“I will remember you fondly not like you never existed but as a chapter in a torn out script of my life story.” Emmanuel Anaiye ifebunmi
Diana Mason awoke from a dream quickly forgotten, but which still left her achy and wanting. Groggily, she glanced over at the clock beside the bed. It read 5:11. Almost exactly two hours since the last time she woke up.
Groaning, she rubbed eyes already burning before she sat up. There was no moonlight or streetlight to relieve the darkness. The eerie red numbers on the clock were the only light in the room. Reaching for the lamp beside the clock, she turned it on and was instantly bathed in its soft glow. Reaching beneath the pillow beside her, she withdrew a small journal and pencil that she kept hidden there. Opening it, she paused, then, skipping a line after the previous entry, she began to write.
"June 23rd
It's become a regular thing, this waking to discover you aren't really here. You never have been, not in my entire life. At least not in the physical sense of the word. Others would swear to me that you are a figment of my overactive imagination. But how can that be when you have always been with me? From my earliest memories I've known you were there. Something, someone I never questioned. But its only been in the past few months that my need for you has grown so strong, so personal. You haunt me like never before. While I still feel your unworldly presence, it is your physical presence that I yearn for. You, close beside me in my bed, across the table from me at breakfast, even joining me in my shower. All those times that other women have known and taken for granted. They who lead normal lives. They know what it's like to share their lives. I have had only you. No man has wanted me. At least no one who wanted more than a couple of hours, which I provided only once in my life and swore never to again. So I count on you to be there and I am so grateful that you are. But how I wish you were with me in flesh and blood to warm me when I feel so cold."
Closing the book, she returned it and the pencil to their place beneath the pillow before flinging back the covers and and rising from the bed. She might as well get up. The sun would soon rise and she wouldn't be able to sleep past that anyway. She stretched, then yawned, and made her way to the bathroom.
Half an hour later, Diana was staring at her newly showered self in the mirror. She was thirty-five years old today and, to her mind, she looked half again that old. Looking back at her she saw only a mousy, overweight woman with the beginnings of crows feet, and no redeeming physical qualities. What she couldn't see was that her wavy, shoulder length hair was a rich mohagony, that her eyes were a warm, soft brown, and that she was, in fact, voluptuous rather than fat. She had been conditioned from an impressionable age that in the looks department she had come up wonting and had never been able to get beyond it. She was one of those “but she has such a great personality” women.
She allowed herself to wallow long enough to blow out her hair before forcing herself to look ahead to the brighter aspects of the day ahead. She was thirty-five, not eighty-five, she told herself sternly. Today she was going to celebrate being alive, even if it killed her.
Alan Devereux was a man on a mission. He'd taken the day off from his landscaping business, had his car detailed, got a hair cut, dressed casually for a day out, popped by a florist for a bouquet of candy stripe carnations, then picked up a small cake meant for two, and was on his way to pick up Diana. They were going to the zoo, then to dinner, and then back to her house to finish her birthday celebration with the cake for dessert.
She just didn't know it yet.
He was a good looking man. Not handsome in a heroic sort of way, but his blond hair, blue eyes, and trim build were classically all American. He certainly didn't wont for female companionship. Had even been married twice. But his seemed inability to commit to any woman was a fallacy, for Alan's heart, in truth, had always been committed to one woman and one woman only. Trouble was that over a lifetime of having known one another, she had never indicated that she felt anything than sisterly affection toward him, and he had been convinced she never would see him as anything else. It was his brother who, after listening to Alan (after a few beers one night) bemoan his unrequited status with Diana, had asked in exasperation if he had ever actually indicated to her that he was interested? And Alan had admitted, with no little chagrin, that he hadn't.
He knew that she rarely dated and had never had a serious relationship, and he thought he knew why. He'd heard the other boys in school refer to her as fat one moment and “damn fuckable” the next as she had filled out. Later, men refused to see past her appearance, assuming that she must be “easy” because of the way she was built. She didn't fit the fashionably slim mold. She had curves in all the right places. Ample ones. The kind a man could bask in. He couldn't decide if it pleased or saddened him that apparently no other man ever had, but her obvious problem with self image did bother him. He cursed all the put downs and insidious cruelties that she had endured from family and non-family alike. It was time he stepped up and did what he should have done long ago. Been more than a good friend and behaved like the man who loved her.
It was late morning when he pulled into the driveway next to her house and parked behind her car. He grinned when he heard “Bohemian Rhapsody” blaring from her stereo. That meant she was cleaning house. Such a shame to be involved in drudgery on her birthday. He would soon take her away from all that.
Jogging up onto the porch, bouquet in one hand, cake in the other, he knocked on the front door with the toe of one sneaker. When that garnered no response he kicked harder and was finally rewarded with the sound of the volume being turned down. Moments later, Diana opened the door and he watched her welcoming smile turn to surprise.
“Happy birthday, Diana!”
“Alan, what on earth?”
