Someday Soon

“This is not a date.”

“I never said it was.”

“The candles are scaring me. It makes it feel all too romantic.” Morris said as he pushed the candles towards me and pushed himself against the banquette so he was as far away from the candles as he could be.

I blew out the candles and smiled. “There, feel better now? You have nothing to worry about.”

He let down his guard a little and started talking about his latest project at work. He was back in town for a visit and decided to call me up, much to my surprise. Morris and I were lovers ages ago, for many years. Sad to say, I have never truly gotten over him. 

We had our coffee and desserts, actually let me rephrase that, I was taking as long as I could to finish my cake because I knew when it was finished, he would want to leave. Seconds turned into minutes and minutes into hours.

Morris looked at my empty plate and said, “Alright, let’s go.”

I nodded and looked out the window, thinking how much I would dread the end of our encounter.

We left the restaurant and walked to our cars. We got to mine, and without hesitation he said, “Good night.” 

I looked at him, and recognized that conscience stricken demeanour right away. He regretted calling and rekindling old fires. 

“Good night.” We hugged briefly and separated. 

I got into my car and watched him wearily as he faded into the mist of the night. I thought to myself; I wish I could, I wish could just walk away without thinking, happy. I wish I could come and just go, as I wish. I wish I was the one who could make love to a different person each time without care or consequence. But instead, I am compelled to follow love faithfully. Instead, I am easily moved and often hurt, ending up like a shadow tucked away in the corner, where one forgets, where no one visits. I wish to rise with the sun and dry away all my tears; leave my cold behind, and return me to Spring, someday soon.

December Rain

Peter always loved the sound of the rain. As a child he lived in a house with huge, wide windows. Whenever it rained, he would climb the chair next to the window to watch the rain and to place his ears against the windows so he could listen.

Today, it was raining when he woke up. He had fallen asleep on the couch by the piano. He walked towards the window, watching the rain paint gentle slashes across the window glass. He made a circle to wipe away the window fog, and pressed his ears up against the window. He couldn’t hear anything this time. He tried listening again, even more intently. Not a sound. In disbelief, he pushed open the window, stepped onto the window ledge and leaped out. He felt himself lifted up; he was floating upwards towards the sky, through the soft clouds. Once above the clouds, he found himself drifting through the foggy air towards a distant but distinct figure. He couldn’t quite figure out who he was. Then, he saw it was Igor Stravinsky, a young Stravinsky in his thirties.

Peter was stumped for words. He stood in front of the great maestro Stravinsky; staring blankly at him. Stravinsky shot him a firm and steady gaze and said,” Let’s play.”

Peter opens his eyes. It is raining. He had fallen asleep on the couch by the piano. He walks towards the window, watching the rain paint with slashes of water across the window glass. He makes a circle to wipe away the window fog, and presses his ears up against the window. And he can hear Stravinsky orchestrating the rain, first a gentle rhythm, then a rapid change with the rain beating down hard on the pavement, followed by staccato raindrops falling from the eaves onto the metallic top of the car below. He smiles a smile of relief; he sits down on his piano and starts playing frantically on the piano again, infused with newfound passion. He will be ready for his comeback performance as concert pianist with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. 

It had better rain that day, because then he would know Stravinsky's listening.