Ice (10 page)

Balwin's house was always very quiet, but this evening it seemed more so. His father didn't make his usual appearance in the living room doorway either.

"My parents are having dinner at the home of one of my father's clients," Balwin explained. "My mother wanted me to go, too. but I told her
I
had already made plans. My father said it was fine." Balwin quickly added before I could complain that he shouldn't have turned her down. He smiled at me and shook his head. 'He is the one who always insists I go along to show my respect for his clients. I sure can't figure him out these days," he said and continued down the basement stairs.

A dark shadow moved over the hallway toward me, but it was only a cloud floating across the moon, shutting down the light that passed through the windows. I followed Balwin who was already at the piano.

"It's ready," he declared. "I've finally figured out the last verse." I knew he was speaking about the song he had written for me.

I stood at the side of the piano and he began, singing through the part I had heard before and then looking at me during the finished final verse, he sang:

.
Yes, there is music in the silence of her smile. There is a melody in her eyes.
Then she looks at me,
I feel my heart begin to sing.
I feel the glory that her lips can bring. I understand the true reason for the spring The burst of blossoms, the song of birds And I lift my own lips and eyes to be caressed

by her bejeweled voice.
So Play, play this song of you.
Play for the old and play it for the new. Play at the break of day and pay in the twilight

how... Play away the sadness and the sorrow. Walk before the saddest eyes you see. Walk and bring the music back to me.
.
When he lifted his finders from the keys and sat

