Love at
first sight. The phrase
is so old the meaning was drained dry before we were even born.
But it exists. I experienced it once and it was the most beautiful
and unfortunate thing I have ever lived through. Unfortunate
because when it's taken away from you, there's nothing which is able to
replace the gaping hole it leaves in your life.
I pour three tequilas in me and I pour one story out. Rekindle
Raychel in my mind. Alive, this time.
August 16, 1997.
That was the day I looked a the crowd and saw only her.
I was onstage at
Safehaven at the time. I was reading a couple of short stories to
the crowd to lukewarm interest. That was understandable, but not
because my work was sub-par. It's just what happens when you have
an audience full of performers. Most of the people were really
there to show themselves off, so there was usually little interest given
to you when you were actually applying your trade on the audience.
But to a performer, a crowd is a crowd, and attention is anticipated
even if not truly expected. So when I glossed over an ironic line
in one of my works, I was surprised to actually hear a single gunshot
snort of laughter from the audience. Momentarily thrown from my
reading, I looked up.
Raychel was sitting in a
corner booth alone. Why I had no idea. Her long blonde hair
washed back over her tilted head, dropping away over her
shoulder. A wry smile played across her face, but her
downcast eyes gave no betrayal of the thought driving her smile.
Pen in her hand, she was writing in a small notebook. But the
shadows were what really made the moment. They swirled about her,
cascading and retreating. Teasing me with tantalizing hints of the
woman within the darkness. The shadows tried to hide the
secret. But I knew it. And I was blissfully frozen in that
moment.
|
"I
watched Laura slide into Raychel's booth, and strike up a
conversation. . . They exchanged words as if they had known
each other for ages, and I grew jealous. Why hadn't Laura told
me about her?" |
The rest of the room,
however, was not. A moment stretched into awkward pause which
eventually gave way to an uncomfortable silence. The thaw in the
moment came along some time after that and I regained my composure and
finally -- after a few false starts -- returned to my rambling in short
fiction.
Once my ship of composure
was righted, I ran through the rest of the story frenetically. I
looked up as often as possible, trying to keep an eye on Raychel.
I didn't want her to leave before I had the chance to finish my story
and talk to her. I watched Laura slide into Raychel's booth, and
strike up a conversation. I couldn't have been happier, as Laura
has the gift of extended gab. They exchanged words as if they had
known each other for ages, and I grew jealous. Why hadn't Laura
told me about her?
Finally, a few minutes
later -- an eternity in my time -- I finished. Unfortunately, my
work was inconveniently received and a number of my writing friends
prevented me from rushing to Raychel. I was held up, stopped, and
pulled aside by almost every one of my friends who were only to willing
to pronounce my story one of their favorites of mine (which in
retrospect was probably damning with faint praise). By the time I
made it through the gauntlet to the corner booth, she was gone.
Laura was sitting alone in the booth.
I pumped Laura for information about
Raychel. I learned her name, that she was a poet, and would be
coming back the following week to read from her own work. At
the time, nothing seemed to satisfy, not even the knowledge that she
would return the following week. Laura claimed that she had never
talked to her before but had seen her around. I found her
statement doubtful, as Laura talks extensively to everyone, anyone who
might recognize her painting as the work of a true artist.
Regardless, I was without Raychel, and, for the first time, I felt
diminished for that knowledge. As trite as it sounds I knew I had
found my Muse. Someone to drive me to greater heights of artistic
expression.
The following week passed
painfully. For the first time in years, I was stagnated in my
attempts at writing. I would start work on a story, get a
paragraph or two in, and drop into a haze for hours thinking of Raychel,
and how I would approach her, introduce myself, and let the flames of
passion wash us away. I planned my approach in staggering detail.
