Always One Foot on the Ground

[rainier]

Caspar looked on as Basie went from stillness to motion. He found himself compelled to study her movements. He knew of the grace and litheness of women from his books, but never before had seen a live example. She has beautiful hands, he thought to himself, as she reached into the pocked of her dress. He could imagine her penning some story or poem, or else playing some instrument. He was tempted to reach out and take her hand in his, to hold it like a fine piece of china or porcelain; and suddenly, then, she reached for him, and pressed something into his hand. He looked down and saw what it was, and exclaimed, “Mijn Got! You remember!” He beamed at her.

“It’s beautiful. It’s a part of your family, and it doesn’t belong with me.”

He grasped it tightly in his hand, and in his ecstasy he forgot all decorum and timidity, and flung his arms around her. He pulled away a moment later, laughter in his eyes. “You truly are mijn engel, Basie,” he said fondly. He glanced at the wooden chip once more, the light wood and the fine carvings so familiar to his touch. Kennis is macht. There was much knowledge in books, he knew, but he also knew that there was much knowledge in living, as well. He needed to experience life, instead of just reading about it…

“I don't have brothers and sisters, but my mother left me, too. They wouldn't tell me what happened, but I know that she fell in love with someone else, and my father was never the same. Something changed. I'm so scared it will happen to me, too.”

Caspar nodded slowly, sympathetic. “Yes. My mother married for the thought of forbidden romance. She was an aristocrat, and my father was handsome to her but very poor. After many years, her thrill went away. She wanted her money back more than she wanted my father, or her children.” He paused for a moment, and he thought of everything else she had said. Basie, afraid of abandonment? Why, how could such a wonderful, beautiful, special girl every worry about being alone? His heart went out to her, and he grasped her hand in both of his, and kissed it. “You will never be alone, Basie.” He gave her a warm smile.

Once more his eyes met hers, and suddenly, all at once, he knew what all those writers and authors and playwrights were talking about. He knew how Romeo felt when he laid eyes on Juliet; why Thisbe died for Pyramus; why Tristan and Isolde risked everything. Love. He loved her. She was the only one who made his scholar’s heart fill with folly and fantasy and fauna, and his intellectual mind forget all rhyme and reason. She was perfect. She was his. Destiny. Kismet. De kracht van het lot.

He kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her.

Took her in his arms.

Pulled away, met her gaze.

…Was more embarrassed than he had ever been in his life.

Did the only thing he could think of to do.

Caspar ran away.

[brooklynlove]

It was strange how comfortable she felt standing here with him, a boy she had only met once before. Yes, she had to admit she was slightly embarrassed, but the fluttering of her stomach was nothing compared to the simple content she felt when she was with him. It defied all logic, but the fact didn't bother her, and she felt completely at ease. She'd told him her story, he'd shared his, and the thought occurred to her that never before had she spoken so freely of the things she had told him. Her words had been few, but they had conveyed the thoughts that had tormented her for so long now. Somehow she felt lighter.

“Yes. My mother married for the thought of forbidden romance. She was an aristocrat, and my father was handsome to her but very poor. After many years, her thrill went away. She wanted her money back more than she wanted my father, or her children.”

Basie listend silently, still slightly taken aback by his sudden burst of affection a moment before. She hadn't been sure as to how Caspar would react, but she certainly hadn't anticipated that as she pressed the chip into his hand. She shook the curls out of her eyes and looked up at him, willing her mind to focus on his words, to stop weaving fantasies. The words seemed strangely familiar, and she moved closer almost involuntarily, as if offering her sympathy. When he took her hand in his, she was surprised at her own steadiness.

"You will never be alone, Basie."

His words were reassuring as he brought his blue eyes back to hers, but she wondered at their meaning. They seemed to her like something from a book, something she had always believed in, but had never dared to hope for. But now, as she stood here facing him, she felt herself beginning to give way, to let go, wishing desperately that the story would not end. For the first time in who knew how long, Basie Blythe hoped there were many more pages to come.

And then...

And then she didn't know what was happening.

She felt his arms about her, was vaguely aware of his face very near hers. It seemed suddenly that time had ticked to a stop, that Caspar was the only other person in the world. She realized now that it was his mouth that brushed her lips, and though Basie rather felt she should be terrified, she wasn't. He drew back. Their eyes met.

And then he was gone.

