It is the middle of the stillest Texas night. The stars are bright. The enormously full November moon is high in the sky, and outside looks like black-shadowed silver painted day. In a small bedroom in a small apartment, I lie next to a sleeping woman. My mind is racing, churning, thinking, and fighting with my heart. I care for Kaye. She is my lady and we have been together a while, but we are really a mistake, an accident of passion and circumstance. I wouldn't hurt her for the world, but what we have is fading inevitably, like leaves on an oak in autumn, before the north winds arrive.
In the other bedroom of this small cool apartment is another sleeping woman, Kaye's roommate. I have known her for a long time. Mary was my friend before Kaye. Mary was my running buddy, debate partner, workout opponent and confidante. Mary would spend hours with me in the fencing salle, making me riposte and counter, and counter again, honing my blade-work while I prepared for a tournament, and then would split the gas to get there, and encourage me always. Mary, who one night became my lover and on another told me she loved me, when we were both too tired and too drunk to lie. I lacked the courage to believe her words, and embarrassed by them, I denied anything but our friendship. One night soon after, she introduced me to her friend Kaye, and I seized her like a drowning man might a floating life ring. Kaye was proof to the world, and to me most of all, that I did not want Mary.
The days wear into weeks and months and finally years. Mary and I still run together, and spar together. Kaye and sometimes I double-date with her and her guy of the week. These men never seem to last long. I am always surprised-can't they see just how wonderful she is? She is sweet and loving, sexy and smart, strong and athletic, the perfect woman. How can they be so blind? What man could be so stupid as to walk away from that?
Finally, I know the truth. I have lied to myself and to the world. I never let on, I cannot. Mary and I are just friends, as we have been, forever, but my heart is on fire for her. I would give my left arm to turn back the clock, and have her lying next to me, tonight, tomorrow night, the next night and the next. I am on fire for her-her touch, her kisses, her love, body and soul. I lie there next to her best friend, next to my lady. I am sweating in the cool house, heated by my passions, made miserable by my own foolishness and pride.
After an age of turmoil, an eon of doubt, I sit up, slowly. Carefully, my feet find the floor, and I ease out of bed, very, very quietly. I know that Kaye is hard sleeper. I have no idea what I am doing, but I cannot believe that even now, I am doing this, whatever it is. Standing beside our bed, I look at the sleeping woman. Just enough of the silver light seeps through the partially closed blinds that I can see her rounded cheek, the familiar pout on her lips, the unruly brown hair. I look and ponder for a long moment, and then turn away.
I slowly shuffle across the room to the open door, and then out into the hall. I slide my feet carefully through the carpet, crossing the hallway near the stair joist so there is no creak from the floor.
I can scarcely breathe. I keep moving, in dread of any noise, and then I am at the door of Mary's room. I gaze in. The window blinds are open, and moonlight spills into the room. Her short-cut hair, tousled and free, the color of fairy gold, glints on the pillow. I enter the room and then stop and just stare at her. Her face is so very familiar. The curve of her cheek and the bow of her lips are known to me, intimately. I have kissed her neck, and nuzzled her ears, and caressed her cheek. I have seen her laugh and cry and smile and sing. I have held her in the throes of passion and in the depths of despair. Here and now, though, she is so peaceful, and her beauty amazes me. She stirs a bit in her sleep. I notice that the sheet covers her to her neck, but her breasts are visible under the fabric, moving gently as she breathes. What am I doing here?
Slowly, slowly, I move until I stand right next to her at the head of her bed. I watch her sleep for a long time, an age. I can hear the downstairs clock tick. Once it chimes, and I jump. I am feeling foolish and impassioned and a bit scared, so many conflicting emotions run through my head. I am on fire for her, though, and so I remain, transfixed.
