============================================================== To reach ALL SJD members, please send to sjd@satjadham.net ... Do NOT include any other addresses when sending to the list... Include as LITTLE of the original messages as possible........ Message sent by: Amphephone Phettaphong *** Announcement: *** Please send your member fee to Victor if you haven't done so. ============================================================== Hello All, As promise, this is the final part of "Creative". Again, half of this story has happened in real life and half of it fictional. Creative Part III He lay in bed that night, and that was when the sleeplessness started. His nights became restless affairs, tossing and turning, waking to find her looking at him across that table, the candlelight bringing her rainbows. Later, he was to regret that he hadn't called her, that night from home, and talked her round. The following day was impossible, twice, he was on the verge of walking out on his job. Everything was too much. He rushed home at lunch time, and spent the time ordering flowers. He wrote a poem, and quoted that to the lady-in-blue-dress. "Your hands will hold these blossoms, and your eyes reflect the hues, but where is the bloom that could compare with the beauty that is you?". She read it back to him , and he added a 'thank', then it was time to go. Another regret, he should have spent the time calling her. Not that was ever easy, she was busy, that work of her's. The following days were wretched, he couldn't call her, not from work, nor from home. He felt desperate, he needed her in his life, and she was slipping away. But he took the time to reflect. Saturday came, and he went into her work place, especially to talk to her. "Can we talk?", he asked, as usual. "Not right now", came her reply. He told her he would come back. Later he came back, she said, "This is getting sordid". His heart plummeted, he had hoped for a change of heart, that maybe time had softened her. She was talkative enough, she said what she thought, but the thoughts were out of place. She rationalized away the fact that she had instigated the relationship, and that she had wanted to know him. It was like the turning of a tap, where had all the warmth gone? He hadn't changed, he was what he had been those days before, when she had squeezed his hand, and kissed his lips. "I had a call from the Bride", she said, "And I felt that I was being interrogated. She spoke about you, and said that you were unhappy, and that you had been that way for a long time. She said that she had heard you talking about me, to the Bride/Groom, on the phone". "That never happened", he said, feeling anger that he had been betrayed, his confidence broken. "She's (The Bride) lying to you, the Bride/Groom has mentioned the fact that he gave me your address. I never gave him any reason to believe that there was anything beyond me sending you some information. I asked him to keep it in confidence, because I know how the Bride, and my x-girlfriend talk. I didn't compromise you, I promise you. I always said that I wouldn't let this become sordid, and it isn't". She didn't say it, but he knew that there had been more to the conversation than she told. He knew where she was headed, "Don't do this thing", he said, "It'll be the most destructive thing you've ever done". Her response was quick, "Don't lay that on me", she said. "I'm not laying anything on you", he replied, feeling that he was being railroaded. How could she be so determined to kill off this precious thing that had been between them? She was adamant that there had been nothing, between them, but he knew there had, he remembered that chemistry. He remembered her eyes, and the looks that she had given him. He remembered her beauty, and felt blackness. Then, she said the words that he dreaded, "I don't think I want you to call me again". And, that, was the bottom of his world. "I love you", he whispered. And her response was, again, sharp, "No you don't", she said, "you don't know me". He could only respond with a impotent, "I do". It was hopeless. How could he make her know how he felt, why he wanted her in his life, how he saw her, and mostly, how he felt that he knew her. But she wasn't in the mood to listen. "I will call you again", he said, and she said a simple bald, "OK". He put the phone down, and retreated into his shell He finished her poem, and wrote another, retrospective and rhetorical piece about knowing you were losing someone. He sent them to her, along with a letter, which explained how he saw things. But, of course, she couldn't respond. He blundered his way, through his days. He had a two week vacation, but no plan on going anywhere. He called her, a few more times, and her response varied, sometimes she was hard and ruthless, other times, she was almost her old self. But she never did want to know him or give him a second chance. Eventually, from frustration and desperation, he wrote another sixteen pages letter. He told her of how he had felt, as he had gotten to know her. How beautiful he found her, the fact of her aura, and how she had changed. He tried to make it objective, so she could perhaps learn a little from it. And, finally, he told her he loved her, and needed her. It was a last ditch effort, he couldn't simply turn away, and let this wonder slip from his fingers. Maybe, what he was feeling wasn't love, but it didn't matter, it was a fine feeling, and he wanted her to know it, he wanted her to bask in it's warmth, and to feel that she was wanted. Friendship is precious, too precious to simply throw away. But she did. She threw it away, when he called her. It was the last, he knew it, when she spoke with irritation in her voice. "Did nothing I wrote, or said to you, ever touch you", he asked. Her voice was flat, obstinate, "NO", she said. And when they parted, he whispered, "Bye, bye". "Bye", she said, and he couldn't tell if there was any caring in her voice. He put the phone down, gently, reluctantly, he didn't want to bruise the feelings that there had been. And he cried… ............. Epilogue The breaking-up with his girlfriend had finally happened, months later. He'd distanced himself from all his friends. But his annoyance gradually faded. He and his friends (The Bride/Groom), they spoke occasionally, when the mood took them. He didn't know whether it would ever be the same, they seemed to have been instrumental in taking from him, the most precious thing that he had ever had. But tonight, they had asked him to a party, and he'd been happy to accept. Though, he did have suspicions about the Brides motives. He knew there would be something in her mind. But she was sweet enough, and he knew she never had meant any harm, with any of her actions. The room was full, and the music loud. People laughed and turned to smile, as he walked through the door. He say hi to a few friends, those he knew, and they asked how he was. He answered, "I'm fine", in his usual non-committal