Eclipse

Not knowing what to say at first, Abby and Gen just stared at Carol. She herself focused on the verdant shoots of asparagus on her plate, covered by dollops of thick, light yellow Hollandaise. “Hell of a way to get her to take her clothes off,” Abby mumbled after a while. The news of Carol’s unfortunate bout of nausea wasn’t much of a topic for a dinner conversation but Abby and Gen had only themselves to blame for having pestered Carol for a definite description of her night with Therese.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Carol quipped, slicing her springtime splendor. “Again, nothing happened.” She was being very particular about it, and she needed her friends to know it without a shadow of a doubt.

“But you thought about it,” Abby said stubbornly. She kept a watchful eye on Carol’s reaction as she voiced her opinion.

Gen drew a deep breath only to let it out of her lungs right away. “That’s hardly the point here, honey,” she commented. “It sounds like you enjoyed yourself, and Therese seems like a lovely person.” Meaning every word, Gen smiled warmly at Carol.

“She is lovely,” Abby agreed too eagerly. “And I think she finds Carol very lovely as well. Thanks to Lou, we at least know for sure which team Therese ‘May-I-Have-This-Dance’ Belivet bats for.” Remembering the embarrassing incident at home, Carol felt an uncomfortable twinge in her stomach. Luckily the twins were blissfully asleep now and unable to gain new clues for potential future interrogations. Therese had been very cool about it, Carol thought. Lou’s abrupt remark hadn’t thrown her off in any way. “Not that it was in any way hazy to begin with,” Abby retorted.

So Therese preferred women, Carol acknowledged, but it didn’t necessarily mean that she wanted her. The moment she would start thinking someone identifying herself as a lesbian would automatically desire her, she would know that she had gone totally off her rocker, Carol scoffed at herself. Maybe she had had an inkling of it, Therese being so intensely casual. She had, after all, been aware of Abby’s sexual preference, probably before she herself had done so, Carol thought. The way Abby’s focus had always been on girls had gotten Carol thinking before Abby had ever acted on it.

They had been fifteen when Carol had finally gotten the nerve to address the issue. She remembered the afternoon as if it had happened only yesterday. “You’d like to kiss Emily, wouldn’t you?” Carol had blurted out of the blue after a math class. Once again she had caught Abby gazing dreamily at the willowy redhead two rows to the left from her. Abby’s face had immediately turned bright red and she hadn’t gotten a word out of her mouth. “It’s okay,” Carol had smiled at her encouragingly. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

In a way Carol had been envious of Abby, because what she had confided in her had revealed an extraordinary side of her friend. It had had nothing to do with homosexuality or being different from others in that sense, it was the acknowledgement of desire she had found thought provoking. Abby knew what she wanted and whom she wanted it from, and the manner in which she had later sought to have it had proven nothing short of breathless. With breathlessness, Carol hadn’t necessarily implied to Abby’s numerous escapades with women although she very well could have. She recalled her friend getting ready for yet another date the first year at college, checking her look in the mirror and quoting poet Edna St. Vincent Millay, the famous Vassar graduate with a keen eye for the ladies:                       

 My candle burns at both ends;

It will not last the night;

But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—

It gives a lovely light!

It was the awesome beauty of Abby’s relentless commitment to find life endlessly abundant with romantic possibilities that had taken Carol’s breath away, and Carol had lived vigorously through Abby’s experiences, both exhilarating and downright dreadful since she herself had had none. Abby had made good use of those first months of her academic life. Then she had met Gen, and, as she herself had so poignantly put it, “everything was over”.

“I do like Therese,” Carol admitted humbly. “I like who I am with her.” She hadn’t consciously thought of it before she said it out loud, but acknowledging it now made her realize how very true it was. Carol enjoyed Therese’s company, and it wasn’t an unimportant thing for her to recognize. She didn’t particularly care for getting to know new people, because she found most of them boring or otherwise intolerably dispassionate. Harge’s friends had been the worst, his know-it-all college buddies with their preppy wives. Carol did, however, like to hang out with Abby and Gen’s entourage comprised of educated and outspoken women who weren’t afraid to voice their disapproval if someone or something annoyed the hell out of them.

