CHAPTER THREE
I Can Almost See You
Wind whipped around me, flapping
the tails of my tuxedo about madly. Occasionally one would slap my leg enough to sting. I thrust my hands even farther down
into my pockets both for the extra warmth, and to discourage the movement of my
jacket. Why do they always make tuxedo shirts out of such thin material, I
wondered. My brain to answer
itself with memories of dancing at some friend or cousin’s wedding reception,
peeling off my jacket, undoing the cuffs and rolling back my sleeves, opening
up my collar, all in an attempt to not sweat through my shirt. Tux shirts were made for keeping one
cool on a dance floor in the heat of summer, not warm on a high-rise balcony in
the dead of winter.
Despite the pain of the cold wind,
the view and solitude were worth it.
Some thirty stories up on the balcony of an uptown high-rise apartment, a
sea of rooftops gave way to towering buildings that shined and twinkled in the
night sky before me. For a moment,
I became entranced in the lights from one building reflecting off the glass of another. The scene was beautiful. It was massive. It was cold.
I imagined what someone from somewhere
far away would think of if they thought of Dallas. It surely wouldn’t be this. I can remember my dad telling me the story of a time when he
still used to be an accounts manager selling computer services to big
companies. A vice-president of the
company was flying into Dallas from New York for a big meeting, and my Dad was
his liaison. As my dad tells it,
the man called, panicked about the trip.
“What is there to do?” the man
said.
“What do you mean?” replied my
father.
“In Dallas, what is there to
do? I don’t like horses, and I
don’t like rodeos. Will there be a
pool at the hotel? Do y’all have
pools?”
Then my dad, usually averse to
sarcasm weighed in, “We’re putting you up in the Adolphus hotel, it’s very
nice. It’s even got indoor
plumbing.” I chuckled aloud.
A female voice came over my
shoulder. “What’cha laughing at?”
I spun about. Carissa’s younger sister, Melissa, stood
tall and long in a dark blue gown, crystal flute quivering in one hand,
cigarette burning in the other.
She turned her back to the ferocious wind, and held the cigarette close
to her chest to protect it. The
thin, wispy material of the dress was being blown about viciously. It stuck out straight like a flag on one
side, but clung quite revealingly to the form of her legs and butt on the
other.
“I was just remembering this story
my dad…”
She cut me off, “So cold up here,
isn’t it?”
“Yes, it…”
She cut me off again. “Got to wonder how much something like
this costs. You know?”
I didn’t bother opening my mouth
this time, nodded instead.
“Wow it is cold up here!” She hugged herself even tighter, and
began to sway. The light from the
party behind her shone through the sequins on her gown outlining her
silhouette. “If it weren’t so
cold, you could have the whole stinking party out here. It’s huge!” She took a shot puff on her cigarette then continued. “I would ask what you are doing out
here, but I don’t know anyone else here either, so… yeah, you are going to
freak when you see Carissa, by the way.”
I looked at her.
She shook her head in dramatic
fashion. “Ugh. Amazing.”
“What is?”
“You two.” She pointed at me with the end of her cigarette. “You and Carissa. You should have seen your face light up
when I said her name. You can’t
fake it. No man has ever given me
that face. Not ever. All I do is mention her name, and you
do it. It’s ridiculous. Gosh. Y’all are idiots.
You know that, right?”
My face didn’t move. It wasn’t the first time she, or
someone else in her family had said that, or something like it. I conceded a nod simply to move past
it.
“As long as you know it.” She hunched over to take a drag. The tip of her cigarette flared
bright. Her cheeks sunk
inward. Smoke puffed out with each
word she spoke. “So what’s the
plan?”
“Plan?”
“With Carissa. What’s the plan? She’s back. She still loves you as much, if not more than ever. What’s the plan?”
“There isn’t one.” There wasn’t.
She looked at me coldly. “Get one. I love you, Joel.
I do. So do my parents,
believe it or not. They would
never admit it, but why wouldn’t they love you? Their daughter was dying inside. Then you come along, and she lights up. She comes back. It isn’t as easy as they try to make it
out to be. You know? They love you for bringing her back
from her past, but they hate you for the fact that you are robbing her of a
future, because, let’s be honest, you two have gone as far as you can go as is. Y’all have been like this for
years. I mean, you’ve got to know
by now that Carissa isn’t going to stop loving God for you, change her beliefs
for you.”