“I brought you your favorite carnations and a cake meant for two,” he handed her the flowers, “and I'm taking you away for a day.”
“You've got to be kidding.”
“Nope. And I'm leaving you no choice. Now, are you going as you are or do you want to change?”
She took a deep breath then shook her head in bemusement, “I think before anything else you should come inside.”
Stepping inside he looked around her tidy living room with its small fireplace, traditional furniture and soft décor. It was as warm and inviting as the lady herself and he found himself wondering what it felt like to stretch out on that very comfortable looking sofa. Would it accommodate two in such a position?
She led him to the dining area and motioned toward the table.
“Just set the cake down there while I get a vase.”
Moving into the open kitchen, she rummaged around under the sink before coming up with a clear vase, filled it half way with water, then after removing the tissue surrounding the flowers set them down inside. Once they were arranged to her satisfaction she set them in the middle of the dining table. Looking back at him, he could tell he had flustered her but managed to keep his pleasant smile in place and not let it become the grin of satisfaction it wanted to become.
“Alan, you really shouldn't have done this.”
“Yes, I should. I know you. You rarely take time to do anything just for the enjoyment of it. This is your birthday, and while I know ladies don't like to talk about their age, it's a perfect time to step out of your routine. Now I'm asking once again, are you comfortable wearing that or do you want to change?”
She looked down at her old sweat pants and dusty t-shirt then back at him.
“I can't go anywhere like this.” She shook her head. “I can't believe you're doing this. Just where are we going?”
“How does the zoo sound? I hear they have a new red panda exhibit.”
Diana's eyes immediately softened, “Do they really? I love red pandas.”
“I know you do,” he replied quietly, “That's why I thought of it.”
There was a moment of indecision in her expression before it changed to an eager smile.
“Just give me a moment. I'll be right back.”
He watched as she disappeared down the hallway then let out a deep sigh of relief. He honestly hadn't thought ahead to what he would have done had she said no. Sliding his hands into his jeans pockets, he wondered over to stand before the fireplace and peered at the painting that hung over it. He recognized it as being one she had bought at a college art show several years before. It was of a pond of lily pads done in an impressionistic style and it blended beautifully with the rest of the room. On the mantle below it was a silk arrangement of flowers in the same color scheme as the room. She was all about soothing the soul, his Diana.
A few minutes later she returned dressed in jeans and a pink eyelet blouse, with matching pink eyelet sneakers, and a smile of appreciation lit his face.
“You look beautiful,” he told her softly and was rewarded with a shy smile.
“Thank you, Alan.” She grabbed a tiny leather purse from where it hung on a dining room chair, “I'm ready when you are.”
He motioned gallantly toward the door, “This way, m'lady.”
It was warm but not oppressively so as they toured the zoo. As expected she was instantly enchanted with the red pandas and her joy, in turn, enchanted him. At the petting zoo he watched from outside the pen as she stroked and petted every animal within reach, and laughed when a goat's nuzzling of her derriere caused her to squeal. It seemed perfectly natural to put his arm around her when she emerged and he was encouraged when she didn't object. Afterward they lingered in the gift shop where he insisted on buying her a small red panda figurine as a souvenir for her birthday.
He kept dinner casual by picking up sandwiches and drinks from Sonic and drove to a local park where they ate at a picnic table in the shade of a copse of trees. It was a perfect day for an afternoon in the park. The only thing he would have preferred was to have shared a blanket on the ground rather than a picnic table, but he realized that he had to move slow. Her distrustful shyness and his own reputation as a ladies man were obstacles to be overcome.
It was early evening when they returned to her house. There they shared the cake, exactly sized for two and decorated with roses and sweet peas in pink and yellow, and lingered over coffee until the hour grew late. At the door he turned to find her smiling wistfully up at him and his breath caught at the glow in her eyes.
“Thank you for today,” she said softly then, on impulse, leaned up to brush a kiss across his cheek. Drawing away she blushed and looked away for a moment, “and for making my birthday special.”
“My pleasure,” he replied in a husky voice and gently touched her cheek in return, “G'night.”
She watched him leave the porch and stride to his car. There he looked back at her, smiled, then lifted his hand, before climbing in. She shut the door only as he drove away.
He waited a few several days before calling her, just to say hi, he said. They ended up talking for over an hour and when he hung up he did a fist pump as his hope soared.
Gradually over the coming weeks he found ways to further ease his way into her life, taking great care to keep things friendly, though it was becoming increasingly hard to settle for the occasional hug and an arm around her shoulders. He waited until he knew she was comfortable with him before he finally asked her out on a real date. The silence on her end of the line was expected but no less nerve wracking. He realized he was holding his breath even as he listened for her response and closed his eyes against the combined force of dread and anticipation. Finally, he couldn't wait any longer.
“Is that a no?”
There was another pause before her voice came back barely audible, “No, it's not, but, oh, Alan, I just don't know. It's such a big step for me, y'know?”