Caspar was suddenly gone. Her thoughts still reeling from the confusion of the previous seconds, Basie felt absolutely ridiculous standing there alone, in the park, unsure of what to do. She knew she must look completely bewildered, and she was now concentrating her efforts on ignoring the thought that was beginning to creep its way to the forefront of her mind. Stumbling backwards, she welcomed the tree behind her, leaned against it while simultaneously attempting an air of nonchalance, as well as beginning the task of sorting out her spinning mind. Had she done something wrong? She hadn't thought so, but then again, who was she to know? It wasn't as if she spent her time kissing people, and truth be told, she had kissed no one before now. Still, the thought nagged viciously at her.

Basie sighed heavily, wrapped a strand of hair around her finger. She was always confused. The strength she'd felt in the boy who had just taken her into his arms was a strength she'd always dreamed of, and his words echoed in her mind. You will never be alone, Basie. She wasn't sure he'd meant them. Still leaning against the tree, Basie studied the ground, deliberating.

"Caspar." It wasn't a question, but a statement. She raised her voice slightly, feeling strangely loud. "Caspar, honestly..."

[rainier]

Caspar did not go far. He was not running from something, as one does when afraid; nothing was chasing him. Nor was he running for the sake of running; he would have been yearning to go much further. He was running because he thought Basie would want him to go. After he had so stupidly done--what he had done--he knew that she would never want anything to do with him every again. He knew she would scream at him to leave. And he knew it would break his heart to hear it. He wanted to spare himself the pain of her rejection. So, he bolted from her. It was best, for the both of him, if he did. She would not have to be angry and yell; and he would not have to see her become angry, endure her furious gaze and sharp, berating cries.

"Caspar."

The word was faint, barely audible. If the scholar had been one to imagine things, movement in the dark of voices on the wind, he would not have acknowledged the sound. Because, however, he had never before heard imaginary voices, and knowing for a fact that he heard something, he slowed to a stop, stood still for a moment, and then hazarded a glance over his shoulder, toward where Basie stood. The very sight of her a distance away was enough for his face to flare up hot in a deep blush of shame. How could he have been so very, very stupid? He wasn't ever one to act on impulses normally, and after this fiasco he certainly wasn't about to let it happen again. He thought hotly, this is what occurs when science and learning is abandoned for fiction and stories. The mind is not correct, it does things that are not logical or rational. Caspar vowed to himself that he would devote the entirety of his reading to nonfiction matters, things that were straightforward and made sense logically. Fiction had done nothing for him. It had only caused him to act on one stupid impulse, resulting in the loss of the girl he--he felt a mental and emotional bond toward, based on aesthetic visual stimuli, past memory and the combination of chemicals within the brain.

"Caspar, honestly."

Her voice. He was tempted to become glad at the sound of understanding in her tone, but caught himself quickly. Analyze all parts, the intellectual told himself, then synthesize to draw a conclusion. To begin, she was calling after him, which meant that she was not angry. Further adding to this hypothesis was her tone of voice: Caspar interpreted it as a deliberate gesture, but somehow nonthreatening. Based on the evidence, Caspar was led to the conclusion that she was not angry with him, and the subsequent conclusion that, being well-raised, he must approach her and apologize for his presumptuousness.

He fixed his expression, so that a stone statue would seem lively and animated. With measured steps, he approached her, stopping abruptly about an arm's length away. He looked her in the face, but avoided looking into her eyes. He spoke without much inflection. "I do beg your apology." He stopped, and said sharply, "I beg your acceptance of my apology," he corrected himself. Verdomd! He couldn't concentrate on his English with his stomach in knots. "I was too bold. I was inappropriate, crude. I cannot be forgiven for my behavior. If you wish me to go, as I am sure is the case, I shall. And I--I will never bother you again."

He lowered his eyes and bowed his head, his mind spinning, his stomach turning, and his heart was being crushed under the weight.

[brooklynlove]

Perhaps she should have spoken louder. Maybe she should have yelled. Maybe, a small voice inside her suggested, she should never have acknowledged Caspar in the first place. This was what always came of these types of things, Basie thought miserably as she let her head fall back against the tree. It had happened to Mere, this notion of believing oneself to be in love, the fooling of oneself to believe in something that wasn't true but brought a freshness to the cheeks and a delightful flutter to the stomach. Basie had told herself long ago that she would never let this lying, life-sucking parasite attach itself to her, but what had she done? She'd gone and welcomed it, that's what, and here she was now. It wasn't real. This kind of love had never been real. "Only in books," she said aloud.

