All the People in the World

Chapter 9: A Place Beyond the Pines

I'm going to apologize now, to save time for us both later. You'll have to forgive me for this entire portion of the story. I am afraid I am going to come across quite vile. I don't mean to be. But someday maybe you too will meet someone who makes you absolutely feral and then you will understand.

You see, she had been right about the kiss. It had been a mistake. And yes, even after knowing it was a mistake I'm sure that I would have consensually (and rather enthusiastically) made it again and again. But still, a mistake.

It was a mistake because it had allowed her to get her venom into me. And there was no getting it out now. The kiss had released some sort of carnal monster in me and it was running rampant in my mind... and beyond. Now I noticed every little thing about her. Well, I had always noticed every little thing about her, but when I had noticed things which could be considered crude or lustful, I had been careful to dispel them. They were rare, and thus, manageable. I could spend my time focusing on her hair or her scent or the way she over pronounced her words when she was annoyed with me. I focused on the things of which my adoration was compiled of. But the kiss had awakened something and after that the crude thoughts became less rare and less easy to dispel. It was getting to be a real problem. When she wore tight jeans, mine had a tendency to feel tight as well. When she pushed her hair to one side, leaving her neck bare. Any time she raised her arms and her shirt lifted slightly, exposing her stomach. Any time her blouse slipped revealing a half centimeter more of her breast than she had intended. I was always there, lurking in the shadows, noticing and writhing.

I felt foul for doing it, but I couldn't help myself. It's like I'd suddenly become privy to the fact that she had a body that I could not only admire from a distance but also... well also I could touch it. I could hold it on a balcony and feel it release itself to me. I felt left out; like everyone else in the world had known about this and no one had kept me apprised.

And I can hear what you're thinking; you're thinking very loudly, I must say. No, this was not the first time I had been attracted to a woman in a physical sort of way. I was twenty five, decently social and moderately attractive. I had slept with a handful of women, a smaller handful than what was expected of me, but still a handful. No, this was not the first time I'd felt... concupiscent. But it was the first time I'd wanted to set myself on fire in someone's presence- just to put an end to the torture.

I was so deeply poisoned, even when the day was done and I could slink away to the safety of my room, she came to me in my sleep. Each night that week, always the same dream. She was in the yard, walking amongst the lemon trees, touching each one she passed. Her body was absent of clothing and her hair hung down, covering her breasts like those Mother Eve illustrations in Christian children's books. She would approach me, standing just beyond my lips. Every time I went to touch her, she was out of my reach. Then I'd wake to the need to change my underwear, tell myself I was sick several hundred times and return to bed. The whole thing was a nightmare.

She seemed oblivious of the torment I endured. She spent her days painting Nonna and the tree garden and anything that wasn't me. I would have given up all the people in the world to pose nude for her during those days. To hell with them... I don't mean that.

I also hadn't meant to upset her- that night when the Morettis were over for dinner. But to this day, I believe I can't be solely to blame. The whole evening would have gone over just fine if she hadn't worn that insidious yellow dress. I was playing piano for the Morettis' youngest child when I felt her enter the sitting room. I had turned, taking in all that she was. For the first time all that week she didn't look angry to have my eyes one her. I wondered if she'd forgiven me, or even better, if she wanted to make mistakes with me again. Had she worn the dress to tell me that. Then Mia, the Morettis' oldest, interrupted my inspection quite rudely and I was forced to go back to diddling on the piano. With my eyes off her, she swept through the room and left it, yanking my heart along with her. I felt cut off from my soul when she wasn't there. Just hands and arms and a heart beat with no passions because my only real passion was somewhere I wasn't... That's awfully dramatic... but does it make sense?