PART TWO

No one told me it would be this hot under the spotlights.  I stand there, the center of someone's universe, but not my own.  I fight a yawn.  It's late, no one knows how late it is, but we're all tired, and I'm wondering--once again--if the day will ever end.  I let my eyes scan the room.  There are extras everywhere, faces sparkling, eyes sleepy but excited.  Their gazes are locked in my direction, but I doubt if any of them see me.  They all appear half-glazed, not entirely here.  I think that's how I feel.  Then I see her.  Curly brown hair, wide brown eyes.  She looks like she's hiding from something.  Surely she's not hiding from me?  Most of the girls here came out for the shoot dying to meet me.  Surely she's not hiding?  I turn slightly away and watch her out of the corner of my eye.  I'm intrigued.

The girl next to her looks to be sound asleep.  The girl I'm watching blinks, once, slowly.  She's definately trying to hide.  She pulls her knees closer to her chest, folding her arms on top of her knees.  Her face is now mostly hidden from me, only her eyes peer out over her arms.  She seems to be melting into the corner, trying to become one with it.  Could she slide any closer to it?  Could she be holding herself any more tightly?  As her brown eyes peek out of her compact huddle, I'm overwhelmed by the feeling that she doesn't want me to see her.  Reluctantly, I turn back to the girls encircling me.

Once again, I'm in the center, I'm the focal point.  I feel like an ant caught in a bright sunbeam filtered through a magnifying glass.  It's too hot.  I know the world doesn't revolve around me, but I feel as if these girls think they need to perpetuate that myth.  I fight a sigh and drop a little laugh instead.  The eyes of the girls surrounding me light up.  I laugh again.  It's almost an experiment.  Will they light up again?  Will they be as bright?  Are they listening to anything I say?  The girls giggle, but their laughs are cold. I feel almost trapped.  One of them is eyeing me with what could definately pass for hunger.  It's unnerving.  I smile, and she melts. The girl in the corner narrows her eyes.  I wish she could get me out of this circle.  It's way too hot.

Then the girl in the corner--the girl I'm trying not to watch--closes her eyes.  She looks almost like she's meditating. I need some of that peace.  I watch her, mostly ignoring those around me.  She seems to be searching for something.

And then I feel her hands on me.

She's still across the room.

She's touching me in her mind.

I let her.

At her first touch, I close my eyes, too.  I try to soak up her peace.  She touches me softly, tracing my ears, tugging where my diamond earrings usually are.  They're at home in a dresser drawer today.  Her fingers trace my chin, my cheekbones, my lips.  She makes my lips feel soft like silk, and I resist the urge to kiss her fingertips.  She moves on from my lips and smooths over my eyebrows, then she brushes along my jaw line, over the scruffy shadow I was too lazy to shave this morning.  Her hands move up once more and she runs her fingers over my newly-shaven head.  I feel her questioning why I cut off my curls.  I want to tell her, 'They made me look too young, too innocent,' and I feel her give a start.  She heard me say that.  I open my eyes and look at her just before her eyes fly open.  I speak to her, into her mind again: 'You know.'

She panics.  She throws thoughts my way to the tune of [I'm crazy, I'm absolutely nuts,] so I tell her, 'No, you're not going crazy, this is me.  And I know you can hear me because I can hear you, too.'

Her hands are still on my head, rubbing over my scalp, and it feels incredible, but then, in a rush, she pulls away. She pulls back into her corner, and I can't fight the disappointment that rushes over me, though I don't understand any of this.  I can no longer feel her and I can't hear her, but I can still see her, for real, with my eyes.  Then I, too, need a moment away.  I turn back towards my circle of girls, but then I feel her reaching out for me again with her fingers in her mind.  She brushes my elbow with her thumb, and I say, almost stubbornly, 'You were gone.'

[I'm here,] she practically yells, [I'm here, but I'm afraid.]  In her fear, she forgot she was touching me.  She forgot I could hear her.

I only say one thing: 'Stay.'

 ***

The shoot wraps with glittery excitment.  I'm ushered towards the dressing room where I change out of my stage clothes back into my regular persona.  Jeans and a t-shirt and a washcloth over my face to erase the day's work.  I'm ready to go.  I look up, waiting for my friends who are in less of a hurry.  They catch up eventually, and we strut our way out.  Well, they strut.  I amble.  I feel like dragging my feet.  I want that moment, [our] moment back.  I feel as though if I leave, it'll stay behind me forever.  I'll never get it back.  I sigh.

Outside the warehouse, the night is silent.  Though I'm once again in the center of a group, inside I'm alone with my jumbled, swirling thoughts.  I blink my eyes, adjusting to the moonlight.  I want only to see her once more.  I feel as if I might reach for her--maybe she's still there.  I feel around in my mind, but if she's there, she's elusive.

