Friday, July 25, 2008

535. Anticipation




Yul sat, twin curves catching the moonlight in shades of Ansel Adams gray. Drawing breath, waist swimmer tight, the fruit of her nature rising, firm, symmetry smooth, seductive. "Tell me about Susan?"

Rog rolled on his side, head resting in his palm, elbow anchored in the mattress like a tent peg. "What do you want to know?" He replied without making eye contact, neither smiling nor not smiling, a look of eyes drinking in the dawn, a face standing still before wonder, breathing unconscious.

She watched his eyes, his face, could swear she felt his warm breath caressing her mind. Tilting her head back to expose lean neck, she arched her back, her arms locked as buttress, softening the curves on her chest to sharpen the sparkle in his eyes. "The first time. How did it happen?"

His eyes drifted into memory and for a second she regretted the question. Like the new sun, his cheeks rose, exposing the rogesque grin she had claimed as her treasure, a simple, natural gesture that made her feel good to be fertile, and as the moon reflects the light of the sun, she smiled back.

"Snizzle." He said the word as if sacred, as if the tone of expiration, spoken not of tongue or cord, but breathed into life by mind and memory, needed no further explanation. Pauses speak; Yul heard. He continued, "One morning, after the milking, she offered me a cup. Well, offered isn't quite the way it happened. I remember the words, then I remember her walking through the mud to the front porch. I followed like a roped calf, her gait a spell before me, her primrose hair as the wind. We walked not twenty yards and I never heard a step nor felt the ground and what should have taken, did take but a minute to walk, endures as hours in my mind, each step, clear as dream, forever changing perception, founting sensations I never knew existed."

"So you had a cup of snizzle and then she frailed you? Is that it?"

"In a manner of speaking," he offered. Like a single coin thrown in the collection plate. A bit irritated with the interruption.

"A manner of speaking? You shiotting me? Either she frailed you or she didn't. Or maybe . . ."

"Or maybe there is more to the story than you know."

"Rog, no offense, but you're not that deep."

"Not that deep? Really. Okay. I might not be that deep but I wasn't the river and a dumb as stone rock don't need do nothin' to fall to the depths." Rog paused, a bit unsure of where he was headed. "Have you thought about that little miss oculator lady?"

Yul tried to maintain a serious look. "I'm sorry baby. You're right. Now tell me about that river. Just how deep was it?"

"I've lost the mood. Another time."

"Rog."

"Alright. So she invited me in. We sat the kitchen table and she poured fresh brew. She didn't speak. Neither did I. I held my cup under my nose as if the steam could hide my eyes. And I watched. I watched a sight that I'm not sure how to explain because what I'm about to say and what I saw never seem to match. So here it is. I watched her rotate her index finger along the rim of her cup. I can't explain it--that sight. I remember the bent of her finger, her clear nail, the skin both soft and experienced and the way she caressed the lip of that bone cup. If she had been a witch casting a spell I would not have denied it."

"Interesting."

"What?"

"I've never heard you so subtle and detailed before."

"Am I boring you?"

"No, not at all. I'm enthralled."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just continue."

"The morning light beamed from window to table, her golden hair sparkled. The morning milking was done, and the room had that lazy satisfied lull between chores. Her finger sang the cup like bow on string and although I followed her finger round and round I found my eyes drifting up to her face, to her eyes. She was looking down, only the bottom quarter visible, her lips sitting ripe, pink, petite, neat, neither too big nor too small, the kind of lips that spoke of wit and humor and educated in common sense, not a stranger to hard work, sincere as syrup on pancakes. So there it was. The finger, the eyes, the lips but that wasn't it at all. There was something else. A mood, a feeling, a texture, a color, hue whatever you want to call it."

"So . . ."

"So that's when she told me one week."

"Are you shiotting me?"

"Nope. To make a long story short, she told me to appreciate the anticipation. Said there was every likelihood the "warm commerce" would not be as good."

"Was she right?"

"I'm not telling."

Yul smiled. "Come here baby."

Rog smiled back. "One week."

