Hey readers! I haven't written in a while, but I've been wanting to try my hand at a perspective story. I've seen a few other writers do it and I love reading them. So after reading this one, make sure you check out Perspective: Hers.
As always, feedback and comments are welcome. Thanks for reading!!
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This was not what I wanted to be doing. Being the young man that I am, sitting amongst my grandmother and all her friends on a perfectly good Friday night was not what I wanted to be doing. Normally, I would have bowed out, but it was the first Valentine's Day since my grandfather died and that had been the argument that won my attendance to this couples dinner. My grandmother wanted to go very badly and she thought it'd be cute if her grandson took her.
Apparently the Valentine's Day dinner was a church tradition and everyone that attended my grandmother's church showed up. The dining hall was decked out in red and pink streamers, and littered with foil hearts and fake rose petals. My eyes wondered elsewhere and I noted all the awkward teen couples trying to dance and the middle aged families, mothers and fathers struggling to calm the results of their past Valentine's Days. It was a bit amusing to watch everyone meander about, desperately trying to force the romance that obviously wasn't there.
My grandmother, on the other hand, wasn't encountering any trouble while trying to have fun. On the arm of her newly favorited grandson, everything was just peachy. The seventy-three year old woman was having the time of her life reminiscing on past holidays with my grandfather and sharing all my baby stories with her elderly friends. I had wanted to go to a party tonight and maybe find some sweet little honey to be my valentine, but I was content after a while. It was good to see my grandmother laugh and smile again.
The night went on and the food was served. I wasn't very impressed with the lasagna, but the heart shaped brownies they gave us for dessert were delicious. I had just retrieved my third brownie from the dessert table when a man walked up to the podium sitting on the stage near the front of the hall.
"My, what a turn out we've had this year!" the man on stage exclaimed. "Firstly, I'd like to thank you all for coming. Valentine's Day is singled out from the rest of the year as a day where we admire and remember the loves we have shared throughout our lives. I think it's a beautiful thing to see all of you here sharing with one another and celebrating together."
I figured out that he was the minister for the church after a while. There was something about his love focused, huggy-feely tone of voice that gave it away. He almost made the holiday sound reputable. It was probably the first time since I was in middle school that I thought of the holiday as more than an excuse to have sex. I laughed to myself. No wonder this guy's congregation is so big, he's very convincing.
A wave of applause snapped me out of my thinking and I watched the man on the podium surrender his microphone to a younger couple. Then it hit me, they were going to sing. This had just gotten worse in my opinion. There's nothing sappier or cornier that putting feelings to song. I watched the couple holding hands and look into each other's eyes as they shared why this song meant to so much to them and their relationship. I couldn't tell if it was from the third brownie or this couple, but I was feeling a little ick.
I had turned to toss the rest of the brownie that was in my hand away when a white sweater sitting across the room caught my eye. It was tight and clung to the brunette that was wearing it. The buttons held to their designated loops while the surrounding fabric stretched, compensating for the bust that lie beneath. Below the sweater was a black pencil skirt that outlined the hips, butt, and legs of the woman I instantly longed for. I watched the legs walk up to the stage area and sit behind a piano. Her hands gracefully fell to the keys and produced the most angelic sound I've ever heard. Suddenly, the idea of a song wasn't so bad.
Before this got out of hand, I ran back to the table and leaned in to interrogate my grandmother. I hadn't lived in the same town as my grandmother in ages and I'd never attended church or any church functions. I had an instant need for additional information. "Nan? You see that girl on the piano?" She nodded, still watching the couple sing their hearts out. "Tell me about her."
My grandmother seemed entranced by the song, but she tore herself away to look into the lustful eyes of her grandson. "That's Maxine, but everybody around here calls her Max."
I smiled and looked back up at my soon-to-be beauty still stroking the keys. "What else do you know about her, Nan?"
"Well, let's see," my grandmother pursed her lips and I could tell she was thinking. "I'm pretty sure she's twenty-one. She's a manager at a shoe store in the next town over and she gives piano lessons on the weekends."
