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A morning had never been more welcome. She awoke from her vigil in the chair at her bedroom window, her mind full of gauzy, half-forgotten dreams of him, of her childhood. A cramp in her back, dried tear tracks and a smile on her face. Watched the world coming alive, birds singing their love songs to a brand new day full of possibilities, flowers trembling on their stems towards the sun. She wandered through the house, opening every window to the summer air crisp and tangy with the scent of freshly mown grass. Today is the beginning of everything. I can feel it. This morning is the beginning of forever. Her heart was full, her hands shaky with anticipation of him. While she waited for his mother to leave for work, she tried to busy herself with tedious household tasks. Her mother would have been so proud and amused to see her running the feather duster over every surface, vacuuming the carpet, straightening all the knicknacks lying around. Oh Buffy, don't pout. Housework isn't the end of the world. You can go swimming after you mop the kitchen floor. William and Shannon's Pond will still be there waiting for you when you're finished. Wait for me. I am coming. She washed every dish in the house, her hands soapy, the radio playing Elvis' silky drawl.
For once she wasn't afraid. Certainty filled her and left her open and unfurled with desire. She could almost feel the sharp coldness of the spare key in her hand. The whisper of his breath on her neck. The water slipped through her fingers as she mechanically scrubbed the dishes, staring sightlessly out the kitchen window half-dreaming, half-expecting to see him vaulting down his front steps, baseball mitt in hand, calling her name. ********************************** She snapped her gum idly and stared at the clock on the kitchen wall. Three o'clock on the hottest August afternoon in history. The little electric fan was turned towards her but she could still feel the beads of sweat trickling down her spine. It wasn't fair that she still had to wear this dumb girly sundress and itchy stockings. She had the radio turned low so it wouldn't wake her mother, napping on the couch with a romance novel over her face. Yuck. She had peeked through one of her mother's books one day when Will was at basketball practice and she was stuck in the house, bored out of her mind. Double yuck. It had all been about swooning governesses and heaving bosoms. She had stared down at her own small chest and prayed to God it would never heave. She scrubbed harder at a stubborn gravy stain on her mother's favorite plate with the pink cabbage roses around the rim. She HATED doing dishes. When she grew up and married Cary Grant, she would be so rich that she would never have to wash another plate again. They would be rolling in money so they could just throw away a dish after they used it. And then he would whisk her off to Monaco and take her to play blackjack where they would win tons more money and become even richer. Like in that movie 'To Catch A Thief.' And Will would come crawling to her on his hands and knees, begging her to leave Cary for him. Hah, like that would ever happen. She looked back at the clock and clenched her teeth in frustration. Only 3:15 and she still had a mountain of dishes to finish drying. She and Will were supposed to go to the four o'clock showing of 'To Catch A Thief' even though she'd already seen it twice. She'd had to twist his arm, finally threatening to tell his mother that he'd been smoking in the garage to get him to take her. He always wanted to see westerns or war movies. Triple yuck. And he said that Grace Kelly was ugly and boring with a voice like a rusty hinge. What did he know? Of course, he liked black-haired girls like Ava Gardner. Like Dru. Stupid, no-good boy. Everyone knew blondes were more fun. She tugged on a strand of her own mousey light-brown hair, forgetting her hands were soapy. Stupid hair that couldn't be blonde or black. Decided that when she got older, she would dye it bombshell platinum. Maybe then, boys wouldn't look at her with their noses wrinkled up as if they'd smelled something bad. God, her stockings itched something fierce. But her mother would blow a gasket if she took them off. 'A proper young lady always wears stockings. Only girls with no class who don't listen to their mothers, run around bare-legged.' Blah, blah, blah. God forbid, if she ever had a daughter, she'd never make her wear stockings. Or do dishes. Life was NOT FAIR. Will never had to do dishes and his parents gave him an allowance for cutting the grass and taking out the trash. Hoity-toity, smirking idiot. She *hated* him. If he offered to buy her candy at the movie, she would kick him in the shins, she really would. She wouldn't take his charity. Ooo, unless they had those red licorice chews she liked so much. But *only* then. She glanced up through the kitchen window and saw Dru leaving his house. Jesus Christ on a crutch! Didn't they have any decency? Everyone knew they were in loooove. Gag. But did they have to make such a spectacle of themselves? It was sappy and disgusting. They ought to have some consideration and stop pawing each other in public, making everyone want to go blind. Sheesh, it was enough to make her lose her lunch. Some people had no sense of propriety. And then he came running down the porch steps, shirt unbuttoned and flapping open in the summer breeze. Oh great, she really was going to lose her lunch now. She watched through the window, dishes forgotten, as he grabbed Dru around the waist and lifted her up off her feet, kissing her breathless. Dru ran her finger down his cheekbone, tracing its sharp curve. Good Lord, how revolting. She watched as Dru waved goodbye and blew him a kiss, heading back home to the mayor's mansion on Taylor Lane. She watched as he stood on his front lawn under the sun, the wind sifting through his fair hair like a lover's fingers, his lips red and swollen from another girl's kisses. She did not know what love was until that very moment. Her mother's favorite plate slipped from her trembling hands and fell to the floor, shattering into pieces. ******************************************** She laughed wryly as she wiped the dishes dry. Remembered how her mother had awakened when she'd dropped the plate. They never did go and see 'To Catch a Thief.' Her mother had forbid her from leaving the house for the rest of that day. She'd sprawled facedown on her bed crying as she listened to her mother telling Will when he came to get her that she was grounded. Her seventeen-year-old self on that day had been so sure if he'd kissed her the way he'd kissed Dru, she would have rather died than been away from his side for even a second. At seventeen, because of the sight of him standing there under the sun that sweltering August afternoon, she became a romantic. After that day, she'd lain dry-eyed every night, awake and restless, throbbing with desire for him. After that day, her heart cried out every time she was around him. After that day, every poem ever written, every love song ever sung, was about him. On that day, he had made her his without even knowing. She almost dropped the glass she was drying when Mrs. James came out and headed to the big, black DeSoto. It was time. I love you. I have always loved only you. I am coming for you now. I am waiting here for you. I want to run my fingers through your soft hair. I want to call you 'darling' and mean every letter, every syllable. I want to kiss you and kiss you and never stop. Like I should have done all those years ago, when you asked me to with tears in your light-filled eyes. Oh, I am waiting for you. Come to me. |