back. I just stared at him. The music was still riming in my ears. He formed a tentative, insecure smile. "Is it all right?" he finally asked.
I nodded and then he stood up quickly, his face twisted with confusion.
"Ice," he said. "Ice, there are tears streaking down your cheeks. What is it?" he asked stepping closer. He touched one of my tears as if he had to feel it to believe it. Then he brought his fingers to his lips.
"Beautiful," I whispered.
"Like you." he said.
His face moved toward mine in such small incremental movements, it was silly slow motion. but I didn't step back or turn away. We kissed, a soft, long kiss, neither of us lifting our hands from our sides. When he pulled away, his eyes were still closed as if he was trying to savor every lingering delicious moment.
"When I kiss you, it's like bringing the words to the music, making it complete," he said.
I smiled and he kissed me again. His left hand went to my waist and his right to my shoulder. I put my arms around him and we held each other, our lips holding us as though all the magnetic magic was there at our mouths.
"The song was the only way I could tell you how I felt about you," he said softly. "I feel it all here," he added, placing his hand over his heart.
I nodded and he took me by the hand and walked me to the settee. We sat beside each other just looking at each other. When someone has so much creativity and talent inside him as Balwin has. I thought, it becomes a more solid identity, far deeper than any mask of male good looks. His feelings for me weren't only in his eyes and on his lips; they were in his very being. I was overwhelmed by his sincerity and his hunger for my approval and love.
Yet.
I
couldn't help feeling a little afraid as well, but not afraid for myself as much as I was afraid for him. Such total love as Balwin was expressing for me made someone, especially someone like him, as vulnerable as a turtle out of its shell. I did not know myself if I loved or cared for him half as much as he apparently cared for me. He longed to hear me say so. His eyes told me that.
But I did not know if what I felt for him at the moment was all or as much as any woman could feel for any man. Was this what love was? Instinctively, I felt that love meant caring for someone more than you cared for anyone else, even yourself, but I also understood that you needed him to feel the same way or you were incomplete, lost. Could I feel anywhere as intense about Balwin as he obviously could feel about me? Wouldn't he feel incomplete, lost, if I didn't? It took the greatest trust to utter the words, "I love you." to anyone because he might laugh or reject you and leave you as exposed as that turtle.
What would happen then?
Would you be afraid to ever utter those words again? Silence. I realized, was so safe.
As if he could hear the debate in my mind. Balwin leaned forward to end it with a long and far more passionate kiss. He moved his lips over my cheek and up to my eyes. He kissed my forehead, my hair and then my lips again. I did not stop him or pull back and his excitement built faster and faster. I thought I could hear his heart beating against mine, or was that only my own, pounding?
"Ice," he whispered, his hands slipping under my blue cotton blouse and then up to my breasts. His fingers moved in quick side motions over my nipples, hardening them. My back softened and I lowered myself as he moved over me. I felt my bra clip snap and then his fingers on my skin, making every place he touched feel like a tiny firecracker had been lit over it, exploding, the heat building up and down my stomach and my chest, circling my ribs and making me soften and soften until I felt so helpless, so willing to be touched everywhere, kissed everywhere.
I closed my eyes and felt as if I was sinking into the settee.
"I love you, Ice. There. I said it without singing it," he bragged.
I opened my eyes and looked into his to see the Great happiness. He kissed me again, his tongue slipping over mine and then he struggled with his own clothes until I felt his naked thighs and his hardened excitement emerging.
It
had the opposite effect from what I imagined it was supposed to have. It was more like a wake-up call, a quick splash of cold water or even an electric shock.
What was I doing?
Was this what I wanted to happen? And even so, was it what I wanted to happen now?
Had I already passed that moment when you could still think and decide, that moment before the heat in your blood took control and turned you into to an obedient slave to your own passions?
"Wait, stop," I said. "Please, Balwin. Don't," I cried sharply.
He lifted himself from me and looked down, his eyes so hot. I could see the fire burning inside him. I shook my head.
"Oh," he moaned and then looked down at himself as if he just realized what he had been doing. "Oh. I'm sorry," he muttered and struggled to get himself dressed.
I sat up and fixed my bra. He rushed about, getting his clothes on, hurrying like someone who had to flee the scene of some crime. I reached out to touch his shoulder and he stopped and looked at me, his face full of desperation.
"I'm just not ready for that," I said.
He looked like he would burst into tears. He nodded quickly and
completed dressing. Then he rose and for a moment looked in every direction.
"Well... we... well... let's get back to work," he said.
I watched him hurry back to the piano and sift through pages of music, keeping his eyes off me.
"I'm sorry. I know that wasn't fair of me," I said. He looked up and started to shake his head. "No, it wasn't fair of me. I wasn't sure myself." I admitted. I thought about a spiritual I often sang. "You
weren't the only one in muddy waters." I told him.
He smiled.
"You mean you never..." I shook my head.
He looked relieved.
"I'm no expert," I said. "but it seems to me it's better if it takes its proper time. If it's meant to be, that is." I added.
"Like a baby being born?" he suggested. "You shouldn't rush it. huh?"
I laughed.
"Maybe. I'm no expert when it comes to that either." I said and he laughed too.
"Back to the music," he said and I rose to join him at the piano.
It was truly as if we had rid ourselves of some cobwebs, some of the darkness and the shadows that always hung between us like Spanish moss, draped over our every expression, our every word. We had to get past the feelings, the need to touch and know each other in more intimate ways before we could draw closer to each other than we already were. Once we had done that, the music followed. blossomed. His fingers were freed and so was my voice. We sounded so good together, we both cried out for joy, both knowing it was special.
"If you sing like that, you'll get in that school for sure,' Balwin declared when we finished.
"I will if you come along to accompany me. Can you?"
"We've got to find out if they permit it first," he said. "If they do. sure I will.'
"Thank you. Balwin. You've given me so much," I said.
I hugged him and he held on to me a moment longer, his head pressed to my bosom, his eyes closed.
"You've given me much more," he whispered, his voice cracking.
I lifted his head away, looked down at his loving face and lowered myself to kiss him. The music, his devotion, made him the most handsome man in the world to me at that moment. His hands reached around my waist and pressed my rear as he brought his lips to my lower stomach and then lower and lower until I felt a rush of excitement shoot with lightning speed through my blood to my heart. He looked up at me again, his eyes drawing me. Did I have the strength to say. "stop," again?
Moving together, touching each other, even through mere looks and words, was like trying to navigate a minefield in which passion could explode at any time if we accidentally triggered it through a deeper look or an innocent caress.
"Step back. Ice," I told myself. "Hurry before it's nearly too late again."
However, my own fingers, like little traitors, betrayed me. They came around to undo my pants. Baiwin began to lower them over my hips. His lips moved over my naked stomach, pushing into the waistband of my panties. I moaned as his hands went under them to grip my buttocks and hold me.
He breathed deeply as if he wanted to commit every aspect of me to his memory. Then, he lowered his arms, surrounding my legs behind the knees, and stood, lifting me.
"See how strong I've become?" he asked. smiling. I kissed him again
and we were back on the settee. This time. I lay there quietly as he carefully and patiently removed every piece of clothing from my body, including my socks. Then he knelt at the settee and put his forehead on my stomach. My blood felt like it was at a boil. When he lifted his head and perused my body. I looked at him and saw the pleasure and the utter amazement and joy building in his eyes. He hovered over me, taunting me with his lips and his fingers.
"Turn off the lights." I whispered. He rose to do so.
"I understand," he said, "You're not ready to see me like this yet. Got a ways to go, huh?"
"That's not it at all, Ballwin."
"Sure it is. That's fine," he said. "I'll be there soon." he vowed.
He slipped out of his clothing and then lay beside me. We kissed and held each other.
"Muddy waters clearing any?" he asked.
I was so deep down in the well of passion, his voice seemed to reverberate above me. I was losing the battle. In fact, it might be all over. I thought. My own curiosity and excitement were plashing caution away from the controls. Alarms were being drowned out by the drumroll in my heart, the parade of desire and lust marching up from my thighs to the back of my neck and around to my lips.
He moved closer. closer...
And then, we heard the upstairs door open and close and his parents' voices, his father's laugh and his mother's following.
Balwin practically flew away from me, scurrying like a rodent over the floor to gather his clothes. I rushed to get mine on as well,
"The lights!" I cried. "They'll wonder why we're down here in the dark."
He flicked on the lamp at the piano just as we heard the door to the basement being opened. I rushed around the corner to keep out of eyesight as I completed dressing. Balwin tapped out some notes, pretending to be working at the piano.
"Hev!" his father called down. "You still working with Ice down there?"
"Yes. Dad."
"Getting late, son," he said and closed the door.
I came around quickly and we looked at each other. Most of the lights had been off. Surely, it looked suspicious and strange.
"It's all right." Balwin said trying to reassure int. "Don't worry."
"I'd better get home,' I said. He nodded and we started up the stairs.
When we stepped into the hallway, his father appeared in the living room doorway, gazing at us, a wry smile on his face.
"Making music down there?" he asked.
Balwin looked at me, his eye shifting every which way as he searched desperately for just the right answer.
"Yes," I said for him.
"Good," his father said. He smiled at me. "Good," he continued and turned away.
We hurried out and to the car.
"Sorry about all that," Balwin said as we drove off.
"Maybe we had better cool it for a while," I suggested.
"Just awhile," he said nodding. "We'll start again after the concert Saturday. okay?"
"We'll see." I said.
Little did I know what my hesitation would come to mean to him. but then. I had no idea myself.