Ghost

. . . i start to feel a fever from the warm air through the screen you come regular like seasons shadowing my dreams . . .

She lies in bed, tossing and turning. It’s the heat, she thinks; unbearable and stagnant. Not like the fresh mountain breeze in the evening, tinged with the faint traces of wood smoke. She flops onto her belly, hoping to find a cool breeze somewhere to soothe her skin. She can feel the dark pieces of the dream tugging her back down into sleep. It was a dream, right?

A lightning flash illuminates the room, followed by a series of sharp claps of thunder that she feels low in her belly, making her heart race. In that instance, she remembers what woke her. It was a dream. But not just a dream: the dream. The one that makes her feverish, leaving her pulse thundering, the memories of scent fresh in her nostrils: fire, citrus and alcohol, trees and river water, sweat overlaying the clean smell of soap. The moon is still almost full and the rain on the windows creates a haze. Making her think of car windows fogged over in the chill of the night.

She’s haunted by the images again. Can’t sleep as they flicker through her brain. She finds herself holding her breath again. Though in the dark of this night, he’s not there to whisper “breathe” - she has to remind herself, over and over again. While her mind plays out the scenes in the shadows of her memory . . .

. . . and i guess that's how you started like a pinprick to my heart but at this point you rush right through me and i start to drown . . .

She’d been caught off guard before, but never when her mind was clear, like it had been that night. Laying there in the heat of this night, retracing her steps, rethinking every moment, she could see it laid out in small increments before her, leading to the eventual. In the moment, though, she had been oblivious. She remembered pausing a couple times back then, waiting for him to do something obvious, but he was never like anyone else. And so she became comfortable in his space. He was complex in a way, but uncomplicated. Calming and easy-going, finding pleasure in sharing small but important things with her; music, the mountains, work, life, dreams. Like old friends did.

She remembered the instant she became aware that they’d fallen into something that was more than just comfortable. She asked where the bathroom was; he gave her directions, his hand resting on the small of her back. She walked away, the heat signature from his fingers still burning the skin and causing gooseflesh on her neck. She made herself breathe. He was smiling when she returned, and they sat on the barstools facing each other, their knees touching occasionally. Despite the electricity of his touch, she was immediately comfortable again. Until in the middle of conversation, he reached up to stroke a finger down her cheek. She caught her breath again. But smiled, the heat rising in her face. And then he asked a question, smiling tentatively, like a nervous teenager. A simple request – a gentleman’s request: just a kiss on the forehead. She found it hard to breathe, but said yes. He touched her arm, and leaned in to touch his lips to her skin, and she inhaled his scent as he came close, feeling slightly dizzy, a flush spreading across her body. So simple, yet so intimate.

They left soon after, she, still feeling warm, even as the night chill set in more. And for a moment, she thought that was all it might be. Until he kissed her at the gas station, lightly and quickly. But his mouth pressed against hers, for that brief moment, was the next question. She was unsure if she answered it correctly, as they exchanged no words. But when he told the next stranger they saw that this was their first “date”, there was no mistaking how he’d interpreted the answer.

. . . dark and dangerous like a secret that gets whispered in a hush (don't tell a soul) when i wake the things i dreamt about you last night make me blush (don't tell a soul) . . .

Sitting in the truck, the silence soft around them, moonlight outlining trees and bushes and rocks, she felt calm. The moonlight did nothing to dim the stars, and she sat in the front seat, twisting and turning to see them around her. The darkness, illuminated by the moon, made her remember summer nights in childhood staring out at the night skies, a blanket spread on the lawn as she spotted constellations. The music continued to play in the background, and she occasionally would hum or sing, like she’d been doing all evening. She was turned with her back the front window, looking up at the sky above her, marveling at how prominent the stars were when they weren’t competing with the city lights. When she looked down again, he leaned closer to her, and she knew it was coming. His lips touched hers, then parted, their tongues carefully searching each other out, testing. He paused for a second, and she held her breath. She didn’t release it until he spoke. “Breathe.” She let out her breath in a rush, kissing him again. Starting the same cycle over again. “Breathe,” he commanded, gently, but her breathing was erratic. “Breathe into me,” he whispered, and it sounded so easy. She fitted her mouth against his, but found her chest heaving anyway, trying to catch her breath while his kisses lit fires low in her groin, making her squirm in the seat.

