully.
She
shook her head. "Mmm, mmm, mmm." A hint of a smile began to tug at the
corners of her mouth. "I spoil you too
much, you know," she whispered softly.
"Yeah, yeah." She had begun caressing my cheek again, almost
absentmindedly. I took her hand in
mine, looking at her for a long moment.
"So, what's up?" I inquired.
She returned my gaze for a few seconds,
smiling wistfully as she squeezed my hand slightly, then quietly stood and
moved toward the small entertainment center I used for my television and VCR. She picked up her keys (among them a spare
one to my apartment that I had given her) and purse from the top shelf where
she had first set them, and walked toward the kitchen opening, stopping at the
door to turn the deadbolt. The small
keyring she held in her left hand had a small, plush, mischievously-grinning
Garfield swinging in small arcs from the rest of the keyring as she turned back
toward the kitchen, setting her purse and keys with a clink-ing jingle on the kitchen counter. Pulling a tumbler from one of the upper cabinets, she poured
herself some iced tea from the refrigerator, replaced the tea pitcher, and
returned to sit on the living room sofa.
Her back against the far armrest, she stretched her legs a bit, arching
her back as she got comfortable.
Settled, she then drew her legs closer, almost to her chest. Taking a sip of her drink before carefully
placing it on the carpeted floor in front of the couch, she wrapped her arms
around her legs, setting her chin on her knees. Gazing down toward the floor, she had an absent look in her eyes,
a look she often got when she had a lot on her mind and was either trying to
sort it out – or leave it behind.
Too
often I tend to mistake her composure as a sign of ease; I was beginning to
realize that her calm mood was, in a word, deceptive. I noticed an almost imperceptible wince as she withdrew further
into thought.
Raising an eyebrow slightly, I stood and
walked quietly over to the sofa, sat down, swinging my legs up to sit cross-legged
as I sat facing her, a close yet respectable distance between us. I knew in times like these it was best to
wait until she was ready to speak.
Examining her face closer, I saw her eyes
were slightly unfocused as she looked across the top of her knees in silent
retrospection. Though she had done her
best to repair the damage, I could see telltale traces of tears that had made
their mark on her cheeks; the eyeliner that attractively lined her lower
eyelids was slightly smudged from what seemed to have been repeated attempts to
wipe away tears.
Continuing to watch patiently, I noticed
shadows of one emotion wax, then wane, into another as they crossed her face in
a slow but continuous movement, much like watching shadows on the grass cast by
passing clouds fade in and out with the clouds' movement across the sky. It seemed she was battling with herself --
not only over what had happened since I had last seen her -- but with how to
put it into words. A battle I couldn't
quite tell if she was winning or losing.
"Alisha?"
She glanced up suddenly, a somber look on
her face; her gaze shifted back down just as quickly. I reached forward, taking her chin in my right hand, and lifted
it gently. She would not return my
gaze.
"Alisha?"
No response.
"Look
at me."
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, then
quickly fell down and to the side. Her
chin began to sink again as well. Her
lips drifted downward in a heart-rending display of despondence. Her knees dropped, placing her in a
cross-legged sitting position, her hands resting lightly in her lap. Alisha continued to stare down, her eyes
locked on her hands. I took one hand in
mine while softly placing the palm of the other against her cheek, my thumb
softly brushing the area under her eyes and along her cheekbone. I could feel anguish building within her,
translating outwardly in a warm flush that began to appear on her face and
neck. In one gentle motion, I swept my
hand in a tender caress across the side of her face, sweeping back long, dark
locks of hair that had fallen forward, combing my fingers through her soft hair
as I did so. The locks smoothly tucked
behind her ear, I slowly brought my hand along her lower jaw, the back of my
forefinger tracing the delicate curve of her jaw line. Curling my fingers under her chin, I
carefully, but firmly, lifted it up again, silently compelling Alisha to meet
my gaze.
Her eyes made contact with mine, and for
a brief moment -- through the mirrors of her soul -- I could see the darkened
sea of confusion that clouded her heart.
Uncertainty clung to the depths of her tormented spirit, and despair
that raged within her finally began to manifest in a welling, then a
thunderburst, of tears that began to fall from her eyes. Her lips began to tremble under the strain
of holding back so much emotional duress.
With
a heartrending sob that tore through me to the very core of my being, she fell
forward, her face burying itself in my chest.
Taken aback, I had fallen backward, my arms encircling her as I fell
into the sofa, my head coming to rest on the sofa's cushioned arm. She seemed not to notice as her body shook
in fits of sobbing. Finally, she let
loose an anguished cry that was only slightly muffled as I held her to me. Her right hand balled into a fist that hammered
into my chest several times as she let loose everything that had built up. I held her tighter, trying to will every
ounce of emotional fortitude I had into her to bolster her own courage (my
chest would also be extremely sore come morning, but I'd get over it). I spent the next twenty or thirty minutes
holding her, caressing her, whispering what words of reassurance I could,
suppressing my own confusion and anger.
Confusion as to what had happened…I could only imagine. Anger…I wanted to rend into pieces whomever
or whatever had hurt her.
Eventually, the crying slowed and the
sobs ebbed away; she had cried herself to sleep. Nuzzling and stroking her hair, I looked up at the ceiling. There would be time for answers later.
For now, I relaxed, and allowed sleep to
take me, curiously content as I held Alisha in my arms.
