Becomings

by Matthew Lee Adams

  “I’d like to very much.” He hesitated. “But . . .”

  “You’re married.” Her hand fell away to her side as she turned to face him.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’m very much alone.”

  She was silent, pondering what that meant. “No one ever wants me for more than the night. It’s always been that way.” She searched his face. “Why won’t you stay for the morning, Jeremy?”

  “I don’t have a choice, Isabel.”

  “Why not?”

  “For me, it will always ever be that way.” He was quiet for a moment. “As it’s been for a long time.”

  She thought about that for a while. “Perhaps the nights are enough,” she mused.

  She gestured for him to come sit beside her on her narrow bed. She fingered its coverlet, different than the blanket on which they’d lain the night before, where they had been embraced by the earth while the stars moved in timeless patterns overhead.

  She leaned against him, tentatively at first, but reassured when he slipped his arm around her and drew her close. She nestled her cheek on his shoulder, finding the hollow of his neck with her lips. Her hand crept up, fingers spread against his chest to feel the beating of his heart. They lay back together, finding comfort in their closeness.

  At some point during their lovemaking, the music changed next door with the barely interrupted flip of a record. Mamie Smith’s mood seemed to respond with the change, finding the New Orleans inspired uptempo beat of It’s Right Here For You as unerringly as she had plumbed the depths of her blues.

  After what seemed a long while, they finished, a gradual thing whose valleys and peaks had been measured more by music than by time. Isabel ran her fingers down his body, marveling again at the gentle strength that lay contained within, but wasn’t hidden from her. She sighed and laid her head against his chest, listening as his heart slowly settled to find again its steady rhythm.

  She felt him brush her hair where it spread across her bare back, a motion like the way a peaceful current stirs the sea grass swaying in its embrace. Her eyes closed to half lids. Her lips murmured words she was barely aware of.

  “The stars are always born in tragedy.”

  She felt him shift against her, and her eyes opened, losing their focus on something still very far away.

  “What do you see, Isabel?”

  “I can only see through others’ eyes,” she said slowly. “Never my own.”

  She stared across the room to where her cameo pendant hung beside her vanity mirror. For just a moment, it seemed to sway back and forth, like a pendulum inexorably counting down time. She blinked, and it was still.

  “Sometimes I get glimpses I don’t understand, things you’ve seen, others you’ve been with, but they’re like kisses in the dark between strangers.”

  She raised her head to look at him, afraid of what she might see in his face. Instead, she saw only an affection whose patience seemed able to transcend time. He brushed his lips across hers, a brief touch that left behind its familiar tingle.

  “There’s hope, Isabel. Beyond that, everything is out of our hands.”

  She nodded slowly, and settled against him once more.

  * * * *

  THEY WERE WALKING together one evening, sharing smiles whose secrets didn’t need words. Isabel had barely made note of the passage of time these past two months, measured only by nights that blended one into another, as she and Jeremy found each other in ever more inseparable ways.

  It seemed to Isabel that the past already lay far behind her, dusky images imprinted in her mind that might have belonged to another person. Her path seemed to grow clearer with each passing night, awaiting only her choice to follow wherever it might lead. The final notes of spring were giving way to the beckoning warmth of summer, an anticipation that the people around them seemed to convey.

  Jeremy suddenly stopped in his tracks, his entire body transformed into a state of sudden readiness. The change was so rapid, Isabel was barely aware of the two men and a woman who had just stepped out of the theater in front of them. Yet she noticed all three stiffen, nostrils flaring as they turned to face Jeremy.

  The oldest of the three was perhaps only in his mid-twenties, tall and muscular with dark hair that almost matched the depth of Isabel’s or Jeremy’s. The other man was of similar stature but barely past his teens, and was holding the hand of the young woman.

  All three stared at Jeremy as he shifted his body between them and Isabel. The trio paid no heed to other people who streamed in and out of the theater, passing around them like water around rocks.

  The young woman stepped forward, her hand releasing from the man’s and falling away beside her as she walked with confidence toward Jeremy. Still in her late teens and perhaps a year or two younger than Isabel, she seemed to already possess a confidence far beyond her age. Her hair fell in rich dark tresses that reached to her waist. Her eyes were the color of a fisherman’s floats whose green has faded from too long in the sea.

  “Joanna . . .” the other male murmured.

  She glanced back. “I know what I do, Father.”

  She turned back to Jeremy, their bodies separated now by only a few feet. “I should expect such as you to already be here, in such a sea of humanity. Are there many others?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “I can’t speak for any others.”

  She shifted her eyes to Isabel, appraising her for a long moment, then returned her gaze to Jeremy. “That’s how it begins, with a ripple of individual decisions. You lack a familial bond between your people. Maintain your separation, and there will be no problems between us.”

  Jeremy nodded, his eyes not leaving hers. “Fair enough.”

  She turned and walked away. She took the hand of the younger man again, and the three of them merged into the crowd, never looking back.

  Isabel stood watching them, aware that Jeremy had begun to relax.

  “Is someone after you, Jeremy?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, staring away for a moment. “There are some who don’t like my kind.”

  “How do they know your kind?”

