Lively Lime #9
Susan knew as soon as she saw him by the sliding doors of the Hilton. She liked his smile, the way he moved his hands. He exuded a sense of calm that she sought in her life. When they entered the same elevator, she knew it was meant to be.
It was her first day in Portland, Maine, the beginning of a vacation where Susan hoped to relax and ease her senses. This California girl had endured enough of the blistering sun and sticky, smoggy air of Los Angeles, and was determined to get as far away as she could. A meager teacher's salary and one year's savings afforded her a destination limited to the continental United States and two weeks of hotel. Any greater distance or longer stay would have left her without any money for meals, so here she was on the East Coast. It would have to do. Anything to be able to avoid sunglasses for awhile and breathe a little easier. Besides, she heard the seafood here was great.
While in the elevator, Susan tightened her grip on her luggage. She could feel her heart beating a little faster, and everything else was silent. He was wearing khakis and a polo shirt. No wedding ring, but a Blackberry. There were many other people in that claustrophobic space, and they had many stops to make on the vertical journey. Somewhere around the 15th floor, he turned and looked at her, smiling that same smile that made her want to freeze time and just stare for awhile. She awkwardly gestured, and the connection was made. He grabbed a pen from his pocket, motioned for her hand, and quickly scribbled "Lobby, 1:45. Chris" on her palm. Then he walked out. He was staying on the 32nd floor. Slightly surprised at what just happened, Susan barely noticed when she arrived at her own destination, the 38th floor. When she entered her room, she sat on the springy hotel bed and looked at her hand. Should she meet him? It was almost 1:30. She thought about it for a little while, thinking back to that wonderful smile.
What the heck. Live a little.
When she arrived at the lobby after another long elevator ride, he was waiting for her, looking a little nervous, the face of an innocent person who had just taken a hopeful leap, but still with hints of a smile, as if he had no regrets. He looked incredibly happy to see her. Brief introductions were exchanged, and they decided to take a walk and get something to eat. The city was bustling with people, who all somehow managed to co-exist and thrive with the abundant greenery. Susan felt reinvigorated by the comfortable temperature and fresh air. Every part of her body breathed a sigh of relief, and she even got some goosebumps from this sudden change of environment. But maybe the goosebumps were also partly because of this kind gentleman strolling beside her.
They settled on a restaurant by the shore, and ordered the house specialty: steamer clams. Susan, who had only ever seen clams chopped or minced inside cans, was especially eager to try this new dish. The pair split two dozen clams and each had a cup of clam chowder. He enjoyed his soup with crackers, crushing them while still in their packaging, then spilling the crumbs and pieces into the cup. It was because he liked the feeling of breaking them up through the plastic with his fingers, he explained. Susan understood the concept. She still liked burying her hands in sand or sacks of grain. They continued their conversation in-between prying parts of their delicious meal from the round, grey shells with countless curved grooves. He was here for a summer conference. She explained that she was a teacher. Both were on their first visit to Maine. The two mostly talked about their meal. They were both aspiring foodies, each disappointed at the fact that their palates had never tasted Maine steamer clams. The pile of empty shells grew taller and taller, and before they knew it, they had finished their meal. Susan and Chris immediately vowed to have lunch together again the next day, eager to sample all the varieties of steamer clams and other seafood this coastal restaurant row had to offer.
And that was how two weeks passed. Each day they met and did sightseeing together, mostly walking. They went to parks and gardens, gazing in awe at the technicolor flowers and smelling the soothing scent of pine trees that were everywhere. They sampled all varieties of fish, shrimp, soups, and stews. But the steamer clams, no matter where they went, remained their favorite. Every morning, Chris would present her with a poem about the previous day's travels. She even liked his handwriting. Smooth curves of ink with long tails of g's and y's. The words were bright and full of beautiful adjectives. She bought a little wooden box made of pine to store them. Around the middle of the second week, with just a few days left of Susan's stay, he started holding her hand. He was a person with whom she enjoyed her senses…..sight….taste… smell….touch…..and she was certain a few more weeks would have led to love.
But too quickly, the day came when she had to get on the airplane and return to her suffocating hometown, and she knew that her newly freshened skin would be replaced with soot and clogged pores once more. She dreaded the journey, and only the thought of the students who needed her convinced her to go back. Chris went with her to the airport and hugged her close as she was ready to leave. Susan thought she felt a little drop of a tear on her neck where he leaned his face, but he must have quickly wiped it away. She gave him a little kiss on the cheek and promised keep in touch. He promised to send her more poems. She looked at the smile, now a little sad, if smiles could be sad, and those gentle hands one last time. On the plane, Susan opened her pine box and smelled the inside. She knew it would forever remind her of this trip and of Chris. Neither would ever see each other again.
Susan took a deep breath before opening the door of her classroom. 15 little children jumped up and cheered in slightly unintelligible but certainly jubilant voices that vibrated loud and clear. Miss Susan was back. "Hello, everyone", she signed. "I'm glad to see you all again." And so began another semester at the Los Angeles Children's School for the Deaf.
