Reunion

She found me on Myspace, oddly enough.

Perusing through profiles, she had discovered me at last as if she'd spent an entire decade searching for me. She had devoured my profile, as if the few words on that long page and the thousands of words on my short blogs could tell the story of my life, or at least that of my metamorphosis. She was frightened though; would I, someone she thought to be so deep and profound care for her? Would I plumb the depths of her depravity and find only passion and forgiveness towards her? She thought not, and passing me over she allowed her jealousy to fester inside her spirit for a while.

She saw me again in a local bar, one face amongst a tableau of spinning multi-colored lights and a myriad of cavorting, bungled people all intent on laughing and cavorting in a small shrine to Bacchus. She'd been thinking the whole evening, why am I here? I can't stand to be here amongst these things, these people who lose themselves in tall glasses swilling their brightly dark liquids. I don't want to drink, becoming as senseless and communal as they are, surrendering their reason and judgment in trade for a false sense of community with all these others. I don't want to be known to them at all; I want to be anonymous, hidden from them as if they'd profane my very difference if I were to reveal my spirit to just one of them in open sharing. And yet, here I am, because I can't stand being alone any more.

A drunk transvestite had approached her at one point, intent on stealing her home, trying to dazzle her with tales of its sexual exploits and its physical beauty--covered, smeared, shaved, and distorted from what God had made of it--thinking that one lonely one such as her, in a bar such as this, would have only come here for itself. It laughed and showed off as it kept her trapped in a corner booth with its charm and threat. As she was just about to get up and run out of the bar from this creature, she saw me across the room and was lost in thought, for five pounding heartbeats that hurt her ears. Then I was gone, again, and so was she; she ran from this predator, fled this bar and her passion.

We met again on the street sometime later; a collision of mutual friends made escape or pretentious anonymity impossible for both of us. We stared at each other for seconds that stretched into eternity, and myself, I thought nothing. Oh, I felt alright, but I couldn't think; I felt overwhelming love for her, and a passion that has never died despite the years of bickering and separation. For the first time though, I didn't try to hide these feelings, and neither did she. I'm sure things were happening around us, people were talking and maybe to us, but we didn't notice; at that moment, only one person existed in the world and that was her and myself to her. The world became a blur as we came together in a lover's embrace.

We didn't kiss. There was too much still between us for that, but we held each other and were satisfied. I could think of nothing else but holding her waist and the small of her back in my hands as she curled hers around the back of my neck, and waves of numb excitement flowed down my spine. I stared into her face, her elegant and memorable face that had long ago been permanently imprinted in my mind, and if I had closed my eyes I would have seen her face on a hundred different days, scowling, smiling, weeping for joy or sorrow. She stared into my eyes with love and wonder, as if they could tell a life of story; I tried not to see her eyes, for I already knew her story.

Somehow, we finally pulled away from our embrace, our fingertips trailing down each other's arms and our eyes moaned for each other, though our lips stayed silent for decency.

We spent the evening together amidst our friends. All around us, our friends laughed and talked while drinking colored liquors and black coffee. I couldn't name the bars and restaurants we visited in our company because I honestly didn't care, and I don't think she did either. We were silent, for the most part; we only made small conversation about our lives when it seemed necessary to break the silence and content our friends. No, we had a silent conversation between us; we thought and did not speak of the fights we'd had when we were first lovers, and being together now we thought of the failed relationships and miserable lovers we'd had since. I thought most of the lonely life I'd lived, more or less abandoning the company of others and relationships with other women; she in turn was probably thinking of the loneliness she'd felt while in the company of others and the years she'd spent isolating herself even from those who shared her bed. We knew this of each other; it was expected, for while we'd been apart we never failed to listen to reports of each others' lives.

She played the brave one first, and spoke, telling me she'd seen me on Myspace, and about that night in the bar. I nodded and assented quietly, for what could I say? Could I, at that moment in mixed company, tell her? I can feel nothing at this moment except passion for you. I've missed you alongside me through all my life. I don't care about our fights, we've both changed too much to repeat them. Let me kiss you now. Let me hold you in my arms and kiss you and let yourself finally feel love and intimacy after all these years of quiet despair. Let me feel these things too. Let me tell you the story of my life, and you yours. Only please, let us leave here so that we can be alone.

I think she thought these things too, but she said nothing. Instead, we allowed our passion to build in anticipation, too respectful and full of love and hope for each other to ask this of the other, and an entire evening of spannunsbogen was ours to enjoy. Finally, I said the first real thing to her all night.

"I'm so happy to have found you again."