I wish I could have said, I don’t her to change her beliefs. I want her to realize she doesn’t need
belief at all, but I didn’t.
“It’s ironic,” she kept on, “but you
actually strengthen her belief in God even more, which I didn’t even know was
possible.
Frustration stung my gut. She spoke the truth. It was awful, like some kind of cosmic
joke. My presence, my love,
sparked Carissa’s love for God, which in turn, kept her from loving me
wholly. It didn’t matter
though. There wasn’t anything I
could do but love her with everything I had, and just hope.
“She’s already made me look like
the bad daughter before, but now…”
She took another drag then blew a long trail of smoke the wind wisped
away. “Now, I look downright
evil.”
“Sure.” It was all I could say. None of it startled me, which in its own way, was
startling. The truth behind her
words was already concrete in me.
“I’m sorry, again. I really don’t mean to sound rude,
Joel. Like I said, I love
you. I do. It’s just that I love Carissa
more. You made her alive once, but
now, now I am afraid she starting dwindle again. The human soul can only stay stagnant for so long. Besides, It’s not just her. I see it in you, too.”
Was it stagnant? My love for Carissa had reached a cap,
as far as what I could do with it.
It had nowhere else to go. I
felt as though I would soon burst from the growing pressure of my ever-growing
affection for her pressing against the boundaries of reality.
I looked past Melissa in
thought. The wall of glass warmed
with bright yellow light. The heat
from all of the bodies had frosted the inside of the windows with condensation.
Across the glass were a couple
streaks and spots where someone had accidentally brushed a hip or hand against
the glass. Blurry figures of
green, black, red, and white moved about busily on the other side. Nothing of the party could be heard
through the thick glass. All I
could hear was Melissa, and the wind whistling passed the cups of my ears.
One of the glass panes was a
door. Carissa’s mom, Diana,
stepped half way out, shivering.
The hum of the room followed her out. She shouted to both of us with the kind of irritation a
mother has at her child, even though that child is nearly thirty. “Joel, Melissa, come on you two. She’s about to come down… and put that
cigarette out!”
Melissa rolled her eyes and blew
out the remaining smoke from her lungs.
Her lips pursed dramatically.
She looked over at me with a knowing grin. “Mothers.” She
tossed her cigarette on the balcony and ground it out with the toe of her
high-heeled shoes. Her heels
clopped in ubiquitous fashion against the concrete of the balcony. Right before we got to the door, she
reiterated, “Seriously, just wait ‘til you see her. You’re going to freak.” She smiled coyly.
Stepping in through the door was a
shock to the senses. The clean,
icy wind and solitude of the balcony was traded for the heat and humidity of too
many bodies all huddled in one space.
The smell of colognes,
perfumes, lobster, wine, beer, and whiskey all inundated my sense of
smell. There had to be at least a
hundred people here, maybe two.
The living room of the flat was as big as most people’s houses, and
there was still no extra room to spare.
Every inch of this place dripped
with wealth and taste. The
furnishings were sparse, but each piece smiled with museum-level craftsmanship,
rarity, and price. It looked as if
a curator, not an interior designer had put it all together.
“Excuse me.” I said it at least two dozen times just
to make it from the balcony door, to halfway cross the room toward the foyer,
where the stairs landed. I felt
awkward every time I slid past some man’s butt, and then awkward for feeling something
less than awkward when sliding past a woman’s, but it was wall-wall people. There was nothing to be done about it.
Melissa was following close in my
wake, allowing me to plow the way ahead for her. We hadn’t made it but half way through the crowd when, above
the roar of voices, the unmistakable ping of metal tapping against crystal
silenced the room. We
stopped. We both wanted to be up
front, felt our places were to be upfront, but our movement would have been
unwelcome in the now motionless room.
Melissa moved slowly along side me slid her arm through mine. I looked over at her. She smiled. She was damn near the spitting image of Carissa, only a foot
taller, and with a different countenance coming from behind her eyes.
