the wind. the rain. the thunder. the lightning.
really, it was too perfect. perfect in that way when you look at a scene and you realize that if you were living a movie, there would be nothing different except that you would probably weigh about twenty pounds less and your hair would be a little bit blonder. but other than that, it was the perfect scene. the perfect scene, that is, for the most imperfect situation.
there we were, wrapped up in a blanket, watching tv. i on the couch, and she sitting in between my legs, her back to my chest. sitting and watching, silently watching the figures moving on the set. silent even more so because the sound was busted, so we had to be content with the sounds of our own breathing, the sounds of our hearts beating, the sounds of skin against skin. and the best feeling in the world, the feel of the warmth of another human being smothering your own body, was ruined by one slight move.
as we lay there, watching the soundless box, i moved my hand slowly under the blanket until it was resting on her warm, bare stomach. innocent enough was the action, it was a comfortable position for me, and a presumably comfortable one for her. and as my hand touched her skin, i felt it tense up, ever so slightly, or perhaps a bit more strongly, it was the feeling of rejection, of withdrawal, and the feeling of fear. all in that one touch of skin to skin.
she was afraid. not just uncomfortable, not just uneasy, but afraid. afraid of my touch, afraid of who i was and what i was thinking. or what she thought, what she thought she knew about who i was. in that one touch, i could feel everything that had been built up, the trust, just wash away. in that one shudder, that one movement of skin, our entire future was shaped. and i was afraid.
i was so afraid, that i jerked my hand back from her. back from the touch, back from what i had assumed to be safety and what had instead turned out to be anything but. she began to turn her head around, to look me in the eye, to try to convey what we both knew was going on, what we both knew was going to happen. but she stopped midway through and turned back to watch the tv. the silent box. and not a word was exchanged.
we sat there, in silence, the only noise in the room that of the window rattling in the wind, the rain beating against the cold, dark trees outside my window. the only light coming from that silent little bo witch we stared at intently for fear of having to find something to say to each other. the only movement in the darkness was the rising and falling of our bodies to our breaths. it looked like the perfect scene. everything still set from just the moment before, the scene placed exaclty as it was. but everything had changed.
her body, still warm against mine, so far away. i reached my hand over again to touch her, and stopped, letting it sink slowly to the couch, my finger tips touching the cold upholstery, cold where no bodies had touched it, cold where i could place my hand without fear.
i pulled my eyes away from the silent, moving pictures and shifted them slowly downward toward them, hoping for something and getting nothing. i looked down at her, through her bangs and her eyelashes, at her eyes.
she never moved.