Wishing That You Would Be Here

Chapter 7- My Hand In His

*Christine*

I was so sorry for poor Erik. I didn't know why he was locked in the cage. He was the sweetest boy ever. I visit him each evening and talk to him leaning against the painted caravan walls. I could feel his warmth through the door and his beautiful voice was surrounding me in the cold fall night. I didn't see him, but instead I imagined how he the kind boy might look.

I imagined him as the Angel of Music. One night, I asked him a question. "May I unwind the curtain on your caravan?"

Silence took over for a few minutes until he asked in reply. "Why, my dear Christine?" His shaking voice echoed silently in the moonless night.

"I want to see you. I want to know what you look like. I want to touch your hands. You're the kindest person I have met."

"And you are too. But you can't see me...because you would regret every night you have spent on my threshold, for I am a monster that belongs to hell." I couldn't believe what he was saying. This boy, which had much more kindness than the whole gypsy camp, thinks he is the exact opposite of what he is.

"I promise I won't. Please Erik."

"Fine" he said his voice a lot more bitter. I moved to the curtain and opened it so I could see.

It was dark, but I saw his skeletal frame lined with scars in the darkness. He came closer to the curtain, his golden eyes glowing in the dark. He reached out to me his bony hand with long thin fingers. I placed my hand in his and a feeling of comfort and warmth surrounded me. I saw a tear drip from his eye "I have not deserved such beauty." His voice trembled and he pulled away his hand.

"I must go. My papa's not feeling well."

"Have a beautiful night." Erik said his eyes smiling at me.

"Have a good night too," I said as we touched one last time before I closed the curtain.