A few miles in the distance John sat near the window reading. He heard a motor approach and put his magazine down. A truck passed by the driveway. It wasn’t her. He knew a short measured tapping at the door usually announced her arrival.

As was his reserved nature, John would pause briefly before answering. He knew Sylvia, though mostly steady, was a bit of a wild card. Sometimes her pendulum swung too far one way and she strayed off track before regaining equilibrium. Sometimes she’d arrive cloaked in uncertainty and drama, other times she was absolutely one of the most self-assured woman he had met. One moment she had a deep desire for privacy and solitude, the next she was ready to share her story with the whole world -- her edited version, that is. 

John felt a bit edgy about these comings and goings for some time now but after six months, the thrill was still there. It had been long gone between him and his wife Patti, and her extended business trips afforded him pleasure he regarded as a distant mirage in his life, until he met Sylvia. Still, he kept Sylvia at arm's length from his business and daily affairs. Aside from a random email or occasional phone call when she was running late, the only contact they had, was up close and personal in the late night hours. They both knew the rareness of the nocturnal space they had created. During her visits all was quiet except for the murmur of a radio in another room. He kept the TV, and even the computer, turned off.

Sylvia arrived, turned off the car engine, glanced in the mirror and brushed her hair from her face. She stepped out into the hushed night and when she closed the car door behind her, it was the only sound for miles around. Standing outside the door of his house for a moment, she felt a familiar surge of excitement.

She rapped lightly on the door and then turned the knob. 

He left it unlocked.

John got up from the couch as Sylvia stepped into the living room. The room smelled like wood smoke and was dimly lit except for a candle on the coffee table. Neither spoke, no rushing of sentences, speaking of this or that. No excited chatter or small talk exchanged between them like when their romance was new. No, now the timbre of the human voice morphed to fit the moment only when necessary.

They didn’t kiss upon greeting. They tumbled into each other as only one can be engulfed into another human being. Each fell into each other's sustaining breath, then into the electrical current and chemistry that attracts and draws two people together, despite all odds. He touched the tiny crevice in the nape of her neck, a small gesture that moved her.

She remembered him touching her this way casually, in passing, shortly after they met. Perhaps that was the key; a secret passageway opening to the rest of her. It was the beginning, the initiation that led her astray. After that touch, everything else was a given. Before John, Sylvia’s world was cerebral, a world of books, conversation and ideas.

Spilling back onto the couch she imagined Greek gods Eros and Rumour flinging arrows of outrageous fortune. She even thought about Shakespeare until thoughts dissolved into feeling. John was kissing her neck. A rush shot through her spine from the curled tip of her tailbone right up into her skull. Something that could only be accessed through direct experience; it took her beyond words. 

Call it surrender, rapture, abandon: giving oneself over to another, completely unknowing where you’ll end up. And in that moment, letting go of everything until you’ve been absorbed, absolved and delivered: to where? It didn’t matter.

They played with the air between them drawing in each other’s sustaining breath making everything else stand still, including time.

Something was held in ransom between them, neither knew what, and neither
cared.

"I feel kind of crazy tonight,” she said.

“Why,” he said.

"I don’t know, I just do. Feel like I’m a little tipsy and I haven't had a drink, a bit off balance like I'm gonna fall."

"I think we’ve both already fallen,” he said.

Sylvia looked at him sidelong, her hair partially hiding her face,

"Fallen in love or fallen from grace?" 

 © Scarlett Sumac. 2009
  Miles From Nowhere (part of a larger series)

Fine Art Print/Painting: The door knob by artist, Leyla Munteanu