Sunday, August 10, 2003

Never Shine On Me

Through the course of the night I laid with Maureen sleeping at my side. At least she was asleep; I was forever unsettled in the dark. I am not, after all, accustomed to sharing a bed with women, as doubtless you must readily accept, having ventured this far with me in our story. It is quite a different thing than sharing a bed with a younger sister on a family trip, for instance, or with another man for the sake of economy. No, to lay with a woman in this way is quite a different thing altogether.

As often happens in periods of sleeplessness, I was soon beset with a myriad of considerations. There were many things to observe in the hotel room at that hour, for one thing. We had retired with the windows open--the day had been unseasonably warm--and the sheer curtains of the room had at once taken up my cause, fluttering in tacit agreement. From without came the sound automobiles and the air brake reports from city sanitation vehicles. The Hudson river was however many blocks West of here; it could be seen from our window. The thought occurred to me that in my senior year of high school I would sit on the rock-face of Hook Mountain and stare East, across the river, at my very location now. But that was many years ago and I did not entertain the thought for very long.

Maureen's breathing was deep and steady. In the dark everything took on the grainy texture of old film stock. Her body was perfectly ghost-like beneath one white sheet. It was indescribably lovely, as you might imagine. My body was cool, too--and this was not lost on me: how often is one granted the opportunity to observe such things about themselves? Not often enough! Life would be much better lived with an artificial light source accentuating only our best curves and angles. I don't believe in the sun.