By Linda Williams
Where does time go? She foolishly wished for a way to keep her memories in tangible form. He was one of those memories. Sweet and tart at the same time, he was ambrosia. She ached to feel his texture on her palate, to taste the passion they'd shared that one night, whenever she pleased.
He was of French and Korean heritage, Asian features mixing flawlessly with Caucasian to create a perfect blending of races she knew could only be accomplished by a higher being. His complicated recipe of youthful features taunted her memory, pulling at her, like an annoying child wanting attention.
Her breath quickened in remembrance of his pupils scalding her through the almond shaped rims she feared she might trip over and fall in love. His eyes had the tiniest crows feet at the corners, belying that first impression of being in his twenties. He was all of thirty-five.
“Will we see each other again?” She asked.
He didn’t answer right away. He put his arms around her waist; his body heat warmed her as he pulled her closer. She could feel the slight pooch of his living a bit too well as he held her.
She placed a hand on his cheek, her fingers trailed down his rounded jaw that seemed to carry a rim of baby fat along the edge. His moustache was prickly on her fingertips as she touched it briefly. She caressed his straight black hair and it fell through her fingers like silk threads, clean and glossy.
They sat down together in the white sand. He nuzzled the hollow of her neck. Her breath caught in her throat; she felt her blood warming in answer to the inquisitiveness of his mouth.
She detected the slightest hint of lavender and spice mingling with notes of black cherry pipe tobacco clinging to his skin.
“There’s no need to meet again,” he said.
“Why do you say that?” Disappointment etched her voice.
“If we never meet again, we only have to remember perfection.”
She picked up the bottle from her dressing table and leaned back into the satin pillows surrounding her. She opened it and allowed the blend of lavender and spice with notes of black cherry to settle throughout her bedroom. She felt the need to remember perfection.
Linda Williams lives in the Ortega Mountains of southern California. She'd much rather be on the back of a horse than riding in a car. She is currently working on her first romance/comedy screenplay. Her work was also published in T-Zero Magazine's April 2004 issue and another piece will appear in the September 2004 issue of Real Eight on-line magazine. Contact Linda.