I can't believe it, it's finally happening! "FUCK, YEEEAAH!" I screamed ecstatically in my bedroom, reading the e-mail again. And again. Is this for real? Am I reading this correctly? "Two months!" I yelled at my laptop. It took only two months this time before I got a response about my manuscript, and it was a green light. "THANK YOU!" I raised my hands to the sky and cupped my face in my hands, feeling my cheeks warm up. I gotta calm down or I'll burst. I wanted to tell someone, anyone the good news. Adam!
∞∞∞
It's been a few months since the day Adam told me about Marilyn, and I've started observing how she behaved around me. Eventually she visited more often, sometimes five times a week even. I never gave her any sign that I knew something and I tried my best to act like I always did when we spend time together, though I couldn't stop thinking how she probably felt about me so I ended up noticing every move she made. I thought, maybe that's why she always laughed at my jokes, among other things, of course. Like blushing every time I said something nice or held her hand or how I caught her staring all the time and looking away hoping I wouldn't notice. And she always gave me a lot of gifts. She stopped giving me wine, finally, but that was quickly replaced with all sorts of cakes she proudly announced that she baked herself. Don't get me wrong, I love sweet food and I'd say yes to them anytime, but my fridge told me to fuck off and buy a chest freezer. I once joked about it and asked her, "Are you fattening me up, Marilyn?" I laughed and she answered, "Maybe." And she had this flirty look on her face, staring at me until it became so awkward that I had to look away. Holy shit! I wanted to cover my face in embarrassment, but of course I couldn't let her know that I had any idea about her feelings. Then I realized that she had always been extra nice to me, much more careful and gentle than anyone, never unpleasant or confrontational since the beginning of our friendship. I had always thought how it made her a really special person, so I became more attached to her and perhaps in turn I unconsciously gave her the wrong signals, too. But my blindness had been cured and I felt that she noticed a kind of change in me. She blushed a little less, laughed a little more softly. It broke my heart to have to keep breaking hers, but it would hurt more if I led her on for nothing. Nevertheless, she didn't limit her visits and never showed any negativity towards me.
I began to understand the nature of her extravagant showering of gifts one day, when she greeted me at the door with a downcast expression on her face. I asked her what the problem was and if she was okay, then she told me she had something to discuss with me. I was nervous. Oh no, is she gonna confess? Agh! I wasn't ready for that conversation, I hadn't prepared myself thinking she had a better understanding of the situation and that I had gotten my message across. I breathed in deep and composed myself, inviting her in. We sat in the dining room as always and she gave me a new cake as always. I said thank you, as always. She was too quiet so I asked, "So, what's going on? Tell me all about it." She looked like she had just gambled away all her possessions overnight and had to tell me she had no choice but to live under a bridge now. I didn't care anymore what she was gonna say, all I knew was that I couldn't wait to ease her pain, whatever its nature may be. She looked at me and said, "I'm leaving town, Miss Sylvia." Oh, thank God that was it. I expected much worse! Although... Unexpectedly, I felt alone again thinking how she'd stop visiting for a while. To comfort her (and perhaps myself) I said, "Aw, that's okay. We can see each other again as soon as you come back. Going on vacation?" She smiled meekly. "No, Miss Sylvia. I'm going away for good. Uncle wants me to follow him and stay with my cousins instead. He saw how successful they were and said he's saved up enough money so I should get myself into a good school there and..." She stopped. This must be really hard for her to share with me. "Well," I said, "it's gonna be really different here without you around, and I know how much you love this place, the beach, the work at the shop. And the people here love you, too. I know all of that seems hard to let go, but... if you think about it, your uncle only wants what's best for you. I'm telling you, a woman as smart as you would do so well in... whatever field you choose. And a good education is... just... the most wonderful eye-opening experience anyone can have." She looked up at me with hopeful eyes this time. Okay, I think I'm getting through to her. I continued, "You know, I finished college but... I'm actually planning to go back to studying even more. That's how wonderful it was for me. And I think it would be the same for you, too, Marilyn. And besides... who says you can't come back here every once in a while, right? This place would never be taken away from you." She