Our First Date
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Your chestnut hair shone red and gold in the afternoon sun. I took a moment to savor the beauty. Your fingers curled pale against the deep green of the grass, your hand up by the curve of your cheek. You reminded me of one of those 1940s portraits where the female subject reclines provocatively on a chaise lounge for the artist to preserve her beauty with oils on canvas. A warmth filled my chest, an immense sense of pride that you were here. With me. I'd only met you properly for the first time this morning. Of course, I knew you before then. I knew how you took your coffee before I knew your name. Savannah. I was surprised when you told me. How something with such potent beauty and richness could be named after something so dry and barren. Poetic maybe? Considering our current situation. I would sit at my usual spot in the café and watch you burst through the door. You never noticed me. You'd make straight for the counter, slide onto a stool, and order your usual black coffee and one poached egg on toast. This morning, I watched you spoon one sugar into your coffee. You gave it a stir, then lifted the mug to your painted lips. I imagined my thumb pressed to those lips and smearing the lipstick as your eyes looked into mine – eyes of a warm chocolate brown, so full of life. After that first sip, I knew you'd place the mug back on the counter and heap another teaspoon of sugar in. You always did. Your little ritual amused me. The blackbird's dirge from atop the Hawthorn brought me back to the present, and I brushed a lock of hair from your face, leaned forward, and placed a kiss on those cherry-red lips. My mother always told me that someone like yourself would never look twice at me. Thoughts of her always stirred mixed emotions within me. She was instrumental to the person I would become, and for that, I was grateful, but the steady stream of belittlement and inventive punishments made her difficult to love. She'd taught me to be harder. To stick up for myself. The sun was strong today, and there was already a foul stench in the air. I wiped the sweat from my brow and continued with my labors. This morning, I'd left my seat from the back of the café and approached the counter, taking the vacant stool next to you. My heart was beating like a drum. You were still waiting for your food to arrive. I signaled to the waitress and ordered black coffee and poached egg on toast. You hadn't yet looked at me, but I noticed your eyes flick in my direction, your long lashes hiding those big brown irises. When my coffee arrived, I helped myself to a teaspoon of sugar from the pot next to you. I saw your head turn ever so slightly, watching my movements. Tasting the coffee, I wondered how anyone could have it black. I heaped in more sugar. Feeling the warmth of your eyes on me, I glanced over at you, and a spark of excitement ignited within me. I smiled. You smiled back. "I always try to get away with just one sugar," I said. "But it just tastes so much better with two." Your cheeks colored as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. My eyes traveled the length of your neck to follow the flush that had crept up it; then I found your eyes again. "Have I seen you here before?" I asked. "No, I mean, yes." You laughed. "I mean, maybe. I'm here all the time, but I've never seen you before." Your head was inclined, and you played with your hair. Your shyness was intoxicating. It gave you a delicate, childlike quality, in direct contrast to your bold red lipstick. You were something of an oxymoron. A riddle. Just like your name. "Hi, I'm Nick." "Savannah." You caught your lower lip between those astonishingly-white teeth – despite your love of coffee. Twenty minutes later, we left the café together. I told you I knew of a nice spot where we could sit in the sun. And now here we were, in my garden, and it was already late afternoon. My mother was wrong. The Virginia Creeper that she'd planted twenty years ago had now wrapped itself around the old cottage, choking the masonry. The glistening crimson leaves, as vibrant as the rhododendron that bloomed upon her grave. I stroked a finger along your bare arm, relishing the feel of your smooth skin. I remembered an old story of a king who was mesmerized by the unicorns in the land. He coveted their beauty and used ancient magic to summon a fiery fae creature to drive all the unicorns into his sea so he could stand at the window of his castle, watch the waves, and see their beauty. It would always be his to enjoy whenever the need arose. The sweat stung my eyes. I speared the ground with the shovel and brought up one more load of dirt. Wiping my face on my sleeve, I climbed out of the hole. That would do. I took one last look at you. Your lips were already turning purple, the blue undertone showing up beneath the red paint. Then I dragged your body and rolled it over the lip of the hole. You landed heavily. Your eyes stared up at me, now milky and vacant. As I heaped the dirt on top of you, I stole a glance over at the patch of grass to my right by the rhododendron. See mum? You were dead wrong. When I had finished, I sat down on the lawn with a silly smile on my face, content that I would always have my prize right here to enjoy whenever the need arose. I felt like a king. |
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