I swept my hair back; the rain had fallen for a short while as I awaited the train. The day had the hint of autumn that comes a little quicker in the cities farther to the north. I had woken early in anticipation of the things I would see. I had not felt the youthfulness I typically summoned at new things to be discovered. Armed with a strong cup of coffee, a camera, and a travel guide, I suddenly felt a little ridiculous at my own imagined image.
People swirled about me with purpose, a mother and child, a group of business men stark by contrast, and a couple of teenagers splaying fingers into fingers and whispering into each other’s ears. The two boys looked like brothers but in fact were lovers, both with spiky hair and black eyeliner. Somehow they all fit in, in their own way, and at that moment I felt myself the voyeur.
The travel guide felt slippery in my fingers, and as my palms began to sweat, I steadied myself. What had become of me? Where had the fearlessness gone? All of these emotions had splashed upon my eroding nerves; all of this, of course, had happened within the time it took for one teenage lover to mouth a single word to the other's upturned ear. Awash in the moment, I deftly turned and chucked the travel guide into the nearest wastebasket, pushed the camera towards my back and I then decided to board the next train downtown.
I felt the surge of life, my own bright soul, flow, and solidify in my limbs. I closed my eyes and breathed in the crisp morning air, the day was my own, and upon opening my eyes I promised myself to let the day take me where it may. The light broke through, the harried clouds departing as the sun hurried its pace across the sky, and there she was, walking as though underwater, the light playing itself across her hair, the summer dress flowing, and small steps upon the concrete.
The next train hurried up and stopped, so as not to impede the young lady’s progress. The doors hastened to open right on cue, and I followed.
The museum was cool and quiet. The day had turned warm and the vapor started to rise from the grass as I had entered. I had not lost sight of the young lady. I wasn’t sure of what I was doing. At the same time I did not want to see myself as anything but curious. I wanted to make sure that my intentions were nothing but innocent, as they indeed were. I had planned on doing just this, going to the museums, seeing the beauty that few blessed hands could create.
I watched her eyes travel the surface of the paintings. My eyes saw her eyes travel the brushstrokes laid out so many years ago. The day proceeded much like this; she would stop and stare, then I would follow behind, see what she had seen with her own eyes and mine own. Once between galleries, she walked close to a sculpture of a man pulling down a stag. Without hesitation, she ran her fingertips up the taunt leg that held purchase. The fingers ran from the ankle all the way to the inner thigh, and white marble seemed to shudder. The motion stopped me in my own stride. No one, not even the diligent curators, had seen the action except me.
The sun was full in the sky by the time we found ourselves in the promenade. She made her way to a kiosk, and I realized I was much too close but resolved to stand in line behind her. I caught her scent with a passing breeze, and without meaning, took a deep breath. She seemed not to notice, and in fact her body seemed to relax a bit, and she leaned back her torso in my direction. From the angle I caught sight of hard nipples as the light diffused through the thin fabric that was her dress. I was abashed at my own swelling sexuality.
She ordered a cheese plate and glass of white wine; I ordered the pate and nearly spilled my glass of red wine as I tried to keep sight of her. Yet the cashier seemed in no hurry to give me my change. I watched painfully at the counting of bills and little flashing coins that registered no value. I hurried from the kiosk around the greenery and as though time had stopped, she was but a few steps in front of me. It was as though she had just resumed her stride, as though she had been waiting.
Everyone had their feet in the water around the fountain, and the young woman was seated but a few people away. I made the mistake of feeding a few geese bits of the bread. I was now surrounded by a gaggle. One in particular had stretched its neck in my direction. The thing was beautiful in its ugliness. The fleshy growths around its beak bounced in anticipation at the next morsel.
When I looked up again, the girl had a smile on her bemused face. She stared at the light playing on the water next to my own immersed feet. Had she been looking at me or just in my general direction?
Before I could decide, she looked at the fountain’s water in the center of our circle. Then slowly she hitched up her dress revealing tanned smooth legs. Her fingertips dipped into the water and played them across her legs. With every touch of her own flesh my own desire grew. A honk in my ear awakened me from my reveling and I fed my new friend the last bits of bread. I laughed out loud and wished to make eye contact with the girl. She was gone.
I looked frantically about, then I stood up. I was too obvious in my searching, but I was loath to let the fantasy end. Once again, as though waiting, I saw the girl’s head turned over her shoulder and almost as soon as I caught sight of her she straightened and continued to walk away.
I followed her as the day grew into afternoon. She gave no other sign of being followed. At that point, I was worried that she had maybe been all too aware of our little game and had tired of my attention.
Finally, the call for the museum to close had sounded. This was it. My last few moments with this fantasy were coming to an end.
She stopped after having walked a bit. She sat at a bench facing the image of a woman skillfully painted and portrayed nude. The nude’s body was turned away, back bared and head down. A quiet anguish filled the air, everyone had already departed, and I at that moment shared her solitary pain. I felt naked without my anonymity concealed by the masses. Abruptly she stood. She ran her palms over the front of her dress as an attempt to straighten the day’s remains. My mouth opened a bit as she turned full face in my direction. She stared hard into my eyes. A single tear mounted itself past her eyelash and traced a path down her cheek. In the blink of an eye, it was gone.
I had done the only thing I could. My role as witness had ended. I turned and walked out the doors toward the promenade. The sun littered its rays through the leaves overhead. All about was the sound of nothing. The school children, artists, and on-lookers had all gone. I walked toward the train. The wind sought out the edge of every blade of grass, and sighed.
Collectively we faced the sun; I ran fingers through my hair to pull it back. My feet made their own choice and before I knew it I was standing at the edge of the rail.
The people on the train were sedate; a long day in its different ways had played itself out. I did not sit. I wanted to feel the rhythm of the train’s sway. A rattle, a bump, left and to the right, muffled screech of hard metal on metal.
Lost as I was, there was no denying a slight pressure on my leg. Then as my body was about to stiffen, a delicate face pressed itself against my back. A hand went up to my chest and placed itself over my heart. Without turning I slowed my breathing and for the first time that day heard her voice.
She spoke clearly though her cheek was pressed against my back. “I saw you get on the train. I knew from the beginning that you followed me. I could have lost you but something inside of me wouldn’t let me severe the tether between us. Now, I have followed you. How oblivious are the pursuing once they have become pursued. I want to ask you something…” the noise, all the movements to and fro disappeared. My senses were only tuned to her. “Its not far from the train station, will you follow me a little further.”
|
