Whispered Tales

An Evening at the Theatre (1064 words)

The theatre bell continued to hound us up the stairs and through door four. Most of the audience were already seated and it was clearly a packed house. All perfume and jewellery. Whispers and courtesy. My wife and I paused on the carpeted stairs until she spotted our row letter. Following her into the row I noticed again how it is her preference to squeeze past the seated people facing the stage, but I am never comfortable parading my bum across their faces. I suppose if I had a bum as gorgeous as my wife's I wouldn't be so shy.

So, in my preferred fashion, I sidestep along facing them. Letting my embarrassment at annoying them by being late show on my face. In this series of quick, apologetic glances, I failed to notice my wife had reached our seats and bumped into her as she stopped. The lady next to my still vacant seat found it amusing and we shared a smile. Intending to look to my wife in apology for walking into her, I found it hard to tear my eyes from this forgiving lady. We sat down.

"Do you know her?" My wife's voice, simple curiosity.

"No, she just found it funny that I bumped into you."

"Because you were watching her and not me I suppose." Now her voice had a slight edge to it, but I could not tell if it was anything other than playing.

Even so, I committed myself to giving her my full attention as we waited for the performance to begin. Something about forcing myself to do anything results in me focusing more on what I could be doing otherwise. In this case, my mind kept flitting back to the lady on my right. While I responded to comments about the conductor's past performances and believe I sounded interested, all I really wanted to do was steal another glance at the lady filling my mind's eye.

A hush fell over the audience like some herd consciousness detecting an intruder. Then the conductor crossed the stage and while the orchestra didn't visibly move, you could feel their attention focus. The baton raised and with the orchestra we all breathed in. Like a breeze from across the ocean or a sudden change in light, the sound of the orchestra transported the theatre to somewhere new, even magical.

For a while I forgot where I was and just existed in the music. Giving over my emotions and thoughts to the sounds that enveloped me. Then the single armrest that I shared with the stranger at my side moved slightly. Just enough to let me know that she had placed her elbow on the rest in front of mine. Courtesy told me I should move my arm and free the rest for her. But I really didn't want to and just didn't. Then came the questions. Will she expect me to have moved my arm like a polite man would have? Was she hoping that I hadn't? Will her elbow slide back and touch mine.

It did. And still I left it there, expecting but fearing she may, in embarrassment, flee this common ground between us. But no, she was as bold or as rude as I was and left her elbow resting against my forearm. The pleasure in that touch was beyond justification. My mind kept tripping back over the fact that it was just a stranger's elbow. I could not even find a clear memory of her face, just her eyes, smiling.

Am I that lonely, married and all, that the touch of an elbow can put me in such a spin? I felt both pathetic and guilty. Even so, I did not move. And again the questions. Did she know she was touching me? Had she mistaken my arm for a part of the chair? If I give it away by moving, will she be embarrassed and move away?

Knowing that I only had seconds to decide before leaving my arm there would seem creepy, I mustered the courage and gave her arm a slight press. Not enough to say, 'move off my armrest' but certainly enough that I wouldn't have to wonder if she had felt it at all. The speed and deliberateness with which she returned the gesture made me hope she'd been waiting that next move. Without a thought, I responded by returning the pressure and was excited to feel that she maintained the contact.

My mind was spinning. Why did I care so much? Why could I not focus on anything but this touch? Then through the connection of our skin I felt her lean towards me. A gesture that, had it come from the side my wife was sitting on, would indicate that I should also lean in for her to whisper. I obeyed and lent a little towards this intoxicating woman. The hint of her perfume and the radiating warmth of her skin was all I knew. No whisper, no comment, just the feeling of her cheek close enough to wait for its touch.

I heard her breath, felt its warmth as if her face had turned towards mine. But in the dark my peripheral vision told me nothing. Failing to overcome temptation I let my head turn slightly towards her face, my heart racing. My wife grabbed my hand and I jumped. I had been caught and now I was in hell.

"Sweetheart, are you falling asleep?" Her voice soft and slightly amused.

"What?" It was just luck that I sounded so confused and disoriented. Not in trouble after all?

"You were nodding off dear."

"Oh, thanks." I didn't need to add relief to my voice, it was loaded with it.

I straightened myself in the chair and as I turned slightly to face my wife she picked up my hand from across me and, forsaking the armrest I had shared with my stranger, placed my hand upon her knee. I never did engage with the concert as it ended, my mind still lingering in memories. And I never saw her again. My partner keeping me in post concert analysis as the audience drifted out. But it was her question as we headed down the steps outside the theatre that almost made me stumble.

"If I hadn't pretended to wake you, do you really think you would have kissed her?"

Do you think he was going to kiss her? Did you guess his wife had sprung him? Please let me know if you liked it by voting and I'll sort the most voted stories to the front.