Though I barely knew the man, I
would have known his voice anywhere.
Dr. Alexander’s whisper thin voice cut through the air. “Why are we here?” His cadence and delivery was markedly
changed from our discussion on the plane. It was now cultivated for the crowd. His voice might be thin, but he knew
how to use it to command a crowd. If
anything, it’s softness only made you need to listen more to hear him, raising
the intrigue. He raised an open
palm to the crowd. “Now, I don’t
mean, why are we here at this party?
Everyone here is well aware of the point of this little shindig. No, I mean, why are we here, on this
Earth?” The silence sat uncomfortably upon the room, as we all wondered if he
actually expected someone to answer him.
“Your answer could not be more perfect. No one knows.”
Shoulders fell. “No one
knows,” he repeated. “Yet, here we
are. All of us are looking for
purpose, and are looking most ravishing and dapper doing so might I add.” The crowd chuckled. “We are looking for more than this life
has to offer. We all are looking
for meaning. Most of us, even when
we see it, rarely have the cogency, the courage, the intestinal fortitude to
but begin the journey toward fulfilling that purpose. We are content to rest on our laurels, to sit in the
pleasures of the moment, and wish we could do better. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce to you
a woman who has done better. She
has sacrificed more than anyone of us here to fulfill her purpose. She is beautiful, courageous, and
downright ethereal. As you know,
you were all invited here to get the chance to meet and hire this young lady
for your, as she has continuously refused to come work for me.”
Everyone chuckled. A mature female voice from the audience
chided playfully, “Can you blame her?”
Everyone chuckled again.
Dr. Alexander smiled a professional
smile and raised a finger. “Did I
mention she was very wise?”
Another burst of laughter, louder
and more open this time.
“Without further ado, it is my
humble and great pleasure to introduce to you, Carissa Anne Lerche.” He pointed an open palm up the stairs.
Applause filled the room. Everyone stared at the point where the
steps met the ceiling. After a
second, a dainty, little foot stepped down into view. Her high-heeled shoes sparkled with each movement. With her next step, her calf slipped
through the slit in her dress. Her
calf muscle flexed sharp from the angle of her foot in the high heels. My heart began to pound, and I could
feel heat billowing out of my ears.
The bottom of her dress swished
around her ankles. I could finally
see that her dress was completely white.
Her hands and forearms filled out long, white, silken gloves. She delicately held a sparkling clutch
against her tiny waste. My body,
my mind, charged more and more with electricity, building to the point of being
unbearable. When her head finally
became visible, I had what felt to be a rush of blood to the head.
A man to my right exclaimed, “wow”,
and then a woman, “she looks fantastic.”
I had never seen her like this
before. Though she is thirty,
Carissa easily looks ten years younger.
When we first start dating, my friends and family gave me hell for
robbing the cradle, despite her being only a year younger than me. The way she dresses and does her makeup
hasn’t ever helped her change that perception either. Cute has always been the operating word, which is ironic, as
she hates being thought of as cute.
There was nothing cute about her
now. The white, satin gown hugged
her exactly around the chest and waste, releasing its grip at the bottom of the
curve of her backside, where the material draped loosely about her legs. The material just barely touched the
floor. Strapless, the dress
showed off the tone of her arms and shoulders, and accentuated her slender neck
that was holding up several rings of blinding white gemstones that led the eye
down to a hint of cleavage. Crystals
rimmed the top and bottom fringes of the dress.
Above all else, what stilled my
heart were her hair and her makeup.
It was now obvious why she had absconded herself away all day. The blonde in her hair had been taken
out, returned to it’s original red for the first time in years. Her long, straight hair was no
more. It was now chin-length, and teased
out in big, gravity-defying waves.
Tapered, low-hanging bangs hung down over her eyelids, then swung around
and hugged the sides of her face, bringing all the attention to her eyes. Usually fresh and naturally beautiful,
they were now rimmed thick with black, setting them apart from everything else. Like watching the sun’s brilliant rays
streak through and dance in the depths of the ocean, so did they sparkle light
blue.
