How long has it been now?

Ha. She laughs at herself. Like she doesn’t already know. Like she hasn’t been counting since he took her gloved hand in his and so carefully placed his heart in it. By heart, of coarse it was his dog tags. But to her they couldn’t be any else. And the way he gently wrapped her fingers around it, wordlessly telling her how firm her grip on him was. Oh, right. Like she wasn’t keeping track.

No. She had no clue that it had been exactly four months, three days, and approximately.....27 minutes since then. Since she’d been touched. Since her heart was light and giddy with love instead of weighted and worried.

True, in the four months, three days, and....29 minutes since he’d left he hadn’t called. Or wrote. But that didn’t mean anything. He never said he would. He was a wander and a loner. He probably didn’t even have a phone near him most of the time. He probably wasn’t even sleeping in motels. She was sure she saw a sleeping bag tied to the bike as he drove off. He was probably sleeping under the stars. In the wild were he was home. Dreaming of her.

She could almost see him now. Lying peaceful under an overgrown oak tree. Beside a gently flowing river. He was thinking of the white stripes in her hair. How glad he was that he touched her. Forcing his heart to still at the retched thought that he could have lost her. DID loose her for a few earth scattering seconds. Then he would quickly push that away. Remind himself that she was safe. That she was here, at Xavier’s, waiting patiently for him. Slowly morphing into a woman. For him. He would, of course, know she wouldn’t freak out about the nonexistence communication, or the increasing absence to four months, three days, and.... 38 minutes. She was sure that’s exactly what he was doing.

Sure the other students mocked her, the teachers worried about her. So what if she spent her summer and the beginning of fall sitting at her window sill, carefully watching the shiny metallic gates at the entrance to the school? Despite their protests, she would never give up her vigil. Suppose she was in the game room when he drove up? Suppose because of the other students yelling ‘goal’ or ‘cheater’ she wouldn’t hear the sound of his bike? Suppose he sat out there, waiting for her to run to him? Suppose when she didn’t, at no fault of her own, he felt she no longer wanted him? No longer loved him? Suppose torn and heart broken he immediately drove away, never to return to the mansion again? What would she do then?

It was too unimaginable a horror to contemplate. No, she would sit at the window and wait patiently. Like he knew she could. And she would see him drive up. She would run out to him and tell him how much she missed him, how much he was wanted and loved. And he would tell her the same. And all the time he had thought and dreamt of her and only her. How any other woman he saw merely remind him of her, or were brutally, and uncomplimentary, compared to her. It would be beautiful and magical and they would all see then.

At four months, three days, and.....52 minutes she finally paused her faithful watch for the night. He wouldn’t expect her to run out and meet him this late. No, now he would quietly sneak into the mansion. He would head straight for her room; ease the door open carefully, so as not to wake her. And he would just watch her sleep. Because he would think she looked like the perfect fallen angel when she was asleep. That’s why she always unlocked her door before sliding into bed.

It didn’t matter how long he was gone. How long they were separated from each other. It could stretch into four months, three days, and.....57 minutes or twice as long and it didn’t matter to her. She knew he would come back. She was gripping his heart lightly in her palm, its chain wrapped tightly around her wrist. He said he would come back for it. He needed his heart. Just like he needed her. He would come back for them both and they’d never be separated again. She was absolutely sure of that as she closed her eyes at four months, fours days, and...1 minute.




Exile By Hart Crane

My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands,---
No,– nor my lips freed laughter since ‘farewell’,
And with the day, distance again expands
Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell

Yet, love endures, though starving and alone
A dove’s wings clung about my heart each night
With surging gentleness, and the blue stone
Set in the tryst-ring had but worn more bright