In Continuum.

Before The Party

It seemed as if it was only yesterday, when Johanna invited Sophia and I to her birthday party last year. The title of the grandest, most lavishing party goes to Johanna and her annual birthday party in the month of October. The chandeliers with the sparkling crystals, dangling from the chains with diamonds attached to each end. The golden carpets reaches out of the front door like the tongue of a giant beast, welcoming the arriving guests into its luxurious bowels. Aside from the grandeur of the venue, the guests would usually try to challenge the beauty of the setting, finding ways and means to surpass the expectations of friends and strangers alike. Being the child-hood friends of Johanna's, we've been attending her birthday party ever since her family was able to hold one. The amount of preparations needed before the party usually takes up a whole month, but we seldom complained ourselves. After all, Johanna has been a generous friend, both in her company and her money. We were obliged in a way, without guilt but with much gratitude.

The smell of starch attached my nose, as I sat by the edge of our bed waiting for Sophia to be done. I brushed tiny air off my laps, checking and rechecking myself in the mirror next to the door that led to the bathroom, for any flaws that I might have missed during the dressing up moments before. We were running a little late then, and Sophia wasn't even halfway through her preparations yet. I felt uncomfortable in the new suit, with every inch of my skin feeling appalled to the stiffness of the new material. But Sophia claimed that I resemble Clarke Gable in that suit, only less of a kisser in reality. I blushed at her compliment, and cared little about her harmless teasing. After all, the smile that lingered at the end of that sentence, was why I fell in love with this astounding woman in the first place. The most expensive item that I was to bring to the party, wasn't the thousand dollar suit or the thousand dollar shoes. The car that they keys in my hands belonged to, cannot even measure up to the woman that accompanies me to events such as the one we were about to attend that night. Each year, Sophia has been the center of all attention, perhaps even more than Johanna herself. In relative, I've always felt myself to be inferior somehow, the dark horse in our shared community of male friends. Inadequacy is probably the word I'd choose to describe myself next to the beauty of Sophia, and I act merely as a contrast to her radiance wherever we went. But her reassuring whispers in my ears, the gentle squeeze in my arms, and the pressure of her wrist over my heart at night, answered much of my doubts. She is mine, and she is here.

I was bathed in the light that streamed from the open door of the bathroom. The cold yellow light drowned the darkness as far as it could reach, and in the middle of the rectangle of light was the long shadow of Sophia, standing before the mirror and adjusting her hair. She was in a small black dress tonight, the color that I love to see her in the most. It was a simple black sleeveless dress, with the cutting at the front reaching just below her full breasts. The shadows of her cleavage were deep, but not nearly deep enough to be, in any way, obscene or vulgar. It was a sense of mystery, or a playful tease to those who have never seen the way her bare breasts would look as they heave softly in the night. The bottom of the skirt reached halfway down her thighs, leaving the rest to the cold air of the air-conditioning that still lingered even after I turned it off a minute ago. Her arms were raised above her head, trying to fix the knot of hair that looked more like a crown above all else. The queen of hearts, the princess of mine, fixing her own hair with her perfect pair of hands. I could see the fine hair that lined along her arms, the light from the mirror created an aura around her body. It curved along her slender neck, branching out from her shoulders and followed the streamline of her arms and up to her fingertips. Her skin glimmered in the dim light, like porcelain in a exhibition would, precious beyond reckoning.

Her red hair was now bundled above her head, and she began to put on the jewelries. The diamond necklace that I bought for our anniversary half a year ago, rested itself upon her neck, perfecting upon her perfection. The dangling earrings were like teardrops, a frozen droplet from the eyes of angels on the day when she was born I'm sure. They must have wept for the losing of one of their own to the ugly world of men, for Sophia stood out from all the rest of them. Even in a bathroom, she was beautiful and inappropriate to everything else. Sometimes I wonder to myself, if it is possible for her to have been born into the wrong time, or the wrong world altogether. She felt like the character of a book, the silence after the film ends, and the last note of an opera. She is not fitting to be in our world, our dark and merciless world. Even my mere scrutiny of her beautiful body felt to be a sin of sorts, a sin to be punished someday before the judgment of God. But he'd understand my sin, forgive my sin even I refuse to confess to it. It seems a little far-fetched to be speaking of a woman like that, especially a woman who was standing in the middle of a bathroom. But it was Sophia, and that I guess, would suffice.

We were late, always beyond the point of being fashionably so. But I allowed her to take her time, and I left the watch in my breast pocket. I wanted to admire her beauty a little while longer, just a few moments more as she stood in the rectangle of light that embraced me. She asked for the time and I conveniently lied. For a moment there, I wanted to skip the party altogether, to put Sophia into the passenger seat, and we'd drive along the road before our home and to a random location on the map. When we reach there, we'd pick another place on the map and drive there until we are tired at three in the morning. We will sit on the hood of our car then, and talk until our eyes can no longer focus on the stars and the night takes over our consciousness. I didn't want to share her beauty with anybody else, didn't want the world to know the love I harbor for myself. I want to be selfish, and I was happily so.

She emerged into the room at last, framed within the four walls of the doorway like a priceless painting. The edge of her mouth curled upwards, and even her silhouette took my breath away. 'How do I look?' she said, as she closed the light in the bathroom with a flick of her index finger.

In the darkness of the room, the smell of her perfume took over everything else. The silence was deafening, and yet there was a sense of calm in the air. It was thick like a foggy day, but the scent in the air was peaceful and kind. I took a step closer to her, feeling the gentle gradient of her jawline with my fingertips, then sliding my palms down her smooth neck. I could feel her arms around my waist, the familiar weight of her wrists on my hip bone. I dearly hoped that she would miss my chest, for my heart was beating so fast that it became almost embarrassing. Her eyes glowed in the dark, the deep pools pierced without fail into my own, sending a million wordless messages into my heart. I was dumbfounded, and yet she was waiting for an answer. An answer, I said to myself. An answer...

'You look beautiful, my dear. Beautiful, and more.' I said.