Beautiful Meeting July 10, 2008

I turned to see the man standing behind me. My mouth fell open in awe. He was infinitely more beautiful than any man I’d ever seen on earth.

His face – strong, utterly handsome, perfectly symmetrical, shining with absolute love and adoration, a ruddy tan. His dark hair framed his face, matching his neat beard and raised eyebrows which rested above laughing, joyful brown eyes. His mouth turned upwards into a warm, gentle, but contagious smile, revealing white teeth. His shoulders were broad and sure, his arms held out for me, waiting hopefully. One foot had stepped forward, encouraging and hesitant. He wanted me to come to him. He loved me. He wanted me.

In that instant, the crowds thronging us disappeared as my heart swelled painfully, ear exploding in pure, unrefined, holy love, yet only a fraction of a measure of his love. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I catapulted myself to him, flinging my arms around his neck with such ardor it caused him to stumble back a couple steps. But his fervent embrace cleared all from my mind but him and me.

I could feel the muscles in his arms pressing into my waist, so tightly was he holding me. His left hand stroked up my back between my shoulder blades, his work-worn fingers slipping easily through my hair, cupping the back of my head. I felt a wetness on my neck, and my sobs came again, now knowing how much he had missed me, that he wept as I did, finally being united.

I buried my face in his neck as he did himself, and between waterfalls of tears, I could smell his heady scent, incapacitatingly intoxicating. His soft hair brushed my forehead as I grasped him more tightly. I felt myself swaying back and forth, his deep voice murmuring in my ear words of comfort and love and tenderness as such I’d never before heard in my life. I felt so complete, so content.

Before, I’d thought I was happy, needing nothing on that green earth, but it was molecular, microscopic in comparison to the feeling permeating my body now. I was completely complete. He was the one I had waited for my entire life, oh so achingly long, and now, at last I was here in his arms. There were – and are yet – no words to express that everlastingly long, beautiful moment.

He moved his arms from around me to let his hands rest on my waist, pulling back to look into my eyes. He reached up, framing the sides of my face with his large, calloused hands. Then, slowly, he leaned forward and placed a loving, lingering kiss on the center of my forehead. When he stood back, my eyes went up to his. My hands clung to his wrists. It was then I felt a strange upraised bump on the back and front of each wrist.

My curious gaze shifted to examine the spots, and then widened as I remembered. I touched the scars with my thumbs and middle fingers, looking back up into his soft eyes. I caught sight of a mark on his forehead, just barely concealed by his hair. Trembling, I loosed one wrist and reached up to tentatively push the dark locks aside. I gasped softly as realization dawned. My fingertips lightly traced the barely-raised jagged scars as a fresh onset of tears welled in my eyes and poured out.

His eyes became sorrowful and pleading. “Don’t cry…” He whispered, moving his thumbs over my cheeks to catch the tears. “Please don’t cry.

My hands dropped to my sides and then consecutively came back up to cover my face. I was consumed by such a burning shame that all the joy I had felt minutes earlier was gone. Almost desperately he pried my fingers from my face, holding them with one hand while the other tipped my head up to look in his eyes. I could see the old tearstains lining his cheeks – tears of joy. What would he do when he heard all I’d done? His questioning gaze fell upon me. I felt as if he already knew why I acted like I did, knew how ashamed I felt.

“What is it?” His voice was so soft, so kind that I broke down in tears again, hardly able to stand.

“How can I…” I choked on the words and my sobs. “How can you…” I couldn’t say it. The question stuck in my throat.

He waited, still holding my hands and chin, searching my eyes.

Finally, I looked up, met his eyes deliberately, and got it out. “After this–” I gestured with my eyes to his scars, “–how, why do you love me?”

There was utter silence. It seemed like forever. A shadow darkened his eyes, the memory of the pain and abandonment coming back in the pause. Then they shone again with an untold secret. He leaned in to kiss one tear-stained cheek. “My love,” he kissed the other, “if you were the last person on earth, the sole survivor of the human race, I would go back and do it all over again.” He lightly kissed my lips. “Just for you.”