DISCLAIMER: Nothing to disclaim - it's a uber.
CLAIM: STORY IS MINE AND MINE ALONE! :P
NOTE: This has been inspired by several people. Mostly Cirroco, TJ and RalSt.
She is home.
Earlier than I expected her to be.
I thought I had more time.
Hastily I hang up the phone, shutting down the computer just in time as she enters the room. My angel bestows me with a godly smile and I get up to greet her. But she is faster and catches me in her arms as I move out of the chair.
"How was your day, baby?"
I don't have the time to answer because I feel her lips on mine immediately. I hate it when she does that. I love it when she does that. It's a deep, gentle but promising kiss. No matter how my day was, when she kisses me like that it's a wonderful day. She kissed me like that every day, so I guess I'm having a wonderful life.
The kiss breaks but she still holds me tight. I look into her eyes and as so often I ask myself what I ever did to deserve such love. I look at her and my heart swells, coming close to bursting in my chest. She calls me beautiful all the time, but when I look at her I see not only beauty but perfection. She is my angel, a beautiful soul in a beautiful shell, a being that speaks to all my senses. She is able to raise my desire with just one word or a move, be it a flick of her wrist, the sway of her hips or... just the look in her eyes as they travel across my chest.
I feel very lucky to have won her heart. But sometimes that depresses me. Me and my life will never be enough to give her what she deserves in return. She deserves perfection, all I am is imperfection. Her love makes me beautiful. She shines for both of us - I feel desired, loved and cared for. And I feel selfish in my eagerness to try and give her what she wants and needs, knowing full well that I will never be able to give her that. I should let her go, give her the chance to find someone more appropriate, someone who is everything I could never be. I should let her go. But I can't. I love her with all I am and have. But more than that I need her. I would die if she ever left me. I may be still walking these grounds, but I'd be dead. Just like I was before she happened.
She looks at the dark computer screen and frowns. The slight movement pulls me from my thoughts. I feel guilty.
"I thought you have to work so much today? You didn't have to shut down the computer just because I'm home."
She gives me a wink and a lascivious grin.
I swallow when I realize what I'm about to do. I will lie to her. I know I will because I have to. This wasn't planned to go this way. She wasn't supposed to be home so early. I never lied to her. Never. And now I have to. I force a smile on my face and suddenly I'm feeling sick. Not lucky, not loved, - sick.
"I - I was surprised that you're already home. I know you want- you're used to- when... well -" A kiss. No kiss. Just a peck. But still. It shuts me up. My angel doesn't even allow me to lie. I want to cry, to run, hide - just bury myself in the deepest, darkest earth hole I can find. Unfortunately there is none anywhere near.
"Shhh. Don't. I understand. But don't worry. I came home a bit earlier because I *wanted* to surprise you. I thought we'd change the roles for one evening and I'll be the one making dinner - I even went to the grocery..."
No. This can't be. How can she be like that? How can she be such a sweet angel and what is this heavenly creature doing in my living room?
"You just go back to your freaky computer stuff and I'll barricade myself in the kitchen. And I don't want to see you there until dinner is ready." She laughs and a second sun seems to rise. "Well, or there is an emergency call ..." Now the smile turns into a grin and she winks again. It's contagious and I can't stop myself from mirroring that grin. She leans in to whisper into my ear. "You knooow...," her hot breath tickles my skin and I shudder, even more so as her finger travels from my other ear down the side of my throat to the collarbone. "... how hungry it makes me to cook for you."
I'm close to fainting. Ready to die right here. Being with her means to build up a debt I'll never be able to pay back. Not in twenty thousand lifetimes.
"Hey, today is Tuesday, don't you have rehearsal tonight?"
"No, Jeff and sent me home to you, said I should take care of my woman. Seems like there will be a new play on the plan soon and they need to coordinate the preparations."
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Dear God, whoever, wherever and how many you maybe, thank you. Jeff is the conductor of the orchestra and the theatre's choreograph. My angel plays occasionally clarinet in the theatre's orchestra and every Tuesday the guest musicians have an extra meeting. They sent her home. That can only mean one thing. Everything is settled for tomorrow. This was the sign and now that I have it some of my faith returns. Just before she got home I tried to reach several people to cover all eventualities, should the original plan not work. But it seems as if everything will be just the way I wanted it to be.
"They just sent you home?" She nods. I grin.
"You have it with you?" She grins.
"The painstick?" I nod. She laughs. "Yeah. I'll never understand how you can love it so much while everybody else seems to run when I start to put it together."
I love to listen to her music. She masters this instrument. She calls it her painstick because its sad but beautifully wailing and lamenting sound makes people cry. I never heard anyone else play as wonderfully as she does. She truly plays it with her heart. It's the voice of her soul and my own heart seems to dance to this music. I lose myself over this sound.
"No one runs when you play. They all listen in awe. They love it when you play. And so do I. So... will you play for me tonight?"
