It's raining outside. I never quite remember how much I love the rain until the clouds open up and cry. Do you know what I mean? I always say that I love it... but never quite mean it until I'm standing behind the thick glass of the storm door, watching cars soar far too quickly down the hill, watching the raindrops make little dimples in their own puddles, as if there are invisible water-bugs walking there, with their skimming, skinny-legged steps.
Last night was beautiful. He is so wonderful... so handsome, so strong and upstanding. He wore gloves to make me laugh in delight-- I said he looked as if he was going to the opera. When they played "Lady in Red", he guided me out of the line for pictures, instructing the others to save our place. Under the wide, domed cupola of the Capitol, he laid his cheek against my hair and danced with me, one arm wrapped warmly around my waist, the other clasping my hand against his chest. I was the lady in red. It didn't matter how many other girls were dressed in gowns of raspberry or rose or claret. The song was for me, as if there were no other girl in the world.
I felt like a wonderful princess, with the soft whisper of Amy Jo's borrowed dress on my shoulders. When Danielle exclaimed that I looked like a "smouldering temptress" (a la Nicole Kidman), I nearly died of laughter. It just doesn't do for princesses to be called that.
I wished that we didn't have to leave... that we could stay that way forever. He held me as if God had created me for that one simple moment with him, and if he let me go, I would vanish. I curled my arm about him and leaned my head in the curve where his shoulder meets his neck.
Long-stemmed rose lain across the stark whiteness of his gloves, on the dashboard of the Jeep on the way home. Ashley and Cameron sat in the back, but I don't remember a word they said. I was too busy studying his profile, his shiny-new haircut, his confident hands that look as if they were pulled from the Sistine Chapel ceiling, truly. I was too busy studying the generous mouth, the prominent jaw, the softness in his eyes when he reached over and took my hand.
I acted strangely, a bit... unsure of myself again. I knew him... he was that same soul that I had fit so comfortably, so easily together with. That same face that I knew belonged to that soul. But I was nervous, as nervous as if it had been our first date... unsure of how to act, how to speak, how to laugh. He was so handsome, Prince Charming again, and I was a princess.
And you know what happens at the end of fairy tales.