Clear and Bright: Chapter Five: Clear and Bright

                                   
A smile spreads across his face, a smile for me. A smile for us. There will be an us. There is an us. We're already here.

He reaches up and wipes what's left of my tears from my face, his fingertips like gentle flames against my cheeks, soothing me in every sense. "I did. Finally. I don't have to search anymore. You're here."

The relief in his voice fills something in me.

I thought I was whole.

Is it possible that a person can fill an emptiness in us we don't know is there?

His words do this to me now.

He takes my hand in his, and turns me back to the source of my tears. "I don't ever want to cause you pain. I don't want to see hurt in your eyes. I want you to cry tears of joy, not sorrow. Your face, this face that has haunted my days and nights for so long, is so much more beautiful than he portrayed. He loved you, I can see that, but he didn't see you clearly. I know there is a story here, a story of one man's loss. I know his unspoken words have caused you pain, but I would like you to hear those words now the way I hear them. It was, for him, a tale of regret. I can't blame him for that, how could he not regret losing you?"

I interrupt him now, with a few questions of my own, "How could you know that I'm someone worth trying to keep? Someone you wouldn't want to lose? Surely you can't know that from painted images of my disappearing face?"

My words silence him momentarily. He seems to be considering his response, as he looks again to the paintings that he must have committed to his memory.

I wonder how long he has had them here?

How long has he been searching for me? The me he has created for himself.

What is she like?

Is she anything like me?

Can I ever even hope to compare to his imagined version?

He doesn't look at me when he speaks, he seems lost in the images before him. "I was drawn to your face instantly, I don't deny that. I will never lie to you. These are empty words to you now, but you will learn their truth in time. We have time." He smiles as he says this, content in his belief. "You see, Claire, for me your face isn't disappearing."

I gasp at his use of my name, but he only winks at me. This simple gesture renders me a puddle of mush. How can I be so affected by him? I have never been that girl. I don't get butterflies and goosebumps and wobbly knees. I don't!

I hear her now, sensible Claire. She's laughing at me. You didn't, she corrects.

She's starting to get on my nerves, but she has brought me back to solid form. I'd like to push her into the mush puddle that now lies beside me. Focus, Claire! How does he know my name? I'm about to ask him, when I see his amused expression hovering over me. Crap. Either I was actually talking to myself, or he knows about the puddle he created. Is that a smirk on his face? Yes. Definitely a smirk. He definitely knows about the puddle. Smug bastard. I stick my tongue out at him. Immature? Yes. Gratifying? Absolutely.

He laughs, and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Crap. I return to my previously mushy state. That didn't take long. My face is betraying me, it must be, partners with my traitorous legs and thumping heart.

Once again, he knows exactly what he's done to me. He laughs again, and leans in to whisper in my ear, "You're adorable."

No one has ever called me adorable before, it surprises me. I'm too serious for adorable.

You used to be, I hear in my head.

Oh goody, miss smarty pants is still here. How is it I've never heard her before? She's always there, a part of me, but she's never spoken to me until today.

That's because I didn't need to UNTIL TODAY! 


What? She's yelling at me now? I don't care. She can yell all she wants, he thinks I'm adorable. This makes me far happier than it should. When did I become such a girl?

I know she's about to say something, so I cut her off. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but could I please have a glass of water or something? I'm feeling a bit out of sorts."

A look of irritation crosses his face, and he says "Of course, I've been a terrible host. Please forgive me."

He leads me across the large expanse of a room, to intricately etched glass doors that open onto a balcony. There is a lovely courtyard below, and I find myself wondering if he spends much time there.

"Perhaps a bit of fresh air will help," he says as he pulls out a chair from the wrought iron table. "Relax, I'll be right back."

Relax? Easy for him to say. I may have noticed bits of cautiousness or desperation in him before, but that's all gone now. Getting me here was what frightened him, that I might say no, but now that he's accomplished that he is confident. My puddles left in the other room only add to it, I'm sure.

Perhaps I am starting to relax. I think it's being out here, a mix of fresh, cool air and being away from the 'gallery of me'. He wants to explain it to me, tell the story in his words, and I want to hear it. I want to see something other than pain in those images, see what he sees.

My thoughts jump to Nadine, my friend and forgotten lunch meeting. Why hasn't she called me? She should be worried sick that her responsible, sensible, always-on-time-and-courteous-enough-to-call-if-I'm-going-to-be-later-than-15-minutes-early, friend has stood her up! My bag is inside, where I deposited it when we came in.

As if he's read my mind, my beautiful stranger appears with arms full. I'm going to ask him his name if I can focus, I swear I am. In one hand he holds a tray with 2 bottles of Perrier, 2 glasses of ice, and a plate of bread, cheese and fruit. In the other, he has a blanket and my bag. I jump up to help him, but he waves me off with a flourish of his tray-holding hand. Maybe he's waited tables before, or maybe still does, it's not like I know anything about him.

"You missed lunch," he says, sitting the tray down on the table.

My eyes on his other hand bring his next words "It's a bit chilly, I don't want you to be cold."

He drapes the blanket lightly over me, and hands me my bag, adding "It was ringing. You were rushing somewhere before... perhaps someone is worried?"

His expression no longer bears the confidence it had a few moments ago. Has it just occurred to him that I may be attached? Had he not considered this before?

I smile at him, and say "I wouldn't have gone with you if there was that kind of someone to worry."

