It had been an idyllic evening...polite conversation. The slight hills near Middleburg were in full golden glow, shadows on the vineyards darkening...the day's heat had dissipated and in the blues of the shade and lengthening shadows there was a coolness.
She had invited him over, and they were on her deck, overlooking the backyard and the rear of the houses across from them. They were looking, according to a painter he knew, at the afterglow...meaning they weren't looking at the sunset but rather at the light in the opposite direction. The fading light, thrown in the colors of the evening as it dwindled.
How well do you know me? She had asked him as she replenished his bourbon. He was on his second...the ice in slight shards. A perfect immolation, like the night sky currently burning above him in its collision of dark, clouds, blue and gold.
I think I'd have to say I know 100% of you physically. I think I would say I know 50% of you mentally.
She brought up the bottle and set it down on the table. The smell of fresh cut grass was in the air, a slight bit of wild onion and turf. It was the smell of summer, but it wasn't quite summer so it was reminiscent. A reminder...like all things scented.
100%? That's a pretty sure sample.
He took a long draw from his drink, almost to the point of downing it. Given the sun's still present reminder he felt it was too early to absorb this much drink...so he set his glass down.
Do you want me to tell you how I know you? Or how I recognize you?
What's the difference?
The difference is in our absence. The difference is I...he stopped...holding his glass on the wooden table. It was harder to explain to her. To her it was all about numbers and tables, spreadsheets or documents. It was empirical.
What is the difference? She repeated. She was standing next to him, holding the bourbon bottle. She was wearing jeans and a pink shirt with a white underling. She was barefoot, and he saw her toenails painted a blush that she was partial to. He knew her legs were shaved perfectly, that her underwear was black and that she smelled like juniper and lavender and some soap he couldn't quiet detect. Her hair was blowing slightly, and drifted across her face and she occasionally reached up to push it away.
The difference is I know you...but as much as I know you there is still a big mystery.
A mystery?
Yeah. Some unknowns.
Okay...so...elaborate...
In his mind he cataloged his books of her...his images, the visages, the transcripts. The tale of the tape. It was a worthy exercise but she probably hadn't ever known it herself...parts maybe...but not all.
Okay...when you are happy and you are pleased to hear from me you have a little hum that you add to your end of sentences...an upward sounding note that takes the last syllable and is like a sigh but it's really just an extension of the last consonant and it almost sounds like a "hmm" but it's attached to the last word. It's very Taylor Swift like.
Silence.
What?
Go listen to a Taylor song...she ends some sentences with a throat sound that is an extension of the last word in the lyric. You do the same. Maybe only with me, maybe not. But I just hear it when you say it to me. And it's almost like a laugh, a light note. Because sometimes you'd rather just murmur or make a sound than make a word...and I'm fine with that.
I'm not sure I even realized that I did that.
You do it.
Fuck...what else do I do?
He held up his glass which had absorbed the ice. It was lower now, the brown liquid a bit above the bottom. He held it to her and she poured in enough to get halfway.
woah...that's good.
Just trying to get you to spill the goods.
Okay...well there's not a ton to spill...just knowledge. You know...gained over time.
Right....okay go on.
So...your nose.
My nose?
Your nose. I love your nose...it's a barometer.
A what?
An indicator.
What the fuck.
It's a reveal. I love it because when you drink it is the first part of your body that indicates that you're having a drink..it tends to get a little red...it tends to let me know that you're having a drink with me. Again, I have no idea if that happens all the time, but I do remember that I sense it.
Great...that sounds awful.
No...it's not...I love it...more importantly the beauty of your nose is that it is the first part of you to get sunburnt...it is the first part of you to freckle...your nose is a way for me to detect what you've been doing...drinking, tanning...I can be aware.
Christ...do you notice everything?
I think I tend to...but I hope that you know that it's because I think in you I have found some perfections and I have to remind myself that you are not always near me....and I have to find something human.
Something human?
Something not perfect...but as gorgeous as I would want to find it.
So a flaw?
Hardly.
Then what would you call it?
He took a sip and let the bourbon warm him even more. The evening was purple, a bit of activity with the fireflies but nothing major. She radiated warmth...her presence beside him was the moon against an evening...soothing and familiar.
I would call it knowledge...I would call it seeing you without make up...seeing you emerge from a shower, hair curly and unkempt...I would call it the way your breath tastes in the morning with a first kiss, the way you taste after a glass of wine...I would call it the way you smell after a workday and we meet for a drink and I hug you and you smell amazing...I would call it the way you can grip me, take hold of me in a way that you know is perfect...the way you lay your hands on me, the way you can kiss me with your eyes closed...the way you can let me play with your hair and let you relax...the way you sound when you release and the way you purr when you are most at your leisure with me...that's what I would call it. There's no single word...but knowledge feels like the best answer.
The crickets were emerging and the purple shadows were taking over slowly...he reached over a put some ice cubes in his drink and for a few moments the only sounds were the tinkling of it melting.
It's a good answer she finally admitted.
