Don't Look Back

Chapter 9 - Sylvia

October 2018
Bochum, Germany

While Ian gives his talk, I listen with bated breath not only to his deep, confident baritone but also to the meaning behind every word. With that piercing dark gaze, he looks through the camera lens--straight at me--as though we're talking over drinks. My heart flutters as he teaches me new ideas, showing me connections between art and science that I'd never considered possible.

Sure, he addresses the whole audience, but it feels almost personal.

My cheeks are flushed. It's like I can't get enough air in my lungs. As I stare at his lips, I desperately want to kiss him. Which is ridiculous because I haven't met him in person in over eight years. Social media, sure. I've scrolled through his profile more times than I care to admit, but that's not nearly the same as sharing thoughts and feelings. Sharing the same space. 

It isn't intimate. Social media is cold. Impersonal. It feels like there's an invisible wall with a whole host of etiquette and social conventions I don't quite understand.

If only we could talk this evening!

It's already midnight, though, my time at least. For him it's only dinnertime. Tomorrow I have to teach several morning classes, so I need to be compos mentis. That means not staying awake until four in the morning discussing the intricacies of science and the arts.

So we've agreed to postpone our meeting until tomorrow.

While I'm teaching the next day, time zips past at the speed of light. But once I alight the train and allow myself to fall into daydreams, one hour drips into the next as slowly as melting wax.

Until it's finally eleven at night.

As usual, Ian is five minutes early for our meeting.

Sure, we start off texting about music and mathematics, but our minds run away with us, chasing one tangent after the next. The effortless juggling of ideas. Just like it used to be when we were together. Flitting like butterflies from one concept to the next.

It doesn't take long before Ian decides to take things to the next level.

Ian: Would you like to turn on audio? Or video?

Ian: It would be so much easier than typing.

Damn it! It's past midnight, but I can't seem to help myself.

"How about audio?" I ask after clicking the little microphone.

Once Ian returns the favor, his deep baritone almost melts me. "Yes, can you hear me?"

Oh, dear Lord! Damn straight I can...with every part of my body.

With a simple sentence, Ian lights my heart and soul on fire. All the emotions I've hidden from him--from myself--for so long rush to the forefront of my mind. My soul burns as much for him now as it did all those years ago.

And it scares the crap outta me.

"Sylvia?" he asks.

"Oh, yes!" I say, breathless. "Yes, I can hear you."

He chuckles. "God, it's been so long since I heard your voice."

"Do I sound different?"

"No, you sound exactly the same." He pauses. "Maybe a bit more...mature?"

"Mature?"

"Your pitch isn't as high as it used to be."

"Really?"

He hums in reply. "And you have a slight German--" He pauses. "Not an accent, but a cadence, perhaps? Slightly more clipped. Precise."

I chuckle. Always the analytical type.