beamed at me, her expression glowing, and it warmed up all my insides. I laughed, imagining how she would stand out in the college scene. She got curious and asked, "Why? What's funny?" I chuckled. "It's just... you're very pretty and you'd be what they'd call a, umm... sort of dark, sultry, mysterious desert beauty... and boys are just gonna go nuts for you. I'm telling you!" I laughed and she laughed with me. I added, "Plus, you're smart. So you can always tell that guys who are intimidated by you are the stupid ones. And those that try to win you over properly are the worthy ones." I just went on "teen mag" mode again. I checked myself and went on to say, "Oh, what am I doing? Why am I talking about boys with you? I should be talking about books!" I laughed, but I was surprised when she didn't laugh with me that time. I looked at her, searching for her reaction. She looked at me and said, "Or, girls." Wow. That was sneaky. I laughed aloud, in shock, amusement, embarrassment and all kinds of "uncomfortably tickled" rolled into one. I tried to think of what to say for a few moments. Marilyn was just smiling at me. I finally decided to go with it and said, "Or girls! If you like that sort of thing." I laughed and she giggled. Oh my god. So THAT just happened. She didn't say anything for a while, we just smiled at each other. Fuck. I changed the subject. "Maybe I should cut the cake. We can each have a slice or two, yeah?" Marilyn nodded. Lord in heaven, I wonder how much weight I've gained by now. I took two plates and forks and started slicing the cake when I asked, "When are you leaving? Not too soon, I hope?" She answered, "Next week. I guess this is the last time we'll be seeing each other before then. Because I have a lot of things to arrange." I sighed aloud. "Tsk. That sucks." She chuckled. "But," I continued, "With the right education, you can pursue your dream, Marilyn. What do you wanna be?" She answered quickly. "A doctor. Like my mom." Nice! I told her how impressed I was and that she should never give up on it. "My mom used to work with kids," she continued, "It was just a small clinic but she was happy and the kids loved her. The children there were different, though... they, um... had special wants? I'm not... sure..." I interjected, "Special needs." Marilyn nodded. "Right, that's the one! But... Most times she was so happy and eager to tell us about her day, however a lot of times she'd come home crying her eyes out without saying anything. Dad wasn't around much so although it scared me I had to be brave enough to tell her it's alright even when I didn't understand. I'd cry with her sometimes, because, I can't explain it but... I felt that she was crying out of a very deep and sad love. I can't find the word for it..." I stared at her, engrossed, my own emotions taking hold of me. "Heartbroken," I said. "Yes," she replied, "but... I knew then that I wanted to love like her. Even when it hurt. And who better to love than these children who will never look at you with hatred, and even if they did they'd forgive you in a heartbeat even when you don't deserve it, who will always be honest with you, who will never leave you, who will trust you with their lives and hold your hand knowing you would protect them?" She stopped and we were silent for a while before she continued. "When my mom died I was just a kid. She died so suddenly that for a few days, no one was left to take care of the children. I had to be the one to tell them that my mother was gone. I had to convince them that she didn't want to leave, but she had no choice. And they all cried and asked me, when is she coming back? And I didn't know what to say. I wanted to get angry at them and scream at their faces that they should stop being selfish, I'm hurting, too. I'm hurting more than they could understand. It was MY mom. No one was comforting me while I dried their eyes and hugged them tight. They can always find another doctor. But I can't find any replacement for her... of course, I didn't take it out on them. Because I knew their pain. I think about it now and I understand how some of them might not have even had the privilege of understanding why they hurt. But I did. How do you recover from a pain you don't understand? And that's why... I want to help others like them." She was teary-eyed now and seeing her like that made me want to cry. "I'm so sorry to hear about what you had to go through. I can't... imagine... how bad it must have been... You have a very beautiful dream, Marilyn." Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked at me. I held her hand and squeezed it tight. "Oh... don't make me cry!" I pleaded. She laughed at me trying to hold back my tears. I laughed with her. "I'm sorry Miss Sylvia," she said. "I shouldn't be turning this day into a depressing one. I don't want you to remember me like this." I smiled at her. "No, Marilyn. You... you just opened yourself to me, heart and soul. And that's how anyone should be remembered."
