Michael and Me - 1983 (ON HOLD)

1.7 - Wide awake in dreamland (pt. 1)

" ... At the end of the day, you will remember not the person with the most beautiful face, but the person with the most beautiful soul." -- Unknown

Sunday, March 20th, 1983 (continued)

          He had slid his arm over her shoulders, giving her a gentle, compassionate squeeze as they continued to look up into the sky for a moment or two longer.  The whole moment seemed very surreal to him -- not that he was questioning what he'd just seen, or what he'd experienced up to that point; he'd learned a long time ago that life was so much more than what you could see right in front of you, and accepted all of it for what it was.  What he was questioning was reality itself, a part of him still wondering if this was a dream he hadn't woken from.

           He looked at her with genuine empathy and compassion in his voice and in his eyes, "Are you going to be okay?"

           She leaned against him for a moment and he squeezed her tighter as she nodded.  He noticed her eyes seemed so much clearer, her smile so much brighter as she looked into his eyes.

           "I think so." She replied with a quiet confidence.  And she knew ... in that moment, that everything was going to be okay, that she was going to be okay.

           And he believed her, seeing a strong sense of stillness and peace in her eyes that he'd not seen up to that point, a look that drew him even deeper into her whole, beautiful being, and he forced himself to look away after only a few moments lest he get hopelessly and completely lost inside her, although he had more than a sneaking suspicion that he was already there.  Staring blankly into the flames, he felt his mind begin to wander, drifting in and out across the conversations and laughter going on all around him, his own thoughts appearing like smoke from the flames, first to intertwine with, then drift above the conversations and laughter and music, dissipating as they were absorbed into the ether...

           They'd leaned against the log again, sort of cozying up to one another, her studying him closely as he took a long drink of his beer.  Although he was physically sitting right next to her, he had a distant look in his eyes, subtle as it was, and she had the distinct feeling he wasn't quite all the way there.

           "You?" She asked quietly.  When he looked at her questioningly she added, "Going to be okay? You took a lot in tonight, it can be kind of overwhelming for those who aren't used to ... the world I walk in."

           He didn't answer her right away, instead finishing off what was left of his beer and took a couple of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting both of them before offering one to her.  He wasn't used to that, someone asking how he was -- not beyond the superficial pleasantries that one usually exchanges with another.  What he really wasn't used to was someone having a genuine interest in how he really  felt, in what was really  going on behind the mask he wore every day; in someone having a genuine interest in him.  He fought with all the willpower he had against his natural instinct to withdraw emotionally and put his guard up, his head and his heart battling it out within him, finally making the conscious decision that he would leave himself open -- and vulnerable -- and with an almost blind faith he decided to take that giant leap into the unknown.  He then wondered why he was even having that battle to begin with, why he would even have to make that conscious decision to leave himself open to her.  He knew he loved and trusted her deeply -- and that she felt the same way for him, that he had so willingly given her his heart and she would treat it as the fragile thing that it was.  He also knew with every fiber of his being that she was truly the one and the only one he ever wanted to be with. He smiled inwardly when it suddenly hit him, what he was doing.