concentrated harder on Michael’s clean-shaven face. He skin was clear of blemishes with no broken capillaries and his hair was trim but kind of a mess, a pretty hip style for the time, I guess. His jaw line, distinct and angled, gave his face a very old-world look like the straight noses of the Egyptians and the square jaw of the Roman’s. His look was different from either of those like maybe he was a hybrid – getting a little of this and a little of that and if you put it all together you get something different, something royal, and something special.
‘Hurry, don’t be late, I can hardly wait
I said to myself when we’re old
We’ll go dancing in the dark
Walking through the park and reminiscing…’
There was a few seconds of quiet before the next tune started. Just enough time to hear his breathing, comfortable and slow, like mine. Then I heard the beginning of the next song.
‘She’s come undun
She didn’t know what she was headed for
And when I found what she was headed for
It was too late
She’s come undun…’
‘Oh no’, I groaned. I sighed deeply trying to take on another perspective. That would be a good test for my self-control or it might just kill me.
“Undone,” by The Guess Who, was a song that I took personally way back in my younger years but the feelings seem to transcend time. When I commit to something, I commit to it completely. That’s a trait that stayed with me even to this day and sometimes to my detriment. When that kind of abandon and lack of understanding of the consequence is present, the grand endeavor it takes to reach something even unreachable, that effort alone, is reason for perceived success. If that success doesn’t happen a crisis of faith can be the result. In other words, I didn’t get what I wanted even though I tried really, really hard, so that means that God and everybody hates me. I listened to the next few lines of the song to see if the old familiar melancholy would return.
‘She found a mountain that was far too high
And when she found out she couldn’t fly
It was too late
It’s too late
She’s gone too far
She’s lost the sun
She’s come undun
She wanted truth but all she got was lies
Came the time to realize
And it was too late…’
Nope. I was happy and pleased that the words stayed inside my head and the old feelings were not to be found. Hopefully that old drama had given way to understanding, tolerance, and some good self-management.
Wow, how long had I been staring at his lips? It couldn’t be that long because I saw his eyes blink a minute earlier. Suddenly I felt as though I were looking into his hearth, his space, his personal being. I was crossing an invisible civil barrier, you know, like a peeping Sheila. Of all things that I guard myself from, voyeurism is high up there on the list. I know when to turn my head and mind my own business. With that thought swinging though my head and me trying to lose the image that I had been staring at for many long, concentrated minutes, it wouldn’t go away, his face was right there, in front of me still, behind my eyelids. Now it became quite important that I sever that visual tie and give him back his privacy. Yes, I knew what needed to be done, but that did not mean that I knew how to do it. Experimenting, I squeezed my already closed eyes shut more tightly; but, his face was still on the inside of my lids, except now the visual was tinged in red. I squeezed a few more times but got the same results. Still experimenting, I opened my eyes to look at something else, any thing else, to replace the image of his face with another.
I was looking down to avoid looking at his face and imprinting it in my head even more. I saw our hands, actually I saw his hands cradling my left hand and I watched as he stroked the skin on the back of my hand using all four fingers on his right hand. I felt it like it was a feather. It was a pamper, a nurturing movement, like a caress. I closed my eyes quickly. I didn’t want to see anymore. But wouldn’t you just know it, my eyes closed and I saw the image of our hands and his coddle right there behind my eyelids like it was a motion picture. I squeezed my eyes shut very tightly. The picture repeated itself in my head, as I watched with my mind’s eye.
Ok, let’s try that again. Before I opened my eyes again, I had to think about what I wanted to imprint on the back of my eyelids. I made my decision, not exactly a noble decision, but a decision none the less; I turned my head slightly to the right, adjusted to the new focal point, my eyes flew open. I frantically searched for that little dessert dish; I couldn’t find it; in my head I screamed ‘where the hell is his jello;’ my eyes swept the table once quickly – nothing. I inadvertently glanced at his face. I saw his gray eyes looking back at me as I quickly tried to be invisible.
I tried, for a brief second, to pretend that I didn’t see his eyes, that I didn’t notice that they were open and looking directly at me.
‘She’s come undun
Doe-doe-doe-doe-doe doe un doe-doe-doe un doe-doe-doe, Doe doe-doe-doe-doe un doe-doe-doe doe-doe-doe, Doe doe-doe-doe doe doe-doe-doe doe doe…’
The quest for an escape from my voyeuristic episode gave way to another idea. Maybe he’s ready to start talking some more; it’d been awhile. I opened my eyes and found myself looking directly into his. That time he was seeing me, not seeing through me. I smiled a simple toothless smile, an encouraging smile, a smile of indulgence – OMG, I just got that, I am not without my own coddles and I employed them mercilessly. With the look of patience I was giving him, he had no choice but to communicate in more detail.
Easily distracted, my thoughts went off to see if there were other times in my past that I was guilty of doing something myself that I found distasteful in others. I questioned my own perception, ‘am I manipulative?’ Am I cognizant of the effect my behavior has on others? Well, I think I’m aware most of the time. Oh crap, I say to myself, unclench, relax, it’s your vacation, too.
Another smile; this time a ‘welcome back’ smile, a ‘the ball’s in your court’ smile. I didn’t say a word; I waited for him to return my volley. I hoped he hadn’t lost the ball. As I watched, the light from the patio sent flicks of reflected light from his eyes back to mine; his eyes glistened and sparkled. I could feel some kind of intent in the clutch of those intense and cozy, gray eyes.
I still held my tongue. If the quiet thing were a sport, I’d be an Olympian. I had an old boss that employed that ‘I can wait you out’ technique in her interviews. It worked very well, people got so uncomfortable with the silence that they would begin to fill-in the space with everything they could think of about themselves. Really, people will chatter like magpies to avoid the awkward silence. I know that, because I saw it in my own behavior. Luckily, I caught on quickly; then it was a game. I’m not competitive but if I play, I can have the illusion that I can make my own choices and that I have the right to choose. Certain illusions are important to me.
I gave in and let myself look at him closely. I allowed my eyes to examine every inch of his face; I was, after all, waiting for him to speak and, he was, after all, doing the same thing. The rules of propriety suddenly became unclear; I knew there were no rules for the ‘I can wait you out’ game. The conflict in me was nearly palpable as I satisfied my own curiosity; I justified my actions under the guise that the information acquired could be of benefit in future conversations. I waited and searched his face for any new expression or any faint change in his eyes. I watched his long, luxurious, and enviable eye lashes seductively touch his cheek as he blinked. There was a phantom wish that I could still wear mascara and that I was wearing some right then; it did go with the occasion. It rankled my ego to know that his natural beauty would outshine my artificial contrivance anyway.
‘Never My Love’ by the 5th Dimension had just begun.
‘You