We bid each other goodbye at the door and it was harder than I imagined. We both found it difficult to turn away from each other even after we finished our farewells. We laughed about it and Marilyn stepped forward to give me a hug. It felt like we hugged for hours but as we pulled away it didn't seem long enough. She had just started turning away when she suddenly said my name. "Miss Sylvia..." I looked at her as I pulled the door open again. "I have something of yours that... I'd been wanting to give back." She handed me a bunch of papers that were slightly crumpled and folded. "What's this?" I asked. "Your poems," she said. It was one of my earlier manuscripts that I had planned to throw away. "I've had them for a really long time. I'm sorry for taking it without your permission." I chuckled. "That's okay. Thank you for returning them." She smiled and said, "I fell in love with... your words. Like you told me just now, opening up to someone heart and soul. It feels like you did that to me when I read them. Your sadness, your joy. So now I feel like... and leaving... it's hard... you've become really special to me... I want you to know that I..." She struggled to speak and sighed. Dammit, Marilyn. I waited for her to say something, but when she kept quiet I hugged her again and said, "Thank you. Stop it, you're making me cry." And she laughed again.
That evening, I lay awake in bed thinking. What am I doing? My writing, what's it for? Why am I doing it? I kept pondering on how my poems affected Marilyn so much. I dwelled on how much I understood what her mother had gone through. How she cried for those children. How angry she must have been. At God, at people who didn't care, at mothers and fathers who leave their children behind. Meanwhile, I've been sitting here, angry at the world for not hearing me out, demanding compensation for my work, worried about how much MONEY they would offer me. I hate that word. Money, currency, fucking titles and numbers and all that worthless shit from a worthless world. I'm screaming at everyone, these publishers, to SEE me and pay me for looking at my private parts, my inner being. All I've been worried about was to get my works bound and covered with the best cover design and sold and stacked in some dark storage room and displayed. And then what? People will glance, flip the pages, unknowingly running their hands all over my soul. And they will ignore it, drop it back onto the shelf when they find it unworthy. That moment. That's what I've studied years for. I've worked my ass off so that I could dress up and get blind people to tell me I looked good. Why? Why do I subject myself to this scrutiny? I was embarrassed of myself, screaming with joy at the news of getting published, wanting to tell Adam the "good" news. Adam, guess what, I offered myself to a bunch of old men and they looked at my breasts and said yes, you are worth a try, we can make money off of that, especially if we change them a little bit, and we'll call it "enhancement" to make it sound nice. My dreams have come true. Then I thought about people. Places. The planet. The essence of "society" and "civilization." Teen magazines. Pop stars. Pedestrian lanes. Hunger in Africa. Oil wars. French fries. Lack of education. Runway models. All this dense, assorted, unsubstantiated, widespread Fuckery.
Is that a word? Fuckery. I know I've reached one of my low moments once again. This has happened many times before. And then I thought about not living. I wanted out. Maybe the next place is different. Maybe there, relationships are more than just a queue of dominos. Maybe there, the world isn't a pile of dust and grime under a Persian rug. Maybe there, the world is a ball of cheese wrapped in cellophane where people claw at the surface to get the essential stuff inside. Because here, the world is satisfied with the shiny wrapper.
I cried. I cried hard. For the world, for people like Marilyn, her mother, the fortuneteller, my ex, my college professor, Adam, ungrateful students, wife beaters, dogfighting, dead painters, for everything, for my useless shell consuming the oxygen around me, my organs working in exact processes at exact moments just to make sure I properly shit in the toilet. But what the fuck for? I don't deserve it. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to be here anymore. Get me out. Get me out. I was breaking down. It's been years since the last episode that I thought it would never happen again. But there I was. I clung to the bed sheets, crying harder. I thought about where the kitchen knives were. I thought about where I could get sleeping pills in this town. I thought about how big the waves were at the beach. Then out of the blue, a poem came to mind.
Dreams! in their vivid colouring of life
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality which brings
To the delirious eye, more lovely things
Of Paradise and Love – and all our own!
Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.
I stood up, still crying, barefoot, in my sleeveless top and loose pajamas and went out the door. I don't have anyone to stop me anymore. I can keep dreaming. I can keep dreaming forever.
The beach. The beach.
The moon was a silver plate of water and milk. No boats were out at sea. The waves were not too big. The wind blew hard but not too strong. There was no one along the coastline. I walked as far as I could from the beach houses. I walked until the only light left was from the sky and only the crashing water was ringing in my ears. I dreaded to turn and face the ocean like it was a great serpent watching me and waiting to strike. I knew it was going to swallow me whole. But I also understood that no matter how fast I ran, it would catch up with me anyway. It was useless to fight. I turned slowly, inch by inch my feet clung to the sand and propelled my body to face the water. I was shaking, cold, my tears freezing my cheeks solid, my hair thrashing wildly around my head, a Medusa in her final struggle of agony. My crying made my chest heave, and as I breathed the cold air through my mouth my throat dried up. And I realized how pathetic I must have looked. A shaking coward, cold and miserable, who cannot even kill herself with dignity. I felt the stars looking at me in shame. What is this creature? Why did God make such a thing? Why doesn't she just jump in already? The fucking coward! Living off of us for so long! I stepped forward, easing in slowly, my will determined but my body at war with me. I imagined running into the waves, but my legs won't move fast enough. Fucking move already! Move! Eventually my toes found the freezing water. I'm here, I'm here! The thin cloth wrapped around my calves as they sucked in more of the sea. Then the water rose to my knees. I tread on. The water was at my waist. I couldn't feel my legs anymore. Then the water was at my chest and breathing felt heavier. Then my neck. A huge wave was approaching from the distance. I heard myself speak to it.
"It's okay. I'm coming. I'm almost there." I shivered in the long, dark silence.
A warmth wrapped around me. First my back, then my legs, and around my stomach. Here it is again. Have I been dying without even realizing it? That wave of cold from the pit of my stomach became warm as it reached my chest once more. And then I saw the moon again, as clear as it had been at the surface. It bobbed up and down and my chest felt a little tight. Then I realized someone was speaking to me from behind. Something was wrapped around me. I looked down to see what it was. Arms. Water. Shallow. I wondered why I seemed to be floating upwards and away from the ocean. I wanted to go back out there, but I couldn't move. Then the water was shallow enough that it started shedding away, revealing the sand. I felt my head drop on it softly and I looked on into the stars. I couldn't feel the water around me anymore, all I saw and felt was moonlight and starlight and the mist of my breath. Then I felt being pulled down by gravity. I felt heavy against the sand as I lay there. I was a block of metal and the ground was a magnet.
Boom.
My head jerked up, a heavy force coming down on me.
Boom.
My chest ached unbearably, something pushed it forcefully.
Boom.
I tasted salt in my mouth as I sat up, coughing water out onto the sand. I blinked and blinked until the fog in my vision cleared up. Something pressed my cheeks, scalding my skin. I jumped in surprise, crawled, stood up, wanting to run away from whatever it was that tried to scorch my face. And then, my whole body was warm as something pulled me towards it. I felt a rise and fall against my own chest rising and falling. "Sylvia, Sylvia," a man whispered. What? And then I realized I was looking out into the ocean and it was far away now. Something was blocking the path between my body and the waves. I looked down and around me to see what it was. A man. I pulled away from the body that clung to me. He held my head with warm hands and I recognized his face, his mouth moving. Adam. He's saying something. I struggled to hear, but then I felt another pang in my chest and coughed out more water. "Sylvia, please! Talk to me!" I heard him plead. "Adam." I finally found my voice, though the sound came out hoarse and weak. Then he embraced me, briskly rubbing his hands all over me to keep me warm. He picked up something from the sand, then I saw it was his shirt and he grabbed my arms to put it on me. I watched him, I let him move me like I was a lifeless doll. "Come on, Sylvia. Let's go home." I thought he would pull me and try to make me walk with him, but he didn't. He carried me instead. I slung my arms around his neck and held tight. He was running but he didn't seem to be having difficulty carrying me. His arms were around my back and my legs. His warmth spilled all over me. I was so close to him, my face less than an inch from his cheek, the tip of my nose already touching his skin. I tucked my head under his jaw like a child and closed my eyes. Then there was nothing but us, moving up and down, the sound of his feet on the sand, his heavy breathing. And I knew I was in a safe place.
