Sweet Adaline

Chapter Ten

It was an early week in October when he wrote his song for her. And that afternoon he met her at their secret sandy island in the sea of green. His Gibson acoustic strapped to his young and prideful back, he approached like a mirage down the field in the cool dry autumn afternoon. He was a boy no taller than five and a half, and had no swagger to his stride. His pale skin glowed beneath dark hair, in the soft sunlight. He beamed brighter as he stepped into the stand. Adaline waited elated. Feet crossed, she idled on her swing. She couldn't stop smiling, and soon neither could he.
He sat on the rubberized grate of the three-tier jungle gym. As he closed his eyes to focus, Adaline grew more excited. She wanted to whisper, "I like you", but couldn't.
First it began with simple arpeggio. Adaline sunk into her swing, entranced by the notes pouring gently successively, out of the sound hole and into her soul. No one had ever made anything for her before.
When his lips moved, the notes became harmonious. They were soft, plush, and they were kissing her with spirited lyrical velvet. He began to strum.
Wave after wave, heightened by every moment less than seconds she stared and she stammered in thoughts from the pure arousing drug of each expression he made. His eyes were lost in the song, where his heart was hung on her name. And the only thing not captured by the charge from his song, were his inviolable fingers that danced across the strings. His eyes met Adaline's, and he strummed harder to climax and belted his professions with infallible certainty until there were no more notes to play.
She began to swing because was too confounded to speak, so he joined her nervously.
They sat on swings side by side, his guitar on its back in the sand, silent as they. She smiled like he'd never witnessed and he glided in the utopia of it. He'd never used words the way he just did. It was a promise and it felt so right. She said nothing and never had to. She simply swung in utopia.
She swung higher and higher. A wild sun was burning in her heart, and she gave wind to it. She leapt off, free to soar, to be the bird, adored. And descended into the sand and ran. Across the field, her legs were liberated from human lethargy. This was her "some day" when some man would come say the perfectly right thing and she would know just what he meant by it. No second guessing it. On this auspicious afternoon, her heart soared and her spirit sang. She'd never near imagined it was something real. But the notes were real and he was real. This was her some day, and she stopped and wondered, why was she running away? When she turned back to look, he was right there behind and took her off her feet and into his strong arms. She kissed him hard with absolute devotion.
Her stomach was as weak and swimming just as if she still was still descending from her swing. He held her close in his arms and their lips parted for a moment. His eyes were stars in sapphires that dove inside her where she flew, unhidden by physicality. She was naked as a planet past its atmosphere. He saw past the body that held its spirit captive, and again he kissed her deeply, making love to her in the essence.
She had hundreds of words and none of them suited that moment she shared with him there on that cloud in the park. Adaline let go. She gave herself to Foster, unmitigated and defenseless and it was too exhilarating not to be real. Her head spun as fast as her heart raced, adrenaline coursing through her brain. Adaline was overcome with the fright of desperation, and threw her arms around him tighter than an iron embrace.
"Don't leave me." She said. But it wasn't to him she spoke it to, or herself, as much as it was to the moment. It was that perfect afternoon she begged not to escape her. It was the only thing she knew to be perfect. She knew it because she was in it, feeling these seconds that were hers. The only green leaves on an otherwise dying tree. "Just don't leave me."
"I'll always be yours Adaline." He said, and leaned his head against hers and held her close with his promise. Their hearts beat against each others, syncopating for a second and then skipping out of rhythm. He pulled her close at the waist. Locks of her espresso silk ran cool, across his neck. That feeling was love. Cinnamon: a scent that had enticed him for as long as he could remember sweetened her hair. Every time he caught in the air, he'd smile and clamor through his oldest of recollections in search of that moment he first smelled it, tasted it. It was so euphoric that he had to know why. There, holding tight and soft was his answer. Butterflies burst into stirred excitement inside him, and he continued to smile without restraint.
She nestled her head in the soft curve of his neck, infinitely safe. She kept her eyes closed, blocking out the world around them. The imperfect trees with their broken branches and scarred trunks. The inconstant sky with its unsteady breezes. None of it was worthy of their moment on this cloud in the universe.