| Magic Morning | |||||
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David had noticed her early in the evening. He was in his regular spot behind the bar, doing close-up magic with coins and cards at D'Amelio's Lounge on Clearwater Beach. She was small-boned and tan with chocolate brown eyes and a smile full of tenderness. Her hair fell to her shoulders in cascades of light brown and streaked blonde. She sat at the bar with a Scotch sour in front of her. David held nothing but air in the shape of cards near her slim hands and asked her to pick a card. She laughed at the solemn expression on his face. It was a light, airy wind chime of a sound; as if the world was really going to be all right. She chose the invisible card. He asked her to turn it over and replace it in the deck. She did. When he put the invisible deck away and brought out a real one with just one card overturned, she waited in wonder. When she turned it over to find it was the same as the invisible card she had chosen, she gazed at him in delight and rapture. "You're wonderful," she said. "How did you do that?" "It's done with mirrors," he said, with a smile. "Do another. Please." He put four silver dollars through a solid table one by one. She applauded and smiled. He vanished a card and made it reappear in her purse, wrapped in paper. She laughed with delight. He placed a soft sponge ball in her hand and made it multiply several times. She held his hand and looked curious. The bar was closing. She started for the door, then turned back to look at David once more. "Will you have coffee with me? He said yes and packed his bag of tricks. Together, they walked out into the humid early morning coolness. She came only to his shoulder when she stood close, as she did while he unlocked the door of his car. She sat, in a graceful move that exposed a glimpse of thigh, and then straightened her pale blue dress as he shut the door. Pausing at his side of the car, David glanced up at the high street light almost obscured by an equally tall palm tree and scratched his scraggly beard. Beyond was the hotel in which D'Amelio's filled a first floor space. Less than fifty feet away, the dark but living Gulf of Mexico beat a steady rap on the white sand of Clearwater Beach. The only sounds at two in the morning were air conditioners, and sea gulls who couldn't sleep. They sat in the garish pink and orange of the Howard Johnsons, drinking coffee, picking at sweet rolls, but mostly exploring each other. "I'm from Ohio," she told him. "Little town called Wooster." "What's it near?" He wanted to hear her voice again. "Nothing." She looked straight into his eyes, without fear or nervousness. "What's your name?" "Catherine. Catherine Daniel." "I'm David Miranda." His tie was tight. He loosened it. "I know. I saw it on the sign." They talked for an hour. Trying on beliefs like hats and seeking shared experiences to relate. David tried to express his sincerity. She seemed trusting and relaxed. He wanted to assure her, but she seemed self-assured. When she suggested they take off their shoes and walk on the beach he agreed; anything to sustain the morning, to keep it going on. It had been six months since Jeannie went away, taking the kids, half their possessions and almost all his self-esteem. He sold the house. He traded in the station wagon for a white Honda Civic. He moved into a two-room apartment. He lived in limbo. Actually, he lived in St. Petersburg. Same thing. His father had taught him that men don't need women, but he had always known that was a lie. He was hollow and lonely and frightened of living. It bothered him that he needed anyone and especially that he needed someone now. Nothing was sure. Nothing was safe. The breeze was as warm as Catherine Daniel's hand as they walked along on the smooth wet sand and let the waves wash in over their toes and back again. She stopped him near the wooden pier and turned to look up into his eyes. Her face in the moonlight was beautiful. "You're beautiful." "No, I'm just okay," she said. "No, you're beautiful," he insisted. She held both his hands in hers and pulled gently, just enough that he had to lean. "Just one kiss," she said, turning into a question or a request, he wasn't sure which. They kissed and her lips were as soft as he imagined they'd be. The kiss and the ones which followed blended into one endless embrace full of warmth, tenderness, and relief. He was relieved to learn he was still alive. He was relieved to discover tenderness still existed in his hollow heart. He was relieved that he felt something. Jeannie's departure, for reasons he could not fully comprehend, had filled him with fear and insecurity. He lived silently with the fear of never again being loved or desired because men aren't supposed to care about such things. He sat awake in his tiny two-room apartment near the newspaper distribution station til four most mornings, the first to buy a St. Pete Times, because he didn't want to sleep alone. Now, in a moment as mystical as his own magic, David Miranda was feeling love. He was holding a lovely woman from an distant place and drinking in the flavor of her kiss. He held her because he was afraid to let her go. He didn't want