Earlier that evening, and a thousand miles away, he sat at the airport, gripping his ticket in his hand, wrestling internally whether he had made the right decision...
Now, sitting in a decorated hotel room about ten minutes from where she lived in New Bern, North Carolina, he knew that his heart had brought him here and that was all that mattered.
Dawson tiredly rubbed his eyes and settled back against the bed, pushing his sandy blonde hair out of his eyes. He had analyzed every possible outcome of coming here, to her new life he knew almost absolutely nothing about, and seeing her again... But in the end he knew that if he never did this, he'd always wonder and feel that gaping hole in his heart.
He had tried to fill that hole with Diane, his ex-therapist, and now current girlfriend. He had met her in San Francisco, where he now lived, after he returned to deal with his grief over the death. She was a good listener, with a giving heart, and a compassionate personality. Diane was only a few years older than him, and when he told her he had to make this trip, she knew from years of experience that she had to let him go.
Dawson jumped up off the bed impatiently, needing something to do or else he would go crazy. Thinking about Diane made him feel like he was betraying her, though he had come with her permission. They had only been seeing each other for a few months, and it hadn't progressed very far. No "I love you's" had been exchanged, and they weren't physically intimite. He doubted he could let her that close,...he could barely open his heart up to her.
Dawson fiddled around in his suitcase for something to wear tomorrow. He didn't want to alter himself, he wanted her to remember him for the boy he once was, important and special to her, and then as the man he had become. He wanted her to feel the connection they once had, when she did love him dearly. Dawson decided on a sweater that matched the blue in his eyes, and a pair of loose jeans. At least he'd be comfortable while his heart pounded a mile a minute in his heart, and sweat glistened on his palms.
He picked up his razor and shaving cream out of his bag, and carried it into the bathroom. His eyes fell on his reflection in the mirror, startling Dawson. The young, carefree, spirited boy he had once been was gone. In it's place was a older, more cynical, and weary man. This man had seen too much pain, and knowing he lost the only woman he ever loved compounded that pain and sadness by thousands...
But now there was hope.
"You knew her, didn't you?" Diane said as more a statement than a question, as she looked at his shocked face. His blue eyes looked like they were frozen in time.
He looked up from the art section of the newspaper and nodded his head slowly.
She examined his face carefully and knew the missing piece was finally in place. "The paintings all around your house that you never want to talk about... The one I've seen above your bed... They're from her. She painted them for you."
Again he nodded, feeling it all come back to him again. The fire in her mesmerizing hazel eyes, the soft supple skin he loved to touch and kiss, her sweet voice....
Dawson carefully shaved the small hairs off of his neck and chin, suddenly feeling a surge of adrenaline. Maybe this was a sign? What were the chances that while reading the morning paper with his new girlfriend, he'd come across Joey's name and photo?
Her photo... The picture beside the blurb about her successful gallery showings mesmerized him. It was as if his eyes never left her face. He could almost feel the softness of her sweet olive skin...the touch of her ruby red pouty lips...feel of her hair brushing against his chest as they made love...
Dawson cursed himself for being such a coward. Diane didn't even question him about this. She knew that for them to have a chance, she had to let him make this trip... He could tell that although he never told her about Joey, she knew nonetheless. There had always been something holding him back from loving her...
It was because someone already had his heart and he couldn't forget or let that go.
"Yes, this is right," he muttered, looking at his determined reflection in the mirror. "I have to do this." Dawson rinsed off his razor, wiped his face, and went to change for bed.
Tomorrow would be a long day...one he had waited more than ten years for. He couldn't wait for the morning.
***
email: Dcreeker@bigfoot.com