“Do you want to go out with me?”
Again there was silence, then, “Yes, I do.”
He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks.
“Then we'll take it slow. Do you like theater? I know where I can get tickets to 'Phantom of the Opera.'”
“Really? Oh that would be so wonderful!”
She couldn't hide her delight. The show had been sold out for weeks. He didn't mention that he'd bought the tickets when they first went on sale with the hope he could convince her to go.
“Then how about Sunday afternoon? It's the matinee so you won't have to dress up. Just be comfortable.”
“Okay. What time should I be ready?”
“How about twelve? We can have lunch before the show.”
She agreed and after they hung up Alan sagged back against the headboard of his bed and ran his hands down his face. Then he smiled. For the first time he began to believe he just might win her after all.
Watching her watch “Phantom” made all the weeks leading up their first real date worth the wait. She was so caught up in the story that she didn't realize that he paid no attention to any part of it. But by the end she became more subdued. The ride home was surprisingly quiet and he was at a loss as he tried and failed to have a real conversation with her. Finally, once parked in her driveway, he turned to her, determined to find out what had happened to upset her.
“Will you tell me what's wrong?” he asked quietly.
Diana stared ahead for a moment before looking down at her hands where they they fiddled with the strap of her purse in her lap.
“I love the story,” she began just as quietly, “it's just that I've always identified with the Phantom.”
“How so?”
“He was such a tragic character. He was capable of great love but was twisted by what his ugliness had brought him. Everything he did, he did out of love for Christine. But she couldn't see beyond his face. I don't think Christine had much compassion in her.” She sighed brokenly. “I feel like the Phantom sometimes.”
Reaching out he lifted her chin so she met his gaze and he heard her breath catch as he caressed her cheek.
“If you only knew how beautiful you are,” he murmured before his expression became more intent.
“Diana, you are not the Phantom. You are not hideous. You are simply the most beautiful woman I've ever known and anyone who has ever said differently had no idea what they were talking about.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes until one trembled and fell. With a quiet moan he kissed it away then gently pressed his lips to hers. For one heartbreaking moment she went still before sighing and opening to him as she laid one hand gently on his chest. Thwarted by the console, they could move no closer so he pulled away to hold her hand in place while he gazed intently into her bewildered eyes.
“Do you believe me now?”
Never had Diana felt less like a thirty-five-year old woman and more like a young, uncertain girl.
“You've known so many beautiful women, how...?”
He brought her hand to his lips, “None of them have ever compared to you in my eyes.”
She started to pull away but he reached out and caught her chin again.
“Not a one, Diana.”
“How can I believe you?” She asked brokenly. “Why should you be any different than anyone else?”
“Because,” he caressed her cheek, “because I've loved you since we were kids.”
Stunned, she tried to pull away.
“I don't...”
“Believe it, Diana. I have never, not once in my life, felt what I feel for anyone else. They were all but shadows compared to you.” He paused and once again lifted her hand to his lips. “What can I say to convince you?"
“But why didn't you say anything?”
He looked away before admitting, “Because I didn't think you'd care.”
“Oh, Alan.”
“I've known a lot of women, been married twice. But the only one I really wanted didn't seem to want me.”
“I never knew.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
She was quiet for a moment before she slowly nodded, “Yes, I think it would have.”
“And now?”
Tears once again shimmered in her eyes as she freed her hand to lay it alongside his face.
“Now I think we should see where this takes us.”
Alan felt as if a great weight was lifted from his heart before he took her face between his hands and kissed her soundly, ignoring for the moment the hard encumbrance of the console.
“Let's go inside,” she whispered when he pulled away, “and talk about it some more.”
That night Diana took the journal from beneath the pillow and made a final entry.
"September 1st
I see you, my love. You've been there all along.”
That is one of the slowest romances I've ever read. But childhood buddies generally have a hard time switching gears after puberty. But I wonder why Alan hadn't approached her after his first marriage. But I'm beginning to think that his attraction to her was partly the result of the impossibility Diana presented him. He was used in conquering obstacles.
Once again, your knowledge of human nature works well in your writing. Could be autobiographical. Makes me wonder what happened during that two hours Diana took a chance that didn't work out. I don't doubt that this happens quite often. Right here in Houston, Clint Black and his wife, Heather Locklear, I have a picture of both of them together on a blanket when they were babies.
The Matchmaker:
Angela Calminetti, mother of five, New Age practitioner and gifted psychic and telepath, is proud of her family ties and does everything she can to make sure that all of her younger siblings are as happy in love and marriage
When Miranda Nolan inherits a house she soon discovers a need to solve the mysteries surrounding the late owner along with resolving the strong attraction she feels for a co-claimant who lost his hearing and faces a world of silence.
Diana Mason awoke from a dream quickly forgotten, but which still left her achy and wanting. Groggily, she glanced over at the clock beside the bed. It read 5:11. Almost exactly two hours since the last time she woke up.
