Dream Catcher, Heart Listener - Page 5

“You look so lovely tonight,” he said.
 
“Thank you, Cooper.”
 
“The indigo—it matches your eyes, you know?”
 
“Of course I know.”
 
“Oh, um, I’m sorry—”
 
“No, it’s okay.” She knew he’d taken her snippiness as offense at the thought she did not know because she’d never seen indigo. In reality, she was offended that his chatter was interrupting her ears’ search of that special voice, song, whatever exactly she was searching for. Cooper took the hint, howbeit the wrong hint, and fell silent.
 
As they waltzed, weaving, she listened, at first to the music, but then she became distracted by the rise and fall of footsteps padding dully on the soft sand, voices shouting, talking, cheering, laughing, hands clapping, and she listened, listened for the music that was hers, that was his, that was theirs, listened for the music of his voice.
 
“Are you okay?” Cooper asked as she stumbled, falling against him and nearly toppling them both to the ground as he caught her, steadying her.
“Yes, um, I’m sorry,” she said, feeling her skin blush beneath the fur and glad again for its concealment. “I think... I just think I should rest for a bit.”
 
“But it’s only the second dance.” He sounded disappointed, and she imagined him frowning. She frowned herself. Imagining frowns was not so nice as imagining smiles.
 
“I know, I just, I’m not feeling well.”
 
“Okay, well, that’s okay, we can take a rest.”
 
He still sounded disappointed, though making an effort not to. He led her from the maze of swirling couples further up one of the little hills where sand gave way to plush grass beneath her feet, and there he told her to sit and he would fetch her some kiwi water. Sitting, she thanked him, and then she listened intently.
 
Sitting still, she could focus better on the noises, the voices. True, the couples were still moving, constantly moving, but there were fewer distractions without her dancing as well. Adam and Jason came up to her after a few moments, each asking for a dance. She turned them each down politely, and they too sounded disappointed as they said they understood, no doubt because they didn’t understand at all, for she did love to dance.
 
After a few more moments, she stood to stretch, restless from the strain of listening all night, impatient to actually hear something familiar, something that would actually satiate. She wanted to hear so badly that she began to wonder if there was truly anything to hear, or whether she was just hopelessly wishing, dreaming for that connection so badly that she truly had only just dreamed it. She was beginning to wonder too where Cooper could possibly be with the kiwi water and was wondering if the Geri twins had drunk it all as they had last year and was wondering too if their mother was currently scolding them for completing the scheme for a fourth year in a row, and she was just beginning to feel glad for such thoughts to distract her from the strain of listening and thinking of listening, when --
 
A hand suddenly latched on to hers, firmly, warmly; their hands hovered together for a moment as if he were waiting to see if she would draw away, protest at the sudden movement, but she did not resist, did not pull away, for she knew that touch, and she smiled, taking in a sharp breath as he pulled her close to his heart and slid gracefully with her into the throngs of swirling colors.
 
As they danced, she imagined everything in her head, the frilly lace, the wide hooped skirts of some, but especially the soft lights and the colors, yes, the colors most of all. She knew she couldn’t get it quite right in her head, but she imagined it the best she could, for his sake, because he had given her that gift of color, and she wanted to imagine it the best she could, if not for her own sake, then for his.
 
As the dance came to an end, he gently released her, but he did not leave her side. She could feel his warmth yet hovering beside her like a protective, inviting fire in that cool, night air. Another song began, and again, he took her hand, again pausing as if asking her. She wondered why he did not speak. Perhaps he was truly timid. After all, he had only appeared to her by dreams; hadn’t he? Perhaps the dreams had only been dreams, or hopeful longings, or visions of this very night to come and they had not really ever met at all, though his tender touch ignited sparks in her very soul that said it must be so that they had met. Perhaps he too had seen her only in his dreams. Whatever the case, it made no difference he did not speak. He would when he was ready, she was sure. His gentle fingers caressing the small of her back, holding her close, the fingers of his other hand entwined in hers with the softness of a child’s touch yet the unbreakable strength and connection of a spider’s web silenced any small ability she might’ve had to speak in his presence, so she just smiled, hoping he saw it was a truly sincere smile. For a moment, it crept into her head that if the dreams really hadn’t been real, perhaps he did not know she was blind, and she began to feel conscious herself, but then, as the second song came to a close, those fingers brushed against her cheek, velvety and gentle as a comforting stream, and she knew that he knew her.
 
As dance after dance continued, still he did not speak, and still, she did not mind, save that she longed to hear his voice, and then she began to doubt; his touch was the same, yet his voice—he always told her sweet things, sang her sweet songs. Why tonight, upon their first real meeting, did he say nothing?
As the doubt crept into her mind, something else did too, a melody that was a part and yet detached from that which the musicians played. It was like the waltz, only slightly dissonant and dark, in a minor key in parts, unlike the waltz itself, which was sweet and cheerful. Was he trying to communicate something to her at last through some new song? Its melody was unsettling; was he troubled by something, was that why he’d not spoken all evening? Or was the song itself some kind of warning?
 
A sharp pain suddenly stabbed her head, and a vision flashed, though it was for hardly more than a quarter of a second. Yet it was vivid, one of the cliffs located above the camp. She knew the one, its edge towered over the ocean.