“They’re scary, all of them,” Harge had laughed after a dinner party at Abby and Gen’s. “I tried to talk to this lady and she nearly bit my head off.” Carol hadn’t said a thing in return. She had had a great time even if Jeanette, Abby’s colleague, was a bit of a hothead. Still, Harge had never griped about anything his pals had happened to recklessly spout out. Two years into their marriage, Carol had chosen to attend her friends’ shindigs alone. Harge hadn’t minded it too much, and she hadn’t needed to fret over his potential discomfort any longer. Couples didn’t have to do everything together, Carol had reasoned.           

Listening to Carol, Abby had gotten a queer look in her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that before,” she spoke earnestly. “Nor have I ever heard you say you like yourself.” Startled, Gen glanced first at Abby, then at Carol. “It’s about damn time, darling,” Abby continued wistfully.

Carol fell silent for a moment, stunned by her friend’s surprisingly accurate assessment. “Do I need someone in my life to be able to like myself?” she questioned finally.

“Of course not,” Gen hastened to reply. “But sometimes we do find new sides to ourselves through other people.” Her brow slightly furrowed, she tried to make sense of what she wanted to convey. “Then again you’ve experienced a loss, and it haunts you even in your dreams,” she said candidly. “There is a void in you that demands to be filled one way or another. Please be aware of that,” Gen advised emphatically.

“For God’s sake, why do you have to analyze everything to shreds?” Abby asked Gen visibly peeved. “Why are you being such a spoilsport? Can’t she just have a bit of fun for a change? What’s so bad about that?” she wondered out loud.

Before Gen could answer, Carol interrupted both of them. “I don’t want to have fun with her.” Now it was her friends’ turn to resort to silence. It took them a considerable time to bounce back from the effect Carol’s words had had on them.

“I see…” Abby took a long sip of her wine, her eyes never once leaving Carol. “What is it that you want then?” The one question Carol had seen coming splintered into several in her mind, each query sharper and more challenging than its counterpart. Slowly, the answer began to take shape, to crawl out of its lair of denial.

“I want to see her, to be with her,” Carol confessed simply. “And I want her to see me.”

Abby and Gen exchanged puzzled looks. “You met her a week ago…” Gen pointed out apprehensively. Even if she had meant to say something further, she didn’t dare to finish her sentence.

“I know,” Carol said. “But I can’t help it. I enjoy her company, the way she is…” She remembered how Therese had comforted her after her dream, and a sudden conviction of its incomparable importance becalmed her like the warm duvet she had been tucked in with. “I find myself thinking of her more often than not.”

It was the unavoidable truth. Ever since the night in Poughkeepsie Therese had been a constant presence in her mind, an emblem of solace and resilience for her. At the same time, it bothered Carol to think of her in those terms since she was most likely leaning far too heavily on one person who did have a regular life she still knew very little about. The dust on the rug signifying the impossible enormity of another human being – had she just pushed it all aside and let her fantasy of reaching an impossible ideal run rampant again? Carol tried not to be swayed by any oversimplified notions, but the way she kept fluctuating told her she was still thrown off by dust. This time, however, it resembled the kind songwriters claim scatter down from the stars.

Abby stared at the tablecloth, trying to process what Carol had just said. “My God,” she mumbled, “it’s worse than I thought.” She snorted, both amused and utterly surprised.

“If you want her to really see you, you need to tell her about the baby.” Gen managed to articulate the one thing Carol didn’t want to mull over, the only aspect of her life she desperately needed to presently forget. Being reminded of it aggravated her, made her downright furious.

“Goddamn baby!” Carol spat out. “I don’t want to have anything to do with it. It’s a fucking nuisance I can very well live without!” Carol regretted her heated words the minute she had said them but she was too upset to recant them just yet.

“Carol…” Abby started cautiously. “I know you better than that.” She sighed long and hard. “You need time to get used to the idea, that’s all.“ She looked at Carol sternly. “Denying what’s irrevocably happening to you won’t get you anywhere, least of all with Therese.”

