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Scraps and scribbles from 1960 - 2015 |
| If you ask me if I am in love, I would tell you "I don't know..." I don't know what love is, or how it feels or tastes or smells...or even if there really are bells that ring. What I do know is that I am content in his arms, thrill at the sound of his voice, and shiver under his touch. I know that I loved the mellow feeling, the sand, the sun, and the ocean. I could always relax by the water. I know that when he smoothly slid suntan lotion onto my back, I was unprepared for the tremor he sent through me....was it a hunger for touch...sensory deprivation, perhaps...or was it real.. was it a part of love? And I walked away....afraid it was an illusion...when I really wanted to turn and kiss him...yet not wanting to intrude.....he was paying bills. I remember how I felt breathless when he took my face in his hands, held me suspended in time, ever so lightly....firm and sure was his kiss...a soft, insistent, devouring I will have you kiss.... a rush poured through me....and was quickly lost. For I sensed myself closing, sealing, pulling back....I wanted to lead....yet I really wanted more to be lead. I wanted to be swept off my feet...carried by the passion and land with my body entwined with his. But I sealed the feelings off, pushed them back, .....and let the physical pleasure take over. I can do this, I told myself. I have to do this....I can not get too close. What I yearned for was a dance that would carry me lightly on its toes with abandon, free and running with the wind in my face......for eyes that would light mine and dance with me....for lips that would tell me what love is all about, and for arms...strong arms, to shelter me, to hold me. And I remember....the soft touch of his fingers stroking my hair...as though to touch with more would be unwise. Brief, tentative, questioning strokes....filled with wonderment and then gone...as though to touch longer would answer questions he did not want to ask........whatever they might be. Despite its reassuring pleasure, I always sensed the questioning...the tentativeness in this motion. The night I stole the stars from the sky in my nightgown...he quietly strolled up aside me, and rested an arm across my shoulder. I nestled close as we watched the waves in silence.....and hunted for some recognizable shape in the sky.....words lost in the wind and the ocean's measured cadence. Swoosh and swoosh and swoosh...the last thing I heard at night and the first thing I heard in the morning......affirming that there is some predictability, after all, in rhythm, in life. What I yearned for was a dance that would capture my heart and loosen the strings... ..sprinkling my feelings across the sand like so many sparkling stars....twinkling back at the heavens in jest. Stealing quietly into my focus like a thief in the night, in the midst of the paperwork, phone calls, and my colleague's raucous laughter, I remember..... the talks and the walks that always seemed to end too soon, the water fight in the boat....well, almost a water fight.....a basketball game that I couldn't begin to play...and the quiet mock bemusement in his eyes at my efforts. Endless conversations about wife, husband, lovers, friends...stories about children, life and friends.....amused knowing looks with unspoken words exchanged in patterns familiar yet almost foreign to me. I feel, too, for a moment, the warmth of the sun on my face, and again smell the water and fish...the squid, and the crab that I would never catch...and hear the slapping sound of the waves against the boat and the grind of the motor as I drift off to sleep......warm, tired and content. What I yearned for was a dance that would put wings on my feet and carry me to the place I see in my mind's eye, and drop the gentleness of the boat's motion into my soul. I remember the way he relaxed and opened his body, the tenseness leaving on Camelot cue, as if he found solace in evening's cloak of darkness, the warmth of the hot tub, and a glass of wine. I remember morning coffee, a dream invitation, the Sunday paper, raspberry toast and sun, the sand between my toes, and the waves lapping my ankles,......and feeling......well, ........I remember. And quiet moments, floating within the confetti of chatter and motion, drifting silently down, were comfortable and easy between us. What did he think when he looked in my eyes? What was he trying not to say? Or was it I that was searching, watching, for some hint of amusement, some sign of acceptance? What remains hidden and guarded with such care....well-practiced through the years....of successes and failures? What about that smile that played around the corner of his mouth...the eyes that averted my questioning gaze.....the feet that moved reluctantly with mine.....did I leave him a choice? And those amber eyes.... reflecting the soulfulness in his son's eyes mirrored sadly back at him from his computer screen...a poignant reminder of happier times. What I yearned for was a dance that would glide us around the floor, that would soften his heart and heal the wounds that run so very deep, one that would bring the light back to his eyes.......... answer the questions in mine, and still the pounding of my heart. No, I think it is not love....but it is a yearning..... for a dance. tuc 05/08/96 Copyright (This was copied from a hard copy of the story. The original file became corrupted and left off and confused much of the writing in the middle section. 3/12/2014) |
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