"Yeah, but only if you return to your work now and let me make dinner. We wouldn't want your unmusical stomach to ruin the performance...
Now I have to protest.
"I don't - "
"Oh yes you do. Now sit down, play nice and wait until I call you."
With that she shoves me into the chair, then turns around to leave the room. I stare after her, noticing and wondering how her body moves in such female lithe grace when she spends 6 days a week with a rough gang of mechanics working at a Rover-garage. It's amazing. One evening she plays in the orchestra romantic ballet music, the next day she disassembles a Mini in one hour 45 minutes. The guys are proud of her. I'm just amazed. She is so much, can do so much, knows so much. And here I am, a small light by her side. A candle she lit. She already fought for her life, fought her way through life, when I was still asleep. She woke me from my sleep. Involuntarily, unknowingly. Her words touched my soul and I fell in love when I opened my eyes and saw her. I just don't know what made her fall in love with me. I'll never know and never understand. I can only be thankful.
What is she up to?
It's Valentine's Day and here I stand, blindfolded, in the middle of a large room where every step causes a multiple echo. She must have great plans for tonight. 'Dress pretty,' she had said and her voice was a bit lower than normal. Great plans. And all I gave her was a book. Yeah, yeah a special book but anyhow. Will a leather bound first edition of Swinburne's poetry be enough? I'm in for something big. I know it.
I try to be her. Try to be logic. She is a programmer. What programs
does she write? All and everything. Telephone systems, navigation
systems, lighting... LIGHTING. Oh yeah, I love it when she is assigned
to program the lighting for a new play. Our dress rehearsal nights are
rare, but certainly high-lights of our life together. I can't help it
but grin despite my rather precarious situation. Love in an elevator
might be fun and somewhat daring, but love on the illuminator's
gangway 50 feet above ground is simply ... soaring. Oh yes, she has
crazy ideas. And I love every single one of them.
I love *her*.
So much that it hurts to be without her and so much that I could never deny her anything. There's nothing I wouldn't do or give to keep her by my side. The love and devotion, the peace and light in her soul are worth everything. Frankly, I'd even kill. But I don't tell her that because I know she would be upset. Speaking of darkness, I still can't see anything. But I have an idea where we could be. There is only one place I know that could produce such an echo. I just never heard it like that because I never before walked through this hall with stilettos - usually we try to wear more comfortable footwear in the orchestra pit. So we're in the theatre. Now I'm curious. It's Wednesday, there are no performances on Wednesdays. So why would she bring me here?
Suddenly I feel her near me. The warmth her body radiates makes me shiver. She takes me by the hand and leads me away. We're taking the elevator for obvious reasons. No, not those obvious reasons. It's just a bit tricky to climb stairs when you can't see anything. Oh, that's another thing I love so much about her. She cares and is so unbelievably considerate. With everything. All the small things she thinks of. Every month there is a new small cloth with a cord attached to it in my clarinet case. And she is very efficient as well, because I usually find the old one, though cleaned, in my toolbox.
She leads me along the corridor and then suddenly stops. I reach out and feel the heavy velvet of one of the loges' curtains. So I guess I will belong to the audience tonight. Now I'm not only curious but excited. Things are getting *really* interesting now. I wonder what the performance will be. I can't help but suddenly have very adult ideas. She still says nothing. I hear her take the curtain aside and signalling with a nudge that I should step forward. I feel her standing behind me and now she finally takes the blindfold off. My eyes need to adjust to the light but what I see then takes my breath away. When I finally dare to breath again I can smell the sweet and delicate scent of roses. No doubt that the cause are the thousand rose petals which cover every inch of the loge, the seats and the small table at the side. Amidst the flowery decoration I can see a champagne cooler and a bowl full of grapes. I'm ready to have my way with her right now and here. But I doubt that her preparations end here. I want to have it all. I'm hooked and I want to know. I'm sure there's a chance for some intimate quality time later, if the champagne and the grapes are any indication. I turn around and see her for the first time since she abducted me directly from the bedroom after I got dressed. She looks stunning. As I expected, she wears a suit. But the rest is not at all what I expected. The suit is a pant suit, cut for women, definitely cut for women with a body like hers. I feel heat rising - now the sight of her not only warms my heart.
But I have to shove my passionate thoughts aside, at least for the moment. She motions for me to sit down and then takes the seat next to me. The instant we're both seated the lights turn off. So we're under observation, apparently. Subsequently I think that reining my desires for now might not be such a bad idea after all. Besides, there's a show on its way. And having seen the empty theatre it's a show for me and her only.
It's dark now and I hear footsteps of several people. I know the noise that reaches my ears - the musicians take their seats and their instruments. Then everything is quiet again.