A certain notion flared up inside
me. I tried to push it back. It was so stupid, but my subconscious
wouldn’t have it. It seemed hell bent
on tormenting me, as always. I
couldn’t help but notice that, in some way, this party held the trappings of a
wedding. I had on a tux. Carissa was wearing white. Her family was here. A toast had already been given. Carissa was making a grand entrance,
with all eyes on her.
Her eyes darted about the room
until they found mine. At first
she smiled brightly, as if to say, “Surprise!” Yet, that faded.
Perhaps it was something on my face? She still smiled, but underneath it held longing,
torment. My subconscious was right
again. As we stared at each other
across the room, we both knew that this was probably as close to a wedding as
we would ever get. Again and again
I said within myself, I know. I know, as if she could hear me
inside herself. I probably
imagined it. It was ridiculous, but
I swear I could hear her voice call out in sadness, Joel.
Carissa shook Dr. Alexander’s hand,
and gave him the kind of hug a woman her age gives a man his. He bent down and whispered something
into her ear. She shook her head,
nodded, and then they both opened back up to the crowd.
The piano started back up again. Everyone took the cue. Within moments, the roar of the room
was enough to force you to nearly shout to be heard by someone a few feet
away. She began to walk down the
steps in my direction, but was immediately swallowed up in a massive crowd of
people. There would be no getting
to her for now. The crowd was some
twenty feet thick. I couldn’t hear
what was being said at all. An
occasional burst of laughter confirmed my position on the outside, as I had no
idea as to what had caused it.
Melissa tugged on my arm. I turned to her.
She said something, but I couldn’t
hear it. I gave her a quizzical
face. She repeated it, a bit
louder this time, but it was still unintelligible. “What?” I
nearly yelled.
She leaned into me, putting her
mouth right next to my ear, then shouted, hurting my ears. “I said, Y’all are both idiots! Now come on.” She jolted my arm a bit. “Lets go find a drink.”
I nodded. “Sure.”
Þú
Ert Jörðin
The cold steel of the refrigerator
vibrated pleasantly against my back.
If not for the three beers and lobster sandwich in my stomach, and the
tumbler of scotch in my hand, I would have gone mad.
“Has anyone ever told you, that like,
you kind of look exactly like that guy from Avatar?” the blonde one asked.
“No.”
The brunette jumped in. “Well, you do. You so do. You look just like him, only taller.” A smile spread across her face as she
said “taller”.
“Is that a good thing?”
“Ooooh yeah,” the brunette kept on,
“it’s a very good thing.”
I looked out over their shoulders,
into the living room.
“Soo, like, later, after this, we
are so going to the Ghost Bar. You
should totally come,” said the brown-haired one.
“Yeah! Yeah! You so should,” the blonde jumped
in. “Have you ever been?”
I started to answer, but she kept
going, “Because if you haven’t you are missing out. Like, it has this balcony where the floor is like made out of
glass, so you can see right through to the fucking ground. Shit’s scary, but it’s pretty badass.”
That did it. I finally felt okay to stop listening. I should’ve tuned out whenever I asked
them what they liked to do, what their passion was, and they both answered,
“shopping.” I had come into the
kitchen to grab Melissa and another drink when these two girls began to chat me
up without ceasing.
More than listening to them talk, what
really irked me was how hard it was to not stare at their chests. Both of them were wearing tastelessly
deep necklines, and neither was wearing a bra. Being tempted with something so cheap so quickly after
experiencing something so real, so transcendent as seeing Carissa descending
those stairs infuriated me. It
infuriated me that they would dress like that, and it infuriated me even more that
there could was a part of me that was so weak, that it screamed at me to look…
and then some.
My hand brought the tumbler of
whisky to my lips. I dove my nose
deep into the glass, and breathed in the aroma, then took a sip. I reveled in the acidic burn that stung
my nose, burned my tongue, that warmed my throat. My first breath felt like fire.
I didn’t know how much longer I
could take being pinned against this refrigerator, listening to these girls. My civility, my desire to please, was
being pushed to its limit.
“There you are.” Standing in the door with a hand on a
hip, Melissa wore an angry face.