It was her first day in Portland, Maine, the beginning of a vacation where Susan hoped to relax and ease her senses. This California girl had endured enough of the blistering sun and sticky, smoggy air of Los Angeles, and was determined to get as far away as she could. A meager teacher's salary and one year's savings afforded her a destination limited to the continental United States and two weeks of hotel. Any greater distance or longer stay would have left her without any money for meals, so here she was on the East Coast. It would have to do. Anything to be able to avoid sunglasses for awhile and breathe a little easier. Besides, she heard the seafood here was great.
While in the elevator, Susan tightened her grip on her luggage. She could feel her heart beating a little faster, and everything else was silent. He was wearing khakis and a polo shirt. No wedding ring, but a Blackberry. There were many other people in that claustrophobic space, and they had many stops to make on the vertical journey. Somewhere around the 15th floor, he turned and looked at her, smiling that same smile that made her want to freeze time and just stare for awhile. She awkwardly gestured, and the connection was made. He grabbed a pen from his pocket, motioned for her hand, and quickly scribbled "Lobby, 1:45. Chris" on her palm. Then he walked out. He was staying on the 32nd floor. Slightly surprised at what just happened, Susan barely noticed when she arrived at her own destination, the 38th floor. When she entered her room, she sat on the springy hotel bed and looked at her hand. Should she meet him? It was almost 1:30. She thought about it for a little while, thinking back to that wonderful smile.
What the heck. Live a little.
When she arrived at the lobby after another long elevator ride, he was waiting for her, looking a little nervous, the face of an innocent person who had just taken a hopeful leap, but still with hints of a smile, as if he had no regrets. He looked incredibly happy to see her. Brief introductions were exchanged, and they decided to take a walk and get something to eat. The city was bustling with people, who all somehow managed to co-exist and thrive with the abundant greenery. Susan felt reinvigorated by the comfortable temperature and fresh air. Every part of her body breathed a sigh of relief, and she even got some goosebumps from this sudden change of environment. But maybe the goosebumps were also partly because of this kind gentleman strolling beside her.
They settled on a restaurant by the shore, and ordered the house specialty: steamer clams. Susan, who had only ever seen clams chopped or minced inside cans, was especially eager to try this new dish. The pair split two dozen clams and each had a cup of clam chowder. He enjoyed his soup with crackers, crushing them while still in their packaging, then spilling the crumbs and pieces into the cup. It was because he liked the feeling of breaking them up through the plastic with his fingers, he explained. Susan understood the concept. She still liked burying her hands in sand or sacks of grain. They continued their conversation in-between prying parts of their delicious meal from the round, grey shells with countless curved grooves. He was here for a summer conference. She explained that she was a teacher. Both were on their first visit to Maine. The two mostly talked about their meal. They were both aspiring foodies, each disappointed at the fact that their palates had never tasted Maine steamer clams. The pile of empty shells grew taller and taller, and before they knew it, they had finished their meal. Susan and Chris immediately vowed to have lunch together again the next day, eager to sample all the varieties of steamer clams and other seafood this coastal restaurant row had to offer.
And that was how two weeks passed. Each day they met and did sightseeing together, mostly walking. They went to parks and gardens, gazing in awe at the technicolor flowers and smelling the soothing scent of pine trees that were everywhere. They sampled all varieties of fish, shrimp, soups, and stews. But the steamer clams, no matter where they went, remained their favorite. Every morning, Chris would present her with a poem about the previous day's travels. She even liked his handwriting. Smooth curves of ink with long tails of g's and y's. The words were bright and full of beautiful adjectives. She bought a little wooden box made of pine to store them. Around the middle of the second week, with just a few days left of Susan's stay, he started holding her hand. He was a person with whom she enjoyed her senses…..sight….taste… smell….touch…..and she was certain a few more weeks would have led to love.
But too quickly, the day came when she had to get on the airplane and return to her suffocating hometown, and she knew that her newly freshened skin would be replaced with soot and clogged pores once more. She dreaded the journey, and only the thought of the students who needed her convinced her to go back. Chris went with her to the airport and hugged her close as she was ready to leave. Susan thought she felt a little drop of a tear on her neck where he leaned his face, but he must have quickly wiped it away. She gave him a little kiss on the cheek and promised keep in touch. He promised to send her more poems. She looked at the smile, now a little sad, if smiles could be sad, and those gentle hands one last time. On the plane, Susan opened her pine box and smelled the inside. She knew it would forever remind her of this trip and of Chris. Neither would ever see each other again.
Susan took a deep breath before opening the door of her classroom. 15 little children jumped up and cheered in slightly unintelligible but certainly jubilant voices that vibrated loud and clear. Miss Susan was back. "Hello, everyone", she signed. "I'm glad to see you all again." And so began another semester at the Los Angeles Children's School for the Deaf.
posted by Anonymous at 10:02 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home