A teal, knit sweater draped and drifting airily down only covered her body in the way that an ocean’s receding waves conceal the fervent and jolting thunderous life beneath. Cutting down her front, the V’-neck illuminating the skin between her clavicle and her breasts. She had so much the color and vigor in her skin of coffee tempered by cream weaving its way through the dark, one might expect such invigoration by running his fingertips slowly between her breasts up to the nape of her neck, savoring the tactile taste as much as any gustatory indulgence.
He imagined the consequent rising path his hands could take, winding through the folds of her dark hair, grasping and feeling the hair tousling between his fingers and drawing taut in his palms.
He would ask later the forgiveness of no deity in particular for what he had done, but in this moment, divinity stood to be neglected.
The simple truth was he knew it wouldn’t last. That matter was certain, though it was a certainty barely worth of his attention. It came into focus and then flitted away again; a snag in the film reel.
It had been an illogical moment from the start; an instant. Yet, it was one of those few instants in life that are as tangible as feeling one’s foot on the ground. He believed in that instant what generations and sages have said, a flash of expression in the eyes had told them both exactly what could happen next.
As a friend to her partner before the two had met, he often had felt hesitation around her before. A pause in his thoughts that gave way to reservations as Hannibal engulfed the uncertain Romans at Cannae, his ego gave way at its center. Doubt and disbelief swallowed him up in legions. In his own creative certainty he dispelled any notion that didn’t serve to confirm his own ugliness.
Yet, there they were. In his coital lucidity he had recalled the circumstances ascending to the moment. Not in coherent thoughts, but in flashes of sound and colour: a moving projection of lights, greens and yellows swaying in a blurred tapestry, backlit by the dul electric orange of streetlights; an oak table and half-filled glasses of pale foam; a far-away din of glasses and laughter; a frayed scarf in pastel earth tones; a woman’s pea coat, black and lost in darkness save for the glisten of buttons and outline of the collar on her scarf; whirring illumination from the passing stops on a subway train.
He remembered it clearly for a second. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought and I’m ready to wait until you’re ready.”
Lost among found treasures, his thoughts drifted again. “Pick out any album,” he offered reclining.
When the player groaned and crackled into life, and the sounds of Graceland began to tumble and drift into the moment, he almost wondered if Providence did exist, and by euphonious interjection was making its presence known.
*****
Resolute morning was nearing, though still hours away. Even after their second time he was hesitant to leave the bed, but the record had to be flipped. He remembered how hard it had been to find this last needle. It wouldn’t do to let it wear out; a replacement would be too hard to find.
Looking at the bed from the distance, her shape was barely distinguishable underneath the blanket, and an image filled his mind and vision of taught wire supporting the covers from underneath. Even so, he hadn’t realized before how empty the bed had really been until he saw her tangled hair on the pillow case, filling the indention around her head; negative space on the yielding cushion.
Her playful squeal told him that his hands must have gotten cold while he was turning the record. Giddily unperturbed, he ran the tip of his left index-finger underneath the curve of her left breast.
“Stop seducing me!” She squealed, only half protesting.
“I told you I’d make it up to you,” he spoke through a grin to himself..
“Oh, once wasn’t enough?” She laughed, turning to face him.
“Not for me it isn’t.”
It was true. This was his only opportunity to live without regret; to rest calmly satisfied without pang for forgiveness. This night filled his reality, just the same as tomorrow would bring his senses in touch with the taxonomy of daily life.
Whether she felt the same, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew for certain was the sensation of the mattress sinking away and beneath him as her right knee came gliding down and alongside him. The deeper in he went, the less resistance he found.