Abby’s reproving statement seemed to restore Carol’s sanity. “I’m sorry, Gen, I didn’t mean to snap at you,” she said apologetically. “You’re right, of course.” Still, Carol dreaded the reality she would have to face soon. She had already lied to Therese once but she couldn’t do it again.

The evening had taken a more serious turn than Carol had expected. Returning home, she was burdened by the inevitable, weighted down by her brooding over the unpredictable outcome of her eventual talk with Therese. Carol had a nagging feeling that it wouldn’t go well at all, that it would drive Therese away for some reason she wouldn’t be privy to. Carol might not even realize it at first, Therese being polite and understanding in her response. Even the prospect of her understanding it too well was troubling for Carol. A part of her craved for an extreme reaction, a shock that would tell her that Therese had, up till that moment, cared for her in some particular way that just couldn’t fit a baby in its equation.

Therese had been marvelous with Lou that morning at her home. For such a suspicious kid as Lou was, he had really taken a shine to Therese. Carol wondered if she had ever seen him so relaxed with someone he was meeting for the first time. The two hours Lou had spent with them had flown by, and when the time had come for him to leave, he had seemed reluctant to part with his new friend.

An hour later Carol’s reluctance had surpassed Lou’s tenfold. Therese had to take the Jeep for the cleanup. They had stood in the foyer for what had seemed like a small eternity, Carol asking Therese about the observatory and wondering if the next week’s weather might turn out more favorable for an open night. “I was hoping we could meet sooner than that,” Therese had interrupted her self-conscious chatter.

How easily she had articulated what had been in Carol’s mind, what Carol had clumsily tried to get across by speculating on weather of all things. I have so much to learn from you, she had mused in awe of Therese’s straightforwardness.

“Why don’t you think of something?” Therese had suggested. “Take the initiative. I think I’ve done my share of driving for now.” She had indeed, Carol had mused right then and there. They had agreed on meeting the next weekend, on Saturday, and Carol had promised to pull her own weight for a change. She would come up with a plan to surprise Therese.

“You do realize Therese wants you to ask her out on a date?” Abby had pointed out amusedly. Noticing Carol’s bafflement she had let out a hearty laugh. “She’s good,” Abby had continued, ”I’ll give her that. Her ‘share of driving’… she’s taken you for a drive alright!”

Maybe, Carol acknowledged now that she had had time to think it through. A date. The thought didn’t terrify her or make her uncomfortable. After all, isn’t it just a question of semantics? she questioned. Certainly it’s nothing to fret over.

Come Saturday, everything was arranged. They would meet at six, and from then on it would be up to Carol to treat Therese to an experience of a lifetime. Therese had tried to ask for clues as for how to dress for the occasion but Carol had been purposefully vague in her answers. “It doesn’t really matter what you’re wearing since I won’t be able to see you,” she had laughed at her transparent attempt to pry extra information.

“I trust we will still be at the same place though?” Therese had incredulously asked her. Her astonished curiosity had delighted Carol, and it had made her all the more excited about what was to come.

“Don’t worry, I won’t abandon you,” Carol had assured her warmly. “Just keep an open mind, that’s all I’m asking.” 

When Carol let Therese in, she couldn’t help but be slightly nervous. She hadn’t been feeling too well either, but that wasn’t the thing she now worried about. Maybe the grand idea she had for their evening wasn’t at all what Therese would enjoy? It was too late to come up with an alternative, Carol nevertheless understood.

“I brought you something,” Therese said while waiting for Carol who had gone to pick up her handbag from the bedroom. “When I saw it, I just happened to think of you.” Giving Carol a small black box, Therese seemed hesitant and almost embarrassed. “It’s not much,” she needed to add.

A small silver disc lay on a satin cushion that hid a simple chain underneath. The unassuming pendant had five tiny, round holes in it. The fifth one on the top was bigger than the others. “It’s the Lyra constellation,” Therese explained. “The same one we looked at through the telescope. The top hole represents the star Vega.”

