A Picture of Loves - part 3

They climbed back into her car taking a break from holding hands only long enough to place the seat belts in those intruding bucket seats into their respective clasps. She pulled away from the parking lot and the dock that had been host to many long hours of conversation bearing their souls in the dark after their tea house had closed. She knew they were headed anywhere but to their respective homes as such a declaration must be reveled and reassured by hearing the rest of the words that they had both kept veiled for the past 6 weeks.

Meandering the back roads on the west side of Portland's Willamette river, they discovered a park and ambled out of the car and onto the swings to have a little taste of the flying they both felt from the assurance of the other's devotion. They were then off to the top of a play structure to feel the chill of the early morning seep into their bodies from the metal platform while unfolding secrets melted their hearts together.

"I'm afraid," he confessed. This love was playing in a territory neither of them had known with their high school romances. Those relationships played house; this one threatened the reality of four cracked walls and oatmeal breakfasts. "What are you afraid of?" he asked her.

"I'm not," she told him, "'Perfect love casts out fear,'" said with bewildering confident assurance. She was not afraid. If there were such a thing as a soul mate, he was hers. They seamlessly worked along side of each other serving people throughout the week. They spent hours in respectful, engaging dialog in philosophy and theology. They enjoyed the same epicurean delights and foreign films. Their histories were so similar that empathy and sympathy enveloped all their confessions and errors. She could not fathom a more perfect companion.

He was at a loss for an adequate reply, but began talking all the same. He worried about how their news would effect his best friend, Z. He asked her how long they would have to wait to wed to give Z enough time to recover from seeing that his ex-fiance had only ever loved his friend. She thought a year would do to wait for engagement, and perhaps another month of silence before exposing their affections to him. Silence seemed impossible. A year seemed like more than seven, but at least they could count the days.

They did have a few confidants, one of which, C, chaperoned their good-bye a few mornings later as she was taken by train home to see her family to celebrate her 20 years of life. They hugged their usual farewell but he handed her a book steeped in incense to read on her journey. The cover was understated in a way that promised richness with a simple title, "Broken Wings". He leaned in for a first kiss - on her forehead, their lips would not meet for another year longer - and watched C drive her away to meet her train and separate her from him for what would feel like too long.

As the train wheels set in motion, her mind began spinning through all the events, confessions, and plans of the last few days. She inhaled deeply the pages of the book as she began to read a tragic tale of two lovers in a culture where love was not what bound one in marriage. Devouring the poetic pages she came to the end long before her destination. Then in tears, she fell asleep.