“You think so?” Tom said. “She’s actually rather plain”.
Matt was surprised. This was not a response he had anticipated. He and Tom usually were in sync when it came to appreciating women. To hear this from him now was like a little jolt. It jarred him to alertness out of the haze that he had slipped into. He had to stop and think about what it was that he had actually said. His simple comment was, ‘Now there’s a rare beauty.’
He had been charmed by a girl sitting at the far end of the library who was staring reflectively out the window. Something about her had bewitched him. He wasn’t trying to evaluate her or analyze her, but he found her deep and mysterious, and he had to know more.
Matt looked at her more closely while she was lost in thought. He became even more intrigued, and he began to wonder; really, why was it that he found her so interesting? He even found her beautiful, but Tom didn’t seem to see anything? He would work on that problem, but right now, he only had room in his mind for the question: ‘What made this unusual girl tick?’
Little by little everything else in the library grew pale and very small, as it faded into obscurity. He was trying to discover what it was that intrigued him so. There was, he reflected, actually nothing about her appearance or dress that was extraordinary. She was wearing a simple pull-over sweater. It was not particularly revealing and the table in front of her blocked his view of anything below. Her hair was light brown and a little wavy. It was drawn together with a black band at the back of her neck and fell a few inches down the middle of her back. From across the large room, he could discern little of the details of her face, except that her profile lent definition to a nose of splendid character. It was impossible to determine the color of her eyes but there was something about her gaze that suggested these eyes were looking inward as much as outward. But Tom was right, in general she was rather plain.
She suddenly turned, making a quick note to herself, and gathered up her things. Matt was startled by the suddenness and purposefulness of her movements. He realized that she was going to leave. If he didn’t snap to, he would be kicking himself in the ass forever for letting let her just walk away.
Matt was a person of composure as a rule. His medical training had polished that characteristic even more. Next year he would begin his internship, and he had matured considerably in the last two years. But now, for some reason he felt paralyzed. As she started across the room, her features started to take on tremendous significance. Her bearing, her gait, the focus by which she navigated through the maze of students and work stations all registered at a deep level in him, and from there took on expanding proportions.
In his mind now, she was alluring, mysterious, beautiful, sexy, and he particularly noted, not to be patronized. Nor was she the type of girl that he would go looking for, because even as she passed before him, he had to admit, it was hard to imagine that such a woman might even exist. He almost felt like he had a responsibility to get to the bottom of whatever it was that he was being caught up in. Then all of a sudden things got a little clearer. This type of woman is especially attractive because she is to be fathomed – first and foremost. THAT was why he was so interested in her, and everything else took its place in this light.
How old she was, seemed to him irrelevant. She was, perhaps two, or three years younger than him; maybe twenty-three or twenty-four. But as far as he knew she might as well be thirty years his senior because she made him feel boyish. He felt like a ten year old, standing in front of the newly unveiled ‘stealth’ aircraft; not matching former experience, not revealing her origin and just a suggestion of the direction of her future. She was sculpted to perfection, and a little intimidating. You would not want to get on the wrong side of her anger. While strong, she was not at all rigid. Somehow she was animated from within in such a way that belied her simple beauty. It was as if her true aim was actually to be subdued, but only by the most worthy of contenders.
She stopped at the main desk to ask something of the librarian, and Matt’s heart started to pound. A loud voice rang out in is head. ‘Go, Go, Go, Go, Go, Go! You idiot!’
He started to move toward her, but had no idea what he would say. This hadn’t happened to him since he was fourteen years old. As he drew near, he noticed that a pen had started to work its way loose from its place in her bag.
“Excuse me,” he said.
The way she turned toward him was just a further confirmation of her unusual bearing. Her bright blue eyes were wide open, clear and alert. They had just the suggestion of patient inquiry. The slightest of smiles raised at the edge of her mouth.
“Yes?” was her simple reply.
