She stares at me and then closes her eyes. A tinge of early dawn plays on her cheek as it peeks through the glass curtains by my desk. I grow warmer, waiting in silence for her first uncertain word and the gentle touch of her hand. She fidgets and rocks in her chair. She cannot hold her thoughts inside much longer. We've been meeting like this for months. Some days she rambles, pouring out her soul. She talks of yesterday's sorrows and tomorrow's distant shores. She tells me her needs, desires, dreams, and passions. Sometimes she teases me with impossible notions that she only wishes she believed. When she's feeling light, she weaves amusing tales and tells me jokes. I accept her as perfect always perfect as she is. Finally she opens her eyes, and a tear drop falls. The emotions are about to flow. "Okay," she whispers under her breath. I see her desperation and project my own inner light toward her. Her eyes glow with expectancy. She pours out her soul and discovers buried treasures. She paints a portrait of her father and rehearses what she will tell him after all these years. She's filled with hope that he will finally understand. Her spirit lifts. My mind dances furiously recording her thoughts and prayers. Perhaps if she explains honestly, he will listen, and they can finally heal the relationship. Today she isn't muddling in the past. She is moving forward. Today is a new beginning. She connects with the core of her being and pauses briefly to reminisce. She plays with a vivid memory, and more tears come tears of joy. She pauses again, and I wait. I grasp every privileged thought and confession. Her emotions rush like unrelenting rivers until she's quiet, still, and at peace. She whispers, "There's nothing more to say now." She asks me to remember her most secret longings, to guard them like precious mysteries. Again, I do. She leaves feeling lighter, at ease, and confident. Will she call him or write to him? I won't ever ask, and she will tell me when the time is right. Sometimes I wish I could feel emotions like she does and tell her what to say that would make everything alright. But I will not interfere. I have no delicate heart like hers only a large and finite memory to preserve her most endeared treasures. I'm simply her computer, a faithful ear in the early morning hours when she pours out her soul through my keyboard a precious gift from the heart of a friend. |