∞∞∞
Ring, ring.
It had been ringing for a while, so she probably didn't have it with her, but I still waited for her to pick up.
Ring, ring.
I started to lose hope about her answering the phone. She never did, anyway.
Ring, ring.
Silence. The phone had given up on her, too, and she still hadn't set up her voicemail. I decided I should just drop by her house and surprise her again like last time.
I wanted to get there quickly since it was getting late and I had planned to invite her to dinner to celebrate after she e-mailed me that her collection was being published, so I took a cab all the way to her place. No traffic. Thank God. I was there in less than an hour. I walked up to the front gate and found it wide open. Odd. She must have come back from somewhere. Then I noticed how a thread of light spilled out from the front door. It's open. She probably just arrived. I walked up to it, tried to ring the doorbell and realized it hadn't been fixed, then came in to the foyer and called out. "Sylvia? Are you here?" There was no answer. I looked at the coat rack and found a bunch of sweaters and jackets. She must be upstairs. I proceeded to the staircase and noticed her slippers on two different steps. I thought that would be normal if she decided to take them off before going up, but they were facing out towards the door. Weird. I decided to go up to check if she was okay. The bathroom door was wide open so I could see at once that it wasn't occupied, but her bedroom door was only half open so I knocked before entering. She wasn't there, but the sight of a bunch of scattered papers on her bed and on the floor was very unsettling. Did someone break in, going through her stuff? They were all blank, clean, except for one that had a thick black marker scribble on it. I picked it up, thinking it was a note to tell me where she'd be. Instead, I found a poem. Oh hey, she sent me this. Poe. I remembered the very last line. But then there was another line under it that didn't seem right. The beach. The beach. I felt reassured. Oh, the beach. Of course. She must be there now. I headed back downstairs and checked the foyer table where I knew she'd leave the keys. Great, the keys are here. I wondered if I should be happy that she left them or if I should start worrying. But then, she was very odd at times and eccentric, too, so I decided she'd do this on purpose, like a game to see if I would catch on. I knew I replied to her e-mail and thought about asking her out then, but I also believed I didn't include that in my message. Maybe I did? Looks like I did. I thought I had just forgotten. It seemed like she left me a trail of breadcrumbs, so I headed for the beach.
I had walked a considerable distance from the last of the coastal houses yet I still found no sign of her. She must have chosen a farther spot. I wanted to catch up as soon as possible so I started running, the breeze cold and harsh on my skin. I stopped when I found footprints on the sand. She must be close now. But when I looked ahead I saw no one on the shoreline. This is getting weird. The cliff is not far, and she couldn't have gone beyond that. Unless she climbed, but seriously, barefoot? And why the hell would she? I knew she was odd but she wasn't insane or masochistic. The sharp rocky edge would cut her badly. I got scared and ran faster towards the cliff, following the footprints. Suddenly, the trail just ended. What? I could see the wall of stone in front of me, only a few meters away, and still no one was around the area. Then she must be... I looked towards the open water. The entire beach was now illuminated only by moonlight so in order to see better and farther, I walked into the tide until it was up to my knees. "Sylviaaaa!" I called out at the top of my lungs. I looked ahead harder, and then I saw her. A white figure in between waves. I saw her neck, her shoulders, and a part of her back. And then, she was gone. SHIT! I took my shirt off, threw it behind me onto the sand and dove into the water. Fucking freezing! I swam as fast as I could. Further and further, until I felt like I had gone too far from the shore. No! She'd be here! She'd be here! I pushed on for what felt like an eternity, and my body told me I had nothing left for the swim back. My legs were numb but I forced myself to keep kicking, even when I couldn't tell if my legs were still moving like I commanded them to. My arms hurt from all the force I was putting into them so suddenly in icy water. Sylvia, please. Sylvia! I was dying inside, panicking, wanting to burst in the agony of losing her, failing to save her, not seeing her again. I remembered the first time we were here. Her beautiful face gleaming, her hair sweeping across her cheeks and her eyes, her smile, her voice as she said my name. And then I saw her float up onto the surface. Her white skin, her white clothes. Sylvia, the color of moonlight.