Dumbstruck, Carol held the charm up in the air to admire its inventive simplicity. “Lyra’s name has its roots in the Greek mythology,” Therese elaborated. “It refers to the lyre of Orpheus whose music was so bewitching it was enough to allure even rocks and trees. When his wife, the nymph Eurydice, was killed, he went to the Underworld to reclaim her.” Therese sounded uneasy all of a sudden. “His music charmed Hades who promised him his wife on one condition – he wasn’t allowed to look back until they were safely outside.” Carol knew very well how the story ended but remained quiet all the same. “Orpheus couldn’t help himself, and he lost Eurydice for good. He spent the rest of his days wandering aimlessly through the land, strumming his lyre and forsaking all other women. When he died, the muses placed the lyre in the sky.” Therese traced the constellation in the air with her finger. “Vega is its handle.” She pushed her hands in her pockets.

“It’s lovely, thank you,” Carol said quietly. “Let me put it on,” she decided, and moved in front of the mirror. “Can you help me out?” she asked Therese. She had trouble fastening the lock in the chain. Therese complied, though timidly. When she was done, she glanced at Carol in the mirror. What Therese saw seemed to catch her off guard.

“Carol…” Therese started with difficulty. “I… I need to…” She couldn’t get the words out of her mouth.

“What is it?” Carol asked, gazing at her through the mirror. Seeing Therese so rattled wasn’t at all what she had expected, and it worried her.

Therese didn’t return her gaze, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor instead. After what looked like another futile attempt at saying what was bothering her she gave up. “It’s nothing.” The manner in which Therese said it echoed a finality Carol wasn’t yet ready to question. Maybe it’s for the best, she thought, at least for now. 

“We’ll take a cab,” Carol said when Therese seemed more like herself again. “If you’re up to going, that is?” she double-checked.

“Of course,” Therese replied immediately. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she assured Carol. The familiar, playful smile was creeping back on her face. She picked up her jacket and headed to the foyer. “Shall we?” she beamed at Carol, keeping the door open for her. Ten minutes later they were already sitting in a taxi, on their way to West Village.

“You’re taking me out to dinner?” Therese stated in disbelief when they were standing in front of a restaurant called Sentido. “I was kinda expecting something… else… after you told me you won’t be seeing me,” she explained her confusion. “Not that I mind. God forbid, I love food,” she hastened to add.

“This is something else,” Carol chuckled, opening the door. Stepping into a dim lobby, Carol signaled Therese to stay put. “We will be picked up shortly,” she promised. So far Therese seemed pleased, she was quick to notice, and it occurred to her that Therese would have indeed been happy with just an ordinary meal.

A man in his late thirties came to greet them. “Welcome,” he said, smiling. “Is this your first time?” He took turns looking at both of his guests.

“Yes,” Carol said, for it was her first time and she guessed it was Therese’s as well. Sentido was one of a kind in New York City, and since its name hadn’t sparked any recognition in Therese to begin with, Carol thought it safe to assume they were both just as virginal to its charms.

“Splendid,” the man identifying himself as Bill said. “You will have to put these on before entering the dining room.” He handed them soft blindfolds. “You are not to remove them while inside the premises. Should you need at any time to go to the restroom, just raise your hand and you will be guided there.”

The look on Therese’s face was priceless. “So you weren’t kidding about it… we’re literally not going to see each other while dining,” she enthused.

“Nor are we going to see what we are about to eat,” Carol added. “It should be interesting.” She put her blindfold on and smiled at Therese’s direction. “Are you ready?” she asked, suddenly aware of her utter helplessness in a room turned pitch black.

“I am,” Therese said soon, adjusting to her blind reality. Bill was standing by, ready to usher them safely in.

“Put your hands on your friend’s shoulders,” he instructed Therese. “And you, Mrs. Aird, put yours on mine.” He nudged forward, making sure both women followed in his footsteps.

Therese’s hands lay softly on Carol’s shoulders as they moved along, Bill meandering between tables and chairs. Carol could hear other diners talking excitedly about what was to happen next, yet all she was really aware of were the palms resting calmly on both sides of her neck. When they reached their table, the fingers didn’t move away until Bill took Therese by the hand and escorted her to her seat right across from Carol.

