Daniel knew he had made a mistake, that he had been wrong to go so far as to drive me away. That had to be true. He had to know it was a mistake, even if he did not let himself know that he knew it.
It was difficult for me to admit that Daniel could have weak spots, imperfections, that his self-reflection was limited.
He called me several weeks after the last time I had seen him when he had told me how sorry he was that I had failed him. He had said he wished I had succeeded. He liked me, he said. It sounded like he meant it.
By saying that, like that, Daniel only made it worse for me. If he liked me, then why was he behaving as if he did not? Why did he drive me out?
I failed him. I lost him. The feeling that it did not have to be that way tormented me. I was hobbled by regret and angry with blame.
I want to see you, Daniel said on the phone.
I could not tell if it was a request, a command, or just a statement of a fact.
It did not matter. The fact was that he said he wanted to see me. I could not tell whether I ought to be glad or to be preparing for a pain like a sudden disease.
We met on Christopher a few blocks up from the river Friday.
I'm glad to see you, he said.
I'm glad, I started to say, but dropped my voice in the middle of the sentence.
So many crystal hearts.
So many icy lips.
So many eyes of impervious men.
We walked along the river and did not speak.
I did not know what to say. It was not for me to begin anyhow. Or so I thought. I waited to see what Daniel would say. I needed to gage his mood and adjust myself to it.
He took my hand. The breath spilled out of me.
You are impossible, he said with a wicked smile I had never seen him smile before.
I don't want to be impossible, I answered, not knowing, not believing, really, that I was; or if I were, how I made myself impossible. But Daniel would not say it was so if he did not have some ground.
I know that, he said. Let's have a drink.
We walked over to Benny's. It was cool and dark inside. We took a table in the corner. We ordered vodka sours and drank them quicker than we ought to have and order another round. This time we took them slower.
Daniel sat across from me and took hold of me with his eyes. His eyes were smiling, and his teeth shone white behind his uncontainable lips.
I am bursting with happiness, he said.
All this was beyond me. I'm up. I'm down. I'm up again. Like a doubtful investment on the commodities market.
It would have been presumptuous on Daniel's part to assume that he could be so erratic and that I'd be always his to have whenever he wanted me, if it had not been in fact true. Why should I deny my heart the time to soar when that time unexpectedly comes, considering how often it does not come?
He took me home with him to where I had lived until something like only a month ago. It felt like the happy ending of a comedy that had twisted its plot strands into anxious and scary knots. Everything was untangled. I was out the other end. The air was rich and fresh. Breath was a gift.
Daniel took me in his arms and looked long and slowly into my eyes and I gazed into his. I was as if pasted to him feeling a desire that my body could only begin to elaborate.
He pressed himself to me and I felt the hard strength of his body against mine and the hard urgency of his desire as he brushed me gently preparing me to yearn inconsolably for him to enter me.
He kissed me and drew me to him and slid a liquid finger into me. Then all of him went into me. He penetrated me, gazing at me, caressing my cheeks with the palms of his hands. He kissed me and plunged himself into me and pulled himself out and teased his way back in until he pulled out again and left me gasping, pleading with desire.
I love you, he said in a whisper.
I love you, I responded. Thank you, I said, for allowing me to.
Likewise! He smiled and whispered the word with mock formality.
He kissed me, took possession again.
I spun above the rush of sparkling stars and held tightly on to him for dear life.
And then it was like a block was discharged in the universe and the world became different.
I woke beside him the next morning to see him sitting up and looking at me.
Where have you been?
Where you put me, I said, waiting for you to take me back.
You have not changed.
I remained silent, aware that everything is tentative.
He repeated it, including this time in the phrase this last moment of my silence. Then he laughed, but it was a warm embracing laugh that included me in its joy.
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