The Mouse, Sarah, and Debussy ~~ A Shorty by Eddie T.
He brushed at her cheek, as if his fingers were airy, silk feathers that could engage the two in a dreamy scene all their own. He wanted the moment to say much more; more than a mere physical touch could convey, for she meant more to him than all the dreams of love he had ever conjured in imaginary desire. She was that one.
It was she who had awakened in him a want he had never felt before. It was she who lit the flames within him that had not been lit before; flames which grew slowly into passion that torched his soul for her. She was the canvas on which was scribed, in heavy strokes, the reflection of all that was good, beautiful and perfect. Like that of a thousand singing violins, bows caressing its strings, culminating in orgasmic frenzy, this was the orchestrated desire of a little man, with little wants and little needs, except for Sarah.
He despised the loneliness that ate at him, for it made him feel insignificant, small. Forty-years of virgin life and solitude, with not one epic moment to look back upon, he felt as if he were still a remnant of the little mousy schoolboy, the type picked on because of his studious nature, and small frame. He had no friends growing up, and girls avoided him like the plague. He was often bullied, sent scurrying home, tail between his legs, a mouse in search of a hole to run into. His mother, a paranoid schizophrenic, would be the one who would have to console the little boy in her odd way, which didn't console at all. He was just embittered enough to hate the world, but stopped short of that. He held on to a heart that needed to be filled with the love of a good woman, and hatred cannot live side-by-side with love.
He did not know a woman's touch. And the only woman he had ever loved was distant, locked in her own struggles. His mom had passed just two years ago, and he still felt the anguish of that day. He needed someone to abate his pain, and give him a reason to live again. He so desperately wanted to belong to someone. He wanted to belong to Sarah.
He so wanted to embrace the warmth of her flesh, bare and beautiful, against his. He needed to meld with her personal passions, and touch her heart so theirs would become one. And he closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and spoke the words he had never uttered to another human being...
"I love you."
Debussy's "Clair de Lune" ended at that moment, and he awoke from the self-imposed trance, forlorn, still savoring the last of the chord run in diminuendo. It would happen again and again. And he would envision the perfect love again, night after night, and it would hold him until the morrow, when he would repeat the scene.
He stared for a moment into the glowing fire before him, seeing her face fade within the flickers of light and shadow, then reached for his nearly empty tumbler of golden Camus, and quickly downed the liquid, it warming his throat delightfully. He poured into the brandy glass a bit more of the precious drink and held it eye level, as if inspecting it. Then the reverie was shattered; as was his spirit.
He would find the courage, tomorrow, to play this scene in reality for the woman of his fantasies, a co-worker, who seemed genuinely fond of him, once removing a splinter that had embedded itself within his pinky. She smiled at his nervous, almost child-like fear of its removal, and she calmed the little man with her soothing manner and angelic voice until the little splinter was extricated.
From this began their having lunch together regularly in the company cafeteria, a most pleasant hour for the little man. It was at these lunch breaks he learned much about her, and she about him. They quickly became friends, and shared similar likes and dislikes, and truly enjoyed the company of each other.
She laughed at his jokes, smiled at him often, and didn't care that he was a mousy man of no particular physical strengths, or manly sexual heat that stood center. Yes, he thought, he would invite her for cheese and wine. And she would come, too, he reasoned. And it would happen. All the nights in practice to Debussy would finally pay off. It had to--it was written in the stars...
The little mousy man yawned several times, and sipped the last of the cognac. He was sleepy now. But tomorrow would be full of life! Yes, tomorrow he would invite Sarah to dinner and he and Debussy would together love the woman he wanted so much. Yes, it will happen. "It must!"
And with that utterance, the little dreamer prepared for sleep... Tomorrow, Friday, was the big day; his day...
He fell asleep quickly, and dreamed he and Sarah were holding hands. He could not make out where this was happening, but it drew a smile to his lips, and he passed the night in peaceful slumber, in anticipation of what tomorrow would bring. ~~Eddie T
Note: Inspired by Debussy's "Clair de Lune". Thanks for reading.
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