Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek. MCA owns Elton. I own the Story. It all works out in the end.
Autumn leaves had fallen, scattered around the cabin. The dusty colors warmed by the yellow lights coming through the paned windows. Set back in the forest, the cabin had the feel of home; sheltered from life beyond the tree limbs.
It was here they came. To escape the press and people; even family members. Both had told themselves in their thoughts that they weren’t there for anything more then to get away. And at first it was like that. They talked of the future, went on walks through the trails. Sitting in front of the fireplace and roasting marshmallows, they talked of childhood, of dreams. They told stories and laughed.
Then something changed.
The laughter gave way to a silence, not weighted down by protocols, hurt, responsibility. The night silence gave way to new sounds. Gentle caresses, soft gasps, murmured words, rustled bed linens.
Things had changed.
She floated to me like an apparition. Like a silent spirit, leading me to the greatest adventure. It had become somewhat of a nightly ritual. I’d turn off the lights upstairs; probably where we should have been. But both of us for some reason, were more comfortable with fur in front of the fire. Die hard romantic, is what she said. I tend to agree.
The moon had come out that night after dumping rain and hail on us most of the day. A full moon, with the wind blowing the clouds across it quickly, as to not impede the light, but to make it all the more beautiful. I started down the stairs, and she stood at the bottom. To picture what she looked like, it is important to note that there is a window that falls in the middle of the stairs. That moon shined through that window and all I could see was Kathryn’s figure, clad in a flowing white gown, ascending the stairs to meet me half way.
There is nothing more beautiful then Kathryn in half light.
We met half way. We could still hear the sounds of water dripping into and on the jars that sat outside under the eaves. Kathryn had said they looked like soldiers, all standing in a neat little row. Their music the only sound besides the crackling of the fire. Never was there more beautiful music. Unless you count the beating of our hearts.
Her voice echoes in my ears. That soft voice that can take on many dimensions. Just like her eyes. But her voice. Sultry, angry, whispered, compassionate, excited, wild with passion. I’ve heard them all. But my favorite—when she whispers in this sultry voice in my ear.
Always, it has been within my own time. Never once had we given each other a set time in which to explore the feelings that had chased us from the beginning. But my favorite moments are those that we know too well.
“Come down in time,” she’d told me. “I’ll meet you half way.”
So I did.
Some may think that we’d hurried things along. Not true, I would say. Simply for the reason that Kathryn and I had danced the dance one to many times and neither of us could afford to waltz one more waltz without the crashing down around us. I heard her. Not so much vocally, but in other ways. The body movements that clearly said, ‘I need more then this’.
I’ve also learned over the years, that love from Kathryn must be earned. She’s tough to get through; barriers, walls. One begins to feel like a stockade runner with her. But when she gives you her heart, she gives you her all. It’s a respectability I admire. She is hard to get, but that’s part of her charm. As we lie in each others arms, she quietly states,
“If this had happened at the beginning, I don’t think we would have survived.”
Perhaps. Then again, both of us had to think about others. But I thought about her. Got me through more then you could know.
And I walked too many steps. Sometimes, I thought I heard her, other times, I know I did. Those nights when a single wall separated us and I could hear her cry. The cry of one who thought she was alone. I heard her debate with herself over everything. Her call, it beckons to me.
But she did come to me. After all. And I never had to ask. The greatest gift of all.
So we meet half way. Some delicate little line drawn between us. Neither of us leads, neither of us follows. Just a simple meeting of two that make one. The wind tells us it’s right. The birds, the swaying of the trees. All are telling us we’re right, that we’ve finally made it to that final frontier.
‘I’ll meet you halfway,’ she calls to me.
That she does.
As I lay her down in front of the fire, I think to myself. Life can not get any better then this. But it can. There are two of us that have needed to find that allusive other that makes us feel complete. She hold me tight; not only in her arms, but her eyes as well. As with all the previous nights, we come together in bliss and serenity.
We found an old apple tree. One that if we were kids, we’d find the most appealing to climb. Huge, ancient. Standing there like a wise old man. She looked up at it, then looked at me.
“Perfect,” was all she said.
Later that night, she poked my side and pulled her gown over her head. “Come with me,” she said, her hair slightly matted, her face flushed from the heat of the fire. We dressed warmly and went outside. The night was crisp, cool. Gentle breeze. And we climbed that old tree.
We’d found the perfect spot. Large enough for me, strong enough to hold her in my arms.
And we stared at the stars.
“They all come down in time,” she whispered to me.