way. He made his way to the kitchen, in search of a drink. The Groom was there, and they chatted for a while, with others. The laughter was loud, and the friendship good. Eventually, he made his way back to the living room, in an attempt to find someone to talk with. The people seemed to part, and she was there, standing among a group, smiling, animated, and looking beautiful. He had no illusions, he knew that as long as he moved in this circle, then he was bound to meet her sometime. She sipped from her glass, and her eyes met his, there was a suggestion of a smile, and then she looked away. He hesitated, before her eyes left his, and felt some of that old emotion. There she was with that aura and the hair that tumbled across her back, with those eyes that darkened when she felt emotion and he knew loving her had been right. He turned on his heel, and walked from the room. He felt it impossible to be there, right now, when he was so unprepared. He grabbed another beer on the way through the kitchen, and headed for the garden. The garden was empty, and he looked for a chair. The night was overcast, and a little windy, it felt chilly, just a little. But he'd stay for a while until his confidence returned. He hadn't expected this, though he had, if he was honest hoped that she would turn up somewhere in his life. He pulled the ring from the can, and the hiss was lost on the breeze. The garden seemed a haven from the sounds of the party behind him, every room was brightly lit. He dragged another chair across, and planted his feet upon it. He didn't know what he felt, as he raised the can to his lips, and drank from it. But he did know something, he wasn't going to turn this into a drowning of sorrows. That wasn't his way, he didn't like drink enough for that. But a gentle inebriation wouldn't go amiss. A little later, and the kitchen door opened, a shaft of light illuminated the grass, and the shadow of a figure filled the bright space. He knew it was her, before he looked, he could feel her there in his senses. He watched from the corner of his eye as he'd done before, as she approached. "Are you alone?", she said, as she'd done before. A mad thought run acrossed his mind, a kind of insane humor, a reaction to her unnecessary question, "No I'm here with God, we're getting pissed together". For one second, he could have said. But it wasn't really him. And he knew how destructive that would have been. Instead, he turned to her, and gave her a, genuinely warm, smile. "Pull up a seat", he said. A pause, as she positioned her chair. "How are you?" he went on "Are you well?, are you happy? How's that life of your's?. Are you still working every hour around the clock?" Her eyes glistened, in what little light there was. "Those things will never change", she said, "I'm always busy. But, yes, I'm happy, I think, and I'm well". "How are you?", she asked. "I'm fine", came his usual reply. She looked at him hard. He returned her look feeling just a little defiant. "No, really", he softened, "I'm well". "But I miss you", he added after a moment's pause. She drew again, and sip on her glass of red wine, and fiddled with her purse. Finally, she raised her head, and looked at him. She was beautiful and he felt that aura, and knew her warmth. "Did I hurt you", she asked softly. The emotion rose in his throat, he felt tears, the memory of those unfulfilled wishes. He nodded, a gentle nod, and gazed at the far horizon. "Just a little", he said, softly. It was her turn to be defiant, "What did you expect from me?", she ask. "I don't know. I just found the parting, too hard, and destructive. You changed so dramatically. And I couldn't take that". She said nothing. "I don't think this is the place for me to tell you how I feel about you, beside, I've already done that in my letters". "Perhaps you should tell me, to my face", she said, touching his arm. And he knew it was an invitation. But this wasn't the place. Sometime, some other place, maybe. But he wasn't going to open old wounds, just to have her walk away from him. He shook his head, introspectively. "Not here, not now", he said. She sipped from her glass again, and the glow lit her face. His mind screamed, "I love you", over and over. But he wasn't about to speak what was on his mind, not this time. "That apart, what other things are happening in your life?", he asked. She was non-committal, "Not a lot", she replied. But, then, she went on to tell him about a myriad of things, wonders, that she had in her life. At least, they seemed like wonders. Eventually, she shivered on the cold night air. Those slender arms were exposed again, and the rounds of her shoulders. She probably thought of them as one of her best features, He thought. And so they were. He'd ask her, if he ever got the chance. "You should have a jacket", he said. "So should you", she said. "I've got one inside, but I'm going in now, anyway". She touched his shoulder, as she rose from the chair. "Don't stay out here, too, long", she said. "You'll get cold". He touched her hand. "I won't", he said. Later, he climbed the stairs, to the bathroom. She appeared, at the head of the stairs, and he stood to one side, to let her pass. The proximity of her made his head spin as she passed. She turned to him, "You can call me, if you like", she said. And her eyes meant it. He nodded, a slow nod. "Thank you", he said. Though, inside he had a vacuum. He wanted her as he had always wanted her, in his life because of what she was, and what she brought with her. But he wouldn't be hurt by her. Not again. She passed on, down the stairs as he headed up. When he returned, she was nowhere to be found. She'd said her farewells, and gone. Gone to live her life, and to do her wonders. Gone and left him feeling empty. A while later, and he said his farewells, too. Somehow, the reason for being there had suddenly evaporated. The night had turned to rain, a steady drizzle covered the windscreen, and the individual droplets looked like diamonds, in the headlights. The wipers made a mournful sound as they scraped across the glass. He reversed the car, and drove from the close. He stopped, briefly, at the end of the street and felt emotion. A car loomed out of the night, and dazzled him, with it's passing. He blinked, and realized that his eyes were filled with tears. He talked to himself, as he drove. A way of making sense. Yes, of course he'd call her. His heart would make sure of that. He'd call her, and tell her that he loved her, and ask her out, ...... sometime. That was it. Sometime. Sometime, soon. Yes, .......... Very soon. Have a very happy Valentine's Day all... _____________________________________________________________ Get FREE web-based email at http://webmail.lao.net and get your very own @Qon.Lao.net email address. _ ***************************************************************** Visit SatJaDham Homepage at: http://www.satjadham.org (or .net) *****************************************************************