shinbook

She turned the corner and approached me walking down the narrow hallway. The shimmer of her soft golden hair glistened in my eyes. The same as when I saw the drop of water on the leaf and the shimmer from the prism within, they both blinded me in temporary ecstasy. Her eyes were pearl, they sang the same song as my heart, and I instantly fell into rhythm with the sway of her funny walk. In the instant her eyes met mine. I saw my future in the opaque blueness of her eyes.

We are older, love fills us and joins us. Up on the mountain, where I was first thought of, we sit over a blanket covered with chicken, chips, pie, and ants. Her eyes meet mine again, the love is in them now, my love too she sees reflecting in my eyes toward her. On that blanket we come together. I in my way, and she in hers. Harmony is made, music flows across the ridges and peaks of the range that is our tapestry. The love is bonded on that mountain.

On that fleeting day, in front of the crowds of scrupulous family and disapproving friends we announce it publicly. The minister, in his robe of satin, eternalizes the bond that has been since the beginning, when we were first thought of, me on that mountain, her in her place. On the proud walk past the crowd, my vision is drawn to my weeping mother’s face.
I see her crying again when she first found out. The air was cold, and the doorknob was damp and stinging to the touch. My mother’s first judgment of her was a typically scrutinizing one. “Is she a baptist?” the well rehearsed favorite line of my mother’s flowed freely from her mouth. She began the belittling, finding the faults, ignoring my eyes, and ignoring hers. She would not understand, she could not. The flame that fills our eyes, in her eyes is gone.

It faded in years past when my father was young and spirited. His shaky hands and burning breath drove her away in embarrassment and shame for she was not a woman of that nature and had no business congregating with such trash.

For the next few days there is peace. Sitting beside the dark silky waters of the Pacific searching for our purpose our bond strengthened. The harmony that was reached on the mountain, were now choruses and symphonies never ending even in times of separation. I see her eyes again, there is worry about the upcoming days.

The worry is back, in the early morning dew we scurry to the car. Racing to the doctor, the moans keeping time, the worry increases in her eyes, and in mine it is reflected further. It is the time says the professional. A scream of pain echoes the hallway shortly followed by a gentle, heartwarming, complete scream of fear. The man had arrived. He is given to his mother and displayed to me. I see his eyes. They are hers, they share her harmony and her love. He is not scared now. In the warm embrace of his mother, he is comforted just like his father could be. He is offered to me. I accept the gift and cradle his soft warm body in my arms. His skin is soft, oh how soft, it is a sin that he should be exposed to the coarseness of me. He is pure, fragile, delicate, innocent; I am none of those. I am rejected from the man by my own interpretation of his desires. He clings to his mother, their eyes share the harmony; I am out of tune.

I stay out of tune. They are one. He tells her of the girls in his homeroom class. He cries to her at their rejection of him. It is me they reject. I am him, he is me. I take the rejection. I see her eyes, they reflect mine. How am I still out of tune. My fears, my sadness is manifested in her eyes as well. The harmony is gone. This was intended for me. I saw my mother in her. The scrutiny the judgment and scorn. My hands were shaky but it wasn’t bad. It was only temporary until the feelings passed. Why could she not understand? Where was the harmony in her eyes. They had turned cold. They froze my heart in an instant.

The ice on lake had become thick this winter. The man was skating with his. I was at ends with mine. We were sitting next to the lake, watching the man swoon, intrigue, and impress his companion, when I saw her cold lifeless eyes. Now I realize that I have done this. I took the life from her. My hands are shaky, my nose is red. She is embarrassed at my stumbling and asks to leave. I refuse, this must be corrected, and now. The harmony must return. She tells me that it cannot. I have failed again.

I think of my father. I had failed him once too. The day was cold, the metal was stinging my fingers as I tried to hold still. I was too shaky from the cold, he was shaky too. I could not hold straight, it was out of my control. The harder I tried the worse I got. I committed to the act, and missed the beast. His eyes held the cold ice of disappointment. He was ashamed then he was gone.

I look through the bottom of the bottle and notice the prism that the dew drop had hanging off that leaf. The light hit my eyes and blinded me in permanent shame. There was no more music, the harmony was gone. The click of the hammer was thunder in my ear. I saw the darkness of the tunnel. Then the flash of the explosion, then the light.

Her hair brushes by me as she passes in the hall and I catch a trace of her perfume. She is gone, and forgotten. There are others; they all have eyes just like hers.