I Took Her Hand ^©

 

       I took her hand.

 

Standing there as she was, I knew that she was mine had I wanted her. She had been so many times before. She was expectant. Good.

 

        “What?” It was more laugh than giggle.

 

With a smile and nothing else I turned towards the door with her in tow. So many times before we had gone through this door. The old, varnished oak polished and scared with years of aging. If this doorway were a person, it would surely be one who had long ago stopped breathing. Yet it was even more beautiful now than it ever could’ve been.

 

In the corridor the only sounds I could hear were the sounds of her rapid, excited breathing, tittering, and the hollow knocks and taps of our shoes. It was a rememberable experience. The sight of her. The fragrance of her perfume. The lay of her white dress. Her elegance. She was a sight to behold. She stirred such love. My emotions were in turmoil.

 

If there was anything I wanted it was to make this quick, though I’d prefer it not to be necessary.

 

When we reached the door at the end of the hallway, she tugged gently, getting the attention she didn’t know she already had.

 

“Kiss me!”

 

“Now?”

 

“I can’t wait.” She moved in so close that I was certain that I could feel her heartbeat. “I’ve missed you for so long.”

 

I kissed her and cursed myself. I couldn’t afford to store any more memories. It was so much sweeter than I had remembered. I wanted to stay there. I was lost in a heavenly rapture. How long we kissed I don’t know. I only know that I was completely immersed in her embrace. She had a power over me that haunts me to this day.

 

“Come on.” I said, somehow able to break the trance. It was like denying hunger.

 

“Please?”

 

“Soon.”

 

“But…” I put my finger over her lips as I backed away and shushed her.

 

Reluctantly she submitted. It couldn’t have been half as difficult as it was for me. I could’ve wept.

 

I opened the door to the room that was my office at the time. Simple as it was, it stirred a coziness observant to most people who entered it, earning me a variety of compliments. They had never meant much to me, as those compliments were not deserved by me.  They were for her, though most visitors didn’t know it. She had woven a tapestry from rags by decorating this room with many old treasures that could only be seen as valuable by someone such as me. A clock in the shape of a dog. An old painting of a schooner struggling through choppy waters. A black and white, grainy picture of a middle-aged man posing with his son, each with a trophy pheasant held out before him, a rifle in the other hand and a beagle off to the side sniffing his young master’s feet. I didn’t know these people or if they were real, but I valued the picture for it’s honesty and it’s purity.

 

The room was modestly decorated with a country feel. Second-hand furniture passed as antique do to clever refinishing. An old, simple desk was displayed along the eastern wall, with a window over-looking Central Park behind it. Across the room was the futon I kept for when I was too tired to carry my weary frame to our bedroom.  It had a red and white plaid, hand-woven throw that my mother had knitted for me when I was a child, strategically tossed across it. The small table for two seemed to belong more in a cafe than it did on this room, but with the picturesque window beside it, it seemed to blend right in as if by magic.

 

This was the table at which Andie would sit while I’d toil over the computer. It was where she’d work on her thesis, read her texts, or sometimes just fill out a crossword puzzle while the radio played on the mantle.

 

But it was the desk that was the focus of my attention at the moment.

 

“Michael, I’m tired. Can’t we just sit on the sofa? Have some wine? We could take a shower.”

 

She was tired. I almost felt guilty having dragged her from the restaurant. She’d barely gotten off the plane when I lead her to the taxi and then to The Risky Business, a neighborhood bar and grille near us that served her favorite pasta salad. She needed to rest. Fourteen hours is a long time to travel.

 

“There’s just one thing I want to show you. After that I’ll run us a bath, serve some wine, and we can soak, cuddle, or make love all night if you want.”

 

“Hmmm… A little of each sounds nice. Can we take a bubble bath?”

 

“I was just thinking about getting good ol’ Mr. Bubble out of the guest bathroom!”

 

She wrapped my arm in both of hers as I continued to lead her. “I have some by the sink, silly!”

 

“Yeah, but yours smell pretty. Next thing I know you’ll try to play Dress-Up with me!”

At that she gave me one of her punches and laughed. It didn’t hurt. She never meant to hurt me with them. It was almost like a buddy punch, only it wasn’t just a buddy who’d hit me. A petite five-foot two-inch, hundred pound doll was the assailant.

 

                                       To Be Continued...