ALMOST AS IF WE ARE ONE
JoAnn Baca
Part 1
“I adored it, Vincent! Thank you for sharing it with me.” Catherine smiled lovingly. She returned the slim volume of poetry to him and accepted his invitation to sit in one of the massive old chairs in his chamber.
Nodding as he accepted the book, Vincent murmured, “I am glad you enjoyed it, Catherine.”
The poet, Shane Briscoe, was a relatively recent “find,” and Vincent had been avidly awaiting Catherine’s evaluation of his craftsmanship. Briscoe’s work, Confessions of an Untamed Heart, spoke deeply to his soul. In all his reading, this man’s poetry came the closest to expressing the tides and currents of his relationship with Catherine, and Briscoe did it with consummate artistry.
Green eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she replied, “Oh, it went beyond enjoyment, Vincent! Briscoe’s words were a revelation to me. I felt as if he understood all the things that have been happening in my life...intimate things.” She paused, glancing down for a moment, as if unsure about whether to reveal more of what this poet meant to her. Deciding she would, she looked up at him shyly. “Reading his work is the nearest I’ve ever come in literature to touching what is deepest in my heart...and to hearing your voice.”
Feeling a blush rise to his cheeks, Vincent ducked his head. He knew Catherine’s revelation was heartfelt, and deserved a like admission, but he feared revealing too much of his own emotional landscape, as if doing so would forge another link in the chain he believed already bound her too tightly to him. Still, he overcame his natural reticence just far enough to admit, “I felt that way also -- as if he and I were of one mind, and he could find the words I lack.”
It wasn’t enough. She deserved so much more. She deserved every word of love and commitment in his overflowing heart. But he could never hope to tell them to her. All those words -- they would be too intense, too overwhelming, they would seem to demand some corresponding commitment in return. At the very least, they would be too much of a burden for her to carry back to the world Above. And he struggled...always...to be no burden to his beloved. Still he felt he should tell her...something more, just this once.
“So often, Catherine, I’ve wanted to say...certain things...but did not, because I could not find adequate expression for my thoughts. Shane Briscoe knows all the words -- all my words.” The intensity of his eyes as he made this admission burned with crystalline blue fire into her soul. Catherine lost herself within the almost palpable fervor of his gaze.
She had realized early in her reading that he had not lent her Briscoe’s poetry merely for her intellectual pleasure. She perceived the kinship Vincent felt with Briscoe, and the desire in him that she understand that what Briscoe said, he felt. Now, as she contemplated that insight into her beloved’s character, she was thrilled that today he had found the courage to confess to her what this poetry truly meant to him, and by inference, what she meant to him -- a rare and treasured acknowledgment. But it was obvious what such an admission had cost him. It was reflected within their Bond, which was rapidly becoming a white-hot riot of complex, intense emotion, skittering and churning close to the surface. Catherine began to fear that Vincent would retreat soon unless she diffused the almost electric atmosphere in the chamber.
Shifting in her chair and reluctantly breaking eye contact, she sought to calm the emotional storm pulsing unseen between them. She mentally shook herself, then said, “I went to a bookstore at lunchtime today and bought the only other collection of his verse I could find, Meetings and Partings. I started reading it in the cab on the way home, and it’s just as insightful, just as thought-provoking and deeply passionate....” She stopped herself just a bit too late -- Lately, all we do is try to avoid saying the things we’re thinking -- finishing lamely, “...well, it holds up to Confessions. As soon as I finish reading it, I’ll lend it to you, if you like.”
She pulled the volume out of her bag and offered it to him. Vincent flipped through the pages, stopping now and again to read. Catherine sat quietly, watching him as he became absorbed in the magic of Briscoe’s words. At length, and reluctantly, he closed the book and handed it back to her. He seemed to have recovered his equilibrium, and Catherine was hopeful that she wouldn’t be dismissed from his company just because he thought he’d let his control slip a bit too far or that he’d divulged a little too much. She sighed to herself: sometimes it felt like it would forever be one step forward, two steps back where their relationship was concerned.
Her reverie was broken as she realized Vincent was speaking to her. “I would very much like to borrow this volume, "Catherine. Thank you. And if you find any others....”
Picking up on his hint, she commented, “I noticed that his work is printed by a division of the publishing house my friend Jenny works for, so I’m going to ask her to find out when his next book is coming out.”
Vincent nodded, then stood up, offering his hand to her. “I’ll walk you to your threshold.”