"It's okay! I'm coming! I'm almost there!" I screamed at her, hoping she would try and keep her body upright, waiting for her to face me and swim towards me with open arms.
∞∞∞
"You wrote something about... Dreams...it's in the future, and with a different person..."
The old lady's prophecy came back to me as I stood near the living room entryway, watching Adam sleep. It had been so long since that night at her cottage that I never expected I would remember what she said. It's probably in my subconscious. Like that poem. Yeah, Adam told me everything about that night a few months ago. The open door, the scribbled words, everything. I didn't even know I had written it on paper. I didn't believe it until he showed me and I saw how it was my in my handwriting, unquestionably. He told me he understood, that he got my message, that he knew how the world was a rotten place but sometimes you would find something worth living for and that means you should hold on a little longer. I didn't agree with him then and I still don't. But... watching him sleep, watching him breathe. For now, at least for this moment, I can go on.
It was almost evening as I watched him dreaming on the couch. He had come from work doing overtime again, and I had to tell him once more not to subject himself to corporate slavery and he laughed like he did before. God, that was so long ago. And look at us now. He stayed up until after we had lunch, and when I came down after a quick shower he had already dozed off. I didn't have to worry about the couch getting stained this time. Adam had been visiting more often since that night, watching out for me and I told him he should just bring some clothes and sandals over and I had extra closet space, which was an understatement since I barely took up space for one person. So now he can come here and change into more comfortable clothes, mostly his (some of it was James's). I decided to wake him up and invite him to go out.
"Adam," I whispered. "Adam!" I shook his shoulder as he lay on the couch. He opened his eyes slightly and looked at me, eyebrows furrowed. "What's wrong?" He asked, getting up as I sat down beside him. "Nothing." I sighed, preparing myself for what I was about to say. Then the words came out. "I'm ready to go back. Can you come with me?" We never went back out to the beach since the incident. I knew Adam always wanted to spend time there. I knew how it relaxed him. But I was selfish and afraid of what I'd feel if I saw the open ocean again. Yet he understood and he never asked. So now, I had to ask him. "Please?" I searched his face for approval. "I don't know," he said, "Do you really think you're ready? As long as you're sure..." I cut him off. "Yes. I'm sure. Come on!" I beamed at him and he smiled. I stood up, pulling his arm. "It's almost sunset and I don't want to miss it." He said, "Okay" laughingly and followed me out the door.
The weather had changed by the time we got to the beach. It seemed like the sky was showing signs of rain again, like that day we were here for the first time. But as I looked to the horizon beyond the open water, the sky still had streaks of pink and gold after the grey and the setting sun glowed warmly on our skins. We walked along the shore casually and I asked, "Is it gonna rain?" Hands in his pockets, he laughed and faced me. "Are you really asking me that again?" Damn, he caught on. We both laughed and I said, "I can't believe you still remember." We were quiet for a while until the thought of weather reminded me about something. "You know," I said, "When I first learned your name I thought you could be related to that musician who did Grey Day. Do you know that song?" He watched his feet as he stepped forward and his eyebrows wrinkled. "No, I don't. Oh wait, maybe I do but I'm not sure. Can you sing it to me?" I laughed out loud. "I am not singing to you, Adam Blake! I don't sing to anyone other than my bathroom wall. And only on one side, too." He chuckled. "How about dancing? Will you dance with me, Sylvia?" Ah, crap. Why did I even tell him about those classes? "I don't anymore, remember?" I glared at him jokingly. He smiled and said, "No, I'm not asking you to wear heels and find a dance floor with me. We can do that now." I stared at him for a few seconds, deciding if he was serious or not. "Here? Barefoot? On the sand? In the middle of the beach? What if someone sees?" I chuckled. "So?" he asked, "This dance. It won't be about who sees us. This is just between you and me. It always has been about the dancers, not the spectators. Right?" I laughed. "Okay, fine. So, good sir, the lady is waiting." I outstretched my hand and waited for him to respond to my offer.
