Sunday Morning
The golden, warm light of that summer morning was seeping in through the cracks in the drapes and was flooding small portions of my bedroom with light so that it was no longer possible for me to sleep. I awoke in a haze similar to every other morning, with a hot cup of coffee and some fried eggs on my mind. My stereo was softly beating out some Johnny Cash from the other side of the room as I began pulling myself together and pulling myself out from under the warm covers which were now completely disheveled, much like myself. I yawned and turned to face the other side of the mattress and my eyes were met with equally sleepy, soft blue eyes. The sight startled me. I did not immediately recall there being anyone in my bed other than me, but as I soaked up her shape in the morning light the pieces began to fall into place.
I didn’t remember much of the night before. I remember I had finished off that bottle of whiskey all by myself and despite that, I was feeling pretty good right about then. Man, this girl looked like someone poured heaven into one of my tank tops and a pair of black cotton briefs. I tried to focus. I tried. Nothing in my life has ever been so difficult. She was talking to me! What was she saying? I began to force myself back out of those shimmering blue wells and away from her soft, gently curving lips that at that moment looked promising, but certainly promised ruin. My ruin.
“…after last night. How did you sleep?” was all I caught. I thought it best to just answer the question and piece it together from there.
“Like a rock.” I replied, as her velvet soft hand ran along the side of my head and down to the back of my neck where it rested, like a jungle cat in a tree waiting for the prey below to make the wrong move. I couldn’t make the wrong move.
“Good.” she said, as she caressed my neck with her index finger. “I did too. I was soooo gone. I was a little tired when we got here, but you took the rest of my energy right out of me.”
“Did I?” I asked, seriously attempting to recall. Did we have sex? God, I hoped we had sex…
“Yeah, you did. I never expected all that from you.” she replied.
” Oh.” I said, reeling just a bit from what sounded, to me anyways, like a backhanded compliment. I must not have hid my perplexion well.
“Oh, no… it’s a good thing! A very good thing.” she responded, attempting to redeem herself. Of course, now I couldn’t determine whether she was being honest or not.
I looked past her to the clock on the bed stand. 8am. Shit. I had to be at work in an hour… and here I was with a gorgeous stranger in my bed who may or may not have been impressed with my prowess as a lover.
She caught me looking at the clock and sighed a little. I couldn’t tell if it was for me to hear or not, but I heard it nonetheless. She turned over.
“Oh, no! You’re fine.” I tried to explain, ” You can take your time. I just have to get moving. I am supposed to be at work in an hour.” It appeared to me that she thought I was trying to get rid of her. At least, that’s what I had discerned from her body language.
“It’s okay, really. I need to be going too.” she replied. I felt my heart hit the floor. I knew the tone. I knew I was losing her. I had to get her back. I wanted to wake up to those eyes every morning. In fact, I was quite stricken by her. There was something in her manner and in her appearance that suggested a promise of something greater than I was saw before me. I had to know what it was. Johnny was playing “Walk the Line” and I couldn’t help but notice the irony of the moment as I prepared to save myself and the situation.
“You should stay and have breakfast with me” I nearly pleaded. God, I didn’t mean it to come out that way. Of course, there was no taking it back. Much like when you mean to make a statement and the intonation of your voice makes it into an awkward question by ending on a high note.
“I can’t. I really need to go. I’ll call you sometime.” Her voice was growing more and more distant as she climbed out of the bed and began getting dressed.. I was about to lose her. I knew damn well she had no intent to call me. I’ve used that line enough times to know how it works. It’s sort of a polite way of saying, “Thanks for everything. You were good, but I can get better. Have a nice life”. It stung. My eyes were drawn to her. Something about women dressing and undressing is so very much like watching a ballet. It’s graceful and follows a tempo and it is a pleasure to watch the way the body moves; the shrug of the shoulders, the poised lifting of a leg, each movement carefully calculated to its purpose. I was lost. You could have told me I was sitting in the middle of Grand Central Station and I wouldn’t have second guessed you.
“Um, okay… sure.” I answered. My confidence was shattered and I was dying to have that moment back. The moment I discovered her next to me.
She was meticulously tidying herself up. Fastening buttons, hooking hooks, snapping snaps and connecting all the little bindings that it takes to hold women together. Then she began tying her long, golden hair back (as she ran her hands through it to collect it all the sun sang a symphony of gold and bronze as the light, which now was slightly whiter, reflected and refracted against her locks) and putting on little pieces of jewelry.
I got up and slowly went about my routine, checking on her frequently and seeing if she needed anything. Finally, it came time for her to leave. She was all done up and looking almost as good as I was sure she had looked the night before (some of the previous evening had returned to me, but there were still significant gaps). We crossed paths in the hallway and she caught me by the neck again and this time moved for the kill. She pulled me slowly but forcefully down toward herself and I was met with the warmth of those perfect pink lips. Bliss.
Then she pulled back and looked my right in the face with a slightly sad look in her eyes. I saw her lip quiver momentarily and in that moment I had hope. I hoped she would change her mind.
“Tell you what, you call me.” she said and cracked the slightest hint of a smile. I think my heart exploded. I was afraid this would happen. It always does. If I fall for you at all, then I let my whole self go- reserving nothing. I knew that with her I couldn’t afford to be too vulnerable. She was a master of her craft. She had to be in control. The mere perception of control wouldn’t be enough for her. She knew the difference and would settle for nothing less than anything and everything she wanted.
Still, I was exhilirated. I watched her saunter out the front door and my lungs nearly collapsed. Then it hit me:I had no idea who she was. I didn’t know her name. I checked my phone and there were no new numbers. Come to think of it… she was wearing my rings.
I began getting angry as I looked everywhere for some clue. A scratch piece of paper in my jean pockets. A business card. Something. Then I noticed her pearl earrings still sitting on the bedstand.