As far as Carol could tell, the table was a small square for two. She felt the limited area in front of her and nearly knocked over her water glass. Bill was quick to pick it up before any damage could occur. “You will be instructed at all times, starting now,” he informed them. “The first course will be served in just few minutes, but I have taken the liberty of pouring you both a glass of champagne. You will find it, if you just put your right hand on the edge of the table and inch it slowly forward.” Soon Carol felt the base of a flute under her fingertips. She secured her grip of it and raised it carefully to her lips. “The breadbasket is at your two o’clock, Mrs. Aird, and for you, Miss, at your ten,” Bill pointed out politely. “Enjoy.”

Carol hadn’t actually thought about what it meant not to be able to see Therese. For one, they would have to talk more than what they had done so far. Remaining quiet wasn’t going to cut it, even if it had helped them through moments of serious confusion. To give herself time to think of a suitable opening line, Carol reached for the breadbasket – and ended up laying her hand on top of Therese’s. She froze momentarily, uncertain what to do. At the same time she was relieved to know that Therese couldn’t possibly see her alarm.

“I’m sorry,” Carol gasped apologetically and withdrew her hand. “Please, go ahead.” More diners were entering the premises and she was grateful for the temporary auditory distraction.

The first course arrived promptly. “For this you will have to use a spoon,” Bill explained. “Now that you’re deprived of your sight, take full advantage of what you have left, and try to figure out what it is that you are tasting,” he urged them. “After dinner you will be handed your menu in full.”

The bowl set before Carol was hot and fragrant, oozing distantly familiar aromas. “It smells divine,” Therese said. “But I can’t find my spoon.” She chuckled, searching for it in vain. “Am I going to have to drink it or what?” she wondered, amused.

Carol’s hand traveled cautiously across the tabletop, finding a spoon and then another one. “I think this is for dessert but you can have it,” she offered. “I’m holding it in my right hand and passing it over the table now, can you grab it?” She felt Therese’s hand graze the side of her fingers lightly before it fastened around the spoon.

“Okay, I got it… I think,” Therese replied apprehensively. Carol let go of the spoon, making sure Therese had it secured. “It’s spicy,” Therese said, tasting her first spoonful. “Maybe pumpkin soup, what do you think?”

Carol was struggling with hers, the spoon not finding its proper destination at first. Her movements were clumsy, and she needed to wipe away the evidence smeared on the corner of her mouth. “I seem to have lost my napkin,” she fretted. “No point in trying to pick it up from the floor.”

Therese came to her rescue. “Here, use mine,” she said softly. Carol fumbled for it in the dark, but to no avail. When she turned her head to the left, her chin bumped into Therese’s extended hand holding the cloth. The sudden contact surprising Therese as well, the napkin fell away. Her hand remained at its place, touching Carol’s face gently. “I’m sorry, I lost it,” she murmured apologetically.

“It’s okay,” Carol said, her heart picking up speed. Without thinking it further, she put her hand on top of Therese’s. Her thumb and forefinger traced the back of Therese’s hand, aware of the alert muscles just beneath the warm skin. Carol felt her cheek heat up, burn under the delicate touch. Therese maintained the caress, the simple act of smoothing the fine lines above the upper lip and sliding her fingertips back and forth over the jawline.

“Do you find everything satisfactory?” Bill was again standing next to them. They broke contact and resumed eating their soup.

“It’s delicious,” Carol managed to say. “It can get sloppy though,” she chuckled nervously. The soup tasted as if it had been infused with the sun itself, the core of its layered excellence radiating flavors of early summer. The heat of a single spoonful was intoxicating, uncompromised, Carol mused, delighted by the nubbly surprises filliping the otherwise velvety texture.

People around them conversed enthusiastically, their laughter clearing out the confusion the darkness had momentarily brought about. Yet it didn’t fray on Carol’s nerves at all, it only added to the excitement bubbling inside her. Still, when the evening’s featured singer took the stage, she was happy to listen to her exquisite rendition of an old evergreen.

