Pooner Diaries: Snow Angel

[Birdboy 10482]

Most years I write a tale for the holiday season, and this year is no exception. I hope you folks enjoy it. Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, and all my best wishes for your holidays no matter what beliefs you hold.

 

bb

........................................................................................................................--

 

The snow crunched underneath my boots and my breath trailed behind me as I walked away from my car. It's only a short walk over to her place. The time will give me a few minutes to relax and burn off a little nervous energy before I see her. I pull my gloves on and turn my collar up against the cold.

 

It's always an occasion to see her. It's almost like the first time, every time. I chuckled to myself. I guess it is the first time, every time, for her.

 

I got my first inkling of that, that very first time I saw her. She asked me what I'd like to wear, and I'd asked for an outfit out of the few that she suggested. I got there and she was running a little late, the time had gotten away from her. When I walked through her door, she wore a sexy outfit that I definitely appreciated, but it wasn't what we talked about. But no matter, clothes are just the wrapping on the present.

 

I kissed her then. Softly, sensually. I slipped my fingers behind her and caressed the back of her neck. She breathed deeply and luxuriated in our kiss before pulling away and looking at me in wonder. She does this every time. I kiss her and she always looks at me with surprise, that I know exactly how she likes to be kissed. Why, I should know by now.

 

She always asks me how I am, how my day went, in the light conversation of strangers. And though I actually know quite a bit about her by now, I don't let on because I don't want to make her feel uneasy. She never recalls that she's told me about her life, her mother, her little dog from when she was 12.

 

No, I'm a stranger to her every time. But I like to think I'm a wonderful stranger every time. I guess it's true that she never really remembers what I like most, and that's too bad. But I know just what she likes, and I serve it up wrapped in the mystery that only a complete stranger can provide.

 

We are reborn every time I cross her threshold. She gives her all to me every time. She truly lives in the moment, and lives and loves like there's no tomorrow. That's what keeps me coming back. Yet she always looks up at me in amazement and wonder, that I can satisfy her like I know just what she wants.

 

We'll talk about the outfit she'll wear for me next time, the naughty things we'll do when I come by next. I just smile and nod. Because, you never know. These things just might happen, if only by chance.

 

I'll leave her bed today, and she'll ask me misty-eyed if I would come by again. And I always say yes, and for only a moment I'll give myself the luxury of hoping that she'll remember me. I guess maybe she does remember me, just a little, on some level. Because she's always there, ready and on time. She never passes up a chance to have me come by and she never forgets our dates, even if I know she doesn't really know why she does.

 

Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise to her. She'll never remember the rude, the cruel. She'll never remember the smelly, the unpleasant. But unfortunately, it also means she never really remembers me.

 

I reach into my coat pocket, and feel the small box wrapped in red and green sparkly paper. It's just a little something for her, from one of those trendy shops in the Village. It's a necklace with a little bird pendant. It's just a little bauble in my namesake. The bird holds a tiny gem in its beak, and the gem is in her favorite color. I know she'll ask me how I know it's exactly what she likes, and I'll just shrug and smile.

 

I'll let her unwrap my gift, and then I'll put the necklace on her. Perhaps she'll touch it or see it in the mirror later, and remember me. Perhaps.

 

I'm almost at her door. I see children playing, and I glance over to listen to their laughter. They're making snow angels. I smile at the sight, and keep walking. I'm going to meet a snow angel of my own, soon. We'll frolic, laugh, have fun. In our spirits, we'll make our mark in the snow, echoes of the heaven that we glimpse. And I'll get up and leave, and our figurative angels will fill in and drift over. Our impressions in time and memory will be quickly lost, under a blank slate of pure white. I'll be forgotten all too soon, not long after I leave. But she'll remember me just enough to make it to our date, the next time. And knowing that is her gift to me.

 

My footsteps crunch as I walk up to her door and knock.