She reached a hand up to run through his hair. It was soft and fine at the back of his neck, slipping easily through her hands. Silky against her touch, she slid her hands up to the top of his head, where his hair was longer. His kisses were electric, and the intensity mounted. Without thinking, she slid his hair between her fingers and pulled his mouth tight against hers. He responded immediately, threading his fingers in her long hair and tugging her head back, kissing her forcefully, her breath leaving her lungs in a rush. She felt her body respond, liquefy, and her heart raced faster. He tugged the strap of her tank top down, followed by her bra; his mouth covered a nipple, sucking on it firmly, and she ran her fingers through his hair again, moaning softly.

Gentle turned frantic at one point, and he struggled with her jeans. The movements made her stop; think. She shouldn’t be here, doing this. He paused. “Don’t you want me?” His voice was plaintive. “It’s not a matter of want,” she said. “It’s a matter of ‘should’ . . .” He kissed her more, tugging at her clothes. She hesitated. “Wait, . . .” Panting, torn, wanting this, but feeling disingenuous.

“Your breathing tells me you want me,” he queried, his eyes feverish with desire. His face was raw and honest; it wasn’t a line.

“It’s just that . . .” She had trouble finding the words, her breath coming in shallow gasps “. . . I’m not just going back tomorrow . . . I’m going back . . . to someone.” She emphasized the “someone”. He stared at her, unfazed, stating the obvious. “You don’t wear a ring.” She rubbed her hand against her head, trying to think of how to explain that it wasn’t about precious metal and stones. He leaned in to kiss her. “Then tell me you don’t want me.” She opened her mouth to speak, but melted into his kiss, her resolve evaporating.

. . . i'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly and dance the edge of sanity i've never been this close . . .

He kissed her harder, and she whimpered into his mouth. His fingers slid inside of her, and she felt another rush of wetness, as he took her closer to that edge. She fought the sensations, trying to collect her thoughts. He tugged at her jeans again, his breathing ragged. “No . . .” she whispered, half-heartedly, wondering if she said it more to herself than to him. He paused, tugging again and she spoke. “I don’t know . . . I . . . if they come off . . . I won’t stop.” He stared at her, his eyes liquid in the moonlight, his lips full, his body tense. He kissed her again, his hand still on her waistband, waiting. She kissed him back, harder, and this time, when he tugged at her jeans, she reached down to help him.

He moved quickly, laying down the passenger seat, and positioned himself over her, kissing her, whispering, words that made no sense to her. Then reality hit her again, and she was acutely aware of his frame above her, stronger than hers, his breathing anxious, his voice strained by passion. He was poised to enter her, and she had a brief moment of logic and remembering, of guilt and obligation. “Wait . . .”

He was aroused, impatient, but he struggled for control. His voice was raw as he whispered. “Please. It’s been so long since I’ve been attracted to someone like this . . . I want to feel you . . . I want to be inside of you . . . Please . . . Just for a bit . . . Please . . . I want to be close.”

She could hardly breathe and her position was awkward, but the combination of the voice in her heart and the tug in her groin was stronger than logic. She found herself sliding her hips down in the seat, tilting them up to meet his, feeling him solid and warm against her. He pushed against her, his thickness parting her wetness. She opened her mind and her heart for a moment, and then opened herself to him. He pushed into her, exhaling, and she welcomed him. And then, like a weakened dam that’s weathered the last ravages of the flood, she could feel the pressure surge, then break, and she groaned into him, writhing, trying to meld to his body. Once it started, she couldn’t stop it, and she moaned, cursed, cried, as wave after wave took her, this time, and each time after.