The melodic serenity that she breathed into this one syllable just added to her overwhelming charm. But there was a change now, since they stood face to face. Something radiated from her that he found strengthening, rather than disabling.
“It looks like your pen may be trying to escape.” Matt was reassured by his ability to express himself in such a simple and artful way. She also seemed pleased.
“That’s all I need,” she said. “It already has a mind of its own. If it gets loose and starts revealing my secrets all over the place, I’ll never be allowed to practice medicine again.”
Matt noticed the familiar pale blue of the scrubs that she was wearing. An emblem of a Nurse Practioner swung from her bag. Her response wafted over his heart in such a pleasant way that he found it easy to respond.
“Well, perhaps it could write down your name. Mine is Matt. And if I can be a little forward – perhaps it could write down a time and place, say tomorrow night or the day after, where I might find you again. Perhaps we could have a cup of coffee together.”
For a moment, which for Matt seemed like an eternity, she stared expressionless into his eyes.
“Well it took you long enough.” Was her bright response and her face was raised into a familiar smile.
As new as this smile was to him right now, it was as if he had seen it a million times. It was like the sun emerged from behind a cloud that had enveloped it for an eternity.
At first he couldn’t really decipher her remark, but then it hit him in an instant: he had made no effort to conceal the fact that for the last twenty minutes he had been staring at her uninterruptedly.
She started to jot on a small note pad at the desk in front of her, and as she turned to give him the paper said, “Sorry, but tomorrow and Friday I am busy.”
Matt’s heart sank.
“But,” she said, “perhaps this evening would work?”
She smiled as she handed him the paper. She turned and walked away. She looked back over her shoulder and said, “Gotta run now, I’m late.” And then after a slight pause, “I can’t wait.”
Matt looked down at the note paper and read ‘Claire.’
Beneath it was a phone number. It was written twice, just so there should be no mistake. Beneath that were the words ‘Anytime after 6. How about Donovan’s?’
He had a feeling that his life had been changed forever.
This voice trumpeted in his head; calling him from far, far away. He slowly turned and saw that Tom was looking at him through a troubled brow.
“Aaah, yeah, sure. Why?” he said.
“Well you’ve just been standing there, staring into space for the last five minutes now. You really should close your mouth before someone calls 911.”
Matt realized that it would be pointless to attempt to explain what had just happened, and Tom’s next remark confirmed the correctness of his assumption.
“Let’s get going. Somehow, it’s so drab in here today, I can’t take it anymore.”
You often hear it said that love is blind, but today Matt learned with particular clarity that, in truth, it was the other way around. He was unable to escape the vision of Claire’s special beauty, even if Tom couldn’t see it at all. It was Tom who was blind as a bat, moreover, he was simply disinterested in what he couldn’t see. If Claire seemed plain to him, he just needed to sharpen his vision.
“Give me sec. here,” Matt said.
He knew exactly what to do next. He shot off an SMS to Claire’s phone Number: “6:00 PM sounds great.” He counted the seconds. When his phoned buzzed, he couldn’t push the keys fast enough. “C U then!” it read.
“Yeah, let’s get going,” Matt said. “I can’t take it here any more either.”
Matt made sure he was at Donovan’s well before 6:00PM. He had already reserved a table but waited at the bar from where he had a clear view of the front door. He didn’t want to miss one step of her entrance.
“Hey, you’re early.” Clair’s voice snapped him to.
He spun around and there she was, standing behind the bar.
“I still have a few tings to finish up in the back,” she said smiling. “I get off at 6:00.”
Matt was again taken completely off guard by her charm. ‘God, I hope I never get used to this,’ he thought.
“Sure, I’ll just sit tight,” he said. “I’ve reserved us a table.”
“Oh,” she said. “Can we go somewhere else? I’ve had enough of this place today.”
“Yeah. Of course,” he replied.