Both girls went silent. Their body language shifted. Something incredibly feminine was going
on here, and I could only hear the rumblings.
Melissa walked right up beside me
then pointed across the room. “See
Carissa?”
Both girls turned, looked, and then
came back forward with confused, edgy looks on their faces. “The girls the party’s for?” Said the blonde one with a hint of
attitude.
“Yes. The girl the party’s for.” Melissa’s words dripped with condescension.
They both shrugged, knowing full
well her words were loaded.
“Well, he’s with her.” Melissa pointed to me. “And, no offense, but you two don’t
hold a candle. So, if you’ll
excuse us.”
Both of them mumbled profanely as
we walked out of the kitchen back into the living area. In the time I had been trapped in the
kitchen listening to those girls talk about bars and shopping, the party had
changed from talking to dancing.
The lights had been dimmed, and Frank Sinatra’s, “I’ve got you under my
skin,” had everyone paired up, swaying slowly to the rhythm.
Melissa linked her arm into mine,
and led me back out onto the balcony, which was empty, save for a couple making
out at the far end.
Going back into the cold from the
warmth of the party was excruciating.
Melissa wrapped herself in her arms. Every inch of visible skin was covered in goose bumps, and
quivered involuntarily. I
immediately slipped my jacket off and threw it around her. She grabbed it tightly about her
neck. Sure enough, as I had
recalled earlier, I had sweat through much of my shirt, which now clung bitterly
to my skin. It was miserable
already, but each sweat spot felt like a hundred needles poking my skin. It took enormous discipline to act like
I wasn’t cold. Melissa didn’t need
to feel bad for wearing my jacket.
“Sorry I was so rude to those
girls, but I needed to tell you something, and those girls were just tacky.”
“Hey, so, you’re not going to like
this… I thought you should know
that my mother invited Jeremy.”
“Jeremy?” I hoped not the one that came to mind.
“Jeremy Cole, the guy before
you. Tall, nice guy…
Christian.”
Cole. That’s the one.
I hated recalling visions of Carissa strolling hand in hand with
him. He was everything she was
supposed to be with, who her parents wanted her to be with, but for whatever
mysterious reason, didn’t move her heart.
I sighed loudly.
“Mmmhmm. Carissa was furious.
She was very upset.”
“Where is she?”
Melissa shrugged. “Somewhere toward the stairs, I think.
“I’ll find her.”
“Sorry, Joel.” Her face looked stern with
disappointment at her parents.
“They just don’t know how or when to stop.”
“Why’d you tell me? Thought you wanted Carissa happy.”
“I do. Jeremy Cole won’t make her happy. Not sure anyone else will. That’s why, and don’t take this the wrong way, but I keep
praying and hoping you’ll wake the heck up and realize that someone like
Carissa couldn’t have been made by anything less than God. Y’all are so wonderful together it
hurts. I sometimes am jealous of
Carissa, not because I want you, but because I wish I had someone who looked at
me like you look at her, and who knows me like you know her.”
I wasn’t offended. We were past the point of shock after
all these years. I knew they all
wished it. Besides, no one understood
our love, least of all Carissa and I. Its greatness choked us all the more. If it were common, we could both just
move on. I could go do whatever it
is I wanted to do… probably those girls in the kitchen. Carissa could go marry a nice Christian
man, raise nice Christian babies, and live in peace.
She winked, then frowned. “I don’t know. It’s all so fucking… forgive me,
stinking… complicated. I don’t
know. I just don’t know.” She stopped. For a second, Melissa seemed flappable. Underneath her loud, capricious
exterior, there was much going on.
All I could think to do was reach my hand out and put it on her
shoulder, which was only a couple inches shorter than mine. She reached up out of my jacket, and
patted my hand.
I threw back what was left at the
bottom of the tumbler.
Thawed ice, mostly. Then, I
put my arm around her, and led her back inside.
At first, I thought about trying to
shimmy along the edge of the crowd, against the glass, but my butt and back
would be completely soaked by the time I would have made it around the
room. There were too many people standing
next to it, anyhow. There was no
choice but to wade through.
