Finding Eden

17

The days were longer and the sun set later and I felt emancipated from the suffocating blanket that was winter. Fort Greene had more children littered about the benches and the ice cream shop still stood on its corners. A cranberry sorbet sat in my hand and my lips tingled with glacial nostalgia.

Burning fingers laced onto mine and a thumb stroked the back of my hand. I peered up at him and smiled tentatively. His hair glowed in the backlight of the sun and his eyes turned dark in the shadow of the bridge of his nose. I pushed the paper cup into his free hand, disentangled mine from his and swung my legs with just a bit too much force. He was a nice concept, like dancing in the rain or sucking on a popsicle in the middle of February and there was nothing I needed more than a concept.

"Are you thinking about-"

"No."

I tugged at a knot in my hair. It still had that bluntness, that freshness, at the ends and the tips that you were gifted with a pair of scissors. My mind had little to recall or recognise and in realisation, my world had been separated into before and after, black and white. Spring sat like a giant gift-wrapped box on the corner of my shoulders and my face had lost its colors.

"C'mon. Let's go," he tugged on my hair softly and I quivered at the act of affection.

"Are you taking me to the studio?"

"Where else would you rather have it?" he laughed.

My schedule was split between home and my second home and my aunt grew worrisome that routine grew in my body rather than my bones but I had only kissed her temple and told her to leave some flowers for me. The ache in my ankle diminished with every movement I made on my pointes and so did the one in my heart. I never really noticed it before but it became glaringly obvious the day I set foot back in this place I called home.

He was waiting outside the entire time, having finished his own practice, and humming a Liszt concerto. It seemed that constantly, music lived in between his ears. He stuck his hands in his pockets and offered to shoulder my materials bag—which I declined wholeheartedly. On the ride back we listened to our own separate playlists. My body slumped against his and the bump in my day righted itself.

The pavement glistened under the sinking sun and the air passing through my nose told me that it was my favourite time of the day.

"I think I'm going to the townhouse tomorrow," I said, "I'm missing a few CDs."

He walked thoughtfully beside me—if one could do so—and asked, "Why don't you use my library?"

"Because, mister, you don't hold all of the greatest masterpieces."

"Is that so? Care to enlighten me?"

"Well, first of all, you have all the greats but they're all the wrong editions. Also, you don't like-"

"Okay. I will admit to the first point but not the second. It doesn't resonate with me and you can't bend me with your iron fist."

"I don't have an iron fist," I retorted to which he laughed, infectious and melodious. It would be an injustice to describe it as anything but and I despised it sometimes, when all he could receive from me was a cold shoulder.

"I know, baby, I know."

"But in all seriousness, I really feel that I need to go."

"Yeah?"

"I feel it in my bones. Like a woman," I said. His eyes crinkled at my straight face.

"I'm due at the café anyways so I wish you luck in your endeavours. But tonight you're staying with me," he replied, twirling his fingers in my hair again. It didn't tangle and it didn't tug.

"What if I don't want to?"

"Well, Eden," his voice dropped low, "all your bras are with me."

"I don't need them anyway," I declared but put up an arm around his waist. "I hope you enjoy them too," I added.

He turned and tipped my chin up and I'm granted one last dive into his cerulean eyes before his lips enveloped mine. It lasted a glorious while before I became aware that we were in clear view so I wriggled out of his embrace and run up the steps to his apartment building. He kissed my neck as I was unlocking the door and we decided to order out instead of make dinner. It was comfortable with him—a feeling of normalcy I've wanted since the beginning of the year. It felt nice not having a bonfire light my insides every time we touched.

And at night, the opening of my ribs constricted and whether I would be comforted depended on whether Charles slept before or after I did. And I learned that some aspects will never go away, even when you have a visa to travel the globe, and will always be that consoling embrace that is called home. But it's better now, said my therapist.