When I was much younger, I used to wonder why people close their eyes when kissing. I saw that a lot of times; even had some stolen kissing with my eyes closed but I couldn't feel any difference. But that moment changed my thinking.
During the brief moment of our kiss, I had an entirely different kind of feeling; magical, like little pink and blue butterflies fluttering their fluffy wings somewhere in my tummy, or my chest.
I couldn't feel the existence of anything, not the cars, not the light cold breeze, not even the three guys next to us. Only the two of us existed in that warm planet of bright stars, pink and blue winged butterflies and soft, sweet fragrances.
I actually felt like crying. I never thought I could get that emotional. I mean, that moment had again not only stimulated the deep love I have for her, but also, the awful thoughts of her fatal condition. It was a wicked thought and it lingered up to where I most dreaded: that our love is terminal, just like her. It really was an awful feeling; because when she spoke again, I found it hard to look into her eyes.
"Hi" she said. I smiled; shy like a little orphan girl.
So we walked into the night. Pam was holding my hand.
"What are you going to do with your paintings? I mean, won't people get bored looking at paintings produced from a single muse?"
"No, I don't think they'll get bored. Some collectors could find the story behind the muse sort of inspiring. Remember the Rouen Cathedral, by Monet?"
"Yes, thirty paintings of the same building reflecting different times of seasons of the year."
"Excellent; I told you the project was very successful that he sold most of them in a single exhibition. Also Picasso made paintings that now sell for millions of Pounds using a single muse; his favourite muse."
"And who was that?"
"A woman."
"A woman;" she chucked "I wonder what sort of inexhaustible inspirations are there in women that every artist, dead or living sees to capture."
"Not every artist, that's by the way."
"Ok, I stand corrected on that one." She laughed.
"Well, women happened to be the best and most frequently used muses. There's a story behind every woman's beauty that lots of people would love to hear those stories. Besides, beauty in itself is attractive and women are elements of beauty. Personally, I think artists respect those elements very much and they express it in many forms, from the face, the body, nude or clothed."
"I'm sure they do. I saw that in The Titanic." She giggled again. "So now I'm your muse."
"Yes you are my muse; My favourite muse."
She looked at me with such tender eyes that twinkled in the dim street lights, smiled shyly and said "You'll get another kiss for that."And I got it; A little deeper one this time.
I saw Pam in a happy mood once, and that was at the museum. She smiled a little lot and got a little more enthusiastic about things. Though she did said things carelessly and a little sarcastic, that being her nature, but that night was different; her happiness blossomed and brimmed that she became restless.
As we walked, she moved fast ahead of me, turned and talked while walking backwards. She held streetlight poles and swung round in circles while I pleaded with her to be careful. She laughed and giggled and smiled and kept going in circles round the poles.
"Don't you feel dizzy or light headed doing that?"
"Dizzy? You forgot I know ballet." She said with some sunshine on her face.
"Oh yeah? Honey, you are not well."
She stopped, looked at me surprised. "You called me honey."
"Well, I..."
"Shut up and don't spoil it." She smiled, ran and gave me a peck on the lips. "I love that. And I love you too."
Then it was my turn to stop, surprised, shocked, and dumb founded; and I think, with little birds flying gently in circles around my head.
"Oh don't look at me like that, I know you love me; you've loved me for a while; and now that I took you out of your misery, I think I deserve a kiss." I smiled, a little embarrassed; and when I kissed her, I felt the butterfly thing again; more this time.
"Say it." She said on my lips. "Say the words."
"I love you." I whispered; I heard me self spoke in such a different voice. "I love you Pamela Graham."
She looked into my eyes. "That's my name." She kissed me again, giggled, disengaged herself from me and ran ahead to the next street light pole.
"You know, I hated ballet at first. My first lesson was to learn the first five basic positions which I thought were intended to break my legs." Pam said, a little louder as she circled gently round the pole. I was walking gently towards her. "Know how the first position’s like? Let me show you." She stood still, put her feet together, and then separated them so that both heels touched. "This is it."
"That's it? Easy, I can do that."
She smiled. "The second positions is this;" she moved her right foot outward gently and then the left, positioning them apart.
"That's easy too." I said.
"Oh yeah; how about this?" She gently raised her left leg up, it went so high that it nearly touched her face. She then put it down with the same slow pace as she raised it. Then she raised the working left leg again and shot it behind while the right leg stood on the tiptoe. Her hands were stretched up and wide apart. Then she landed the working leg on the ground, raised it up again turned in three sixty degrees, once, twice, then stood in the second position. I watched my mouth opened.
I've never seen such elegance and grace before. In just a few seconds, Pam had flown with the wind that gravity itself kind of seized to exist. I've seen such movements only in Owls: fluffy, gracious and easy. She was embraced by the night itself that even without the lights of day or a stage, she looked ecclesiastic and strange. I've never seen her that agile before.
"Was that the third position?" I asked after swallowing the spittle that emanated out of their glands when I left my mouth open.
"No. It's not." And she walked forth.
"Whoa! Pam, that was amazing." I said when I caught up with her. She smiled. "What was that?"
She sighed. "It's a little complicated so I don't know if you'd understand. I did a combination of moves, three moves to be precise. The slow one was Adagio, then I did the Attitude; the turning thing was A la Seconde."
"I understood only one of them: The Attitude," I smiled. "That was some attitude."
"Yeah. Though I was referring to a different one. But I must confess one needs attitude a lot in ballet. Staying focused is attitude, dancing is attitude, becoming a good dancer is also attitude."
"So what's the difference?"
"Attitude in ballet is a dance step; the one I did was the Attitude de pointe, I stood on the tip of my right toe and shot back the left leg."
"Yeah I saw that."
"The other attitude you know is habitual, not a dance step. That's the difference." She smiled and grabs my hand. "Take me home; hurry, it's late now."
And so we walked, Pam's little giggles and silly remarks were surprisingly entertaining. She looked so happy, agile, and alive.
I was happy too, so happy that my lips kept a smiling pose for the rest of the moment I was with her. A particular moment came when I just kept starring at the girl I was walking with as if I was seeing her for the first time; actually, I was trying to grab the reality of my being next to her. It looked like a dream where moments don't last. Sometimes you try grabbing moments in a dream but end up talking or struggling into wakefulness. But like a dream it was.
Half an hour later, I was lying face up on my bed wondering how what happened between us actually happened. It was the sweetest moment of my life. I didn't even want to sleep that night; I didn’t want the night to end. For as long as the night gets older, the good feeling of her touches and kisses on my body and lips would fade with it.
I looked at the first painting I made of Pam and smiled. Attitude; she had it, I thought. And that was another inspiration. I sat up, grabbed my sketch book and pulled my
table closer. The night was not that young, or that old for just another sketch. I sighed and smiled again.
Attitude; that was some inspiration.