She smiled again and disappeared into the back. At first, Matt thought to himself that she could have said, “Why don’t we walk to Alaska?” and it would have been fine with him. But he quickly realized that a woman like this was going to need something more than a puppy dog to follow her around. If he was going to win her, she had to be won. True, she made him feel younger than he had in a long time, but it was, he thought, because she was stimulating him at a level that he hadn’t been touched before. He knew that he would not be able to rely on old reflexes or habits, but must employ a presence of mind and vigilance. Altogether, he realized as well, she had given him a new value of purposefulness. He had never experienced this feeling of alertness in quite this way. This feeling would occupy him more and more.
It was nearly six and he was watching the door where she had disappeared out of the corner of his eye. But then, he thought to himself, that if she just dropped from the ceiling he should not be surprised. He caught sight of her through the doorway as it flopped open with the traffic going back into the kitchen. She was talking to a younger girl; ‘Very pretty,’ he noted. When Claire reached forward and kissed her goodbye, he felt like he had been clocked on the forehead with a baseball bat. This was not the type of surprise of hers that filled him with delight as earlier she had managed to do.
Carrying her coat, she came immediately out. Before she could say a word, Matt wanted to get a question cleared up. He had been so hopeful that by some miracle he had run into this incredible person, but he did not want to become the left prong in some kind of a weird love triangle.
“Maybe you girlfriend would like to join us,” he said, in a calm and pleasant manner.
At first she seemed surprised. Then you could follow her thought process as she looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen, trying to imagine what Matt might have seen that would lead him to ask that.
She just smiled broadly and said, “Oh, you mean Denise. She’s my kid sister. She’ll be here until 11:00. I’m starved. I don’t think I can wait that long.”
The tugging that had been going on with Matt’s heart today stimulated him repeatedly to ever new awareness. He considered the contrast between what he formerly saw when he imagined that Denise was her lover, and what he later discovered had actually happened. It was plain to him that the extent and range of his vision was more directed from within by his prejudices and fears, than by what was actually going on around him. He was strengthened by new resolve. His openness had revealed this woman to him in the first place, and he was going to stay open. He wanted to know her as she was.
“Okay,” he said on an up note. “Let’s get going.”
He started to reach for her hand but she had already begun to take him by his arm. His resolve had been honored. How many times in the past he had observed relationships rise and fall; not only in his own life, but all around him? He saw then that they had failed for the simple reason that they had been built on insecurities and weaknesses. Then, as so often happens, there is some breakdown in the symbiosis, and the relationship collapses. He considered that they failed because either one partner or the other, or perhaps both finally realized that neither was really being helped to grow. It had to be recognized that they were, in fact, trapped by their own weaknesses. He would not make this mistake now.
Once outside, they found that snow was starting to fall. They had walked a block and a half looking for a place that seemed right. It’s not that there weren’t plenty of options. In fact any number of them would have been a place where under other circumstances Matt might have gone on a first date. They would peer together through a window; then look at each other, shake their heads and just say, “Nah.” As they went along their way, there was a mood of serenity that was not typical when two people are suddenly together and so new to each other. Neither seemed to notice that it was 19 o , and rather cold. But this was a special time when the highest ideals and dreams can surface from the depths, and one’s heart can be filled with extraordinary hope.
Through all this, Claire was drawing on Matt’s stability. She loved his erect posture, his steady gait. He seemed to demonstrate gentleness behind his sober bearing. He laughed easily, but was sure footed and not distracted in his duty as they crossed the snow covered street. At times she seemed to flush with satisfaction as she observed his manner. Through all this Claire demonstrated remarkable poise, and Matt was just feeding on that. She brought out the best in him. This was no dream, and he knew it. He began to live his life in a new way.
They had passed eight or ten places and nothing seemed right for them. When they had crossed the street and started down a third block, Claire suddenly turned and said, “Look, we can do better. I only live five minutes from here. It’ll take no time to put something together.”
