The Agony Of The Action
SHE stepped out into the scene with a deeply troubled look in her eyes, a decidedly worrisome gaze beamed from her tortured brown glance. The weariness had set in on the plane, and now it was growing deeper and deeper. What had she done? How could she have done it? Why? What was the answer? She decided solemnly that she had to do it. Her thoughts and her actions were not the same. What she wanted to do was not what she had done. But, she declared, it had to be done. And was it so bad? NO! No it was not! She was sure, but the look of worry did not disappear from her face; it would not disappear, for she was not sure if his look would be one of fury - terrible fury not equaled by another, with no remedy available or in sight. Oh, she thought, what fright! But if it had to be done, I tell you, and I did it right. It had to be done, I tell you it did! Still…
As the moon looked sideways she bent over and grabbed the backpack she had politely and thankfully borrowed from the Barcelona family with whom she was living. She thought it a strange bag — it sported a bizarre mix of wild florescent colors, which is typical of the whacked-out lunatic style European backpacks. But, she sighed to herself, the backpack has served its purpose well. She picked it up carefully, raising her arm and shoulder above her waistline as the entire airport gasped for a moment of control within their minds but that control was held not too faraway with one Caleb Trafton. The pickup was handled with Lucia’s typical lazy grace following her every move, in effect defining the incredible aura that was forever attached to her — and an undeniably brilliant aura it was!
One would think she knew she had a brilliant grace about her, and one’s thought would certainly approach the realm of accuracy — and that is why Caleb loved her so. She knew this well, and she loved him too! She would do anything for him! He is so cute, she would think to herself, and he does everything I have ever asked of him! And, really, he had done everything she had ever asked. He had somehow quit smoking entirely for her; he had taken care of her and partaken in fulfilling her multiple needs. She knew this, and she knew quite well that she was demanding, but she was sweet and beautiful, and he would do anything for her. So, why had she done it?!? She did not know or understand her own actions.
Then,
Oh!
It had to be done.
She now looked around — the airport was buzzing with action — she now had to go and meet her boyfriend. She moved motionlessly, shuffling her feet and moving herself towards the border that separated those who were traveling and those who were welcoming. Lucia Miranda was traveling, soon Caleb Trafton would be welcoming. The traveling was over, but what had been done had been done. The look of worry and wary did not disappear from Lucia’s face, in fact it deepened — even though she knew it had to be done! But, well, she knew wholeheartedly that it would never happen again.
Never!
Still…does it not make you wonder?
CALEB Trafton wondered deeply outside the border that was made up of a huge tinted glass window. He thought about the damn black glass — he wandered about the area where she would exit trying to find anything to keep him busy — there was nothing — he needed a cigarette. God did he need a cigarette, but he would not have one — he was too loyal to his Lucia, the cutest Brazilian-American, according to him, that had ever lived — also, coincidentally, the only Brazilian-American that he had ever known. Maybe he was right, but a shade closer to reality was the fact that he was wrong and trapped in an obsessive and torturous relationship — but given that fact, and it was fact, and overlooking that fact, how wonderful it was! How brilliant it was! And he knew quite assuredly that his cigarette craving would disappear as he became one with her presence again. So, glancing at the arrival board, he continued to notice that next to Air Italia Flight 409 from Florence the words ‘arrived’ had been flashing for nearly thirty-five minutes — so where was she? Ah…
Women!
His woman, he was sure, would come through the tinted electronic modernized sliding glass doors in a matter of moments, even if he seemed to notice the moments increasing in number as the time neared five hours past midday. And oh how many horrible thoughts ran through his head at that closed moment in time! He was sure his lovely mistress had reconciled with her ex-boyfriend, the man who was in fact her first and greatest love — that much was assured, and with reconciliation comes hatred. He was sure she had decided to stay in Florence for a few days extra to bathe in the taste of her fate. He decided that, unfortunately, she had forgotten to call her he, her he being Caleb, and inform him of the latest terrible developments (terrible for he, wonderful for she) — he was absolutely wrong, but he still thought quickly, that’s it! It was the ecstasy of the moment, and she forgot to call her lab rat boyfriend and inform him that her Barcelonian experiment was over, damn her! Fuck her! He was wrong, but he thought on, and he thought this way nonetheless — he was a carbon copy of a Dostoyesvskian mess!
I had a wonderful weekend while she was gone; I have flirted and won, but I did nothing wrong. I resisted all temptation, and avoided certain damnation. My mind is clear, oh, when will she be near!
Women!
Women?
Women!
