The Tour

It's a specific sort of hell that we can't ever say what it is that we mean. Instead, we must read the lines rotely of the roles in which we were cast. This is likely also why we never mean the things we say.

But he was different. Maybe it was because he didn't know any better. Maybe he just didn't care. He seemed to let his thoughts inform his words. It felt to me that everything I heard from him was something that needed to be said. Though his eyes were dark, shadowed in pain, his words were light, aflame with the intensity of meaning. Not long after I saw him, I wondered if he even knew how to tell a lie.

I would soon find out that he did not and it would lead to some of the greatest truths I'd ever learn.

…

These days, I was always running late. I don't know why. My destination did not matter. Whether I felt anticipation or dread, most assuredly, I would be late. I became used to the victims of my lateness pointing this out to me in passive aggressive tones, so much so that I guess I developed a tolerance for it. So, when I got out of the car 20 minutes behind, only to see his smiling face, eyes flickering in anticipation, I was surprised he was not upset. "Come here," he took my hand. "I want to show you something". He led me around the campus where he attended medical school. "I just want you to see where I spend so much of my time," he said. This, of course, was music to my ears. I'd allowed myself to remain separate from the places that those closest to me devoted their time. I, in short, had settled for that. But here he was, telling me he wanted me to know about everything important to him. I wanted to know it all.

We walked in the beauty of the cool spring night, the wind playing off the trees, sending my hair flying around me. There was a charge in the air that seem to be leading to something, something greater than either of us, but still less than both of us together. He stopped in front of a massive building that seemed to be from another time. "Here," he told me "this is the library. I thought you might like it". I stood, taking it all in, wondering about the people who'd been in and out of it over the past 100 years. Breaking me from my reverie, he led me up the steps. He didn't say a word; neither did I. I think I knew then what was going to happen. I think I knew I was about to be opened. To be changed. To be his.

We went into an alcove and followed the path through an ancient-looking door. It was one of those that was shorter than people are today. We walked through and found ourselves in front of the windows that faced out into the courtyard from which we'd just left. Fortunately, the blinds were drawn so no one could see the things that he was about to do. It was all a blur, so I may it mixed up, but the gist is clear to me: He took me over. He kissed me deeply and he began to unbuckle his belt. "We can't do this," I told him "you'll get kicked out if you're caught. You know that, right?" He grabbed my hair, pulled me down to my knees, and, with a boldness that stunned me, he pushed himself into my mouth until I could no longer breathe. I loved it. I choked on it. It felt so powerful to give him this pleasure, a high much higher than any drug I know of. His strength enveloped me. He was not angry with me. He was teaching me, guiding me, healing me, making me better. He finished with my mouth turned me around, "Do you like your knees on the dirty ground?" When I failed to answer, he smacked my ass and commanded, "Answer me". I was terrified. But not of him. Of myself without him. The person I showed everyone, everyday, would never have been here, in this place, giving herself to this man in this way. That was the way it had to be though. There was no other way. He violated me in just the ways I wanted. When he was finished, he stood me up and held me against the wall. He whispered to me, "You needed reminding. In the future, you'll be on time, right?" We stood there for a long time, one just gazing at the other, our energies coming together.

We spent the night talking, laughing, just enjoying each other. We went to the beach and it was there that he poured all of himself straight into me. I'd never seen anything like it. He gave back to me everything I'd given over to him. He gave me his body, his words, maybe even some of his light. We sat for an eternity, recovering from the journey we taken away from ourselves and back. I felt vacant, I felt full. I felt numb, I felt alive. In the course of a night, I'd lost myself and then found it again.

But that was the last time I ever saw his light. Maybe he thought he'd shown me too much. Maybe he'd given me enough of that light Maybe he realized he'd said what he meant, so he would have to then start meaning all the things that he said. The knowledge of that is enough to scare anyone, especially someone who lives in the light. I had a certain kind of love for his openness, it's in those open spaces, of course, that we let in each other's' love. In exchange though, we must take in the pain, too. Perhaps the weight of mine was too much for him to bear, when combined with his own.

He'd let himself in in the dawn of the morning. And when he asked for them, I gave him my pains. Newly burdened and changed, he walked out on me then. He left me crying and alone, my heart breaking for us, for everything we might have been. He left me weak and afraid.

But, I soon saw, he also left that door ajar. It's up to me now to decide whether to pass through. The right person might be worth the trial. The light, though, must be feverishly pursued. You must never give up. Life is so dark, its passages winding and cold. If you are lucky, you just might find a flame in those shadows. And those who find the one should never let it burn out.