A suggestion like that ordinarily would have registered a quite different chord in Matt than the way it rang right now. You are not supposed to simply invite some guy who you just met up to your apartment, if you want to be respected. But he interpreted it for exactly what it was, and he was flattered. This gesture of confidence only deepened his appreciation for her character.
“Let’s go,” he said. And with renewed energy they stepped up their pace. She was tightly clutching his arm with both of hers, and they moved quickly along as one.
“Here we are,” she said kicking off the snow, as they ascended up three steps to the entrance of a small two story apartment building. As she keyed in through the front door of the building, an older gray haired man poked his head out of his apartment door. He was smiling to greet her. He seemed very kind, and somewhat mischievous.
With an air of playfulness she taunted, “Okay, let’s have it.”
This appeared to be some sort of ritual between them. He pretended to ponder deeply while he sized Matt up, and then barked out, “Siegfried, Act Three, Scene Three.”
“Okay,” she whimsically said, with a little smirk. With this challenge she started up the stairs, and without looking back began to sing. Her voice filled the hall with the awakening Brünhilde’s glorious praise of the Sun.
Matt was overwhelmed at the quality of her voice. He thought to himself, ‘Yeah, she’s just as plain as day. Like the brilliant sun.’
Some people just take the Sun for granted. This type of indifference leads people to the type of blindness where they can no longer see what is right in front of them. No, love is not blind, it sees; it is indifference that is blind. And there are those who are determined to stay blind. Those who, when you attempt to draw their attention to such remarkable phenomenon, are so caught up in their negativity that they respond with a comment that equates to: ‘Nice sky you painted there, but there’s a cloud in it.’ There is always a way to find something objectionable about everything. This is especially true if it provides you with a fulcrum for your insistence as to why you are right, and everybody else is wrong. These are the people who curdle the milk just by walking into the kitchen. Neither indifference nor obstinacy can be confronted directly, they remain the prerogative of a self imposed solitary confinement.
Once at the top of the stairs Claire pushed the stiff door open with her shoulder. Her first step inside connected with a boot and launched it into the corner to rest with it’s mate. Every place Matt’s eye roamed was appointed with her personality. What was being revealed to him here was an entire other dimension of her nature. There wasn’t a surface that didn’t make a statement; a half eaten apple on a plate, a mug with a spoon in it, a pair of hand knit thick woolen socks on the floor by the couch. In the corner was a music stand, and on a table nearby, a violin trying to leap from its case. There must have been a dozen open books lying about; Medical Textbooks, novels, journals, photography magazines and he didn’t know what all else.
She took Matt’s coat and laid it with hers over the arm of a chair. There wasn’t enough room on the coat stand by the door for one more garment. Matt had to be careful where he stepped so as not to trip on something. He picked up an umbrella lying on the floor and added it to the others in the rack. She looked at him somewhat glibly, shrugged her shoulders and motioned to follow her.
“The kitchen’s yours,” she said, as she pointed to Matt’s left. “I gotta get out of these.” She looked down at her scrubs, turned and disappeared around the corner.
She seemed to move almost insensibly. Claire was so physical, yet at the same time ethereal. He had noticed when he followed her up the stairs to her second floor flat that her feet barely seemed to touch the stairs. Her footsteps were so light you couldn’t hear them. But the way she pushed the door open and kicked her boot into its place in the corner, displayed a kind of physicality that reminded him of a professional soccer player. He was sure that she knew how to pour it on as well.
The snow now had started to fall heavily, so he found a can of soup in the cabinet above the sink, emptied it into a pot, and then quickly slapped together a few sandwiches from among the peculiar things that he found here and there in the fridge. As he was reaching for the teakettle, he looked over his shoulder and Claire was standing there watching him. The start she gave him caused him to drop a spoon. Before he could bend over to pick it up, she was there. Not only were her movements fast and graceful, it seemed like she had already started to move before he dropped the spoon. It was almost as if she commanded some form of pre-cognition. She stood in front of him; spoon in hand.
