The scent of a woman

And it goes like this... when I am most alone is when I feel her presence. A month ago I was in a play, and she helped with props and worked backstage. I knew that she was involved, but being in the play did not align circumstances for our paths to cross until two weeks before the show. I remember it distinctly. I was walking down the hall of the high school in which we held our performances, heading for a stage door to go onstage. I did not see her, but I caught her scent - that diabolical, lovely, intoxicating bouquet that is her, no one else, nothing else...


In that one flash, that one instance, that splinter of a second, it all rolled over me like a tank. I think I physically responded in a number of ways. A sharp intake of breath, my entire body quivered, starting at the shoulders, and my knees even buckled just a tad. I was over it in a second, though my heart dove and wobbled and bonged the rest of the day. It was her. All this while I thought that I was immune, over it, over her. We never talked anymore, almost never saw one another, and on those rare occasions, it was a hug, a hello, and moving on... The sum total of our interactions of late were e-mail "how you doings" every couple of weeks.

Why this moment struck me is unclear. Maybe I just needed a reminder that I will always carry her with me... that for however much I know that I have grown and changed and moved on and moved forward and dealt with it and gotten over it and past it, it is abundantly clear that she is inside my head, coursing through my veins, bouncing around in my very being, lying dormant until a match is tossed in the kindling dried and fanned by that blasted longing. And then it raged. The sweaty palms, the watching for her, the looking for little excuses to be near her and talk to her...

Whilst the rehearsals went on, I was proficient and professional, doing my part and helping to tell the story. In down times at home, I would go for walks and run my monologue over and over and over, pausing, inflecting, getting it down cold. But the walks served other purposes, they allowed me time with her, to think of her unfettered by any other obligations. How I haven't held her for the longest time, but I could still feel her wrapped tight around me, getting me drunk on her, yes... the scent of that woman. Her head cocks slightly to one side, her mouth creeps into a tiny grin, and then - her whole face explodes in laughter. Sitting on the concrete steps of a mausoleum in a cemetery where we met one day - I hear her ask that question - "How did I ever find you, and what am I going to do with you..."

And the passage of time does nothing, absolutely nothing to diminish, tarnish or fade those images. After one of the performances, cast and crew went out for dinner and drinks. I sat and talked with her for awhile, and loved every second of it. It was one of those moments that was light hearted and fun, not oozing with reminiscing or wistfulness over what was, or is, or isn't. When she rose to leave, we embraced, and oh, oh that scent again. She held me tight, and I whispered "I love you." She whispered "I know."