The Kiss (2)

Julie looked into his eyes.  What was he thinking?  The room seemed to be quiet for a very long time though she knew it was barely a few seconds.  She seemed to see Andrew differently.  She wanted him to move closer.  She wanted his lips to touch hers.  She wanted to . . . and without thinking she leaned closer to him.  She could feel his presence.  Her eyes began to close, just a small amount.  She saw Andrew’s eyes slowly close as well.  He was moving closer, as was she. So, so, close . . .

 

“Oh wow,” his words broke the silence.  “I am so very sorry.  I don’t know what I was. . .”  He leaned back and rubbed his forehead with his right hand.  He felt a warmth permeate his cheeks. 

 

Julie stiffened just a bit too noticeably.  She looked away from him, to the TV, to the kitchen, to the plates on the table.  “Here,” she said quickly as she reached for a plate and started to rise, “let me help you clean this up.” 

Andrew’s mind cleared and he reached for her hand to stop her.  “It’s okay,” he said, “I’ll get it later.  Don’t worry about it.”  As his hand touched hers he felt her soft skin and the tightening of the muscles as she grasped the plate.  But that was it.  No chill.  No electricity.  The change surprised him so much he pulled his hand from hers.

 

Julie put the plate down awkwardly.  “You okay,” she turned a concerned face to Andrew.  Was she more concerned about his quick release or was it that she did not feel the same tingle she had the last time their skin touched?  He didn’t react to her question; he was just looking at his hand.  Flexing his fingers.  “Really, it’s not that much stuff, I insist.”  She picked up both plates and headed to the kitchen.

 

“Sorry,” seems that word had come up a bit too often tonight, “I must have a bit of a cramp or something.  Age sucks, huh?”  That last with his usual touch of sarcasm.  All spells had been broken; he was back to his usual self.  He heard her chuckle in the kitchen.  Andrew picked up the rest of the dishes, flatware, and anything else that was laying on the table and brought it to the kitchen.  As he placed it in the sink, his arm brushed hers again.  Neither of them even responded.

 

“Well,” she yawned, it’s getting late.  Julie moved from the kitchen to retrieve her bag and jacket from their resting place beside the couch.  “I have to say, I had a really fun night.  Next time, my place.”  You could hear her usual smile and sincerity in her voice.

 

“It was really nice,” Andrew said, but not out loud, just to himself.  “It’s a date.”  This aloud but not with the recent nervousness he had felt when that word was used before.  He sighed with relief, a little too hard. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious to Julie.

She had gotten to the door.  At the sound she turned casually back to him.  “This feels so much better,” she thought to herself.  “Where was my head earlier?”  She gave him a gentle smile.  “I’ll let you know when I get home.”

 

“Please, “mock sincerity, they had played this scene out numerous times in the past, “You know I worry.”  They smiled at each other.  There was a brief moment.  No other way to describe it, just a moment.  She reached behind her for the door knob and turned it.  The door didn’t move.  “Oh yeah, I locked it,” Andrew reached behind her.  They were so close again.  His arm rubbed her back as he turned the lock.  Their eyes almost, yes almost met, but the click of the bolt shattered the moment.  He took his hand from the lock, she turned the knob and opened the door in one motion.  He held it open for her as she exited, a brief turn, a brief exchange of goodnights, and she was headed down the hall to the exit of the complex. The main door opened.   Andrew turned to reenter his apartment.  “Why didn’t I walk her to her car?”  He flew out the door and down the hall, leaving his apartment door open.  As he reached the exit, he heard the familiar chirp of a car alarm being disarmed and the opening of a car door from the street.  He stopped to catch his breath.  “Maybe that’s not her.” He exited the building in time to hear a car door close, an engine start, and see the rear lights glow red as the car, her car, slowly pulled away.  Away from his building.  Away from him.  Away from this night.  He stood outside, a bit of a chill in the air, and watched as the red lights grew dimmer as they disappeared into the distance.  He stood, still watching for a small eternity.  Turned to open the door, turned back, just one last look, and then into the building and back down the hall to his apartment.  He walked a bit slower than his usual gait.  His head just a little bit lower on his shoulders.  His mind unclear.

 

Julie closed the door and started the car.  “How odd,” she said out loud to no one in particular.  She put the car in drive and started to head off.  “Andrew is always so diligent about walking me to my car.”  She thought she saw a glimpse of someone at the door to his apartment building but it seemed it might be just a trick of the light.  It was night and she felt it was better to keep her eyes straight ahead and not worry about what she saw.  And then, as she knew she would, she looked back into the mirror, but the complex was just too far away to see.  She turned on the radio, an 80’s station that she liked to listen to.  Cyndi Lauper was in the middle of explaining to her that she, as well as many of her gender, really only wanted to enjoy themselves.  She began to hum along and then joined in singing as the chorus repeated.

 

Andrew’s apartment door had closed and he immediately feared the worst, that it had locked itself and he didn’t have the key.  Luckily, that wasn’t the case.  He turned the knob tentatively and it opened easily.  He stood in the doorway, looked over his apartment.  “Not too messy, gotta get to the dishes, “which basically translated to rinsing them off and transporting them to the dishwasher.  He’d worry about wiping down the table in the morning.  He let the door swing closed behind him and locked it.  He took the bucket with the wine bottle into the kitchen, removed the towel, drained out the melted ice, and held the bottle up to the light. “Why don’t they call it Pink Zinfandel,” this aloud, attempting a southern accented falsetto but his voice cracked when he stressed the “Pink” and it made him laugh.  He moved towards the trash can in the corner to deposit the bottle, thought again, and rinsed it out in the sink.  “Hey,” this in his normal voice, “It’ll make a nice candle holder.”

Julie was enjoying the music on the radio, it was a clear night, and there wasn’t too much traffic, so she decided to drive around for a bit.  Not go straight home.  She turned the music louder as Boy George quizzed her on her thoughts of causing him pain.  She knew this one, oh too well, and sang right along with him.  She continued to drive, mindlessly but with her eyes clearly on the road, and let the car take her where it wanted to go.  She was just enjoying this time.  With her music, with herself.

Twenty-seven minutes later everything was pretty well cleaned up.  He even opted to wipe off the table and rinse off the place mats.  Andrew was over by the player.  The disc was removed, wiped down, and placed back into its case.  The clock on the player glowed 12:13 (and a little AM just left of the number).  “Wish it displayed seconds,” he grinned to himself.  “And so sir,” in his head but with a bad stuffy British accent, “What were you doing this morning at twelve thirteen fourteen?”  He smiled.  The smile faded.  It was almost quarter after twelve and he had not heard from Julie.  At this time of night, it shouldn’t have taken her more than ten minutes to get home.  Should he be worried?  Might she have stopped at the store for something?  Did she forget to call him?  Was she really so upset with how the evening had (or is that hadn’t) ended that she wasn’t going to call?  He picked up his cell phone and considered calling her but, wait, no.  If she was upset, probably best they didn’t speak.  Would his calling send an odd message to her?  He had never once called her in a similar instance.  Even the time it took her over an hour to get home from that theatre downtown, he always waited for her to call.  This night should be no different.  He looked at the phone and placed it back down on the table.  He would wait.  But if another 15 minutes go by, I’m call . . .  There was a knock at the door.