"For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul."
-Judy Garland
"I don't remember my mother very much. She died when I was a baby," I started, twisting Erik's cape between my fingers as bittersweet memories resurfaced one by one. "Dad... Dad didn't talk about her a lot but I knew they had loved each other very much. He never remarried and so for most of my life Dad was the only person I had in the world. He was the one who taught me to love music and encouraged my timid dreams of being a singer. He was never pushy, though, letting me develop into my own person with my own interests and ambitions." I sniffed and quickly away wiped a tear that trickled down my cheek with embarrassment. "I remember when I was little... about seven years old I think. I had just finished a recital at school. I messed up really bad, forgetting my words and just standing there with my mouth gaping open... Anyway, when it was over he told me how proud he was that I had had the courage to get up on stage in front of the couple dozen or so parents that had attended. He told me that stage fright had been one of his biggest obstacles too... I remember thinking; 'how could my dad, an adult, who's played before hundreds of people ever be afraid?' " I smiled at the memory but then it faded. There was absolute silence for a moment before I went on.
"It was last February. I was being stupid, really," I continued, staring at the dim glow of the lamp, unwilling to see the condemnation in Erik's mismatched eyes that I knew would be there. "A friend of mine had tickets to see a musical in the city that had been sold out before Dad and I could get our own tickets. The day before the performance, my friend got really sick… food poisoning or something. She offered the tickets to Dad and I… I wanted to go so badly and I begged and pleaded like a five-year-old. Finally," I paused a moment and inhaled a deep breath. "He agreed even though the weather was really bad and the forecast called for yet more snow… We were driving really slowly and all I could think about was if we were going to be late. I asked him if we were almost there and the next thing I knew there was a blaring horn..." My voice broke and I closed my eyes, feeling tears slide from under my eyelids. "I learned later that the truck that... hit us slid on the ice after trying to stop at a red light. The last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital was this horrible image of blood… violently red against the snow. When I woke up, a police officer told me that Dad was..." I buried my face in my hands. "It's my fault! If I hadn't begged him to go to the stupid performance... It's all my fault!" I choked on some tears and then couldn't stop the rest of the sobs that shook my whole body.
Erik let me cry for a moment before tenderly lifted my chin with the barest feather-light touch of two fingers, holding my tear-flooded eyes with his own. "It wasn't your fault, Christine," he clearly, enunciating each word perfectly. I just stared at him incredulously. "You hear me? It was not your fault! Your father was an adult, he made his own choices and as a parent he had the right to refuse you. It was his choice and no fault of your own." I couldn't respond, all the breath seemed to have left my body. "You need to let go sometime, Christine, life is too short to carry around such a burden..." Dimly I felt the gentle pressure of Erik's arms and I fell into them instinctively, letting my tears soak his shoulder.
Gradually, the tears receded to be replaced by an inexplicable peace and I felt strangely reluctant to draw away from the comforting warmth of Erik's arms. I heard his heartbeat, steady as a song and reassuring me that, even though the outside world might be crumbling down, everything, at this moment, was well here.
Almost unwillingly, I pulled back slightly with a shaky, shy smile, leaving a hand on his arm.
"I never did thank you Erik, for what you did today... I just wish there was something I can do for you..."
Erik hesitantly covered my hand with his and glanced at me with a burning intensity that at once frightened and thrilled me. "There's nothing you can do, Christine," he answered sadly.
I searched his eyes and somehow I knew without a doubt what I should do. Tentatively, I reached up and removed his mask. He shrank away from me with a cry, using his arms to hide his poor face. Gently, I removed his hands away from his face, ignoring his automatic recoil. Then I laid the back of my hand against his scarred cheek. Erik inhaled sharply and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Christine... how can you stand to… to actually touch it?" he half-moaned, quivering. His hands clenched and unclenched themselves rapidly in the folds of his cloak that had slipped off my shoulders when we had embraced.
"Erik," I admonished gently. "Don't you understand? This... stuff," I continued, gesturing to my own skin and hair. "won't last, eventually we'll all be ugly. But what really matters is what is in here." I put my hand over his heart, feeling it's steady beat beneath my fingertips. "I know the real you, Erik... In a way… you are handsome to me..." He closed his eyes again with a small sigh. Trembling, he tenderly grasped my hand in his long thin one and brought it hovering in front of his mouth where I felt his ragged breath tickling the small hairs on my hand.
I moved closer. Erik's eyes flew open, sensing my movement He looked frightened and tried to shake his head. "Christine..."
I was, by now, so close that I felt the slight tantalizing pressure of his shallow breath against my mouth. Slowly, not wanting to scare him more, I brought my lips to his.
It was like drowning but at the same time I was soaring above the clouds... Absently, I felt as if the last piece to a puzzle I had been working on unconsciously had just been solved. Everything fit.
I closed my arms around his neck to insure that he wouldn't pull away prematurely and end this mystical moment. He made some muffled, startled sound but at the insistent pressure of my lips against his, he seemed to relax and awkwardly brought his arms around my back, arching my body against his as gentle, tentative fingers buried themselves in the tangled mesh of my hair.
At some unspoken agreement we parted, our duet ending with a barely audible sigh. I leaned against him, his chin resting gently against my forehead, closing my eyes as thin arms wrapped around my waist and held me as if I were a ghost.
For a while, neither of us spoke as if afraid to shatter the fragile intensity of the moment we had just shared.
"What happens now?" he whispered as if afraid that he might wake up and sadly realize that it had all been a dream.
I didn't ever want to leave but all that we had worked on would be practically in vain if I didn't get a good night's rest. I pulled back just to look him in the eye. "I think we'd both better go. The musical is tomorrow and I want to have enough sleep."
At once, Erik stood and shyly helped me to my feet. "You're right, of course. Can…" he hesitated, unsure of himself again. "Can I see you home?"
I smiled and threaded my arm through his. "Why Erik, I thought you might never ask."
With a tired smile, I once again thanked the middle-aged lady for her many generous compliments on my performance. It was late Monday night and the opening night of West Side Story had gone off without a hitch. Even though I had longed to go and immediately get the thick stage makeup washed off, Mrs. Lucas had met us backstage after bows and insisted that we go and "greet our public." I had been assailed by many people giving me such rapturous praises that I couldn't disentangle myself for a while.
I sighed with relief when the woman finally walked away, and glanced around seeing only a few people left in the theater and they were either part of the cast or they were exiting. I was just about to enter the door to that led to the ladies dressing rooms when I thought I saw Tom Glover looking at me. His face was a mask of rage...