urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:jadedbeliever Felicia Felicia 2007-01-18T05:20:45Z urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:jadedbeliever:398 2007-01-18T05:20:45Z 2007-01-18T05:20:45Z Going Home Again<br />by Felicia <br /><br /><br />I hadn’t meant to end up here. The last place I wanted to find myself was in his bed. Or more accurately wrapped in a sheet, staring out his second story bedroom window, wondering what I had been thinking to end up here. Actually, scantily clad in the bedroom of my ex-boyfriend never even registered as a place I might ever find myself, but here I am. <br /><br />James and I hadn’t dated for nearly five years when we ran into each other at a coffee shop in the town we had grown up in. I moved back to be closer to family and friends, and found that he had never actually left. The usual small talk had passed between us, I had placed my order, he was glad to see me, and I found myself returning the sentiment. Every day that week our paths crossed at that same shop, even when I tried going at different times of day. When it seemed inevitable, I decided to look forward to these daily meetings and endure them for the ten minutes or so that they lasted. <br /><br />Today, one week to the day of our first ‘encounter’, I found James waiting outside for me, a cup of coffee in each hand. “Happy one week,” he had greeted brightly, offering me my latte. <br /><br />I looked at him suspiciously, but accepted the latte all the same. “Thank you, James.” The day started off on a good note and by mid-afternoon, only proved to be getting better. As I was leaving the house, my cell phone chirped and brought more good news. I had finally been granted a gallery showing at one of the most prestigious art galleries in the neighboring city. I was looking to celebrate with the first non-stranger I saw. “Actually, I’m really glad you didn’t pick today to not show up here.”<br /><br />“You are?”<br /><br />Nodding, I looped an arm through his and dragged him to the nearest bench. I needed to share my news before I exploded, and James was the lucky confidant. “Tell me you aren’t busy tonight.”<br /><br />He took a long sip of his regular coffee, “I’m not busy tonight.” <br /><br />“You are now. That is if you’ll have dinner with me.” <br /><br />James squinted an eye, “any particular reason for this coffee free experience?”<br /><br />“I’m celebrating,” I beamed, “and there is some sort of law that states one can not celebrate alone.”<br /><br />He shrugged, “I can’t agree until you tell me what we’re celebrating.” <br /><br />Fair enough. I excitedly explained why I was looking to celebrate and was delighted when James shared in my joy. He hugged me and offered his congratulations, then agreed to join me for dinner. “Excellent! I’ll see you around six-thirty?”<br /><br />“Only if I can pick you up.”<br /><br />“Sure, yeah. Of course.” I jotted my address down on a piece of paper and excused myself. There were a dozen errands I needed to run before dinner. <br /><br />“Hey Reenie!”<br /><br />I stopped halfway down the sidewalk and yelled back, “yeah?”<br /><br />He had stood and appeared to have been watching me walk away, “thanks for thinking of me.”<br /><br />I smiled and walked to the end of the block, rounding the corner and removing myself from his line of vision. I wasn’t supposed to fall for him again. I wasn’t even supposed to almost like him, let alone think of him romantically, no matter how short lived the notion. Neither of us had specified that the celebratory dinner was not a date and I could just imagine James getting all dressed up, date style and whistling some happy little ditty as he did one final check in the mirror. <br /><br />That’s how it started, I remember that much. Dinner is a blur of flirtatious comments, antidotes and laughter, mixed with just the right amount of wine and chocolate. Maybe it was just the right amount of chocolate, too little dinner, and too much wine that brought us to this moment. We had left the restaurant and waited for the valet to bring James’ car. On the ride home, we had taken a turn and ended up in his driveway. I don’t recall if I had suggested it or agreed, but I do know that this isn’t what either of us had in mind. James had just purchased his first home and wanted to show it off over a cup of coffee before taking me home. <br /><br />There is a vague memory of our fingers touching as he passed me a coffee mug, the room spinning and my breath catching for a moment before my heart began to quiver in my chest. I’m unclear who’s lips brushed whose or how it actually happened, but I remember clearly the way that kiss made me feel. The feel of his hand pressed against the small of my back, steadying me as we stumbled back toward his couch and fell into a tangle of limbs on the plush cushions. And even the way his fingers inched toward and under the hem of my shirt, fingertips dancing on the bare skin of my back, up and down my spine and around to dance along the waistband of my skirt. <br /><br />Even how we ended up on the second floor is a mystery. What happened there a vivid secret between two lovers behind closed doors. I hear him shifting in bed behind me, the bed creaking softly as he gets up and moves toward me. An arm snakes around my waist while a hand brushes my hair out of the way and those lips pepper kisses along my bare shoulder and neck. I melt against him and we are dangerously close to repeating the mistake that should have never happened. The mistake that has brought us both to his bedroom window naked, except for the sheet that is protecting what little dignity I have left. Then he turns me to face him and drags his lips up my neck and along my jaw line before trailing kisses to my lips where he makes sure to take great care. I find myself returning his kiss and I remember every reason that I loved James, every reason I never stopped loving him, and realize that I’m here because I’m in love with him and this is home. And now the only thing I can’t seem to recollect is why we didn’t stay together. <br /><br />The next morning over cold juice, hot coffee, and a lukewarm warm bowl of oatmeal, he tells me he loves me and I believe him and tell him that I feel the same. James walks over and kisses my cheek before he goes to take a shower and get dressed for work and I watch him walk away, thinking that he’s poetry in motion and his every breath is love. The thought crosses my mind that I need to thank Evelyn Powers for putting her coffee shop in the most convenient location. Then I’m off to get dressed so James can take me home on his way to work and I can spend the day in my studio painting the music we made the night before. <br /><br />I zip my skirt and slip my feet into my stylish, not altogether comfortable, black stilettos. I hear James singing in the shower and I smile. Then it occurs to me that nothing about the previous night is a mistake because the definition of a mistake, according to the dictionary, is “to be in error”. In my book, being home is not an error in any sense and home was safe in James’ arms. <br /><br />Later, when we are in the car and just down the road from my house, I tell James that all I had in mind was dinner with a friend and his expression is one that I can’t quite read. I see traces of pride, confusion, happiness, and maybe a little sadness. I am quick to amend my statement, saying that the closeness we shared was not unwelcome, just unplanned. He turns into my driveway and parks the car. I gather my few belongings and reach for the door handle, stopping short and turning back to him. I caress his freshly shaven cheek with my hand and gently kiss his lips, “there is a lot to be said for going home again.” James is smiling when I get out of the car, and honks the horn as I push open my front door. I smile and wave and retreat inside, there is a lot to do before I take my afternoon coffee break that I am very much looking forward to.