ice on the sidewalk (part 2, the end.)

There are moments in some people’s lives that carve a place in both their mind and their heart as the defining moment of when they are, for lack of better phrasing, born a new.  As if they were given an entirely new pair of eyes with which to see the world.  That night was just that, for me.  Growing up I had a loving mother, but there was always a sense, to her credit she did a marvelous job doing her best of concealing it, that I wasn’t necessarily wanted around the house.  I lived with her until I was 26, by then I had saved enough to move into a decent apartment in a decent neighborhood inhabited by decent people.  During my time with her, my dad passed when I was 17, I had more than my fair share of illnesses.  And she tended to me as any loving mother would; cooking soup, going out of her way to go out and buy me the things that I felt would make me feel the least bit better.

But by comparison neither the pharaohs nor did any Caesar ever receive anything near the devotion that this girl (I suppose I should say young woman, she was 24.  Although I do prefer the more youthful members of the opposite sex, I’m no Humbert Humbert.) gave me that night.  She insisted that she drive my car back to my apartment, in light of the possibility that I could begin to lose focus and potentially cause some degree of an accident.  She drove perfectly, never getting too close to those in front of her, and I swear, when I made an effort to look, she was going the exact speed limit, not the least bit above or below.

We pulled into my spot in the parking lot of the apartment complex, and I began to get out.  But before I could get the door open enough to make my way out, she was out of the car and on my side, arms extended and moving towards me.  She placed my left arm around her neck, and did her best (she only a few inches shorter than I) to help me get up the stairs and to my door.  She took the keys out of my hand, and opened the door herself.  When we got in she, almost as if she had been living there longer than I had, immediately found the light and the tiny space I called a living room was illuminated.

The sight of the place brought about a feeling of dreariness and a sense of shame.  There was no TV, I couldn’t stand anything on it, a desk sat in the corner with a turned-off, rarely used computer, a couch with room for 3, yet only one cushion had perforation marks, a coffee table that never once saw the butt of a coffee cup, and littered about the entire area were random books.  Eastern and Western philosophy, the classics, books of poetry, memoirs, essays and there was even a copy of The Wind and the Willows.

She led me to my couch, helped me to, slowly and gently, lay down.  She looked around quickly, then turned around and headed for the open door.  “Well, see ya.” I said groggily, but coherent enough.  She didn’t reply and continued to the door.  She closed and locked it, then turned around slowly, almost with a hint of shyness, “I’m not leaving, I need to stay with you.”  She moved away from the door, and the slightest grin sneaked its way onto my face.  “Do you have a pillow?” she asked, “Yeah, in the bedroom.”  I pointed in the direction of my bedroom, and she found it with ease.  She returned moments later with a pillow and stood by my head, instructing me to lift it, so she could place it under my head.

I lay on the couch hands folded on my stomach, quiet, pretending as if where I was some new, unexplored, alien place.  She sat on the coffee table, one the corner, so that she was nearest to my feet.  I thought to myself “That’s the first butt of any kind that this table has ever seen.  Lucky bastard.”  There was, as to be expected, a fair amount of initial awkward, faint sweat inducing silence, but the passing of about 45 minutes saw it gone and almost forgotten.  She began a discussion about, of course, all the books in my apartment.  “So, you like to read a lot?”  In my current state I couldn’t exactly give the most in depth response, “Yep.”  “Who are your favorite writers?”  I did the best I could to think, my head ringing, the lights seemingly brighter than usual, and the room just barely trembling as if under the force of a slight earthquake, and replied “Well, I go through phases.  One moment I’m totally obsessed with a certain writer, the next it’s someone else.  But the one’s who’ve really stayed with me are, probably, Vonnegut, Nabokov, Kafka, Twain, Fante, Camus and Faulkner.  Bukowski, too.  Can’t forget Buk, nothing more amusing than a fat, butt-ugly alcoholic loser talking about getting laid, heart break and going to the tracks.”
*****

I figured, in the interest of the possibly bored and increasingly agitated reader, that I would simply skip ahead to current time, providing a fair overview of the last 5 moths of my life, and the events that followed that night.

Month 1-The night of my slip went by, head aches and occasional awkwardness aside, far too quickly.  It was obvious that her and I had some sort of connection with nothing but potential for success.  Before she left she wrote her number of a piece of paper that was probably once used as a bookmark, and I called her the proceeding day.  Our next few get-togethers were nothing but pleasant.  Gradually the relationship grew, and events spilled over to

Month 2- It was in this month that it was established that we were a solidified couple.  The last hours of each day found her and I either at my apartment or at her house (she lived with her mom, who wasn’t the least bit of a bother.  She was actually very accepting of our need for privacy.) lying in bed, sometimes talking about random subjects, other times fast asleep in each other’s arms.