 And now the purple dusk of twilight time
steals across the meadows of my heart…

Sweet remnants of another time and place flooded Carol’s mind. The way her best friends had indulged in a slow dance in the wee small hours after a party, gazing at each other with such love it had enthralled everyone present. “They make the perfect couple,” Jeanette had sighed, smiling at Abby and Gen wrapped up in their sweet privacy. Carol had known better than to believe in any perfection, but the moment had come close. At times she had wondered if the sparkle had gone out from her friends’ marriage, if it had been buried under the banalities of daily life. Still, it did scintillate on occasion and witnessing it gave Carol courage.

What she was experiencing now had the earmarks of perfection, Carol realized, the bittersweet poignancy of grazing what was forever elusive and short-lived at best. She was sitting in the dark but it had only served to make the contact with Therese more vibrant and alive.          

Sometimes I wonder why I spend
the lonely night dreaming of a song
the melody haunts my reverie
and I am once again with you

The food they were treated to was delicious, all of it perfectly cooked and suited for the occasion. Yet Carol couldn’t fully appreciate it as if the touch of Therese’s hand had muted all her other senses, removed their targets far away from her understanding. Carol’s fingers found the silver disk on her chest and she thought of Orpheus descending to the Underworld and ultimately relinquishing his will to live due to one misstep. Despite his effort, the dead had remained dead.    

Though I dream in vain
in my heart it will remain
my stardust melody
the memory of love's refrain     

 

“I love this song,” Therese spoke softly, “though it is very sad – or maybe because of it.” She grew silent, but this time the silence indicated she was about to continue soon. “There’s something I must tell you,” she said, “yet I can’t, not here. I need to see you when I do.” Therese sounded very serious.  

“I must talk to you, too,” Carol admitted, knowing she couldn’t keep her secret any longer. Telling Therese the unsettling fact of her life hardly constituted a moment of perfection, she agonized.

“You don’t own me any explanations,” Therese said gravely. “You are grieving. I know that.” Had it not been dark, Carol wouldn’t have heard her sigh. “It makes people do strange things.”

Her words struck Carol as belittling, and she wanted to rebel against them. “Please don’t say that. You are not… a strange thing to me,” she replied defensively.

“I didn’t dare to open my eyes,” Therese blurted out as if what she had originally intended to say had suddenly become redundant and needed a replacement, any replacement. “I couldn’t.”

Carol wasn’t following her train of thought at all. “What?” she asked, frightened by the words that made no sense to her.

“I like you too.” Therese’s voice tapered down to a whisper. “Very much.”     

The darkness enshrouded them, ate them alive, the spoken truth coiling too fast around the table they were leaning over. Carol wanted to see Therese, and the need to do so was unbearable. In her mind’s eye she saw herself back in Poughkeepsie, back in Therese’s bed, but this time she turned around; this time she wound her fingers in Therese’s hair and kissed her with abandon, not caring what the morning would bring or the following days or weeks. This time her hands found the hot skin under Therese’s T-shirt, the curves of her body that she longed to taste in the dark of her room. Where it all rushed in from, Carol didn’t know, but the need was urgent, unrelenting, enough to derail her from the path she had carefully prepared for herself.  

When the dessert was finished and the dinner over, they were escorted back to the lobby to have their blindfolds removed. The lights stung Carol’s eyes as they stepped outside to hail a cab. She wanted to take Therese’s hand, to hold it all the way back to her home but she didn’t. Carol couldn’t until she had told Therese what was going on, what she was facing sooner than she was willing to admit. A faint hope had started to flicker inside her, its embers catching blue flame because of what Therese had said. She had heard Carol’s nightly confession and felt the need to reciprocate. It had to mean something, Carol believed.

Back at home she was still spirited, trusting. Now it’s the time, Carol encouraged herself. All or nothing. “Therese,” she started, drawing a deep, decisive breath. “I have to tell you this, and believe me when I say…”

“Please, let me go first!” Therese interrupted hastily. Only now Carol noticed how wracked with worry and guilt her eyes were. She quieted down and let Therese speak. “I’m so sorry…” Therese mumbled incoherently. It took another while before she could bring herself to admit what was bothering her. “I’m involved with someone.”