As his pacing reached a quickened pace, and his thoughts reached an intolerable space, the sliding glass doors opened, and he saw her brilliant face — And what would she say, which way would she sway? And what has she done, had she returned to that horrible one? Her gorgeous pace was slow, her pretty face was low — she looked around silently for him, while the pain in her increased exponentially within —
AND there they were — she saw the anxious and various welcoming committees. She paused and scanned the faces for some glimpse of recognition, that all too ready to escape recognizable face, and though he tried he could not have escaped — and she felt terror, she saw no one. And where was he? Did he know? It was impossible, he could not have known — how could he have known? She did not know, but in that very second she did not see him! He was not there! What had she done! But it had to be done! Still…
Oh…he is there —
A look of relief and grief appeared on her face — was she happy to see him or afraid to see him?
She would have hated him for it; she never would have expected it. She was too set in her ways and concrete in her mind to try and justify that sort of action to herself. If it was her, she could justify it; if it were him, then, my friend, it was simply inexplicable! And with her, well, it had to be done! Yes — of course it had to be done, what else was she to do? She thought about this as she found Caleb's gorgeous hazel eyes — god did she love his eyes, and she would always tell him so! I love your eyes Trafton, they’re so cute — they always go changing colors! Or — Trafton, wear that green shirt today, I want your eyes to look green, I love it when they look green! So Caleb would oblige without thinking — he did not think about that sort of thing; he had too many other things to think about — so he thought on:
There she is, God she looks cute! How I miss her! In a few fleeting yet unending moments I will kiss her…I love to kiss her…no one can kiss like her…no one! Still…
And so, with Caleb in sight and fright increasing, she would think:
What do I say? Do I mention it? Yes, he has to know — he really must know…tell…yes…he is a few feet away…just shuffle over to him…feel him, then feel him out…then…tell…but…it had to be done! Still…
Presently, as onlookers may be able to recount without having noticed the internal troubles of the traveler and the innumerable troubles of the welcomer, Caleb Trafton’s mind and soul met Lucia Miranda’s thoughts and hands. The wait was over, and they embraced. The wait could not have equaled in intensity the essence of the embrace — still…
Women!
Present was still
Hoping she will
Wondering and pondering
Hoping she wouldn’t be
Women!
The embrace was long. Caleb's arms surrounded Lucia and hers his — he knew it would be fine. She looked troubled, but her arms on his bony back told him it was fine — troubles fade as memories double and love prevails — sometimes. She felt his embrace with a raging tingling that could be felt all over her body. He felt the tingling and it made him want her more than life itself — he wanted to be with her. He wanted to be in her, and he knew she wished for nothing but the same — and, in fact, she did — still…
The stoic and heartfelt embrace ended. Lucia looked at Caleb's eyes; they were green with envy, they needed information and reassurance; they were the beautiful eyes that told her she was the only one who had done their lover wrong. Lucia took Caleb's hand as he took her bag and they began to walk. His hand felt warm and reassuring to her, even though it was indeed her Trafton that needed the reassuring. She thought it a warm and welcoming hand, and knew with guilt that it was only welcoming to her. Why had she welcomed another hand? The other hand was not warm, it was cold, a hand from the past, a long lost past buried in the pit of her emotions. Trafton’s hand warm, the other hand cold — so sad, why had she done it?
Caleb could not look at her; he already knew — he could sense it in her sweating hands. He knew she was sweating for two reasons, the first was out of excited anticipation to see him that made her hands wet and excited as they met him. But the second reason was what worried Caleb Trafton: the second was out of pure fright and blind fear. This gave his hands a feeling of warmth; his mind told, demanded even, his hands to be warm in the Barcelona airport of despair and joy. His hands were warm; she rather liked his hands on hers. She walked; she tingled inside; she worried. She loved his hands, what had she done? She mustered up a smile and glanced at him; he caught the glance and smiled radiantly — she loved that smile! She really did!
Suddenly, as a dark cloud that in an unfathomable manner starts to shed its contents, she…she became excited. What would they do? Who would they see? Where would they go? What would they drink? When would they be alone? She thought of how when they were alone there would be exploring and conquests. She loved the thought — the thought disappeared. A slight look of agony came over her face, as they quickened their pace, and Caleb caught that, pondering, slightly wondering — still…
But, it had to be done!