Then, all at once, I feel her.  She's touching me again, the same as before, always gently.  I feel her palms on my head, behind my ears.  She calms me.  There's so much I want to tell her, all at once, but 'I knew you'd ... yes.  There.  I knew,' is all I can get across.  She sends nonesense in my direction, but the nonesense is warm and peaceful.  I like her hands where they are.  She smooths down the fuzz of my hair.  She rubs away my inadequacy.  Then I feel her fingers sliding down my arm, angling toward my own fingers.

[May I?] she asks.

I can tell she feels small.  I want to make her big, as big as she feels in my mind.  I smile, wishing that would make her walk taller, and answer 'please do' in a mental whisper.  I can feel her warming up, her hand is comfortable in mine, and then I realize I'm standing next to her.  I didn't even know I was walking forward.  And where the hell did everyone else go?

Unsure of what else to do, I say "Hey," softly, and she looks up, startled.  Then she mentally yanks her hand from mine and physically takes off in a dead run.  Away from me.

I figure I could catch up to her--my legs must be twice as long as hers--but I don't want to.  I don't know why she's running, why she won't hold me in her mind.  It doesn't make sense because moments before her fingers were running warmly over my forearm, asking for more.  I was ready to give it.

I think about reaching out to her in my mind, uncertain if I have the power to connect us, but rather than risk it, I let her go.  I figure she'll come back when she's ready.  In the meantime, I sit down on the curb.  I'm not ready to go home.  I'm sure I've got a bodyguard hovering somewhere, but until he fetches me, I decide to wait.

Why did she run?  I want so much to know.  If I can know that, maybe I can make her stay.  I want so much for her to stay.  Already I crave the comfort she brings to my mind.  And her hand fits perfectly in mine.  I sit there quietly and wait, hoping she'll reach for me, and then I feel her.  One fingertip, gently, on the inside of my left wrist.  Her warmth spreads through me.  I smile.

'Am I really that bad?' I ask her, expecting a laugh.

She just adds her thumb next to that one fingertip, still cautious, and says, [You know the answer to that.]

'Do I know why you ran from me?  Wait, wait ... here.  Wrap your fingers in mine again.'

[Not yet.]

I want so much to reach for her, but I can't.  I need to wait.  I want to whine, but I wait instead.  I pray for patience.

'But you're not really here, just a fingertip, a thumb, here on my wrist.'

[It's all I have.]

'Is that true?'

[True for now.]  How can I want so much more?

I ask her more questions, soft, gentle questions, urging her to open up to me.  I want her to feel what I'm feeling, I need her to feel the comfort she gives.  I don't think she can.  I fill the silence with stories from when I was a kid, silly things, long-ago things.  Quiet things.  Through our connection, she's drawing circles on my wrist.  Her fingers slid up my forearm and rub over the crease at my elbow.

'That tickles.'

[You can feel me?]

'Yes.'

[How did this happen?]  She asks the Big One, and I have no answer other than that which has been inspired by fear, so I tell her, 'I've learned not to ask questions I don't want to learn the answers to.'

[I ... OK.]  She feels small again.  I can tell.  I try to distract her with my stories, but I feel her pulling away, though she's still drawing on my arm.  Her touches are feather light, but they connect us.

Then I hear her say, [... his blue blue eyes, and the girl I thought wanted to drown in those eyes.  I think I want to be that girl now.  I would even pick up a cold icicle laugh if I...]

I feel like I'm eavesdropping, so I interrupt her thoughts.

'You would?'

She's startled once more.  [How did you ...?  I wasn't talking to you!]

I try to make a joke.  'You think loudly.'

I feel her fighting a smile, and she thinks, [I'm supposed to be mad.]

'Why?'

[Why what?]

'Why be mad?'  I try something new.  'Can you see me, in your mind, where your fingers are on my arm?'

[Yes.]

'Can you see my eyes?'  In my mind, her eyes follow her fingers up my arm, across my shoulder, up my neck and over my cheek.  Her fingers stop there, and her eyes lock with mine.  It's the moment in the warehouse again.  We're there and together and it really is that moment.  She looks like she wants to drown.  I want to let her.

'You can see me.  I know you're looking there, looking at me, that you see more than any of the others.  You see past cold giggles, past diamonds, past it all.'

[Yes.]

'You want to drown?'

[I'm afraid.]

'I'll drown with you.'

[You'll what?]

'With you.  This.  Us.  Give me your hand.'  And for the first time, I reach for her.  I extend my hand, hoping, praying that she'll take it.  'Here ...'  I reach again, trying not to overwhelm her.  Trying and failing.  Our fingertips brush for one beautiful second, but then, all of a sudden, there's nothing.

She's gone.