I refilled my coffee mug and walked back on to my porch, my mind lingering on Natasha and that night years ago. I remember entering her little house that night, it was late, she lived in a small cottage on a lake in the suburbs of Lake Oswego, it was neatly kept, everything white washed, sparse comes to mind. I remember thinking that night as I walked to her kitchen to pour us both a glass of wine that the place didnβt suit her, I had always imagined her home to be filled with rich colors, sultry hues, heavy dark wood furniture, thick soft chenille throw blankets to curl up with on a plush leather sofa the would have been worn with age. Closing my eyes now to the gently morning breeze, I see myself walking through her home, she had lit a few candles in the living room, slid a cd into her stereo, an old Kate Bush song whispered out to me.
I set my wine glass down on a glass top table and walked to the small porch, throwing the french-doors open, letting the warm night air in, hints of lavender swam around me, a crescent silhouette of the moon shimmered on the lake, its silver beams lighting its way around the calm water.
I knew she was next to me even before her hand intertwined with mine, our fingers locking. I looked over at her, admiring her timeless beauty, she had washed her stage make up off, her face fresh and clean, her long hair hung loose around her shoulders, she wore an old pair of cut off Levi shorts that frayed slightly around the hem, and a fitted white cotton t-shirt, her feet were bare. I watched as she inhaled the sweetness of the night air and then she simple turned to me and smiled. A smile I had never seen on her lips before this night, there wasnβt a hint of her usual naughty wickedness to be seen, but a warmhearted genuine smile. That one moment sent my heart plummeting to the tips of my toes.
I fought to catch my breath, noticing I was doing that a lot around her, it amazed me still, how a simple look from her could bring something as natural as breathing to a trembling halt.