to see the sun rise. He wanted to keep his eyes closed and feel her body clinging to his, for as long as the waves came in. He prayed for everlasting life, or at least another hour. Her first words after they pulled apart were what he feared they would be. "We'd better go." "I suppose so." They walked hand in hand to the concrete wall between the beach and the street. She slipped on her tiny sandals and waited by the passenger door. He unlocked the door and she locked him in another embrace. When they'd finished, she pulled back to point at the hotel. "Look up there. Second floor. Last window on the left." He did. "That's my room. Would you please come with me?" He hesitated, afraid he'd misunderstood. "You mean, now?" "Yes." She kissed him again, took the keys from his hand and relocked the car door. "Come with me." Just before dawn, they walked the frayed carpeted hall to her room at the beach-front hotel. Once inside the door, she kissed him, smiled, and reached back to unzip her simple, straight-line dress in one fluid motion. As it fell to the floor, with her hand outstretched. In a mock-serious tone, she asked, "Care to join me in bed?" David glanced at the white sheets and yellow blanket, looking for all the world like a lemon meringue pie, and nodded. It was warm, needy but delicious love, sharing something that had no connection with the outside world. Her body wrapped around his, as if every square inch of their skin could touch if they tried. "You know what I love about you?" he asked, finally. "What?" "Your 'bedroom eyes'. I'm captivated by your eyes. I'm lost in them." "What happens when I close them?" She smiled. "I'm trapped inside." She pulled him into her arms and whispered, "Sounds good to me." David kissed Catherine's shoulder again, relishing the soft skin against his lips. He heard the gentle, distant roll of the waves through the half-open window as he kissed her neck, her cheek, her closed eyelids. He traced her face with a gentle stroke of his hand interrupting the yellowish reflection of the street lamp on her face. Even with her eyes closed, Catherine had a natural beauty which moved David almost to tears. He rolled smoothly over onto his right side and ran his fingers through her hair, still damp from love. She made a tiny, murmuring sound which seemed to say, 'don't go' and he kissed her shoulder once again, whispering "I'm not going anywhere, I'm staying right here." Without opening her eyes, she rolled over, tucked her head under his arm and onto his shoulder, drew one silken leg over his, draped her free arm around his waist and sighed. She slept, wrapped around him like a child. David stared at the ceiling, memorizing the last hour in her room. It had all been so natural. He savored the warmth of the woman in his arms like some men savored the act itself. David was a master of illusion, an expert at slight of hand, a talented wizard with cards and coins. But, the last hour had been magic beyond his imagination. Catherine Daniel from Wooster, Ohio knew the priceless truth that love can be most beautiful when people care. Whether they care for years, for months, or for a few hours on a Sunday morning mattered not at all. What mattered was the sharing of love, closeness, warmth and the quiet reassurance that David had needed for so long. The sun rose, a hot circle above the waves outside the window. David stirred. He was alone. He had expected that. But, it had really happened. He knew that for sure. It was not an illusion. He looked around the hotel room for a sign that she might still be there. No. But, a note, taped to the mirror, was scented with the perfume he had come to love a few hours ago. "Dear David. I left for Ohio today and will probably never see you again. I have a life there which is much less than the hours we spent together this morning. But it's all I have. The magic which had gone out of my life was restored in my heart this morning. In the darkness, life seems so frightening and brief. For a long time I have been afraid no one could ever again love or desire me. I'm sure that sounds silly to you. Not a fear you've ever faced. We shared something wonderful. Thanks to you, I have a memory to cherish and relive on those long, cold winter nights when I'm lonely but not alone." She had signed it simply, "Catherine, from Ohio." He folded the note, palmed it and made it vanish, only to make it reappear in his shirt pocket, nearest his heart. He left the room and walked to his car with the late morning Florida Gulf breeze in his face. The drive down the long, slow beach road to his apartment took place without him; he was still on a beach in a bed. In his own bedroom, alone again, David was surprised to feel none of the sadness which had lingered like fog over him for the last several months. He actually felt ready for the responsibility of caring again. He was ready to risk his heart again. He opened his window, breathed in the air, as his cat, Jennyanydots appeared on the table next to the artificial flowers. "You know, Jenny," he said, "This has been a magic morning." Jenny purred as if to say, "What a cliche." - end - Copyright 1986, 1996, 2006 LARY CREWS |
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