He wasn't sure when he first noticed her there. But the moment was clear in his mind when he first began watching for her, hoping she would make an appearance. It wasn't nightly but she showed often enough that he began to feel obsessed. Her sadness emanated from her and engrossed him. It inspired images of indescribable beauty despite their misery. As weeks added up he started to realize that he must go to her. She had become his muse and now he felt that the glimpses weren't enough. He'd described it to himself, during long nights of contemplation, as a compulsion, perhaps a modern term for intense inspiration. He needed to reveal the images he'd yet to discover from her or he would never be rid of her. He could simply tell there were more. Or perhaps she was more.
....
They worried. They all worried. She knew it. But if she took the only other option open to her, she knew they would wish for the basket case back. So she stayed, tethered to the planet. The heartbreak had been shared; she could not claim the grief for herself alone. And so she would not cause more grief herself. Her mother brought her food, as did her neighbor and she wasn't sure if she would have gone seeking it herself had they not supplied it. They just kept showing up with it. They always stayed to talk of course but she never found much to say. Since her thoughts rarely strayed from the now familiar grip of the past her conversation was lacking, she knew. When her refrigerator began to empty, through spoiling as much as from eating, she would grow in anxiousness with the impending visit. Had she gone out? Had she talked to anyone? Had she even worked? Wont you go here? Won't you consider this? She wasn't even sure that she was evading the questions anymore so much as not answering them entirely.
But she was relaxed tonight, her fridge was full. She had had a visit from her sister of all people the day before. This made the light rapping at her door all the more alarming but she rose to answer it nonetheless. She thought about how certain social customs were drilled into your head throughout life so well that you could carry them out without any conscious thought. She thought about this all the way to the door, which she opened slowly. When had it been raining? was her first thought as saw the wet man before her.
None of the misery he had seen before was with her now. Yet she was far from serene. He was put in mind of a long inactive volcano that shouldn't be discounted yet. He knew he would use reds and yellows tonight.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am." There was a slight smile around his eyes but she was more struck by the curiosity he didn't seem to be trying to hide.
She was 27. He looked too old to be calling anyone her age ma'am. She felt off balance for a reason she couldn't quite place. It was interest; she couldn't even recognize it. She hadn't had any, not in people, places, or things, for too long. When she realized she hadn't answered him she found her eyes fixed on his, as though she had not seen him until that moment. She could all but feel his reaction as she focused on him.
"It's fine." A pause as she searched for something further to say. "Can I do something for you?"
She was being awkward again. Why am I so wretched? Her mind often jumped about without letting her keep up and she would find herself unaware of where the conversation had gone in her absence. He seemed content to wait, however, while she came to the end of her thoughts. Who the hell is he? And her mind was off again, unaware that it had run away with itself.
"Well, perhaps, if I can persuade you to there is. But don't let that put you off."
He introduced himself simply and she found herself, once again, gliding unthinking through the customs until they both had each other's names and had shook hands.
Her self-enforced apathy kept her from wondering what this strange man wanted. It also kept her from worrying about herself and what he could do to her.
"I sit out, often, at night mostly on my roof. Clears my head of the day's accumulated crap. I've seen you during these times and I've come over to speak to you, finally."
His honesty or perhaps openness was startling and sparked another one of those wary energies in her. One where she felt her mind seize up and she lost any idea of how she was supposed to act. She felt a warning in her mind that left no room for reaction. She cursed it.
When she didn't respond he prodded, "Well, is that passable? May I come in? Or shall I concede that stalking is a crime and walk back down the hall?"
More unapologetic honesty and brashness. She could find no excuse to reject him or even the care to work one up. He had been forthright and seemed to want the same from her, so she would give it. Mentally, she shrugged.
"I can find no excuse to reject you, sir, do come in." She left him in the open door, somewhat stunned.
He followed her to a tidy room with couches and chairs and all the trimmings. Moderately yet inattentively decorated, it seemed to him. She slumped, gracefully somehow, to a couch.
"What is it you want with me?"
He honestly hadn't given sex a thought in connection to her until that moment, when he very nearly answered just so. It startled him; he hadn't felt that lurch in so long. It wasn't like he had tried to be celibate. After she was gone, he simply hadn't wanted the others that came along. He told his friends he was over her, yes I'm fine, no don't set me up. And he was, he felt sure. But he never felt that way. He hadn't really tried to but he hadn't tried to resist either.
A picture was forming in his mind. He hadn't even been aware of its conception until it was partially completed. He felt an awareness click into place as this new piece of his feelings surfaced. How had he been so blind to his own motives? Why hadn't he considered his reaction to her stunning beauty? It seemed he had forgotten he was male. Well, maybe he'd just been distracted from the fact. She had a way of reminding him.
"Wow, that's quite an invitation," he said. She sat up abruptly blushing with the image of herself in her own mind. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry, don't be offended. I sometimes speak without thinking. I have never really been able to help it, though I suppose I could try harder. Don't let it sour you to me, I beg forgiveness."
His ranting style hit home to her, in both its message and delivery. She was alarmed to feel a chuckle raise her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth. He saw the mirth. The fleeting ghost of cheer graced her sullen brow for a moment. But he was sold. He'd have to find another chance to make it come back.
"You're forgiven. No begging required today. But what is it you want...from me?"
"I was wondering if I might persuade you to spend some time with me?"
"Please be honest with me."
He nodded.
"Who sent you? My mother? Claire? Why?" Her voice slowly rose.
"No. I'm sorry, I don't know them."
