He's here,
he's really here. Oh God, don't tell me
I'm dreaming.
Knowing the
Almighty's sick sense of humor and love of perversion, I wouldn't be a tad bit
surprised. It makes me want to shake my
fist at the ceiling, but I refrain from doing so.
A peaceful
air has settled over us…the awkwardness of what was and wasn't our shared and
separate faults now in the past. I
don't wish to dwell on them, and I don't think he does, either. Now that they're behind us, I hope to move
onto other things.
He looks at
me as though I'm liable to break, should he touch me. It's bizarre, watching the inward struggle of a man that hides
emotion so well. It doesn't make me
uncomfortable…rather it's reassuring that even the strongest of us are still
human.
But I wish
he'd touch me. It looks like he wants
to. I wonder what keeps him at
bay. Perhaps I'm more fragile than I
appear. Maybe I will break; crumple
into a thousand pieces, nestled finally in the warmth of his embrace. The way I've felt the passed few days, that
seems entirely plausible.
And then it
doesn't…strange how you can go from feeling like the dirt under someone's shoe
to amazingly free and enlightened only a matter of seconds.
The things
he's told me remain an enigma. It's
ironic, really. I've called for him
every night since he left me, thinking surely he would never want to speak to
me again for what I did to him. Now it
appears he felt everything that happened was his burden, his blame. Maybe if we stopped trying to take the
fault, we could get to what is really important. After all, that's over with now, isn't it? Somehow, he is here. Sitting there before me.
I don't want
to blink for fear he'll disappear. After all, I have felt nothing of his touch. In the disillusioned state of my radical thinking, it seems
rational to me that he might not be here at all. Perhaps I've lost my mind and this is the final torment. A sense of false closure, false hope. After all, I've certainly *felt* nothing to
suggest otherwise.
Let it go, I
silently urge. Just give me some
goddamn sign that you're real! Real, and mine now.
The silence
we share is peaceful, and I enjoy it at first. Sometimes, there are things too important to trust with the English
language, or any language, for that matter. I much prefer to read his eyes, though I know my knack for it is a
little out of practice, if it ever amounted to anything in the big picture at
all.
As time
passes, though, I feel the need for silence leaves us. I need more reassurance that I have not lost
my wits. The ticking of the grandfather
clock in the hallway suddenly intensifies, as some demented dream that once
whatever hour chimes, he will disappear and I'll never see him again.
I feel the
same tears that tempted me outside return, and again, receive his look that
silently implores me not shed them. Well fine! I won't cry if you
don't disappear. No, I can't promise
that. Knowing that this *isn't* a dream
might stir me to more emotion than I can handle. It's a shame I never took any anger management classes. Maybe if I had exercised my feelings more in
the past, I wouldn't be this overwhelmed.
Overwhelmed
isn't the right word, but it's all I have right now. I'm battling the desires to scream, cry, laugh, faint, and growl
in aggravation.
He still
hasn't touched me, and my patience is wearing thin.
The silence
becomes heavy, though his gaze doesn't falter. It's not so different than the look he issued me some ten years back
while he implored me to tell him of the Montana ranch, of the sheep and their
screaming. He's trying to read my eyes,
and knowing me and the rather pitiful way I allow myself to be examined, he's
come to some conclusion.
You heard me
before, didn't you? All those times I
called to you…why else would you be here? Well, hear me now. I need to
feel you more than anything. Let me
know you're here. That I'm *not* out of
my mind. That I have some reason to be
hopeful.
How is it
you can hear me when you're miles away, but can't *see* what I need when you're
right here?
I wonder,
truly, what's holding him back.
The odd flow
of events has finally gotten to me. He's here, but still not giving me what I need. Lord knows I probably deserve it. I feel a tear trickle over my upper lip and
curse myself for letting it get to me. But I can't help it. How can
I?
I hear him
sigh and mutter my name. It's the first
thing I've heard from him in a few minutes. Slowly, he withdraws a handkerchief and hands it to me. I see in his eyes, self-torment at watching
me cry. The temptation is upon me to
start some real water-works, but I refrain. There's something else…something else…
As I reach
to take the handkerchief from him, our fingers brush as they did in
Memphis. I feel static run through me
at the touch, and look up, astonished when he doesn't disappear. Then I know I cannot control it, cannot help
myself. Even if I wanted to, which I am unashamed to admit, I don't.
I hear
myself release something of a muffled sob as I tumble forward, wrapping my arms
around his neck and loving the way his warmth absorbs me wholly. The handkerchief forgotten, I can't help the
tears that flow now. Not out of
sadness, or loss, but of discovery. He's here, really here, and by God, he's not going anywhere. Not unless it's with me.
When I feel
his arms encircle me, I'm lost. Completely lost. A breath of
release drifts from his lips, one of the last constraint, and I sense the heavy
relief in which he holds me. Big
coward.
I hear
myself muttering repeatedly: "You're
real, you're real, you're really here," but I receive nothing more than a
tightened embrace in reply. I'm glad,
for verbal confirmation is not needed. We're beyond that, so beyond that, and have been for as long as I can
remember. What I say is for my benefit,
not his.
After a
minute, still holding each other, perhaps frightened to let go, I pull away
cautiously. He does not relinquish his
arms, and for that I am glad. I'm not
ready to leave this warmth, even if it is only for a little while. A few seconds after ten years can seem like
a lifetime.
There *is*
something else I need, something before anything more can pass.
I need his
word.
"Promise me
something, will you?" I ask, pleased when I don't have to fight for words,
though I am aware of the drying tears on my cheeks.
Slowly, he
withdraws his right arm, keeping me steady in the other, and runs his hand
soothingly over my face, wiping the reminisce of my outburst away, as if to
signify a new beginning. The feeling
all in itself makes me want to cry again. I know I'll never tire of his touch.
"Yes?" he
breathes in reply a minute later.
"If you plan
on leaving…take me with you."
My request
sounds amateur on my tongue, though that does not change my need of
confirmation. When I expect him to
laugh or scorn, he doesn't, rather smiles nicely. He runs his free hand through my hair, memorizing my contours
with touch rather than eyesight.
I love the
feeling.
"I'm sorry
you felt the need to ask," he reassures me. "I promise, Clarice."
That's all I
need. I feel myself smile before moving
to embrace him once again, needing nothing more than to sit here tonight, with
his promise, in the warm comfort of his arms.
I sense we
want the same. Nothing further. Not tonight. This peace should go undisturbed for no reason. I don't care how long I remain here, just as
long as he's with me.
After
all…there's always tomorrow.
FIN