A single blue spot lights the stage. I shudder from the cold this picture emits. Again, I hear footsteps. Men and women in white suits and short dresses fill the stage. I immediately notice the ballet shoes. Oh, how I love her! It seems she has organized a ballet performance for today. For me... for us. I am excited and thrilled. I lean over to peck her on the cheek. She thwarts my advance by holding up her hand and pointing to the stage. Her suddenly oh so cool demeanour almost throws me off. But I know her. She wants me to see it all before I decide that I like it and thank her. So considerate. So caring. So uncertain. Anything to keep her. Anything to prove my love for her. Anything for my Annie.
The group on the stage is still talking. Not very loud, it's more like
a collective murmur. Is this part of the show? Suddenly they begin to
move, slowly but more and more rhythmically. I think I can decipher a
very specific rhythm. They are now framing the stage and from one of
the sides a young man in a silvery imitation of a gaucho-outfit
slowly - , practically *slides* onto the stage. I hold my breath. It's
clear now that the framing "crowd" is stomping a tango rhythm. A long,
very dramatic and long-drawn loop played on a clarinet announces
another entry. A woman in what must be a bright red dress enters the
stage. Her stance is firm and she holds her head up. Not in a proud
and challenging way like the flamenco dancers use to appraise their
dancing partner, no it's more open and curios, questioning and yet
The blue spotlight moves lower so that its light floods the stage
floor. A green and a red spot turn on at the same time, each capturing
one of the solo dancers on the stage.
I hold my breath. It can't be, can it?
How- when- - ?
I look at her and just in the same moment she turns her face to me, smiling brightly. I'm speechless. I can't believe that I have this woman's love. That she put her heart in my hands, trusting me with the most valuable thing on this world. I know I never did anything that would justify such a reward. Seems like after all God has a soft spot for people with fucked up lives like me. She is all the balm my tortured soul will ever need. And this, this evening... wow. The music is amazing. I never wrote any music to this piece. She is the hobby writer not I and my creativity was depleted for some time after finishing this. She told me she liked my little play - but this... I don't recognise the music and I wonder who wrote it... if it's just a composer I don't know or if it's completely new. I'm at a point where even the latter wouldn't surprise me. I know that it's highly unlikely that *she* wrote the music, but I know that some of my musical friends down there have quite some talent and a thing for composing. And a thing for Annie. But they know she's mine. So I don't worry.
The melodeon is being played fantastically. Its voice is strong and the variations are ... innovative; matching the dance the two figures on the stage perform.
As the volume and the dynamic of the music increase the other dancers on the stage start to dance. The choreography is great - they move in sync as a group and still they are dancing a tango, their partner being the pair in the middle of the stage.
I'm impressed. I never pictured it like that but it's perfect like that. Tabéa is a very skilled choreograph and my beloved is quite inspiring. The result of their teamwork is a delight to watch.
I know what comes next, I know the plot of each act and scene but still I'm surprised and stunned with each new stage design. The first act was a ballet, with only music and dance - no words were sung or spoken. Hell, there was no need for words! I remember the first act covering several pages in my script and now I wonder what I had written when it needed no words to express everything important. The next scenes are more like an opera, but once again not quite classical. The group of dancers from the first scene now acts as the choir. But this choir has more the function of the choir in the classical ancient Greek tragedies - emphasizing and intensifying thoughts and emotions, addressing the actors and the audience.
I'm beyond words. This I hadn't expected. How could I? Its unbelievable. It must be a dream. Unconsciously I shake my head and immediately I feel her hand on my arm. When I look up I see concern on her face. She thinks I don't like it! I try to reassure her with a smile, softly patting her hand and then returning my attention to the events on the stage. The woman begins with a heartbreaking aria about the loss of her lover, running around in confusion, throwing her arms up in despair. With the last note she falls on her knees and a clarinet solo starts, picking up exactly that last tone and continuing from there.
Despite myself I start to cry and she whispers into my ear:
"This will be your part from tomorrow on."
I look at her in confusion. But she just grins and then turns away to follow the rest of the play. Shortly before the final starts she stands up, holding her hand out to me in a silent request to have this dance together with the two reunited lovers down on the stage. Again I feel heat rising, but as romantic as it would be - it's not just her. Another, smaller spotlight is directed at our loge as we dance. I feel at least 100 eyes on us, but it doesn't matter. When the music ends I pull her into my arms, almost crushing her in a tight hug. My tears are falling freely, warriors do not cry. But here, with her, I don't need to be the warrior. I don't have to be strong all the time. After some time she pushes away and turns me around so I can see the still untouched champagne and the grapes. I feel her lips on my neck, softly nipping the skin as they wander upwards to my ear.
"Be my Valentine tonight?" she whispers.
"Tonight and for every Valentine's Day to come." I feel that this is not enough. I need to tell her. I feel that it's time. I turn in her arms to face her again. I pray that I still have a voice.
"Yours for every day of the rest of my life."
Then she kisses me. She just kisses me. No word, no smile, just a kiss. Time stands still and I'm sure that earth has stopped spinning and then been kick-started - she rocks my world with her love and her kisses. Though there'll be more rocking this theatre tonight then just hot kisses...
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