. . . as i burn up in your presence and i know now how it feels to be weakened like Achilles with you always at my heels . . .

She gave herself to him, again and again. Sometimes in passion shrouded in harsh words. Sometimes, at his gentle urging . . . “I want to make love to you . . .” His mouth found her mouth, then moved lower, eventually catching the soft, wet flesh between his lips and rolling it in his mouth, causing spasm after spasm. The CD playing cycled over and over, like their personal soundtrack, burning itself into her brain. In a moment of passion, as she rode him to yet another climax, staring down at him, he reached up and held her face. “Listen,” he commanded. She heard the words “. . . when you kiss me like a lover . . .” Found herself singing them under her breath with him, as he pushed up inside of her, watching his face, intense. Deeper inside of her, inside her head, inside her heart. The words tattooed on the memory of this moment.

And finally, her body flushed and aching, her heart exhausted and beating hard against her ribs, she lay against him, listening to his heart, his breathing. Tracing his face, memorizing every line and angle. “Sleep,” he murmured, closing his eyes. Laying his hand on her bare hip, one arm around her body curled in his lap. She smiled, mostly to herself. Not sure if it was the ecstasy, or the simple pleasure of his genuineness. She closed her eyes for a moment, her heart giving into visions of stretching out next to him every night, naked, waking with the room chilled by the morning mountain air, her skin warm where it touched his. Thinking about tracing patterns on his fair skin, the hairs soft on his arms and chest, his hair tousled, his eyes crinkling in a sleepy smile.

When she opened her eyes, she realized the sun was casting its first light in the morning sky. The realization that she was leaving later that day hit, and she roused him. He stretched, kissing her. He fumbled with his clothes; she did the same, quietly, reluctant to talk. His words finally came in a rush. “Please tell me you won’t forget this, forget me, regret this. You can change your mind.” Her heart started breaking, making her quiet, making her pull away, some. “Never say never,” she managed to say, without crying. He kissed her; she kissed him back. “Never say never.” But she couldn’t find more words, couldn’t make promises. It was better this way, she thought.

He looked stunned, innocent. “You’re saying goodbye,” he said, with a mix of incredulity and defeat. She could only smile, gently. If she spoke, she’d sob.

. . . now i see your face before me i would launch a thousand ships to bring your heart back to my island as the sand beneath me slips . . .

Hundreds of miles away, the morning air is cool, like she remembers, but heavier, with a hint of moisture and evergreens, the smell of the city not far behind. Designer heels click on the concrete, her skirt wrapping around her curves and hugging her knees, strands of her necklace clinking together softly in rhythm with her step. She opens the door of the sedan, throws her briefcase in the back seat, pulls her long legs in behind her and slips on sunglasses. The leather is cool against her legs and she turns on the heat. She opens the sunroof for some fresh air, turns on the sound system, and puts the car in gear. She’s concentrating on getting onto the road when the CD sound kicks on, and she’s hit by a wave of memory. Remembering this CD cycling. As if he’d made sure she wouldn’t forget, even here. She’d taken all the CD’s out prior to the trip when she’d taken the car to get it serviced . . . All but this one. She drove in a haze, replaying the sounds, over and over, seeing his face, hearing his voice, tasting his mouth, feeling his body. And when she stepped into the blond wood and glass of her office, overlooking the city, the mountains far away on the horizon, her heart ached for the memory, ached for him, ached for another time. She put her face in her hands and tried to breathe. Remembered him whispering “Breathe . . .,” realizing she was still holding her breath. The words played in her head again. His words. Their words.

… unknowing captor you'll never know how much you pierce my spirit . . .

. . . i am no worse at most in love with your ghost . . .


* Excerpted lyrics to "Ghost" copyright of the Indigo Girls, 1992