Tangled Hair

Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.

Fiona stared out of the window onto the rainy street. The summer rain came every afternoon in regular intervals and yet somehow she felt that today would be different—John, her date, would be coming over soon and she didn’t want him to get soaked. She was always the type to hope, and keep on hoping, even if her expectations rarely came true.

While she waited for John her mind drifted off to other matters. She hoped painting, her hobby, would somehow turn into a full-time career. Just last week her art had been featured in a local exhibit, giving her a glimmer of hope. She remained cautious though with her hopes for the future. Over the years she realized how easily she got lost in dreams just to feel the eventual tug of reality pulling her back down.

She hoped for the best tonight. They hit it off really well during their first date—the typical safe-ground with dinner and a movie. She looked back on the highlights of their dinner conversation that last Tuesday. John made her laugh and forget how quickly the time had passed. There was something in her that wanted to experience those emotions all over again. Looking out the window at the rain seemed to bring out the desire of being next to someone, cuddling up with them and enjoying the grey weather together.

So far the pieces fit between them, but over the last year Fiona learned to be just as careful with her expectations as she was with her hopes. After a string of hopeless dates and repeated disappointments she locked her heart aw
ay behind an iron gate that somehow this stranger had easily unlocked.

John had the kind of manner she enjoyed being around
. He was easy to talk to and didn’t hesitate to laugh at her jokes. And he didn’t take himself seriously even though he had a serious career—he worked as an airline pilot.

With the cyclical nature of his work he had the next t
hree months off, so he asked if he could see her again soon. Of course, that was if she wanted to go on another date.

She set the date at seven o’
clock on a Friday evening. Friday came much quicker than she expected and now that she had finished getting ready an hour early, she sat by the window, with little to do but wait, taking turns flipping through a magazine and staring at the rain.

~*~

John looked back into the rear-view mirror at the long line of cars behind him. Up ahead police lights flashed. An accident and a traffic jam. Running late to his date with Fiona, watching the emergency vehicles zoom past, made him realize being late was not as bad as getting into an accident. The roads were slippery, and minutes earlier he had hydroplaned by rushing around a corner.

He was always doing things in a hurry. Often he would have to tell himself to slow down, to take an extra breath. As with most things, if he paced himself he sti
ll would get to his destination instead of hurrying and loosing track of his goal.

Plus it was better on the nerves. Although he often rationalized to himself the process of slowing down, at thirty-two years of life, he found himself caught in the middle of a life that was moving at
an ever-increasing pace.

Flying airplanes full time was stressful. The hurried pace of the lifestyle, with the no-room for error mentality, carried over into his daily life. He reminded himself that he
wasn’t up in the air anymore. Here on the road, different rules applied along with a different kind of focus.

Sitting in traffic, slowly cra
wling behind the cars, his thoughts drifted off to Fiona. He had only known her for a week but for some reason it seemed much longer than that. He was comfortable with her personality. They liked the same things, enjoyed the same kind of humor. They shared the type of compatibility that made the rest of the world dissolve and momentarily exist just for two people.

At least, that’s h
ow he felt on their first date. And when he asked her if he could see her again he noticed a sparkle in her eyes that made his heart squeeze with a pleasurable tightness. Looking down on the long line of traffic, he thought of calling her and letting her know he was running late, and the very thought of hearing her voice sent tingles of euphoria running throughout his body.

He reached down for the phone and dialed her number, but
the traffic started to move and within minutes he was back at full speed on the road, and the sensation of flying returned.

~*~

Fiona put down her magazine and paced in front of the window. She felt active—she wanted to do something—but there was little to do. She ran through her list of last minute preparations. She cleaned the apartment a few times over the week, and the television played nothing she was remotely interested in. The only thing to do now was to wait.

She looked at the clock: seven-thirty. With each passing minute the silence created a greater sense of loneliness. Had John stood her up? Dark though
ts filled her mind. Perhaps something happened; perhaps he got into an accident. Oh, stop it, she thought to herself. Always thinking the worst.

She walked into
the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea, something warm to hold in her hand, and relax, calm her mind.

Fiona set the steaming cup of tea on the window counter and folded her arms. Her thoughts turned to John and again the sense of worry came back.

It was then that her phone vibrated on the kitchen table.

“Sorry, I’m late.” He said. “There was an accident on the road.”

“Are you okay?” Fiona asked, with concern in her voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just
got stuck in traffic.”

“I was getting worried…”

“Really?” He said with a kind of excitement. “Well, I made it. I’m downstairs.”

“Come on
up. The code is two-seven-zero-two.”

Fiona put the phone down and breathed a sigh of relief. Did she sound too concerned on the phone? She usually went over
every minute detail during her dates. How she looked, how she acted, what the other person thought. Everyone does that, don’t they? Perhaps it wasn’t that she was overreactive and overconcerned—just normal.