Month 3-The still growing bond between us lead us to come to the conclusion that we should move in together.  I stayed in my apartment, and she brought over all her things.  There wasn’t too much, but I did have to organize, in some way, the literary chaos that painted my place.  The relationship continued to strengthen daily.

Month 4-Road trip to Concord.  It was more my idea than hers, being an admirer of Thoreau, but she was more than happy to come along.  We stayed at a middle of the road motel.  It met our needs, and the sights we saw were amazing.  

This brings us to month 5.  I suppose I should point out, to those more promiscuous readers, until this point the relationship has been sexless.  This hasn’t bothered either of us and I don’t think there’s any sign of its possible invasion.

Today, more accurately tonight, we’ll be celebrating our 5 month anniversary.  The plans include a private candle lit dinner at the only restaurant in town to ever receive a 5 star rating, no doubt it will be expensive, but no worries.  Then a drive down to the beach, to watch the stars.  I wish I could say that there’s more to it, but that’s it.  The dinner, then we return to my, our, place to watch a few films, maybe Jules et Jim, and then off to bed.

*****

We arrive at the restaurant with a few minutes to kill, so we stand near the entrance, taking in the fresh night air.  “Just from the outside this place looks so lovely.”  She said.  I looked at the outer core of the building, looked at her, smiled and nodded in agreement.  “---- do you think you’ll order tonight?”  She asked.  I hesitated, thinking to myself that for a moment there I had gone totally deaf to everything around me, but I shook it off and replied anyways.  “I’m not quite sure yet.  If they’re the only restaurant in town to ever get a 5 star rating, everything must be good.”  She laughed that school girl laugh, and her exhaled breath carried the scent of her perfume towards me, and for a fleeting moment it’s as if the light from the street lights intensifies and I can’t see a thing other than white light.

In we go and we’re greeted by an older man, around 50, maybe 55, and we’re taken to our reserved seats in a private room.  Looking around, it finally sinks in that this is really going to cost me an arm and a leg, maybe even a testicle, but it doesn’t bother me, and we’re seated.  Staring across the table, I say “You look awe inspiring tonight.” she smiles and replies “---nk you.”  There it is again, as if I’d gone totally deaf.  It wasn’t just her words I was unable to hear, but I couldn’t hear the white noise that was coming into the room through the door that separated her and I from the other diners.  I shook my head, and ignored what had happened.

I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was truly enjoying herself, that there was no other company in the world that she would trade for mine.  When the waiter came to take our order it happened again.  She was making her order “We’ll have the ----------------------------.“  It had lasted so long that I guess my facial expression changed, and she took notice, she turned to the waiter and I heard her, finally, “Thank you.”  She reached her hand across the table, but before it came into contact with mine, the light of the candle in the middle of the table intensified past the blinding light that even the street lights outside had gotten to.  And when her hand touched mine, I jumped a little.

She asked “Honey, are you –k?”  I nodded, with returned vision, and smiled.  The rest of the evening passed gracefully, and the momentary deafness and blindness ceased to return.  Near the end of the night, at the beach, she looked at me in a way that conveyed a message stronger than any words ever invented by mankind.  I knew, in my heart, that she was ready.  I suppose I left out a slightly important detail, the nonexistence of a sex life in our relationship was, for the most part, her chose.  She was a virgin, and, understandably, nervous about the whole endeavor.  She told me, one night, “When I am finally certain that you are the one to whom (she said whom, I loved the way she spoke.) I want to give myself to, I will tell you.  But not with words.”

And this was the moment in which she decided it was time.  We got back in the car; we had been lying on a blanket on the sand, and headed back to the apartment.  On the way they returned.  Every so often I would go totally deaf, unable to hear the radio, the motor of the car, or even my own heart beat.  And I would be blinded by an intense white light, as if I had accidentally placed myself far too close to a 100-wat light bulb; it was like a snow blindness.

During the entire trip back I didn’t say a word about what was going on.  We eventually returned and the last few minutes I was perfectly fine.  We walked up the stairs, at this point I was overcome with nervousness and for all the wrong reasons.  Of course, I was anticipating finally caressing her body, totally naked, warm and alive next to mine, but I feared that these spontaneously striking –nesses would attack again at any moment.

But when we reached the door, I looked over to her, and her eyes, my god her eyes, they could melt the most frozen of hearts, told me that everything was going to be ok, that we would be together forever.  She unlocked the door, and opened, I entered first.  I stood in total darkness, calmed by its utter lack of light.  Then I heard her stepping in behind me, she closed the door, and turned on the light.  As soon as the switch had been fully lifted, they both struck.  I could not see, nor could I hear a thing.  I simply stood still, and I don’t know if she had noticed, because I lost all sense of touch.  I couldn’t tell if I was standing, floating, or flat on my face.  The blindness, the inability to hear and feel….they never went away.