* * *
When she called her friend that evening, Jenny was just as enthusiastic about Briscoe’s work as Catherine. “I know, Cath, isn’t he great? I don’t know why I didn’t think to mention him to you when I first read his stuff. I’ve met him, you know. Come to think of it, I immediately thought of you when I did! I think you two might just hit it off.”
Catherine was surprised by Jenny’s comment. Jenny was not the kind of friend who was always looking to fix her girlfriends up with eligible guys. Usually, she wanted the guys for herself! She decided to tweak her pal about it. “Why do you say that, Jenny? Isn’t he good looking enough for you?!”
“Oh, he’s great looking, Cath! I don’t know why I didn’t try for him. I guess something about him seems to give me the impression that he’s, like, waiting for someone. And it isn’t me, I just feel it.”
Catherine had many reasons to have faith in her friend’s sixth sense; too many times over the years, Jenny had told her about dreams or impressions which turned out to be accurate predictions of the future. Catherine felt an involuntary shiver as she reflected that, most of the time, those predictions centered around her. One reason she had avoided her best friend’s company so often in recent months was because of the unsettling feeling that Jenny could almost read her mind about Vincent. In fact, several times Jenny had voiced very uncomfortable questions about her “secret relationship.” Catherine could never convince her that she was off target -- as indeed she was not, and they both knew it.
“Well, I’ll go with your feelings, then! If it isn’t you, it likely isn’t me, either!”
Jenny hesitated before she replied. “I don’t know about that, Cath....”
Just then there was a knock on the
apartment door. “There’s the pizza. Gotta go! Let me know what
you find out about our Mr. Briscoe, OK, Jen? Bye!”
* * *
Catherine thought no more about her conversation with Jenny, and several months went by before she got an envelope in the mail from Jenny’s publishing company. It was an invitation to a book-signing later in the week. The book-signing was for the latest release by Shane Briscoe.
* * *
As Catherine entered the bookstore, Jenny waved to her and caught her eye. “Glad you got here so early, Cath! I want you to meet someone before the crowd gets thicker.” She grabbed Catherine’s hand and yanked her through the already very substantial group milling around the table where the author was ensconced with piles of his latest release, Beneath Your World.
Marching right to the front of the line, Jenny excused herself and said to the customers, “I’m sorry, but Mr. Briscoe needs a short break. He’ll be back very soon. Thank you for your patience.” She then pulled the bemused Mr. Briscoe aside and led him to a quiet corner of the bookstore.
“Shane, this is the friend I was telling you about. Catherine Chandler, this is Shane Briscoe.” Looking over her shoulder, she groused, “Oh, darn, the manager’s waving at me. I’ll just be a minute. Entertain yourselves ‘til I get back!” Beating a strategic retreat, Jenny left the two newly introduced strangers alone together.
Looking at the swiftly retreating back of her friend, Catherine promised silently, I’m gonna kill you, Jen! She then turned to take her first good look at Shane Briscoe.
He was quite tall and very well built. Catherine got the impression “lumberjack” just from his size and musculature. He was big in all the right ways. He had a certain wild, outdoorsy look which contributed to the “lumberjack” effect -- longish red-blond hair, a short, well-trimmed reddish-gold beard, and good-natured sky-blue eyes that were twinkling with amusement at Catherine’s obvious discomfort.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Chandler. Jenny told me about you, and I said I’d love to meet you, but she apparently didn’t warn you about...” He waved his arms to indicate the hubbub surrounding them. “...all this! Please don’t feel compelled to stay. And you needn’t entertain me until she returns.”
Catherine’s good manners clicked back on, and she shook her head and smiled as she said, “Oh, no, you don’t get away from me that easily, Mr. Briscoe! I know I’ll sound like everyone else waiting in that line back there, but I have wanted a chance to tell you how much your work means to me ever since a friend of mine lent me your first volume of poetry. You are truly inspired.”
Shane Briscoe blushed -- a very unexpected development, considering how often he must have heard those exact words. “Thank you, Catherine. There aren’t many copies of my first book out there -- I’m surprised your friend even found it.”
She laughed and shrugged. “Well, I have to admit...it came from a remainder bin! But it was lent to me quite dog-eared, with the strictest instructions that it be returned as soon as possible. My friend considers it a treasure too valuable to be out of sight for long. I must say that I agree with him.”
He regarded her seriously for a moment, then commented, “However the book came into your hands, I appreciate your compliments. Unlike most people, you sound as if you actually mean them.”
