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Tallulah Tempest

Page 16

by Robert Scott Leyse


  “I’ve been to El Yunque, my dear,” she laughs, gathering her hair and swishing it across my face, “and, you’re so right, it’s beautiful, and the waterfall’s a slice of paradise early in the morning, before the tourists are swarming, and sharing it with you will be almost as divine as sharing your bed now.”

  “Our bed, Tallulah,” I say. “It’s yours as much as mine.” And, with that, I stand and pull her to her feet and lead her towards the bedroom, adding, “It’s going to be so much fun telling each other all the stuff we don’t know about each other. For all I know, you not only can surf but are better at it than me.”

  The three words, “I love you,” when spoken from the heart without reservation, are an incantation: what a magical world of difference there is between before and after declaring, “I love you,” and receiving the same in return. New avenues of intimacy and trust, previously only imagined, instantly open up and dizzy one with eagerness to take advantage of them; any lingering reservations concerning one’s adored simply melt away, as if they were but an illusion, and suddenly it’s not only acceptable but thoroughly safe to reveal things about oneself one didn’t dare reveal before; freedom and responsibility alike, each supporting the other, increase with each passing day and add to greater enjoyment of one another, to a degree that surpasses one’s wildest hopes and dreams, affords one of glimpses of paradise. Only after “I love you” is exchanged does one realize how stilted, muddled, and uncertain things were by comparison previously. “I love you” must be uttered and embraced by both parties before a relationship has the opportunity to fully bloom.

  The discipline-ritual’s give-and-take—exchange and eventual unity of energy, arrival at mutual transparency—that I’ve sought to describe (No amount of description, written or oral, will approach doing it justice.) must be experienced to be believed; and so too must the paradise that Tallulah and I brought to each other after we snuggled in bed. I could venture to describe those hours, all the more transcendent on account of our declarations of love, which lasted well into the afternoon, but am absolutely not going to do so: they belong to Tallulah and I, no one else. It’s no coincidence that I’m terminating my account here: what followed after “I love you,” aside from the snippet of conversation reproduced above, is nobody’s business but Tallulah’s and mine, not only then but from now on. I also wish to point out that, while I’ve sought to describe our reunion night (April 18, to be exact) as if it’s just occurred, my account has certainly been influenced by the fact we’ve been together since then. In addition, I’ll mention you’re receiving this with Tallulah’s blessing: I would not send it to you without it. Shared decisions, and specifically the unwillingness to share intimate details without approval, is one of the responsibilities of love. She knows you’re as close to me as family and trusts you because I do. The five of us should get together soon: I can assure you that you’ll adore her and treasure her friendship.

  To reiterate, Angie, Ella, Steve: you’re not getting any more accounts of Tallulah nights or days or anything else, not ever—we’re a private couple from now on. I said it more than once above and will say it again: this will be my last email concerning the woman I adore like none I’ve adored before. Finally, I’m content with who I am and who I love, so why write about it? I’d much rather be with Tallulah than write about being with her: spending over a week writing the above is not how I’m going to ever utilize my time again. Indeed, were it not for the fact her law exams are sporadically keeping her away from me this may never have been written: such, I believe, is a very reliable indication of how healthy and happy I am. As for the therapy aspect of writing, at this point it strikes me as being little more than a pretext: who needs therapy when they’re happy?

  I conclude by stating that pictures of Tallulah’s beauty and grace perpetually inhabit my mind’s eye; that the music of her voice unceasingly echoes in my ears; that the electricity of her touch and presence endlessly shimmers in my nerves: my eyes are thirsting to gaze upon her again, my ears are pining for the melody of her speech, my skin is screaming to feel her hands upon it. She’s as stunning as the dawn and as untamed as a storm and I’m the luckiest man alive. There are thousands of other gorgeous girls in this town and the only thing on my mind when I happen to glimpse one of them is: she’s not Tallulah!

  In the end, all that matters is this one beautiful fact: neither of us can wait to see each other again. That being the case, what else is there to say?

  Worship Beauty—Live in Bliss,

  Justin

  About the Author

  Robert Scott Leyse was born in San Francisco, grew up in various locales about America, lived in Paris for a spell, and now resides on Manhattan's Upper East Side. Upon arrival in Manhattan he lived in several East Village dumps and worked as a New York cab driver on the night shift, with the aim of atoning for a sheltered upbringing and having adventures the likes of which he'd never had before and he wasn't disappointed; subsequently he acquired over a dozen years of experience in the legal field, where he was pleasantly surprised to find that additional adventures, of the office politics and shenanigans variety, were to be had; presently he works in the advertising field, where he's not looking for any special adventures, having decided to keep work separate from fun and games and have secrets that are easier to keep. He skis in Sun Valley, Idaho, surfs with board and body in southern California and Puerto Rico, once took a belly dance class in Green Bay, Wisconsin, and the most incandescent yoga class he’s ever had was on a stand-up paddle board in Condado Lagoon during a furious rainstorm. He eats fish heads and insects and drinks blood, but can’t be paid to eat potato chips or cake.

  He is a co-founder and the editor of the erotic literary fiction and poetry webzine, Sliptongue (launched May Day, 2001), and the founder and editor of the ShatterColors Literary Review (launched May Day, 2006). His three novels are Liaisons for Laughs: Angie & Ella’s Summer of Delirium (July, 2009), Self-Murder (April, 2010), and Attraction and Repulsion (June, 2011). His two novellas are Penelope Prim and Tallulah Tempest (both February, 2015). The latter was originally intended to be a send-up of volatile relationships but turned out to be an appreciation and celebration of them instead: sometimes a tale decides where it wishes to go, the author be damned. Forthcoming is a collection of short stories.

  Website: http://www.robertscottleyse.com

 

 

 


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