Oh, there's that beautiful smile again. I'm grateful to be sitting this time, my traitorous legs rendered useless against me. I pull my phone from my bag. Nadine has called me 3 times, and texted me twice. I guess I didn't hear it. Okay, she was worried. Shamed with guilt, I type a quick text letting her know that I'm okay, apologizing for standing her up, and telling her that my explanation will, without any doubt, make her forgive my rudeness. I hit send, knowing that it will drive her mad with curiosity, but that she will wait to hear from me.

He's waiting politely, watching me. "Thank you, you didn't have to go to so much trouble," I say finally.

"It was no trouble at all. I'm sure I've quite disrupted your day, though I'm not at all sorry for that," he replies with a cheshire cat grin.

Mercy. Mush, mush, mush. Focus, Claire. I take a sip of my Perrier, and find my voice. "I know I interrupted you before, and I want to hear the story you want to tell me, but I think it's only fair that I know your name first." Finally. Now he just has to answer.

"More than fair," he says, "Jaimin. It is my honor to finally meet you, Claire. My words are more sincere than you know."

I beam at him. I can't help myself. I believe him. As crazy as it seems, I know his finding me today has filled a tremendous longing in his life. He has had my face covering his walls, a dream of some sort, and now finally has me here.  What I don't know is if I will disappoint him, and the idea of me he has created in his mind. Oh, I hope not. I want to know. I need to know. I have to keep him talking. "Thank you" is all I can muster, then add "Please continue. I won't interrupt again, I promise."

He slides the plate he has so thoughtfully prepared closer to me. "You eat, and I'll tell you anything you want to know. Are you warm enough?"

I nod my response, and pop a grape into my mouth like an obedient child.

"Adorable," he says again with a sigh and a shake of his head.

Perhaps I have found a way to affect him too. Although not my intention, I'll take what I can get.

I am instantly mesmerized as he begins. "He painted you in a progression of loss. I understand how deeply he must have felt this loss, his vision brought to life vividly on the canvas. His pain is clear, moving. You were retreating from him, at least he felt you were. You were fading, farther and farther away until you were gone, leaving him with darkness.

You referred to it as your disappearing face. This is what I want you to understand, Claire. From the first image of you, he painted you in a fog. He didn't believe you were his. Maybe he didn't think he was worthy, maybe he was too unsure of himself to really see you. I don't know, and I don't mean in any way to make light of his emotional struggle. I know only that he was a troubled young man, who lost his fight with the darkness inside of him. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for him, and I'm sorry for you.

I saw your pain today, you cared for him a great deal. Whatever happened between you, whatever caused him to lose you, it has brought you here. I'm not sorry for that. I'm too selfish, and I've waited too long. I was captivated by that face, with it's different expressions. Confusion. Trepidation. Fear. Sadness. I didn't know if those feelings were yours, or just what he thought he saw reflected back at him. I wanted to know. I wanted to know you. I wanted to see you in light, not the endless fog. I wanted to know your face, understand your expressions for myself.

I've waited for you. I've been living in darkness waiting for you. As you saw, I've arranged your face as a progression of focus and light, each clearer than the last. You were coming closer to me. Closer, and closer, but always out of my reach until today. This is the final image. You. What I see before me now. No haze, no fog. Certainly you must know the meaning of your name. 'Clear and bright'. That is what you are, Claire. I've had to see you in a fog for all of this time. My world exploded with light the second I saw your face today, and now you are here. You are right here with me, and you are clear, and you are bright, and you are beautiful.

You asked me how I could know you're someone I wouldn't want to lose... I'm not sure I can explain it to you. I only know that I've lived my life without you until today, and that life was empty. I don't feel empty now. You are here, and the emptiness is gone. I don't know anything about you, except for your name, and the fact that someone loved you and lived in darkness and pain from the loss of you. I've searched for you for a long time. I searched every street, every cafe, every museum and shop. I searched every place there is to look for a person, the person who would make everything bright. I knew I would find you if I just kept looking. You're no longer out of my reach. I can see you. I can smell you. I can reach out and touch you."

I am so moved by his words, that tears have begun to stream down my face.

"Please don't cry," he says softly, as he reaches out to wipe them away once again. "That isn't what I wanted. I just don't want you to go. I know it must seem crazy to you, and maybe it is. I live surrounded by you, with only your face and the knowledge of your name. Okay," he laughs, "that definitely sounds crazy, but I don't want you to be afraid. I could never hurt you. I just want to know you. I'm asking you for that chance. The fact that you're here gives me hope.

There's something between us. I know you feel it. You felt it on the street, before you knew any of this. You feel it now, your tears prove that. I'm not perfect. I don't claim to be. There will be days I'll irritate you, and days I'll infuriate you. The only promises I can make to you is that I will be kind. I will laugh with you. I will support you and comfort you. I will talk to you and I will listen to you. I will share with you all that I have. I will give you more than I ever ask from you. I will adore you and protect you, and I will never, ever lie to you. This is what I can offer you, for now. Can you take a chance, Claire? For me? For us?"

I want to answer him, but when I open my mouth, no sound comes out. I want to throw myself into his arms, but if ever I was mush, it is now. My legs would certainly fail me, just as my voice has. I don't want him to misunderstand. I'm not afraid. I'm not confused. I don't need time to think. I'm not going anywhere. I want to know him, too. I reach my arms out to him, hoping he will know the meaning of my helpless gesture.

He knows. Of course he does. He is on his feet and lifting me into his arms in an instant. It feels right, more than anything I've ever felt.

This day began for me in a hectic whirl. It continued in a blur of senses and emotions, but now... here... everything is clear and bright.