  He turned and looked at her with a thoughtful expression. “They know, or they find out.” He glanced back, but the trio was nowhere in sight. “We should go.”

  They began to walk, a slow and rhythmic sound that matched one another’s steps. Their hands found each other automatically, melding into a single grip.

  Isabel looked up, finding the patterns she had learned, searching for others whose stories still lay unrevealed to her. The night sky above seemed to promise an eternity whose fulfillment could be broken only by the illusion of the day, in a cycle that would never end.

  She thought about what he had said, a few minutes before. “What are you, Jeremy?”

  “A legend.”

  She lowered her head to stare down at the sidewalk. “Legends aren’t real, though.”

  “All legends owe their origin to something unfamiliar that was discovered in the past.”

  She stopped walking, her body pivoting in a graceful movement like a dance they both knew as she found shelter in his arms. She pressed her face against his chest, listening. There was only the strong beat of his heart, unafraid of others who might seek him out, and accepting of a future whose uncertainties could only unfold in their own time. She sighed, wondering if she would ever know that kind of strength, for herself or for another.

  She raised her face up for a kiss that he let her hold for longer than usual, reveling in the heady feeling it granted as it flowed through her body, lifting her up in its embrace. Their lips parted and she let the feeling lower her gradually back down once more. She opened her eyes and stared into his, sensing questions he held inside, a moment of choice whose answer was the only fear of uncertainty that he knew. She smiled to assure him that she understood.

  They remained that way for a long while, faces close enough to feel the stir of each other’s quiet breathing, arms about one anothe
r as their hearts beat in time together.

  “Do you ever get lonely, Isabel?”

  “I don’t need words to know how I feel.”

  “I’ve been lonely, Isabel.” His face revealed a rare vulnerability now, its need to be set free greater than his ability to hide it anymore. “I want you. And I need you.”

  “I love you, Jeremy.” The words seemed both strange and natural on her tongue, strange because she had only heard them spoken by others and never by herself, and natural because she knew they were true. “I trust you.”

  He breathed out a slow sigh. “I love you, too, Isabel.”

  Her eyes closed and a happy smile formed, softening her face, releasing the weight the daytime carried with its illusions of responsibilities.

  They walked together once more, fingers trailing like stars that find one another, clasping and unclasping and exploring anew this simple touch. Isabel laughed delightedly as Jeremy pirouetted her about, each circle ending with his arm around her, ready to spin her once more. Her lips formed words she had practiced since her first night, whose meaning lay more in their expression than by the simple sounds their syllables made as they fell into place like the tumblers in a lock. She breathed the night air, knowing somehow that soon it would never be the same, and wondering if she would ever really miss that.

  They came at last to her building. She stared for a long time at it, as if seeing it with different eyes.

  “This isn’t where I live. It’s only where I sleep, and dream.” She looked at him, searching his face. “It’s time now for me to awaken.”

  * * * *

  ISABEL SAT on the bed in Jeremy’s apartment. A bag at her feet held the few things she had chosen to take with her. Her bare toes explored the rag rug, freed at last from the heavy shoes she had worn for so long, and that now lay like an artifact beside her small bed in her bare room.

  The owner of the seamstress shop where she had worked had always treated her fairly, a rare experience in Isabel’s life. She had wished Isabel good luck, believing that she was getting married and moving away. Then she had turned to busy herself with the shop once more, finding her own fulfillment in this product of her life’s work.

  Isabel fingered the pendant at her neck, tracing the outline of Mary. Her raven hair flowed around her shoulders like a lush cascade of water, dark from a mountain spring.

  The scent of candles infused the air, competing with the natural fragrance of the flowers Jeremy had brought, and that she had arranged about the room. Marion Harris was singing on Jeremy’s Edison Diamond Disc phonograph of love that had been lost, and then found again. Isabel lay back on the bed, her arms outstretched, staring at the ceiling and thinking of stars.

  Jeremy settled beside her. His hand found hers as naturally as two halves made whole. She listened to the light sound of his breathing, and sensed him waiting.

  She smiled and rolled onto her side to face him. Her fingers caressed his face, brushing away the hair whose shade matched her own. Her lips parted the small space between them for the briefest kiss.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  He kissed her once more, his lips trailing across her skin, rippling like a leaf blown through the grass, before settling against the smoothness of her throat. Her breath left in an exhalation of wonder as she felt a wave take her, washing over her. Her hand relaxed and her eyes closed. From far away, she heard music, drifting like gossamer among the dimly remembered fragrance of flowers. She imagined she saw Jeremy across the room, closing his book and rising to his feet, and then crossing the floor to ask her to dance. She felt his arms encircle her and knew she would say yes.

  Her throat worked rhythmically, as though learning the sounds she had heard him speak on their first night together, this music brought to life through verse.

  Her back jolted and her eyelids fluttered as fire began to burn through her veins. Her mouth opened in a sharp gasp. Her eyes shot open as her muscles went into spasms.

  “Isabel, look at me.” Jeremy’s face was quiet in its intensity. “Look at me. Remember the moment we met? Remember our first night?”