That plan was
immediately thrown screaming into the fire, as Raychel arrived early and
was already reading from her poetry before I arrived.
|
"I
tried to divine an intention from her message. Did she feel
the same, or was I being put off? I reached peaks of emotion
and fell from them as quickly as contradicting opinions crashed
dramatically through my mind." |
Raychel read her poetry for
over an hour. During that time, she introduced herself intimately to
everyone. Who she was, where she came from,
where she had been; all in graphic, enraged, visceral detail. Her poetry was an
autobiography, and everyone in the room listened intently, horrified and moved.
No secret seemed sacred from her poetry. She was totally free.
When
she finally finished, the room fell silent. I looked around and
saw nothing but shocked faces looking back. It was as if a bomb
had gone off. The explosion hit a moment later, as the room erupted
in wild applause.
I got up, intending to go
straight to her and welcome her into The Bleeders. However, it
seemed everyone else had the same mind, as we all swarmed about
her. I cut through the crowd as best I could, but I couldn't get
close to her. By the time I got to where she was standing, she was
gone. Not only from the spot, but from Safehaven. Laura
noticed me looking around and laughed right at me. She said that
she had spoken to Raychel about me, and that she did want to meet me,
but she had an appointment that she had to keep this week. Laura
said that Raychel would talk to me the next week.
The next week between
meetings passed more painfully than the first. My one solace was
that she had left Laura to speak to me. I tried to divine an
intention from her message. Did she feel the same, or was I being
put off? I reached peaks of emotion and fell from them as quickly
as contradicting opinions crashed dramatically through my mind.
At the next week's
Bleeders meeting, I found her immediately. Sitting alongside Laura
in the same corner as I had seen her two weeks before, I knew
immediately that something was different about her.
Laura stayed just long
enough to officially introduce us to one another, excusing herself to
introduce another artist onstage. As soon as she was gone, I tried
to engage her with a few observations about her work from the previous
week, but she wouldn't talk about it. She wouldn't talk about
much, actually. Honestly, she was caustic, spiteful, and
inattentive—constantly shooting down any hint of romantic interest
from me. My mind gave credence to all the dark thoughts from the
previous week. She was suffering my attentions only insomuch as
she could ensure that I would never come back. After a half hour
or so of aborted conversations, I attempted to get out of the booth, and
muttered a half-hearted apology for taking her time.
That was when she
turned. She reached out across the table and asked me not to
go. She didn't want to be alone. I hesitated, unsure that
she wasn't just being apologetic after all the rejection she had just
handed out. But as I looked into her eyes, I understood that she
was telling the truth. If only for the moment. Before I
could respond, she asked me to take her home. I hesitated, and
then realized the futility of that and immediately acquiesced.
Maybe it isn't the greatest love story ever dreamed, but when two people
admit they need each other, without regrets or reservations, it's love
nevertheless.
What passed in the
following hours is best left to describing as the beginning of our
relationship. But it was during that time that she confirmed all
of my thoughts about her from her poetry. She was fierce, almost
masculine.
|
"I
wish I could select that text and delete it, but I can't.
Because it's true. No matter how I might want to change it,
that line will always be written there for me." |
Afterwards, I went to
hold her, but she would have none of it. The trappings of love
seemed to matter little to her. She just rolled over and ignored
me after the first night that we made love. That was something
ingrained deeply in Raychel -- almost poetic in itself. I couldn't hold
her. That was the price of being with someone who is by nature totally
free. No matter how much I wanted to keep her with me, no matter
how I tried, she had to be able to run at a moment's notice.
Things like marriage don't matter when you're that free.
* * * * *
I didn't
mean to write that. I don't like that it sits there. I wish
I could select that text and delete it, but I can't. Because it's
true. No matter how I might want to change it, that line
will
always be written there for me. I don't plan to revisit this
section, or edit it. I'll just keep moving on. And maybe that's how
I should deal with my loss of Raychel.
But the
truth cannot be outrun or escaped, it must be survived.
Maybe I have
unfinished business with my relationship with Raychel. Maybe I
will find whatever that was in the pages I will write in the future. Maybe I will
find it in something someone else writes. Regardless, I cannot let
her go so easily.
Love at
first sight happens quickly, but it never dies!