Still…one who loves more than one does not love at all —
THE agony of the action, the agony of the waiting ended just then, and so began the real agony:
Their eyes began to move towards each other’s and met and stared for the first time, hands were held lightly without pressure but only with love, hips were pressed against each other as the long escalator took them to their unending doom and hell. All is vain in a world filled with failure, defeat, terror, and love, as the first three continuously overtake the last. Absolutely aware of this, Caleb spoke for the first time, expressing a thought that was quite obviously filled with vanity and, ultimately, harsh reality —
Did you have a good time, I mean, how was it? Caleb blurted the words out without thought — for, had he thought, had he ever thought, he would wind up killing himself because he was completely insane and an above average lunatic. And if he had ever thought seriously about any of his relationships and the work he put into them compared with what was returned to him, he would certainly take the silver plate special metro right into hell, because that is where he belonged —
Then came the tears, the tears that Caleb thought must have come from heaven but are now known to have come from the fiery pits of hell. Lucia felt like hell — the tears came from hell — she committed a hellish act — so she cried. The tears flowed down her lazy cheeks towards the destiny she knew she would receive. It was a destiny she would choose; it was a destiny she would accept, but this sort of destiny always seemed to taste bitter — not bittersweet, but degradingly and horribly bitter — how bitter her fate tasted! How horrible it was! And she cried tears of lonely despair, tears that were reminiscent of the comfort of her Trafton and the sense of unity and security he gave her. Still, almost inexplicably, she bathed in the taste of her fate. It was dirty water; she was swimming in dirty water. But her fate would come later, when she would affirmatively and fatefully decide for the both of them their fate. Their fate together was decided, and the decision would be quite fulfilling in every particular of the situation, while, unfortunately, they were completely fatal for the dying and trustful present position of humanity. When tears flow from eyes so beautiful they are shocking. Caleb knew this well, but he looked at her crying eyes and saw only their troubling smiles. He smiled at her and knew something was wrong; how could he not know?
Because he was an idiot! A blabbering and blithering idiot! He would die soon, yes, I tell you, he would die soon — and, somehow, the taste of his fate was beautiful, a sweet dish to taste, only for tasting sakes of course.
What’s wrong, he politely wondered aloud, did you do it, did you actually (already) do it? Why? Am I worried so for a reason, is it true? Please say no, Jesus, why? Lucia, but you didn’t do it, did you? He took her in his arms and tried to wholeheartedly change the truth of the past. She took him and held him so close. She loved him to be so close, even closer; she loved him to be close; closer still, she loved him to be close; close to her — no one else but her, she could not imagine what it would be like for him to be with someone else. How she hated it when he talked of his ex-girlfriends. She would scoff rudely and angrily at Caleb when he mentioned a previous girlfriend, because she hated the thought of him loving anyone other than her. How she hated the thought of him, for example, kissing the lips of another, more beautiful girl — and she had just kissed another, more beautiful man — and so the circles turn —
The cries persisted but died down, as she needed to explain the beauty of her horrible actions. She needed to justify what she had done, and she needed to explain that what Caleb dreaded so had already occurred — unfathomable. The cries continued but slowed, sniffling grew: I mean, the first two nights were really cool, just what I had hoped for, we kind of hung out and went to random bars with his friends, and just did whatever and it never came up. Yeah, he would give hints or make quick passes, but it was always seemingly just a joke — but the last night all of a sudden we kissed and then it all just happened. I don’t know. Florence was nice and beautiful and it just happened. She became silent and the thoughts on her mind grew still more impossible.
Why had she done it? It did NOT have to be done!
His reaction was one of class and disturbing understanding. For some reason he knew she was going to do it and in a stupor created by love he accepted it. He knew that their relationship was doomed from that moment on, but he accepted it with a stoic adherence to the reality that persisted. The reality that persisted went as follows: he loved this girl; the relationship would be over when their study abroad culminated and they reached the backward States; he should accept one fault because it would not be repeated; she would learn from her one minor error and they would move on. And he was right, they were doomed; they were doomed from day one. He spoke quietly as she wondered what his reaction would be: I cannot accept what you have done; I can only accept you and me; so I accept it. From that moment on, the trust was gone.
She then, ridden with a grief that spelt relief, kissed him for what may have been twenty minutes; it was twenty minutes. He looked at her and smiled; the tears had not stopped; the last one had not dropped; he knew they had still a small long while —
As she smiled coyly at him, she knew what she perceived, that it was he who was deceived. He looked at her and returned her love, knew what he perceived, and smiled that he was deceived…
Caleb Trafton then smiled his unending smile that Lucia Miranda loved so — and if only she knew that it was she who was deceived so…And would he not give a minute for a kiss now? No.