"Nan!" I glared back at my grandmother. She was old, sure, but she had to know what was going on. The grin on her face was betraying her.
"And she's single," she smirked back at me. My grandmother laughed a bit and joined in with the applause as the whole dining hall clapped, wishing the couple who had now stopped singing, well done.
I sunk back in my chair and watched Maxine. She waited contently as the next performer made their way to the stage. Even from where I was standing, I could see how soft and inviting her hair would be for my fingers. My hands itched in my pockets wanting to tangle them within her chestnut colored waves. It was in a bun for now, but that was fine because I would very much enjoy helping her dissemble it. I have a thing for hair.
I watched her porcelain legs as they gracefully lay beneath the piano. Her right calf flexed every time she peddled the suspended notes and I was smitten. To have those legs beneath my fingertips, beneath my lips, would be amazing. I'd go slow with her and take the time to kiss every inch of her, dragging my lips along her smooth skin. Ugh, and to think of how those legs would look wrapped around my waist. I have a thing for legs.
There seemed to be and endless amount of performers and I was content to sit back and watch Max accompany each and every one of them. She was the same for each one, too. Every person that graced that stage got her undivided attention. She had a stack of music in front of her, but it went ignored. Her dark green eyes were in constant contact with her performer and she followed their every notion. What a pleasure it would be to have those eyes look up at me and grant me the same undivided attention. I guess I have a thing for eyes, too.
The night grew older and they eventually ran out of performers. Everyone was having a wonderful time socializing and catching up, but there were little people there past nine. I snuck out to drive my grandmother home, but raced back to the church in hopes of catching Max. I nearly ran back into the dining hall and there she was, up on the piano, fiddling with the keys once more. It looked like most everyone had left, but by some great spurt of luck, she had stayed.
Slowly I walked up to the piano, careful not to scare her. I hadn't a clue what her fingers were doing to the ivory beneath them, but I knew that I loved it. The piece she was playing was slow and terribly romantic. I had already begun imagining curling her into me while we lay together in bed, using the song she was playing as inspiration. What had gotten into me? For some odd reason this lady had captivated me in a way no other woman has ever managed, and she didn't even know.
I stood at the edge of the stage and barely whispered, "Whatcha playing?"
I felt like a goof, but she didn't seem to notice. Without any hesitation or hiccups in her playing she responded, "Nocturne in F sharp major. It's Chopin."
"It's nearly as beautiful as you." I smiled as her fingers fumbled for half a second and her eyes opened wide in astonishment. I was pleased.
I could see her flip through a variety of expressions just beneath the surface. Her brow scrunched together but would immediately stretch out while her sweet lips pursed. She chewed in the side of her cheek for a bit and I could tell she was thinking everything through. "I don't believe we've met," she finally spoke.
"And yet, I'm fascinated with you," I sighed, filled with admiration for her. She immediately stopped playing and turned on the bench to look at me. I decided to try and charm her, so I made a show of extending my hand towards her and bending at the knee, much like you would see the actors do in the historical movies when they approached royalty. "My name, your highness, is Geoff, and what might I call you?"
The corners of her mouth turned upwards in a helpless smile. "You may call me Max, for my name is Maxine." She played right along and set her right hand in the palm of my left.
Our little game continued and just as they do in the movies, I held her fingers and brought them to my mouth for a kiss. "My fair Max, what marvelous talent you have. You have won my heart entirely at the grace of these magnificent fingers."
"Oh really?" she giggled back at me. "Such a strange thing to love my fingers. Are you quite sure you love them?"
"Don't you already know, your highness? Surely you can feel my love for you," I gave her a shocked look of mock hurt and bent a knee on the small stage so that I may pull her hand over my heart. Although charming on the surface, my heart was pounding beneath my chest, and her touch didn't help much. I had guided her wrist to my chest but it didn't take her long to start moving on her own volition. She traced tiny figure eights with her index finger and each loop made my temperature rise.
She faked a look of concern. "Whatever should we do, my lord? I fear your poor heart cannot take much more."
"Tis but one thing to do, my lady," I stepped up the rest of the way on the stage. "You must continue playing until I am affected no longer."