She rubbed her fingers aimlessly against the rough bark, trying to convince herself that if Caspar came back, which she was certain he wouldn't, she would tell him she had enjoyed talking with him but she had best be getting home. The thought brought a sort of painful dullness, but Basie pushed it aside, concentrating even more fiercely on what she knew she needed to do as she caught sight of Caspar making his way to where she stood. His face seemed lifeless, void of expression, and to her great disgust, she found herself wanting nothing more than to throw her arms around him, to make his smile reappear.

"I do beg your apology. I beg your acceptance of my apology. I was too bold. I was inappropriate, crude. I cannot be forgiven for my behavior. If you wish me to go, as I am sure is the case, I shall. And I--I will never bother you again."

He had seemed to be looking at her, but Basie could not meet his eyes, and any hope that had risen at the sight of him was smothered silently. She was not angry with him, but angry with herself. Angry with Mere for making her this way. Angry with how difficult it was for her to right now open her mouth and say the words she had been planning to say. Basie stared at Caspar a moment, letting her raging thoughts subside into calm, studying the boy for whom she had feelings she could not explain.

She drew a sharp breath. She had forgotten someone. Oh, how she had forgotten. The thought was like a glorious warmth that quickly revived her, and she felt a smile beginning to form on her mouth. Things had been different since her mother had gone, and it was now that Basie realized why. Father had been different. The light had gone from his eyes, the zest from his face, and the life from his body. It was as if no laughter had remained within him, as if someone had come and stolen his joy away. But it hadn't always been that way. Basie could still remember her father's laugh, the way his strong hands had moved deftly over the piano keys, the way he had kissed her mother and smiled each time he looked at her. Will Blythe had loved his wife, and Basie knew that he still did. It was real.

Turning her attention back to Caspar, she stepped closer to him, never taking her eyes from the boy who stood before her, his eyes to the ground. She was not sure how she would show him what she wanted him to know, but deciding that instinct was wiser than over-thinking, she placed her hands gently on either side of his face and lifted his head so that she could see his eyes. They seemed bluer than usual. Basie finally spoke, "Caspar, you don't need to apologize. A-and I want you to always bother me. Always, all right?"

She studied his face for a moment before speaking again. "I'm sorry that I'm so difficult to read, but I'd...I'd like...c-can I make it easier for you?"

Hoping he wouldn't object, Basie stood on her toes, and, his face still in her hands, touched her lips to his, kissing him very softly three times. Then, drawing back, she moved her hands down along his arms, grasped his hands once again, and beamed up at him. "And Caspar? I found it."

[rainier]

"Caspar, you don't need to apologize. A-and I want you to always bother me. Always, all right?"

His brow furrowed. He reached up slowly and toucher her hands as they cupped his face gently, and her hot brown eyes locked with his cool blue ones. He didn't understand. Was she speaking truthfully, or was she speaking with sarcasm, that enigma of a language that was more complicated than English and as incomprehensible to Caspar as French. He shook his head slowly. "I don't understand..." he said. "You want--you want to be bothered, then?" He was sure he didn't understand what she really meant...and at the same time, he was almost sure that he did. She did say that he didn't need to apologize. What did that mean? Of course he had to apologize for what he had done! He looked off for a moment, his head spinning. "If only I could understand..."

"I'm sorry that I'm so difficult to read, but I'd...I'd like...c-can I make it easier for you?"

As Basie leaned in, and her lips touched his for the first time, Caspar's body went rigid. He inhaled sharply, and kept perfectly still. She kissed him again, and slowly he allowed himself to relax. Then, a third time...now he kissed her back, reaching up and touching her hair. She pulled away, and a smile was on her face as she took his hands. Slowly, he gave her a shy smile. So--she--she--! He couldn't believe it. Was it even possible that she felt the same as he did? It was unfathomable. And at the same time, it was the most wonderful feeling in the world.

"And Caspar? I found it."

He realized, after a brief moment, what she meant, and broke out in an enormous grin. "Oh, Basie! Me, too! Me, too!" He laughed aloud and took her in his arms, and kissed her warmly.

"You there!"

Caspar turned to see a man standing nearby, sneering. "Have you no shame?" the man demanded. "Never have I seen such a vulgar display of--"

"Het spijt me u denkt dat weg, meneer." Caspar said coolly, squeezing Basie's hand as a signal not to speak. "Maar nu ben ik kuste het mooiste meisje van de wereld en zelfs niet kon je stoppen mij." He looked apologetic, but his words were anything but. The man only stared a moment, and walked away, mumbling something about foreigners. But Caspar only looked back to Basie and kissed her again. Then he glanced at the man's retreating back, and, returning his gaze to Basie, said in English, "And I want to be with her forever."