I bumped and skimmed my way through
the swaying crowd. Apologies were
given and taken readily. In all, it
took me five minutes to make it the forty or so feet across the living room to
the foyer. I had just made it
through the crowd when Dr. Alexander approached me. He looked even
sharper and cleaner up close. His
tux was classic, shimmering lapels, cummerbund, bowtie, timepiece, the
works. He leaned in and spoke
directly into my ear. “Joel, come
with me for a moment?”
“Sure.”
My mind tried to piece together
what he could possibly want to talk about. The hallway was surprisingly sparse with people. With a place this nice, I guess people
are afraid to veer off the path given to them. It did feel a little like I was going into a restricted area
in a museum.
At the end of the hall, he stopped
at a closed door.
“So sorry to inconvenience
you. Alas, Carissa, I fear, has
imbibed a bit more than she meant to.”
My eyebrows rose with concern.
“Don’t worry, she’s just in
here.” He nodded at the door. “She’s fine. Poor thing. The
waiter did his job, making sure everyone’s flutes, Carissa’s included, were
never less than half empty. She
was so busy talking to everyone; she didn’t have a mind to assess how much she
was taking in. Rather snuck up on
her. Then, some man approached her. Whoever he was, seeing him upset her
greatly. He left shortly after. Then Mrs. Lerche came up and was
apparently unpleased with something.
When they finished talking, Carissa polished off her flute, which was
full. It was wonderfully dramatic,
but it did her in past tipsy. So,
I had a waitress bring her back here.
She’s already made quite the impression. I think I overheard at least five job offers in the short
time I was around her. I didn’t
want to spoil people’s first impressions.”
I was glad he took action.
“I was with her constantly in
Ireland. I don’t think I ever saw
her drink a drop, and our little group of friends were no strangers to the pub.” He shrugged. “Regardless, it’s just my luck that you were on this side of
the room. I was afraid I was going
to have to use these razor blades I have for elbows to make my way to you.” He held out his elbows and smiled. “You should take her upstairs. No one lives here. It’s a friend’s playhouse, if you will,
and he’s out for quite a while. Gave
me the run of the place. I’d tell
you where the master bedroom is, but just head upstairs. You can’t miss it. Hope you don’t mind if I head
back. Thought you could look after
her. I’d hate to leave my guests.”
“Of course. Hey. Thank you for everything you’ve done.” I held out my hand. He took it, and shook it gently. “You had all these people treat people
like she was a movie star. It was
something special, and I want you to know that I appreciate you throwing your
clout around for her.”
He waved his hand at me. “Nonsense. I was going to throw a party anyway. This was just a wonderful excuse. The whole thing is quite selfish,
believe me.”
I didn’t. It was a big deal to do something like this. He was turning to depart when something
leapt out of my throat. “You said
you were with her all the time?”
He stopped in the hallway, and
turned back to me. “Mostly, yes.”
“Were you there when Carissa was
stabbed?”
“Stabbed?” He exclaimed.
“You weren’t there when she was
attacked?”
His voice was supremely calm. “No, Mr. Bernal. I am afraid not. I had no idea she was stabbed. That is horrifying. What happened?”
I shrugged. “Don’t know. Found the scar by accident. She wouldn’t tell me anything other than she was stabbed.” I figured I might have said too
much. “Don’t tell her I said
anything.”
His palms shot up. “I wouldn’t dare.”
I pulled my right hand out of my
coat pocket and stuck up my thumb.
“Thanks.”
“Of course. Have a good evening.”
“Sure. You too.”
After disappearing into the crowd
at the end of the hall, I turned to the door. I was careful to turn the knob all the way before opening, though
I don’t know why. There was no
being quiet, not with the music blaring as it was. Etta James’s voice filled every crevice. The massive door opened to another living
room, much smaller than the main room, though still bigger than an average
living room. Unlike the main room,
the décor was not old world, not that of a museum. It was cutting edge and clean.
Carissa sat in a chair that was
shaped like and egg cut in half.
She seemed to be gazing out the wall of windows. She swiveled her head loosely over
toward me. As I walked toward her,
I felt my gate widen, my steps land firmer, and my shoulders throw themselves
back.
Her tender voice called for
me. “Joel?”