He immediately sensed something was different about her. Earlier, her wavy brown hair had been pulled back, but, when she bent over to pick up the spoon just now, she had to draw her flowing wavy locks to her breast to keep them off the floor. As she stood up, she released them from her clasp, and with a flick of her long neck, she sent this stream over her shoulder like the sweeping cape of a matador.
They sat at the kitchen table watching the snow falling. For the first time he directly asked her something that had a bearing on herself. “Who is your favorite composer?” he asked. Without blinking an eye, she plunged into this passionate characterization of what Richard Wagner brought to the 19th century by the way he wove mysticism, poetry, drama, voice and orchestra (and he wouldn’t be able to remember what all else) into such powerful expression. He almost fell backward out of his chair. It was like he had rubbed a genie lamp, and this enormous spirit, breathing fire, hovered over him. A lot of what she said went right over his head, but every word registered strongly in his heart. He turned off the volume switch in his mind for a moment and just looked at her.
She was vibrant in a way he hadn’t seen before. Her eyes glowed. Her cheeks flushed. She was so animated. She bounced around as she acted out what she was saying, and she had to keep pushing back her hair from her face. She seemed to abandon all the measures of concealment that she ordinarily employed. She was on stage. He was her devoted admiring audience. The more she went on, the more he loved her. She was feeding on the devotion that streamed from him. The more she imbibed this fuel, the richer the aura around her grew, and the hungrier he became for what she poured over him. Women, he realized, don’t live in the world, they fashion it around them. What marvelous creatures they were!
She thanked him and said she was so happy to have someone to share these things with. He felt that he was the one to be thanking her. In the afterglow, the sandwiches somehow looked inedible. The soup remained in the pot untouched.
“Hey, excuse me. I gotta pee,” she said. She sprung up and once again she disappeared around the corner.
This was all going so fast, he was glad to have a moment to reflect. Claire was anything but plain now. Nor did she have any false piety. But what a tremendous contrast all this was to the girl in the library just 8 hours ago! Matt started to realize that what he had just witnessed was a universe of pulsing music that was so rich you could be bowled over by it. She was at that moment complete. But at other times he was certain she was lost, spellbound by pointlessness, as she moved through her day without a beckoning ear to pour those sweet tones into. She said she had chosen Geriatrics as her specialty as a Practitioner because she found countless opportunities to share her inner world with those she cared for. She always managed to pour her song into even the most banal activities.
He remembered the way Tom had responded to her earlier that morning. And he could envision that much of her day was spent in a desert. He sensed that she had gotten so used to that, and that her natural modesty slowly surrendered to this camouflage of plainness that concealed her radiance. That was the key, her plainness was pure camouflage. He wanted to tell her, even though it seemed so unnecessary, that he saw through the camouflage and loved what he saw. He resolved that he would have to find a way. It wasn’t she who was plain; she was simply passed over by the superficial deafness of her environment. He reflected on how at the kitchen table she burst into powerful movement when he showed the slightest of interest in her inner world. She didn’t need a special place to perform her art. She became the place. Her words were not the bearers of ideas. They were the earthly garments for the elemental forces she poured forth from her inner being. They had swirled around him, over him and through him. He was enveloped by her soul.
When she reappeared, she stopped at the fridge.
“Beer?” she asked?
“Sure,” It was refreshing to see her as so human, and it made her appear all the more delightful.
She opened the door to the fridge, and leaned over peering inside. It was obvious that she was struggling. Pondering deeply, her chin rested in her right hand; her left supported her on her knee. Without changing her posture she cocked her head to the left. Matt was growing anxious as to what was coming next. And then came the fruit of this determined and pained contemplation.
Matt was unable to conceal his relief.
“Wow,” he said. “Sure, but under two conditions.”
“Shoot.” She cheerfully retorted.