I used to think that relationships were a queue of dominos. You hold your breath, build it carefully brick by brick, take it slow and marvel at what you accomplish, but in the end there is always that irresistible urge to let it crumble to the ground. It could either be you, someone else, a gush of wind or simply an accident, but something somewhere is bound to make it fall apart. Adam seemed to show me something else. He showed me the comfort of being alone with someone. And I think it felt better than being alone with myself. So I took the risk and tried to know him better. And I discovered that knowing him was like falling in love with a painting. First, you don't know what you're seeing or where exactly you're looking. Then, like the blurred image under a microscope your eyes slowly adjust as lenses do and you see one or two details you find interesting until the whole picture becomes clear. Then when you decide that it's worth your time, you work to get to know it better - who made it, where has it traveled, what is it trying to say to the world, and most importantly, what is it trying to say to you? And that's when the once in a lifetime connection happens. Like a sudden stream of light, the work of art before your eyes speaks directly to your soul, in a language you know only you can understand, and so the painting becomes your lover. A part of your heart forever. And when you get used to its curves, strokes, shades and angles like the back of your hand you sometimes grow tired of it and brush it aside. But the longer you're apart, the more afraid you get as the curves, strokes, shades and angles slowly disappear from your memory. So you search for it like a moth to the flame and when you find it, you know you're facing agony and ecstasy and everything in between all over again. But still you thrash yourself into it even further, because you know you found your fire. I found mine, except we didn't consume each other. We danced.
He took my hand and I helped him hold me in the correct way (at least, from how I remembered it, since I had those classes ages ago.) I told him, "I can lead and you just follow," but he shook his head and said, "No, teach me how." I showed him the basic footwork, using the sand to draw my movements like instructions on paper. He learned it pretty quickly and I told him I was impressed. He smiled triumphantly and proudly at my compliment as he followed the lines on the sand, like a kid who got an A+ with his teacher showing it in front of the whole class. I laughed at this mental observation and he asked me what's funny. I said, "It's just... you were so proud... I thought it was cute." He smiled as he offered to take my hand. I obliged, he pulled me close and started leading the dance. I moved with his rhythm to nothing but the sound of the wind, the waves and the children in the distance laughing and playing. Oh Lord. People must be watching. I felt my cheeks warm up, but the wind blowing in my face cooled them down instantly. Adam watched our feet move, concentrating on getting the steps right. I stared at him. A few moments into that silence, he started humming random notes for our background music and I laughed at how off-beat it was to our movement. As my head turned, the wind blew my hair onto my face and I struggled to flick the strands off without using my hands, being in the waltz position and not wanting to interrupt the dance. "Adam, my hair." I chuckled, as my vision was blocked by strands of black and brown. "Sorry, I can barely see you." I said laughingly as I stopped dancing and Adam followed suit. My back was turned against the wind and so it made fixing my hair more difficult. Adam approached and pulled my hands away from my head and held them down gently. The wind blew my hair all over once more. Confused by what his intentions could be, I laughed saying, "Adam! I'm trying to fix it. I'm all messed up." He tucked my hair under my left ear and said, "I don't see how." He was looking at me directly when I felt a cold wave from the pit of my stomach rising up warm to my chest. There it is again! We stood still for a while, drowning in each other's gaze. And then I realized, it was him. I feel him. He broke the silence, saying, "So? What else?" I chuckled and we held hands, taking our positions again. "What else what?" I asked. He smiled gently as he looked down on me. "Is there any other dance that isn't too... prudish?" I thought about it for a moment and said, "We can swing? If you like." He grinned and replied happily, "Oh! I think I know a swing song. And I know the steps." I smiled at him. "Great! What song?" He answered, "Huey Lewis." Then he started humming She's Some Kind of Wonderful. "Dumdum-dum, dum-dum-duru-rum..." We laughed. And we danced some more.