I didn’t answer. While I moved, I kept my eyes either
averted or out of focus. There was
this desire to keep the present of seeing her up close all dressed up for later,
not slumped over sadly in a chair like this. I slid my left arm underneath her arm and around her back,
my right under the bend of her legs, and lifted her up out of that chair. She draped her head and arms in
practiced fashion across my chest and shoulders. She was as light as a feather in my arms.
I took my time up the stairs, so as
to make sure she was comfortable.
Each step teased her silken hair across my face. My pulse quickened. She hugged my neck even tighter, almost
smashing her face into my neck.
Out from under my chin, her voice trembled softly. “Joel?”
“Yes?”
“You know what they called me?”
“Who?”
“They called me lur-chy.” She chuckled way too much, showing her
intoxication.
“They did huh?”
She tried to nod.
“I tried to tell them, but they
kept calling me lur-chy.”
“Aah. Well, I have a solution for
your name problem.”
She didn’t catch my
insinuation. She just repeated herself,
“Lur-chy.”
The top of the stairs faced a
wall. Once at the top, you were
forced to turn to the left. What Dr. Alexander said now made complete
since. You couldn’t miss the
bedroom, because the entire upstairs was the bedroom. The ceiling had to be nearly twenty feet high, and the room
nearly thirty feet long.
Three sides were walls, but one wall was solid window. Six, massive, single pains of glass covered every inch of the
wall from floor to ceiling. The
room was lit only from the lights of the city outside, which lit the room
surprisingly well. Downtown filled
the frame the windows made. Unlike
the fogged up windows downstairs, theses were crystal clear. Each light twinkled playfully in the
distance.
A huge, intricately adorned,
canopied bed sat at the far end of the room. The drapes of the canopy were all tied back around the
bedposts. The bed came up a foot
higher than a normal bed did. A
small wooden step sat at the foot of the bed, but I didn’t need it. With care, I laid Carissa down on the
thick mattress. The materials of
the dress and duvet cover hissed as they met.
She wriggled and rolled around into
the middle of the bed, and onto her stomach. She ended up with her head at the edge of the bed facing out
toward the city.
“I ate sooo much. I’m sooo fat.” She lamented.
I didn’t even flinch. Some earlier version of myself would
have gone nuts upon hearing her say that.
She weighed barely over a hundred pounds, and she was fat? There was nothing to say though. Such is every woman’s battle, it seems. There was no defeating it
completely. All I could do was
make her feel as pretty as possible, as often as possible.
I popped her shoes off her feet,
then walked around to the side she was facing, knelt down on my knees so that
my face was on the same level as hers.
She needed bread, water, and
coffee. “Look at me,” I said,
wanting to make sure she was okay.
She slowly let her hands down until I could see her face. My throat shut tight. In all of life, I had never seen
anything so beautiful. Nothing
even came close. There was a pain
in my chest. It was too much to
take in.
We took in each other’s faces. Above the thumping of the music from
below, I could hear the sharp rise in her breath.
“You’re beautiful,” she said.
Her words surprised me. I smiled softly and took her hand. “I think you mean handsome.”
“No.” she insisted. “What I am feeling, when I look at you
as I am now, it’s the same feeling I had the first time I saw mountains, or the
ocean, or a thunderstorm, only so much more so. Sheer beauty.”
Nothing like that had ever been
said to me before. My heart was
past full, and the pain was excruciating.
She turned over on her back to
where her head hung upside down off the edge. She stared at me for a moment, before she reached out,
grabbed my hand and held it against her face. A deep exhale from her nose blew sharp across my hand. All rational thought was gone.
I ran my fingers up though her hair
as it dangled down the side of the bed.
It was different, so much shorter than what I was used to. The music from downstairs faded out of
my perception. All I could hear
was her breathing and the sound of my skin against hers. I leaned forward and kissed her, taking
her bottom lip in between mine. My
nose touched her chin. Upon the
touching of our lips, her hands flew up around my head, held it firmly, and
pulled my face violently into hers.
She kissed me with an abandon like never before.
