The Nonsense of Waiting Lovers (Part 2) (standard:romance, 885 words) [2/5] show all parts
Author: Sare	Added: Oct 09 2001	Views/Reads: 2580/0	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
For my warrior... Part 1 is in "Poetry"

The child’s blonde curls make both of our heads turn.  I feel your grip
on my hand tighten.  We have been wandering for hours, looking in 
windows, entering shops.  You carry several bags in your other hand, 
but this hand hasn’t left mine. 

We crossed a busy street a moment ago and are heading west, straight
into the setting sun.  The sidewalks are packed with afternoon 
shoppers, homebound commuters, and crouching beggars.  There are 
children dressed up to look like adults, too much makeup and not enough 
clothes...  There are adults looking at those children, eyes half 
wistful and half full of scorn... 

Some are so comfortable with the anonymity of the city that their eyes
and lives are open books: here a man eyeing the teenagers with open 
mistrust.  He’s been mugged before, say the hands clutching his 
briefcase tightly.  Not anxious for it to happen again.  He wishes he 
could afford to take a taxi to work, avoid downtown altogether. 

Here a woman carrying a baby, the baby all but obscured by the ski suit,
hat, and scarf, that she’s bundled him in not to keep him warm but to 
defray suspicions that she’s not a good enough mother. 

Here a young teenage girl, maybe fifteen years old, walking with a man
about my age who’s definitely not her brother.  Her shoulders are bowed 
by the weight of his arm around them, and she’s sort of wishing she 
were brave enough to get out of the relationship, but sort of relishing 
the “prestige” of it. 

And then there are the people whose eyes are palaces surrounded by armed
guards, but i can read them, too. 

There a girl dressed all in black, long hair stringy and hiding her face
as she walks, hunched over, arms folded protectively over her chest, 
and her eyes are everywhere, guarded and watchful.  Does she have scars 
like mine? 

There a man, looking as though he hasn’t slept in days, longer.  Hair
unwashed, clothes rumpled, eyes dark and wild, skittering sideways as 
people pass him, and I wonder what he will do if the dealer he’s going 
to see tells him that the money he’s finally managed to get isn’t 
enough for a fix? 

There a young girl, about thirteen, wearing way too much makeup and not
nearly dressed for the weather, walking with her head held high but her 
eyes uncertain, sticking out her chest and keeping her hands, tightly 
clenched, inside the sleeves of her sweater.  God, is there somebody 
sick enough to take her up on the offer of this desperate act for which 
she is not nearly mature enough? 

I hold your hand tightly as we walk.  Though I am desperately happy to
be with you at last, I am saddened by what I see around us.  The bubble 
we built to hold reality away is in danger of popping. 

When I stepped off the airplane and into your arms this morning, I
thought that I was stepping into heaven.  After this long day spent 
together, walking and talking and holding tightly to each other, I am 
eager to return to the hotel so we might be alone. 

But as we watch the crowds of people, sharing observations, safe from
the cold in the warmth of closeness, we both have our attention 
captured by the child with the blonde curls.  She is standing alone in 
the middle of the sidewalk straight ahead of us, she’s about three 
years old.  Because the sun is behind her she looks like an angel 
standing there.  Your hand is suddenly crushing mine, I hear your 
indrawn breath, and I tear my eyes away from the little girl to look up 
at you, my eyes searching your face for a clue as to how you’re 
feeling.  I see the muscle in your jaw clench and look back to see an 
impatient-looking woman reaching for the child’s hand and pulling her 
along after her.  I hear the little girl say, “--but Mommy...” 

I look up at your face.  There are tears in your eyes, I see.  I pull
you off to the side so we won’t get run over.  There is a window here 
and we stand in front of it without noticing the beautiful display. 

I reach up and put my arms around your neck, pulling you down so I can
whisper in your ear.  I’m very worried about you.  I feel your arms 
come around me tightly and the packages pressed against my back.  Your 
cheek is cold against mine, your breath warm on my neck.  Your voice is 
raspy in my ear as you tell me that it’s all right.  That you are all 
right.  That yes, for an instant you thought...  But yes, it’s all 
right. 

We continue to walk along the street, holding hands once more.  As we
draw nearer to our hotel the nervous anticipation grips my stomach.  
You sense my anxiety and smile down at me.  You remind me that we have 
two rooms, and all the time in the world.  We hold hands as we walk 
through the lobby.  We hold hands in the elevator.  We hold hands as we 
walk down the long hallway.  And we hold hands as you let us both into 
your room and we close the door.


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