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I knew we'd only been dating for three weeks but the connection between us felt so strong as we lay together night after night, fusing like a covalent bond, our atoms and electrons merging. More than simply physical or emotional, our union felt deeply chemical and inevitable. So I took the plunge and asked if I could come with him that afternoon; all he could say was no. But he was such a sweet and tender soul, so giving and kind and loving, that of course he did not refuse, as I had known he wouldn't. Maybe I was flattering myself with an overinflated notion of my own importance, but I gambled that I wasn't, and when he took me along that afternoon he vindicated my feelings. I knew he had been hurt in past relationships and was very careful in navigating new ones. He was careful in all aspects of his life: he buckled up promptly when we got in his car, looked carefully and signalled before pulling away from the curb, and drove with the cautiousness of a teenaged student driver. It was cute and endearing. I gazed at his profile adoringly as he drove, at the up and down shuttering of his long lashes as he blinked while looking left and right before making a turn, at the gentle curve of his nose, at the bulging of his firm and tanned bicep as he moved the steering wheel this way and that, and at his coral lips which were as comforting to me as the sea and which never spoke harsh words. When I kissed those lips time stopped and I felt a warm wave of safety wash over me, as though I'd finally found a sheltered cove in which to drop my anchor. I know how silly I must sound, but that's just me, a silly and romantic ocean-loving girl who may have found something to love beyond the ocean.When we've gone surfing or just swimming together, he has watched me like a hawk every second. Don't go too far out, he'll say. Don't take chances, he'll say. And I just laugh. The ocean is like my second skin, but he says that accidents happen when you get too complacent, that even the ocean can be deceptive and pull you down if you're not wary and circumspect every single second. Circumspect. I like the words he uses. And I like how he watches over me and tries to keep me safe.
So we arrive at the set and sit around for what seems hours as they work on getting the lighting set up just right. At one point, I realize that we in fact have been sitting around for five hours! But I'm with him and it is exciting and we are able to talk a lot and strengthen our bond even more. I see a couple of big name actors, but I play it cool, even when one comes over and chats with us. But the small town girl inside me is hyperventilating! How did I ever get here!
Finally, the lighting is right, the scene is set, and my handsome guy is wearing the same close fitting jeans and red-and-white striped shirt as the lead actor. I feel so proud of him just for being who he is. The director cries Action! And there goes my guy, crashing through a plate glass window! I know there is only a few feet for him to fall on the other side of the pane, and I know the glass is not really glass but something they call sugar glass, which can't hurt him, and I know he does this sort of thing for a living, day in and day out, often stunts that appear much more dangerous than this, even if he says they're not. But I can't help how I feel and at the moment he goes through the window my heart stops. Time stops. Like when we kiss. And I'm sitting there holding my breath, my hands clenched together, my eyes popping from their sockets, my mouth hanging open, wanting only to see him again, waiting for him to appear, and wondering how long will it be, how long, how long ...
D.E. Sievers
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