Confrontation3

    Jessica was a flame --a torch-- of assurance, compassion. It was as if a door hidden within a dark and joyless cellar had flung open to the full glory of the sun. She extended herself and surrounded Michele's love and trust. Plucking one well-anchored thread of confidence from the glittering array of Michele's emotions, she expertly began the weaving.
     "Think of a tree --a strong, vigorous tree at the height of its growth. A tree no wind will bend, no snow will break. It's alive with its roots sunk deep into the soil, pulling strength from the ground, and rain from the sky. See yourself walking close to it, and touching its trunk with your hand."
     "Is it my friend?" Michele asked.
     "Yes, your friend, your second self." Jessica reiterated. "Walk closer; lean your back against the trunk. Feel how strong your friend is. Lean closer; let the Tree take you, make you one with it. Feel how strong you are--you and your friend. Your back like a trunk, the strength running in you drawn up from the deep--clean, green, certain strength. You're so strong..."
     There was a small silence as Michele sat, face joyful, wrapped in love, taking the image into herself. Jessica began to withdraw slowly.
     "It's time to say good-bye to your friend now. Take another shared breath...take a step...another...you may come to visit as often as you like. Your friend will always welcome you. You may awake now."
     Jessica picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. "Do you want another tankard of ale?" she asked, and her voice was entirely normal.
     "Uh, Yea...What happened...I feel strange, but much better. What are you grinning about?" Jessica didn't say, but she remained with Michele for a while, talking about what had happened during the day.
     Jessica saw a familiar face of a person she might have known in her past. She left Michele, sitting at the table, to investigate her curiosity. Approaching the tall slender man, Jessica recognized an old flame. He had gray-brown hair, small, narrow green eyes, and a golden brown complexion. Jessica began wondering why he had shown up at the tavern. She had not seen this man for almost ten years, remembering vividly their last night together, and his vow to pay her back for running out on him --at any cost...
     That night Julius Sinclair, an Ensign in the Navy at that time, and Jessica had finished the Omega Project: the information-gathering process for the President's Star Wars Project. After Julius had gone back to his ship, showered and gone to bed, Jessica walked aboard and entered his home unnoticed. He jerked into sudden wakefulness, seeing her standing next to his bed, looking down at him.
     "Come in," he said. "Don't bother to knock. Now you see how the poor live. This is Liberty Hall; you can spit on the mat and call a cat a bastard.
     She said, "That's not very funny."
     "I know it's not. Even the first time that I heard it aboard this blasted ship, I found myself able to refrain from splitting my guts.
     "There's no need to be so bitchy, Julius."
     "Isn't there? Wouldn't you be bitchy if you had to suppress something you didn't believe in?"
     "Yes, I would be. But you asked for it, didn't you?"
     "If doing my duty --or trying to do my duty-- is asking for it, I suppose that I did. Well --and has our pirate Captain cast off yet, armed to the teeth with the weapons he's stolen?"
    "No. The mounting of the weapons is still going on. But let's not argue legalities, Julius. There's not enough time. I...I, just wanted to say goodbye."
    "Goodbye?" he echoed.
    "Yes. Somebody has to do the cooking for the men aboard the U.S.S Eisenhower --and I volunteered."
    "You?"
    "And why the hell not?" she flared. "Captain Nichols has switched over to our side of the fence, and it'd be a pretty poor show if we didn't stand by him. Bailey has gone across to take over as Reaction Drive Engineer. Let's stop talking rubbish," she cried. "I probably shan't see you again, Julius and ... and ... oh, hell, I want to say good-bye properly, and I don't want you to think too badly about the old man...and myself.
    "So, what are we supposed to do about it?"
    "Damn you, Sinclair, you snotty-nosed, stuck-up seaguppie! Look after yourself!" Suddenly she bent down and kissed him. Intending to be no more than a light brushing of the lips, Sinclair became suddenly aware, with his entire body, of the closeness of her, of the warmth and the scent of her, and almost without volition his arms went around her, dragging her closer to him. Somehow the buttons of her blouse had come undone, and her firm nipples were taut against his hairy chest. Her shorts had peeled away from her hips --and his own
arments were no longer a barrier between their bodies.
    What was happening he had read about often enough --and, like most young men, he had seen his share of pornographic films. But this was different. It was happening to him --and for the first time.
    When it was over, Sinclair was reluctant to let her go. Gently, Jessica tried to stop herself.
    She whispered, "That was a warmer good-bye than I intended. But I'm not sorry. No. I'm not sorry...." Then barely audible, "it was the first time for you, wasn't it?"
    "Yes."
    "Then I'm all the more glad it happened. But this is goodbye."
    "No!"
    "Don't be a fool, Julius. You can't keep me here."
    "But I love you. Please don't leave me by myself," he begged her.
    "Goodbye, Julius. Jessica walked away.

The Confrontation
Page 3

The Catherine Brosnan