Usually he would eat a little before a date so that he wasn’t distracted by hunger. But things had come together so quickly today that he had even skipped lunch. Now he really was getting hungry. Everything he had seen since he walked through the door front, punctuated by her demonstration in front of the fridge just now, undermined any confidence he might have had in her domestic prowess – including even in the ability to prepare an edible hamburger. And so he voiced his first condition.
“I make the cheeseburgers.”
“I’m crushed.” She threw her head back as she used the back her hand to cover her forehead and grimaced. She quickly recovered, steadied herself and showed that she was ready to face a second blow and said “and the second?”
“You kiss me first.”
Her mood changed considerably, but still theatrically she said, “I thought you’d never ask.” She just stared at him at first and after a brief pause said, “It took you a half an hour to come and talk to me today, I was afraid I’d grow old before you actually kissed me.”
This stage routine entertained him.
“I apologize for that,” he said and then he played along. He found his way to tell her. “I was so blinded by your light, that it stunned me. I had to wonder whether one so fair would even talk to such a knave as I.”
“My gallant knight,” she said, as she amplified the performance, “you have finally come to rescue me from the isolation to which I had resigned myself, for dread of the disgrace of an imperfect union.”
As she walked toward him, he was plunged into a sense of timelessness. It was as if they had already done this a thousand times already. The combination of anticipation and this strange familiarity, caused him to lose any frame of reference.
Claire, so comfortable, both with his entire nature, and her deep longing to be his, did what seemed in that moment as the most normal thing. Raising her pleated skirt enough to give the necessary freedom to her sweeping movement, she swung her right leg over his lap, took his head between her two palms and brushed her lips across his.
“I’ve been waiting for you so long,” she whispered.
These words simmered right through Matt, causing him to wonder, ‘How long, is so long?’
he couldn’t even begin to know. She spoke from depths that most people never visit.
Matt met her embrace and pulled her close to him as if he never wanted to let her go. Their lips danced and played over each other; sweeping, tugging as they steadily grew in their demand. Their tongues darted searchingly, achingly in a kiss that went on and on.
Matt finally said, “And, just how long have you been thinking about this?”
“I haven’t. I’m not even thinking about it right now,” she replied – “like you are trying to do. Thinking has nothing to do with it.”
Under the impact of this comment, Matt had to reconsider not only his question, but the manner in which he confronted life, which lead to it. With some effort he was able to reposture himself inwardly so that he could, from this new view, not depreciate thinking, but put it in its proper place. It came to him that, if one wasn’t careful, a healthy sense of responsibility toward the life of thought, could easily lead one to the overly meticulous preoccupation with the details of thought. ‘Here,’
he reasoned, ‘you could easily get lost in a maze of endless drudgery. That would never do.’
But he also realized that in the search for answers in this way, we learn to wipe the sleep from our eyes and discover doorways to hidden meanings. Claire became for him a portal, not only to another world, but somehow he felt she would enable him to become aware of who he really was. She had a primal grasp of what he had to bring alive in himself out of the new manner of approach to life that she had quickened in him.
Matt kissed her cheeks, her eyes, playfully pulled on her ear. She sighed as his tongue ran down the length of her neck.
“Maybe we should just forget about the cheeseburger for now,” he said.
With tremendous economy of expression, barely audible she queried, “Cheeseburger?” She had long forgotten about the cheeseburger. That was in Act One. They were now well into Act Two.
“Can we move this to somewhere else?” Matt asked.
“Sure,” she softly replied. “But you’ve got to give me just a minute.”
As she got up, she gestured in the direction of the couch and said, “How ‘bout if you wait for me there, sweetie.” And again with her mysterious levity she floated out of the room.
Matt was lost in wonder as he sat there. After just a minute or two he noticed Claire’s approach; not by her footsteps, because she had none, but the very air began to rustle announcing her approach. The waves surrounded him and loosened him from couch he rested on. He gazed into her smile as she walked into the room and he was transported further into a meadow of tall soft grass that bowed to the waves of wonder that blew over it. She was wearing only a long white T-shirt that reached the middle of her thigh, and yet was as elegant as a bride.
