A Conversation
A Conversation
The building we call the Mausoleum is finally open tonight. You know - that old white building with the imposing columns next to the First Congregational Church. I think they use it for a boy scouts troop meeting or something.
Yeah, well, curiosity I guess has finally gotten the better of us and we pull into the parking lot.
This surprises me, you know. It’s all so spontaneous and right now, it feels like a really beautiful gift. I like it, this spontaneity. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of the night you proposed, although the only things that make the evenings similar are the time of year. Okay, yeah, and the crickets and the breeze and you and me and…
A local jazz group is inside the Mausoleum, playing that old Big Band swing. The notes sashay into the open windows of our car and for a brief second I imagine myself as Ginger Rogers.
No, you can’t be Astaire. I know they are a team but he was too ugly for Rogers and since you aren’t ugly you’ll just have to be somebody else. Gregory Peck. Hey, pal, in my fantasy Peck can dance better than Astaire. And he’d be a lot more fun to kiss, I'm sure.
Tonight’s decently humid, too. It’s good, you know. Humid is good, especially since it isn’t oppressively muggy. It’s the kind of night air you just want to bite. It’s full of that Life source. It’s the kind of night which makes me grateful to be young, twenty-five, and beautiful. It makes me thrilled to be married.
Tonight! I mean, the music…you, me…all built for tonight.
Lightning now threatens, illuminating the parking lot just long enough for you and I to dance. The floor is ours and instead of jeans I am in a chiffon gown. I say chiffon because that’s just what belongs. I’m not even sure I know exactly what chiffon looks like. Grandma talks about her chiffon dress – the chiffon dress – she wore the night Grandpa fell in love with her. You know, how you’re falling in love with me now.
I like that.
I like it how your hand gently brushes my cheek and lightly tugs at one of my stray curls. Our eyes lock and you smile at me. No, it’s more a smirk. You know – that smirk you do when you remind yourself how lucky you are to have me but don’t think I’m looking. Well, I am and I know.
I smirk, too.
It’s kind of funny to be eavesdropping on this band. They have no idea we're here, sitting in the car, peering into their private version of paradise. But that, I think, is all part of the makings of our very own.
The band shifts into Dean Martin’s “Baby It’s Cold Outside.” At least, that’s what it sounds like. Too funny is what it is. I mean, it’s July. And yet, somehow, it works. It’s just right, for now…for us.
You pull me in closer and I whisper-sing, off tune, into your neck because I can't quite reach your ear, “Who needs an overcoat? I’m burning with love!”
You kiss me, deep and soft. I blush – funny how you still get me to blush. And so I don’t glimpse more of your vulnerability, you spin me. Of course, as you well know, it gets me laughing. The night air envelops me and I inhale the scent of nearby flowers.
Okay. So we aren’t dancing, but we could be. If I really put my mind to it, I am sure I could tease you out onto the paved “ballroom.” But, I’ll take what we’ve got: a kiss in the car works just as well as a kiss on the dance floor.
We recline the seats back and look into the night sky out of the sun roof. You close your eyes and let the music anchor us.
Lightning flashes, really close this time, illuminating the sky in an El Greco sort of color. You don’t see it, your eyes are closed. It’s crazy because there isn’t any thunder, so with your eyes closed you wouldn’t be expecting the lightning.
In an instant the whole world terrifies me. Just like that, dancing and now falling. And, because your eyes are shut, I plunge into a desperate sadness.
Alone.
Everything is so painstakingly beautiful. The Stargazer lillies are in complete bloom and the perfume intoxicates me with a potent blend of joy and lingering sadness. A quiet panic, I can feel it creeping, threatens my chest as all of my senses connect with the caressing humidity, the lush green of the trees, the perfect soundtrack from the band.
The paradox of floating free and still feeling the pull of the dangerous undertow, it’s simply terrifying electricity. Please, please, open your eyes. I’m scared! I’m scared for you, for me…
One day, and it will come by surprise -- one day -- I will be old.
And it’ll just happen. One day while I’m vacuuming the living room, picking up the sneakers our sons not yet born left strewn on the floor, and as I'll straighten my back with my hand supporting it, I’ll glance in the mirror and the memory of tonight, long stored away into a quiet part of my mind, will flood back and press upon me.
I see it clearly in my mind's eye, like one of the blind Fates of Grecian mythology. It can’t be stopped, but now that I picture it, am reckoning with it, the terror slinks back to wherever it had come from and is replaced with…chocolate buddino. And, you know, chocolate buddino makes the world a better place. A girl can do anything with chocolate buddino and a chiffon dress.
Yes, an Italian dessert is a perfectly acceptable way to identify an emotion. Can you think of anything more comforting and creamy than chocolate buddino? My point exactly.
I turn to look at you, your eyes still shut. And in that instant, possibly due to the buddino, my heart breaks in that good sort of way. Impetuously, without any windup, I pitch myself across you, tightening my arms around your neck, allowing my heart to syncopate with yours. You're three beats to my four, and so we are waltzing, after all. Obligingly, the band shifts tunes to fit our song.
Your eyes open, asking me what is the matter. I say it is nothing, which of course you don’t buy. And, which of course, you know is code for, “I need you, I need to tell you something but I don’t know how.” So, in the usual fashion, you tap my nose and let me snuggle in closer, so I can smell your aftershave.
I breathe.
You ask me again. I tell you I love you so much, I love us so much. I am squeezing my love into you. Which is true, but we both know there is more. However, you aren’t in a rush and, you know, I’m not ready to tell you.
Playing with my hair, you shut your eyes and I stare out the window. The band is into something else now. It’s familiar but I can’t place it. I start humming along, some notes correct, others off. Way off. But, not like that can stop me.
Again, the lightning.
A saxophone takes a solo, briefly, and then everybody else joins in. There is so much within me, my arm hairs stand on end. You know, the way they did when I first met you and you asked if I was cold and I said no.
I smile and I soak in the night’s energy. Nothing, I mean nothing, could be more beautiful, more perfect than this.
My hand reaches up to caress your face with my finger. It’s my way to tell you I’m ready to talk, to say what I have been meaning to say. Your hand gently closes around mine and you rest both on top of your chest.
Five minutes pass.
We breathe.
“It’s just that, today, you know, I really do want a baby.”
You kiss my forehead and hold me tighter.
“I know, Sweetie, I know.”
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