In February Charlie’s apartment seemed to warm up with the impending day of love celebrations. Valentines Day is Charlie’s new favorite holiday, and Sky has no objections to it. Ironically, Valentine’s held no horrible dooms day feelings for Sky. It might have been the only holiday left besides Halloween that was still bearable for her. Although, Holloween had always been closest to her heart.
This New Year had the potential for greatness, and the comforting tones of true love for both of them. Love was in full bloom, as they say. They had been together for almost six months now, and by all outward appearance Sky would be on her way to meet Charlie’s parents in the spring.
Sky had started a new semester at school in January. She loved all of her classes, and the workload was not as difficult as she had anticipated. Journalism must have been the right choice after all. Sky had had some reservations about it in September, but she ended up in the full swing of the pendulum. Her professors were inspiring to say the least. She met a writing teacher who was willing to help her publish some of her short stories in a collaboration project going on in the city.
The fact that her writing might actually be published created a delightful frenzy for Sky. She spent long nights pouring over her keyboard with ideas that spread like soft butter. Her inner monologue was alive and buzzing like high voltage power lines. She ate slept and lived for the sake of art.
When the alarm clock went off in the morning before school Sky’s mind was already conjuring ideas. Quotes from past works of great authors surfaced like a fish caught on an industrial strength line. Everything aggravated contemplation for her. She was finally living the life that she had always dreamt of. Striving for goals that would have seemed unattainable at any other single moment in her life. The words splashed onto the paper with the snarling passion of a junkyard beast. This emotion called love had unleashed a power in Sky that had never been there before. Food tasted better, colors were more vibrant, and birds echoed symphonies from the treetops.
Sky noticed ants crawling on the ground, and lint stuck to other student’s shirts with equal opportunity for attention. Everything was clearer. Water was wetter. It was an endless stream of epiphanies strung along the previously unreachable parts of her life. The inner world of Sky had a chance to break ground, and when it did, beautiful flowers blossomed to greet the day. This feeling was more fantastic and had more merit than anything that existed before Charlie.
Sky was undergoing a transformation of immeasurable proportions. A cocoon broke open and a new butterfly emerged from its confines. The pain of her past was carried away in waves like oil separating from water. This new found clarity was unreal among so much reality. She wanted to live this way until the last breath escaped her lungs, and she wanted to live this way with Charlie by her side.
Things were going just as well for Charlie. Her paintings were richer with influences from her intensified feelings for Sky. The colors leaped from the canvas with enough force to level an entire city block. If an observer were not paying attention to the image, it would reach out and steal the adoration. The quality of art produced in this particular relationship, in this time period, could never be duplicated.
In addition to incredibly freeing expressions from rival artists and devoted lovers, the planets aligned for all other aspects of life as well. Charlie’s veterinary practice was really taking off. This was a phenomenon, which both surprised and delighted her. It is amazing how fast word travels in the gay community. The village must have been all a buzz with Homo chatter that autumn. Within a few short months every lesbian anywhere near Manhattan was bringing in her sick poodle or injured parakeet. Charlie’s office had become a literal zoo. She could barely keep up with her clientele.
The two of them had plans to spend Valentine’s day together of course. That evening they went to a fancy restaurant for overpriced food, and sat across from each other in a trance of shared appreciation. They had somehow turned into that adorable couple that single people hate. The precise type of obnoxious people that Sky would have turned her nose up at just a few short months ago.
Sky feels herself creating poetry silently as she gazes into Charlie’s eyes from across the table. Low whispers from other patrons blur into an unrecognizable murmur against the intensity of Sky’s thoughts. When she finally resigns to the pressure building in her head she whispers to Charlie without restraint or fear, “Lenore, you are the earthly embodiment of everlasting torment, and eternal bliss. Your song has captured my very soul with a melody that mimics the rhythm of your name. You are the reason for my being, and I may wither and die if denied a single embrace. I am hopelessly and endlessly in love with you.”
Charlie nearly faints in the presence of those words. Sky had written her a poem for Christmas, but she had never recited unrehearsed words of passion in this way. It was an entirely new experience for Charlie to hear the true voice behind the woman. Charlie weeps openly in the presence of such vulnerability, “I love you Sk…” the tears begin to flow from her eyes as her throat seizes.
The surface of the World had changed wardrobe. Its suit had been switched from stripes to spots when no one was standing witness. Charlie is completely paralyzed from the entire experience. Her legs feel too weak to hold her in opposition to gravity. She attempts to finish her dinner, but how could she? Sky had just confessed undying love to her.
Somehow, Charlie sustains mortal life until the check makes it to the table. She slips her credit card into the leather fold without a second thought of getting it back. Her eyes are fixed on Sky. She has never seen such radiance from the girl before, “Sky, it would be impossible to truly paint a portrait of you. You are art personified.”
It is a warm Saturday morning at the appearance of spring. Sky has slept in until almost ten o’clock. It has been a lazy kind of weekend for her. She has been working hard at her studies for school and the light of a spring day filters into her dorm room on the winds of change.
The brightness of this particular morning is an inspiration in itself. When Sky’s eyes open against the glow enveloping her room she smiles to herself knowing that she has no where in particular to be. Charlie has office hours this morning, and Sky’s roommate Christine is taking Saturday classes in order to finish her degree on time. Although Sky enjoys the company of others on a regular basis she also enjoys her alone time. In these moments of rest her thoughts are the clearest.
She gradually throws the blankets off of her and lays there for a moment soaking in the euphoric remnants of spending a night in a warm bed. She is reflecting on the dream that she had had during the night. It is a reoccurring dream that resurfaces in her slumber when things are going well in her life.