Catherine raised her eyebrows at the implied disbelief. “I never say things I don’t mean, Mr. Briscoe.”
“Never?” His left eyebrow twitched with the inquiry.
Realizing her leg was being pulled, she relaxed and chuckled, insisting, “No, never!”
His eyes were warm and tinged with humor as he replied, “Well, then, I appreciate your compliments even more.”
Catherine warned him, “Careful. You’re starting to sound like a typical swell-headed writer!”
Affecting a wounded look, he demurred. “No, I assure you, Ms. Chandler, that I am not!” His mood shifted suddenly, and he shook his head in amazement. “Actually, this is the first time I’ve had such a tremendous response to my work. This book tour has been a little overwhelming for me. I’m not used to crowds or big cities...or the kind of travel I’ve been doing this past month. Normally, I just burrow into my basement apartment in Albany and I don’t come up for air unless I’m in desperate need of supplies. Sometimes I go out for walks, but mostly at night. The daytime doesn’t attract me too much, I don’t know why.”
Surprised that he would share such intimate details of his life with a virtual stranger, Catherine remarked, “You sound like a bit of a recluse, Mr. Briscoe.”
His brow furrowed as he considered her description. “I never thought of myself that way, but...perhaps I am.” Realizing then what he must sound like, he hurried to explain further. “I have friends -- I’m not that self-sufficient -- but I guess I prefer to be by myself. For what I write, aloneness is essential.”
Struggling to understand, Catherine asked, “The distractions of modern life interfere with the creative process?”
He shook his head. “It’s hard to explain. I feel a...a compulsion to write, but not for myself. I feel as if I’m writing to someone, only I don’t know yet who she is. Sometimes I feel as if I’m...I don’t know...spinning some kind of verbal web in order to catch the attention of this...someone. You see, somewhere, I believe, the woman who is meant to hear my words, will read my poetry and...know. She will seek me out, and I will meet her, and in that moment all my struggles, all my aloneness will end. At least, that’s my dream. I’ve had that dream for so long now, I’m almost afraid it will never come true.”
Catherine considered what he was telling her. On the tip of her tongue was the question, “Do you get a lot of women with that line?” but something stopped her from uttering it. There was such a look of sincerity in his eyes -- and a mute appeal for understanding and acceptance. Instead, she found herself saying, “You must be very lonely.”
His small half-smile held a note of relief, as if he had almost expected to hear the question which had first been on her lips. “I am, yes. But I know that someday, my loneliness will end, and the woman I am waiting for will be worth...everything.”
Catherine smiled softly and replied, “I think she will be a very lucky woman.”
The bookstore manager chose that moment to interrupt their conversation, urgently requesting that Mr. Briscoe resume his place at the autograph table. “We’ve sold out, Mr. Briscoe. I’ve just re-ordered, and sent my staff to nearby bookstores to get more copies so we don’t disappoint our customers. Please, could you come back to the table now?”
“Of...of course.” Turning to her, be begged, “Catherine, please don’t leave before we speak again?” Without waiting for her answer, he walked back to the waiting crowd.
Seeing she was alone, Jenny came up behind Catherine and poked her in the ribs. “Penny for your thoughts?!”
Musing, Catherine replied, “He’s...very nice, Jen. He’s not quite what I expected.”
“Not quite what you expected in a good way or a bad one?” Jenny’s uncertain smile reflected her concern that she may have “read” Shane Briscoe incorrectly.
Patting her friend’s shoulder, Catherine reassured her. “No...I’m...pleasantly surprised. I was afraid he’d turn out to be one of those stuck-on-himself authors that make you sorry you invested yourself in his work. But there’s something very...compelling about Shane. I like him...I think!”
Jenny flashed her a relieved smile. “Good! Because I sort of went ahead and arranged for the three of us to have dinner tonight. Of course, I’m going to have a headache later and be unable to join you. Is that OK with you?!”
“Jenny!” Her aggravation wasn’t entirely genuine, but Catherine hated to give her match- making friend an inch.
“C’mon, Cath. What could it hurt? He’s a lonely guy in the big city. You’d be doing him a favor by getting him away from these high society types who’ve been clamoring to wine and dine the latest media darling and who expect him to perform for his supper. A quiet meal with someone as lovely and intelligent as you would be just the break he needs. Please? Do this for me?”
Catherine could never refuse her pal once she went into full pleading mode, and they both knew it. “Oh....all right! But you owe me big time for this one, Jen!”