“Give me just another moment,” she said, as she turned right and went through the bathroom door.
He heard nothing, and in a minute she emerged just as she had entered except that she was more radiant than before. She slowly approached him, by what means he could no longer tell. Her presence had a gravitational force. The closer she drew, the stronger the force pulled on him. He was moving toward her, but it was not through anything at his command. As he enveloped her in his arms, they melted into her. Her arms around him became his arms. His sense of time was confused, because the measures were no longer accessible to him. She was the one who was completing every moment. In a sense, Claire had again disappeared. She became the moment into which he was transported. From there, he felt, she was both the flute and the pure tones that floated in the rarefied air he was breathing in. It was she who lays her self down as the ground of substance on which he now rested.
He could not even say how they ended up in her bedroom. Neither did it matter. By virtue of the qualities she radiated he was able to throw off the shackles that bind one to any particular place. He was in her elegant graceful neck, the deep well in the center of her palm, the serene waves of her forehead. There was no goal, no direction, and no specificity. There was no particular part of her that stood out, one over the other. It seemed as though he was flowing into the totality of her nature, and what did he find there? It was he himself, his own nature, just as she was enveloping him. They had become one, contracted into a single center, radiating outward.
Time now had completely lost its former meaning for him. He was living now, in this moment. He was also back at the kitchen table when she first poured the waves of her being over him and even yet, he was in the farthest future where even though they may be separated by space, she would be present. She had merged into every color, every sound. He would see her everywhere. He would be able to hear her in every moment forever.
Claire was always simply tasteful and in reserve, but when she was stirred, she drew the stars down from heaven and revealed their light. She was in perpetual expectation of such nuptial moments. She was the earthly portal of the celestial firmament.
Both Matt and Claire remained absolutely incomplete in the absence of the other. No one he had ever met summoned him to such dutiful bearing and sense of purpose. What he offered her in return was nothing tangible, but a sincere openness; yes an open heart that was willing to respond to the splendor of her being. And she in turn poured her soul out over him. The line between masculine and feminine had become a complete blur.
In a certain sense they were joined in a way that was familiar to each of them. Making love was not something new to them, but the rapture that came over them elevated their spirits to levels formerly unknown. They were left to wonder what each new sensation would bring, as they discovered a world about which formerly they had only dreamed, but now in which they began to dwell as adventurers. They streamed over and under each other as they swam on the sheets, led only by the intensity of the love that flowed between them. Their ecstasy elevated them so that the puppet gestures that they enacted through there entwined bodies below them was but a pale reflection of the pure tones that animated their souls from above.
Afterward they lay embracing each other for what must have been an hour. Matt realized that what they had just shared was not something that could be understood by ordinary mind functions. He would carry forward all that he had experienced as an integral part of his being like a dream. Claire in contrast never felt so awake. It was as if she had been resuscitated from some long deep sleep.
She laid beside Matt, her left leg over his, with her cheek on his chest. She loved the sound of the steady beating of his heart. She inwardly sighed each time her head was raised as he drew a new breath. She pressed his strong hand to her.
“I have been waiting for you for such a long, long time,” she softly whispered.
The mix of warmth and moisture that blended in the air she breathed over him with those words was like a quickening force bringing him back from the spell that had come over him. She looked up to meet his eyes; strong, deep eyes that he had fixed singularly on her. Seeing was an all new activity for him. He painted her with his eyes using all the rich hues that were suddenly on his palette. For him, seeing was now a creative act, directed by the strength of inner character that had crystallized in him in that hour.
After another few minutes she softly said. “Hey, we never had dinner.”
“How about a cheeseburger,” he said; “just a plain, plain cheeseburger?”
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<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/love-stories/the-plain-girl.aspx">The Plain Girl</a>