In the dream she is walking through an enormous house with an endless sea of rooms, and as she travels the house a new door appears before her, presenting another glorious space to explore. She loves these visions, and knows instinctively that this is a sign of things to come. Although she is not a psychic, she has the instincts of clairvoyance occasionally.
While Sky is at rest an idea for a short story strikes her upside the head, and she has to write it down before it escapes. She jumps out of bed as though a fire had been lit beneath her, and rushes to her computer in green plaid pajama pants and a white tank top.
The language is flowing through her fingertips with the force of a hurricane. It all fit together. The idea is grand and it exists in the broader world within an hour. Sky finishes typing the last line of her new unedited work and stares at the screen with her arms folded in gratification. She has created something out of nothing, and the story is good in her own estimation. That was saying a lot for a woman who usually cringed after reviewing her own work. It was common for her to stuff pages of writing into a drawer, too frustrated to look at it ever again.
She reads the story back to herself in a low voice as if someone else might hear it in another room. By the time she finishes reciting the words it seems as though she hadn’t written it at all. This story is beyond anything that she had ever produced. It spoke in a voice that was foreign to her. She couldn’t help but wonder where it came from. “Is that how I feel?” she thought as the language came to a close.
She quickly prints the work, and neatly places it in a yellow folder on her desk. This was something to be shared with her writing teacher whether she liked it or not. She lightly taps the top of the folder with two fingers as if patting herself on the back. Finally, a moment that she could be proud of. It was a fictional story, but it held more truth than any other work that she had ever done.
The truth of the matter, the story was about her father. Since his death Sky had been carrying ten tons of anger in her back pocket, and that kind of weight makes it difficult to move forward. She had accepted that her father was an alcoholic. She had accepted that he had been somewhat abusive, but she had never given much thought to the kinder human being under the disguise. She had never seen her father for the struggling person that he truly was inside. He was a man who had attempted to give affection in a world so saturated with malice.
Sky had to admit that her animosity toward him had clouded their relationship. In fact, on the day that he died she felt a spur of anger at him for perishing on a holiday. Her first thought after receiving the bad news was, “That figures! He screwed everything else up in my life, why not croak on Christmas!” Sky reflects on this moment and what she had said out loud on that day. It hurt to repeat it. Even if she were only reciting the words in her own thoughts. She had been accused of petty cruelties in her life, but what she had voiced on that day went far beyond savagery. It was a chain of sentences held together by disdain, and rage. She could never take it back.
This story put those bitter feelings to rest, as they should have been years before. It was the end of an era. The conclusion of all things hateful in her heart started with eight pages of fiction. This particular level of resolution had never bubbled to the top of the cauldron.
The tale was about a man who had never lived to his full potential, and rediscovered the relationship he had with his daughter in his last remaining years. It was a forecast of events that would never exist for Sky, and yet she felt a sense of closure from it.
Sky’s concentration is broken with the sound of the phone ringing. She picks it up to find Tabitha’s voice on the other end of the line, “Hey princess! How’s things? You sapphic wonders coming to my show tonight? No wait, You are coming to my show tonight. Be at the club around nine! Wear something pretty, and tell you’re boyfriend to lighten up a little. Last time I saw you guys she seemed somewhat tense. Give her a good romp or something would ya? That girl takes herself way too seriously. Freaken doctors! Ya know what I mean? If t.v. rots your brain, then book smarts must mutate it! Tell the big nerd I said to stuff her overwhelming ego in the closet, and shake her scrumptious buns on down to the club, attitude free!”
Sky laughs at Tabitha’s blunt approach, “Okay Tabby, it’s a little too early in the day to be flinging shit like that around! We’ll be there. Who would miss an opportunity to watch Shontai jump up and down in combat boots! Better yet, who would willingly miss Smew trying to pick up women in the village? I’ll see you tonight. Try to contain yourself until then! Love and kisses. Bye.”
After Sky takes a long hot shower she dresses and grabs the yellow folder from her dresser to head out to Charlie’s office. She takes a deep breath of the unseasonably warm air and starts to walk.
When Sky opens the door to Charlie’s office she sees one woman sitting in the waiting room with a pet carrier on the chair next to her. This is promising. That meant that Charlie would be finishing up soon, and they could go out to have some lunch together. Sky plops into an uncomfortable green plastic chair, and opens the folder to read the story again. It has the same effect. She shakes her head at the divinity of this moment, and the changes that are coming about for her.
Charlie’s voice interrupts Sky’s reflection, “Ms. Aleksiewicz.”
The woman on the other side of the room gently gathers her large black tomcat and walks toward Charlie. Sky laughs when the sweet little kitty nearly claws its way over the woman’s shoulder. Sky looks at the stranger; “It looks like your cat just realized where you’re taking him!” The woman rolls her eyes slightly, “I know, Spike is usually so well behaved!”
Charlie directs the freshly mauled woman into the exam room; “I’ll be right in to see you Ms. Aleksiewicz. Tell Spike he doesn’t have to worry about shots today. It’s just a routine exam.”
Charlie closes the exam room door to greet Sky properly, “Hi there! I didn’t expect to see you this early. Is everything okay?” Sky smiles at Charlie’s ever present concern, “Everything is great! I wrote a new story this morning. I think it’s the best one yet! You want to read it over lunch?” Charlie looks down at the clip board in her hand, “ That sounds great. It looks like my last patient is a no show, and this exam should only take a few minutes.”