  She gave a jerky nod as her body continued to shake, her eyes never leaving his. She was unable to speak, her jaws clenched against the pain coursing through her. Tears squeezed out from her eyes unbidden and her hand clenched in his, returning the strength of his grip. A small cry escaped from her throat, strangled and lost.

  He bent close, and she felt his own tears fall to her face like warm summer raindrops. “Remember only this,” he whispered, as his lips sought hers.

  She closed her eyes, feeling only his warmth returned to her, muting the pains that seared her body. She imagined her heart raced only as it had always done in their private moments of passion, and that everything would settle into a blissful calm afterwards.

  After a very long while, she felt her shudders begin to slow. The pounding of her pulse was only the beat of their feet as they continued dancing together, long after the music had stopped. She became aware only of a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, until she heard his voice once more, drawing her back into a dull consciousness.

  “We’ll be together for always, Isabel.”

  “Not for always,” she whispered, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Isabel?”

  Her eyes cleared, finding their focus on him. She stared as though seeing him for the first time. “Jeremy?”

  He smiled and leaned down to brush his lips against her mouth, then laid his cheek against hers. “No matter what, we’ll make what we will, of all the time that we have. I promise that. Nothing will ever change that.”

  * * * *

  ISABEL’S EYES were closed as she worked the scissors through her hair. She no longer needed to guide her hands, so accustomed had they become to this nightly ritual. As her long locks fell free, she hummed a melody to herself that she first heard in the early part of the previous century, on a night when she learned about sacrifices and promises that the stars would always hold dear.

  She set the scissors aside and opened her eyes. For a moment, the mirror seemed to blur, becoming a window into the past where she saw herself through another’s eyes. In this image, her hair was done up, held by a simple ribbon she had adorned herself with a few glittering rhinestones and fresh flowers. She stared back, her face full of wonder and knowing, ready to take the first steps on a path that seemed paved by moonlight.

  Then the vision faded, and she saw herself as she was now, her hair cut in a simple bob, a reminder of a promise she had made two years before, on this night, this anniversary. She closed her eyes for a moment, her head lowered in prayer.

  “I miss you Jeremy,” she whispered.

  She felt a stir of a remembered touch whose warmth the span of years could never fade. She smiled and her lips parted, as though answering a kiss, a gesture that had always seemed new each time, and still savored in its preciousness.

  She opened a drawer beside her and reverently lifted out a small bundle wrapped in velvet, whose color captured the deepest hues of midnight. She moved aside its folds, uncovering the first of the many gifts Jeremy had given her. Her fingers caressed its worn cover, and she imagined again his quiet voice like a lullaby in the stillness of her room, her body bared in trust in the moonlight.

  She opened the cover and read what he had written inside on that first night they met, before leaving it beside her on the bed. It was an inscription whose neatly formed characters she had found the next day and studied for long hours, tracing their pattern over and over again with her finger, and trusting she would one day come to know their meaning.

  You have captured me forever.

  She lowered the cover down again carefully. She wrapped the folds of velvet around the book of poems, and returned it to her drawer.

  She walked to her bed and lay down, her face relaxed as she stared upward, thinking of another night and another sea of stars overhead.

  When her phone rang, she closed
her eyes, a small smile of remembrance on her face as she let the sound of Joplin’s Bethena finish its cadence before answering.

  “Isabel,” Katharine said. “You might have heard we have a new one staying with us. She’s had a very rough time.”

  “I know.” Isabel’s finger wound and unwound about a trailing gossamer strand that draped around her bed. Her eyes sought out the stars painted on her ceiling, finding their focus on one pattern. “But everything will be all right.”

  Darya

  As a young girl, Darya chose the piano to be the love of her life, and for a while at least, that was true.

  She was born in the waning stages of what had once been known as the Great War, and little more than a month after Lenin’s revolutionaries ushered in the beginning of a new era for her country.

  Her father had been raised in America from a young age, readily adopting its language and customs, while never forgetting those of his birthplace. As a young adult, he had chosen to return to the land his parents had left behind, where he fell in love with and wed his beloved Galya. The arrival of both a war and a daughter interrupted his plans to repatriate them back to the United States, and within a few years more, all else had changed.

  Galya died before Darya’s first birthday, choking her last breaths within a crowded infirmary ward among scores of other influenza victims. Darya’s knowledge of her mother lay only through the cherished memories of others, and aided by a few faded photographs. She sometimes took out these latter when she was alone in her room, studying them, and wondering why she could never find their match within her own recollections. The face that looked back at her from the past stirred something deep within Darya, a longing for the mother she had never really known, and a painful sense that her path had irrevocably been changed forever.

  Her earliest memories instead were of her Baba, her mother’s own mother, with whom she and her father lived, crowded into a small and tidy apartment that nevertheless seemed a cozy refuge against the cold grey of Leningrad’s long winters. Baba would always have her tea kettle ready when Darya rushed in from school, cheeks rosy from the cold and the excitement of homecoming. Baba doted on her only grandchild, her love tempered by a quiet sense of discipline that found its counterpart in Darya. For her part, Darya came to find over time that while her mother would always be an abstract ideal she could never reconcile in her own mind, the love she received from her surviving family filled any void she might have thought existed.