Without leaving each other’s lips,
I made my up and onto the bed next to her. At one point our teeth clanked painfully together, but she
didn’t even seem to notice. If
anything, she kissed me harder. I
could barely keep up with her lips as they moved about mine, about my face, my
ears, my neck.
She pushed me over onto my back,
threw her legs over me, and sat up, straddling me. Through the years, I had kissed her thousands of times,
spent weeks in all holding her hand.
I knew every nook, bend, freckle, and scar that graced her perfect face,
but I had never felt this before, her weight on top of me in this manner. We were pressed against each
other. I had never seen her face
from this privileged angle.
Her hands rushed toward my
neck. Her fingers began working my
buttons loose. The moment the top
button on my shirt opened,to my own surprise, my hands both reached up and
grabbed her wrists, stopping her.
Her face jolted in shock.
She tried to move her hands through my strength, but it was useless.
Something had flipped. This was all wrong. This was cheap. This was cheating.
“Don’t you want this?” She said, her voice confused and
embarrassed. “Don’t you want me?”
My face hardened. “No, I don’t, not like this. This isn’t really you. You don’t want this.”
“Why would you care. You don’t think this is wrong.”
“No. I don’t, but you do.”
“I don’t right now.”
“But you will tomorrow morning. You’de would wake up in horror, and
that’s not what I want. I know
you. A part of you wants this, but
not all of you, and I want all of you.”
She covered her face with her
hands. She began to cry. Soft and easy, I swept her off of me, stood, and picked her up
off the bed. I managed to hold her
steady in my arms, but also pull the comforter back. Sparks of static electricity snapped between the sheets and
comforter. I laid her down onto
the bed then pulled the covers over her, jewelry, dress, and all.
Devastated. That’s what I felt inside. Gutted. She didn’t need to know it, though. Strong is what I had to be right now, and through tomorrow
for sure. Pity party could come
some other time.
“I don’t feel so good,” she moaned.
“I know. It’ll be okay though.
I’m not mad that…”
“I think I am going to throw up.”
“Oh.” Quickly, I sprinted into the bathroom, and flipped the
lights on to frantically search for a trashcan. Finally, I found it.
If it were a snake, it would have bitten me. I had already passed over it several times. It was so nice looking that I hadn’t
recognized it as a trashcan.
By the time I came back into the
bedroom, Carissa had made her way up and was stumbling around the bed. The trashcan had been under her head
for only a second before she vomited.
What a night. It hurt to see her this way. I knew the feeling all too well. I took her into the bathroom, put the
toilet seat down, and set her on it.
The bathroom, like everything else in this ridiculous place, was massive
and ultra modern in design.
I knelt down before her. The dark tile was cold and hard on my
knees. “Are you going to be okay
if I leave you here for a second?”
She moaned painfully. Her words were slurred from trying to
speak with her face buried in her hands.
“Why would anyone ever do this on purpose?”
“I don’t know.” I really didn’t.
“This sucks.”
“I know.”
“Joel?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like my haircut?”
I chuckled. “I love it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I was worried you wouldn’t like
it. I know long hair is your
favorite, but…”
My hand rested on her knee. “I love it. I really do.
It’s very sexy.”
That got her attention. She popped her head out of her hands. “Sexy?” she said with excitement.
“Very.” I smiled wide for her.
She was always sexy to me, but with her beliefs I didn’t often invoke sexuality.
She repeated the word, “Sexy,” and
smiled with pride. “What about the
color?”
“I love it too. Reminds me of when we first met. Does something to me to see your hair
red again.”
She was about to say
something. Instead she just moaned
in discomfort. She plopped her
face back into her palms. She begged
the room to stop moving.
“Okay. Hey.” I reached
up and stroked her arm. “I’m going
to go get Melissa, and she’s going to help you get into that super nice shower
over there, and I’m going to get you some water, and some bread, and some
coffee. That should help. I’ll be right back. Okay?”
“Okay. Don’t leave me too long.”
“I’ll be right back.”
“Okay. Thank Dr. Alexander for me. What he did was so nice.”
“Will do.”
As I walked out of the bathroom I
heard her say, “If he wouldn’t have been there, they would have killed me.”
Copyright Nicholas L. Laning 2012