The doorbell rang, interrupting her train of thought, and a feeling of nervous passion came over her. She recalled the mental picture of John, as she had seen him last time. She couldn’t quite picture the face clearly—but his wide shoulders stood out in her mind.

She opened the door.

“Hello,” he said,
and kissed her on the cheek, handing her a bouquet of flowers. The flowers were sprinkled with rain.

“Thank you,” she said and opened the door for him to come in. “These are beautiful. I’m going to set them in
some water. Make yourself comfortable.”

She cut the stems and placed the flowers in a vase on the kitchen counter.

John sat down on the couch. “Well, I was planning on taking us to a movie, but the way it’s looking outside, I don’t know—“

“I have a subscription to HBO if you want to watch something here.”

John said, “I don’t mind staying indoors in this kind of weather. It’s my favorite.”

“
Rainy weather?”

John nodded. “
I enjoy the serenity it brings.”

“Me too.”

Fiona sat down on the couch next to him. She noticed his gaze fixed on a painting on the wall. In tones of blue and green, an ocean stormed underneath a cliff—and on the cliff stood a tall lighthouse.

“Nice painting.” John said.

“Thanks.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Actually,” Fiona said, “I painted it.”

“Really?” John’s eyes lit with excitement. “You’re amazing.”

Fiona blushed. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean it. How did you get so good?”

“Plenty of practice, and grand delusions of being an artist."

John laughed. “Well, you made it happen. That’s what counts.”

“I wish it would’ve happened to a greater extent. I mean, I wish I could paint as a full-time job.”

“Perhaps that would get boring.”

“You think so?” She propped an arm under her chin.

“Perhaps. If you have to do something you might not want to do it anymore.”

“I think I would take that over my current job. I’m the bookkeeper at a small law firm and it’s the most boring job in the world.” Fiona rolled her eyes. “I wake up every morning to look forward to more of the same.”

“Flying is like that, kind of. The job
gets tedious but then again it has those moments that keep you going. But I see what you mean. Sorry for changing the subject away from your job.”

Fiona
quickly shook her head. “No, it’s okay. Anyways, I’m afraid of heights.”

“Are you really?
You do live on the thirtieth story.”

“I know.” She smiled. “I try not to look down much.”

“Are you afraid of flying?”

“Yes…” She said nervously.

“When was the last time you were on an airplane?”

“When I was a little girl.”

“Really?”

“Do you think I’m strange?”
Fiona asked.

“No, not at all. I just find it hard to believe because I’m always up in the air. I guess you could get used to the experience if you wanted.”

Fiona said, “Maybe.”

“I can
get you free tickets if you ever feel up for it.” John said.

“Thanks! But I’m not so sure…”

“I can get you a seat away from the windows.”

“You’re so thoughtful.”
Fiona said.

John smiled. “Is that tea you’re drinking?”

“Yes. Would you like some?” Fiona asked.

“Sure.”

“Is peppermint okay?”

“Yeah,” John said.

“That’s all I have anyways.” Fiona smiled.

“I’ll take it.” John said, and stretched on the couch. “I was just wondering—can I commission you to do a painting? I could pay you.”

“No worries.” Fiona said. “You don’t have to pay me. What would you like me to paint?”

“Something with the ocean in it.” John looked off into space. “I find the ocean very peaceful. When I’m flying over the ocean I get a sense of peace. Just being thousands of feet above the water, above the clouds
, relaxes me.”

“You’re strange.” Fiona laughed.

“Perhaps I spend too much time up in the clouds. That’s my problem.”

“That’s not a bad problem to have.
” Fiona said. “Kind of sounds like my problem too. I tend to get carried away in the clouds of my imagination. Sometimes I can’t stand being pulled back down to reality.”

“Can I tell you something?” John asked.

“Sure, what is it?”

“I hope it’s not too much to say at this point—but I find your company very pleasurable. It’s like a wonderful dream of sorts where I can forget everything else while I’m around you.”

“Thank you. That is a nice thing to say.”

“It’s true. You seem passionate about art—I’ve always thought art was an important aspect of life. There is something deeply appealing about that.”

Fiona leaned over and kissed him. She pulled away.

He brushed his hand agains
t her cheek and kissed her. The kiss was long, warm, and it stirred up feelings she forgot she could still feel. It had been so long since she had kissed someone whom she truly had feelings for.

John
lay down on the couch and pulled her on top of him. She kissed his lips, and tasted the peppermint tea on them. The thunder knocked in the distance, a powerful reminder of the great forces of nature that surrounded them. Here, safe from the rain, she found a certain kind of comfort. She never realized just how much she had been missing the feeling of being loved until she found it in his arms. And if it was just infatuation—she would take that too—anything to break her from cold, drab reality for a few dream-like moments.