10 comments:

blue said...

i really need to go back and read the first posts...

Trée said...

Blue, if you go back into that jungle, I'll never see you again. :-D

I would recommend reading the Susan post that I have linked. Taken from real life too. ;-)

Autumn Storm said...

Anticipation, is there anything sweeter, the title alone convinced me we were in for something good with what followed, but as is always the case despite all that came before it was still better than I could stretch to imagine. Than I could anticipate. Hooked and submerged from the get-go as is your practise, there's such a wonderful sense of intimacy to this scene, if I blinked and found myself waking up between them, I'd not be terribly surprised. :-D
A love list (behold the extensiveness:):
All of it
Ansel Adams gray
symmetry smooth, seductive
tent peg
a look of eyes drinking in the dawn
she watched his face
breath caressing her mind
tilt, arch, lock, softening, curves, sharpen, sparkle
eyes drifted into memory
like the new sun, his cheeks rose
..too long a list, but gait, calf and pause must be included before I hold back. Hope to hear more of Susan. 'Susan' was such a memorable chapter, but I hadn't imagined we would be treated to more. With this you've created a branch off the bough of Rog, titillating, of itself, and the opportunity to know Rog a little better. We know him as he is now, with Yul, and as she has described him, this as a part of the whole, his first (although come to think of it, that hasn't been established directly, unforgettable and significant in any case) foray, perhaps into love too. The memories he has, so detailed, so impressed upon him years ago there is drinking of the dawn so to speak. Though there are pauses, momentary regret, a question, this chapter is a hug, and I know comments like that only make sense to me, but that's what it is, that's what it feels like to have read it, that's what I want to do, to them, to you. This comment is a mess, but yours is a wonderful piece of writing, warm memories, sharing in the present, his detail, yours, happiness, reading is, anticipation, appreciation, happiness, wonder, a hug.

Trée said...

Sweetest, as I was reading your comment I kept asking myself, is all that in there? :-D

I had to go back and read it again. A lot of ways this branch of the story can take us. More Susan, no doubt. She is already growing in my mind. I can see chapters where we are introduced to Rog's mom and the uncomfortableness between the both of them, his mom suspecting something is up and Rog thinking there's not much age difference between the two. And of course, watching Yul's reaction as she uncovers this part of Rog. Maybe even see Chaz again too. Opens a lot of doors. :-)

As always, your kind words are appreciated more than I know to say. :-)

snowelf said...

Hello Tree :)

Shame on me for not getting over here for a week again. But one of my favorite Saturday morning indulgences is sitting in the sunlight of my patio door and soaking in your elegantly constructed lines.

I love the chemistry between Rog and Yul here--like the playful little game of cat and mouse, batting and teasing each other. And i love the way you wrote about the crimson in the passage below...so vivid and flowing.

Till we meet again. :)

--snow

Trée said...

Morning Snow. All that matters is you are here now. And to think, DT is part of a readers routine. Utterly delightful to know. As always, thank you for the very, very kind words. :-)

Constance said...

There are a dozen shades of Ansel Adams gray....

A week.... Takes forever.

Trée said...

Annie, my point exactly on Ansel Adams gray. Thanks for getting it. I'm always so pleased when what I've meant is seen and appreciated. Thank you woman of a thousand delicious recipes, two thousand if we include food. :-D

As for a week, within this story, I suppose that could be forever. ;-)

j said...

I have finally been around long enough for some things to be 'familiar'!! I recognized parts of this 'taken from real life' story.

That must be so liberating. Parts of my 'real life' will never know the freedom of the page. A shame really. Isn't there a poem that talks about "when I am an old woman" or something like that? So there is hope that I will say what I want one day and it just won't matter.

There is always such a playful tone to Yul and Rog chapters. Well, not ALWAYS always, but often.

I am slowly getting caught up with the Story!

Jen

Trée said...

Jen, it is a joy to me to have you say what you said about being around long enough to recognize how a chapter is fitting and how it relates and builds on a chapter from a long time ago. That means more to me than I know to say. Thank you. :-)