I have a smile

Do you ever think about your facial expressions? Do you save certain `faces' for certain occasions, people? I do. I didn't realize I was doing it at first. Then when I started to take control of my life, my destiny, it hit me one day, the fact that for years my face had, at times, been a mask.

When I danced my smile was painted on, my scarlet lips framing my teeth. Pulled back and cemented in place to hide my repulsion. Don't confuse what I just said; I'm not ashamed that I danced. I'm not ashamed of anything I've done. I've had to make choices and I'm brave enough to admit they've not always been wise. But I stand by my decisions. My repulsion was mixed with hope. A hope that my entertaining, my false smile would enchant enough to gain extra money. I hated the fat sweaty hands that seemed to paw at me, but these were my income, so I hid behind my painted smile until I could escape.

Once I'd escaped, my smile was still my mask. Each time my husband hurt me with his words, I'd hide my pain behind a smile, as time went on I added sunglasses to that mask, to shield my tear filled eyes from prying questions. I needed to be strong and tears did not signify strength in my mind.

Not all my smiles were used in this way. One I have was a gift from my daughter. She was the most precious bequest I was given. Her gift of a smile appeared the moment I held her for the first time. I marvelled at how tiny she was, how helpless, yet how utterly trusting in me she was. This smile appears each time she does something new. Some may call it pride, some love I just call it Lindsey. Just holding her, being close to her can initiate its appearance. Then of course there's been the landmark moments every parent remembers, her first smile, her first steps, her first words. All of which brought forth this smile. There have been countless times since and I'm sure to come. We've had a difficult few years of late, but that seems to be passing as this smile once more makes its reappearance, and is mirrored in her features.

There is one other smile I have. This one is so special and secret I doubt if many have seen it, even the person who stimulates it, I doubt if he knows this is his. This smile seems to encompass my whole face, from one ear to the other. It's painful yet joyous at the same time, a little like my feelings for this person when I'm with him. Why don't I put an end to this? Simply, because I can't, I can't be with him nor without him so I'm trapped in limbo, wanting yet fearing to move forward and petrified of pulling away and losing what little contact I have.

It started years ago. The first time I met him, or rather saw him. I was a part time student at West Las Vegas; we were invited over to UNLV to hear a guest lecturer, a talk on the science of crime scenes. It was an optional extra, a way of trying to entice science majors away from the lure of drug companies and their fat wallets.

So I'd arrived at the campus entrance a little nervous and alone. I had no real idea of where I was going and spent my time initially scanning the faces around me for one I recognized from my class, to no avail. Subsequently I'd started walking towards the main buildings. I knew I needed the Robert L. Bigelow Building the problem was with so many buildings on this campus it was hard to find which one this was. It was daunting to say the least. It only became worse when a sea of students seemed to descend on me at once, adding to the disorientation. Out of this swarm of bodies, my eyes suddenly met a pair of cerulean blue ones. The world around me seemed to stop. Have you ever had that happen? The horde around me carried on, their colours blurring and mixing into one pattern, like when you turn the end of a kaleidoscope, my one focus was the pair of eyes like precious gems that seemed to freeze me to the ground. I couldn't move even if I wanted to. A spell had been cast on me. The spell immobilized my legs, yet made my face change, a wide smile filling it, a genuine feeling of joy from my earlier despair.

Slowly, so slowly the owner of those eyes moved towards me, a smile filled his features. My smile, to my surprise widened, how was that possible? Surely the muscles in my face were incapable of such contortion, yet obviously I was wrong. My heart seemed to take residence in my throat; a swarm of butterflies had taken up residence in my stomach. Do I look ok? How, or why should I be feeling like this? I see men every day. I'm used to controlling them, capturing them under my spell, I don't expect to be bewitched. Besides I have a boyfriend, a fiancé even, this should not be happening yet it is and what's worse I think I'm falling in love. I need to calm down, escape his gaze, run away, and hide from his enchantment. That, however, is impossible, as I cannot move, I'm stuck here, any moment now I'll be able to reach out, touch him, if I dare.

He came to within mere inches of me, and then stopped. That smile from his face, it reached his eyes. I'd not seen a man smile with his eyes before. I'd seen greed, lust, hatred and disgust, care, love, concern but not a smile until now. At that moment the world ceased to exist. I could not tell you if it was the most picturesque sunset, or whether a spectacular lightening storm lit the sky, as at that moment there was only the smile of his eyes to occupy my thoughts. The Earth had stopped its rotation, all other life had ceased to exist, for that moment there was only he and I. How was this possible? How could one look affect me so?

It only got worse. I was stood with that jaw aching smile on my face, directed at this stranger. I blushed, or I'd like to think I did. His smile grew, there was a moment, a breath of silence then he spoke.

"Hi, you look lost. Can I help?"

I wanted to sound clever, make myself appealing to this man, all thoughts of my boyfriend had by now long disappeared. Instead I just stammered. My tongue tied itself in knots preventing normal speech. "Ehmm..i.. if.. y.. you c.. could tell me how to g..get here."

I thrust my lecture instructions at him, hoping he could see past the foolishness I'd just displayed. This wasn't me; this was someone else who'd invaded my body. I've always been confident, able to stare down any opposition, I had a way with words, a quick retort for every occasion and an ability to put all who I met at ease, or in abject fear of my next actions depending on my mood. I was not some feeble being who would throw herself at the feet of the first man to offer a hint of a smile. Nevertheless, here I was literally falling at the feet of a stranger. I desperately wanted my old self back. I needed that confidence to conquer this man. That was my aim, deep inside my head, to conquer him have him as mine and mine alone. But with my tongue tied in one thousand knots and my stomach completing Olympic standard somersaults there was no hope of that. He enchanted me I was under his spell. If he'd wanted me to run away with him there and then, I'd have willingly followed him to the ends of the Earth. Instead I found myself being guided by him towards the physics department of Robert L. Bigelow Building. My embarrassment grew when he not only took me to the lecture hall, but also followed me inside, taking a position behind the podium. My smile at that point abandoned my face, as my jaw fell. He did not laugh, smirk or make fun of me, no, he winked and then said. "We'll talk later."

It was a good job his lecture was engaging, those words rang around my head for about ten seconds before he once more enchanted me, but this time not with his smile but his subject. The thought of his chosen career fascinated me. I noticed others around me shuffling in their seats, obviously the pull of the drug company research grants had already gripped them, but for me this was real science. Each day solving scientific puzzles, pulling together tiny pieces of a larger picture to fill the hole in the stories of crimes, there was nothing more exciting.

As the lecture ended and the rest of my peers dissipated, I felt an eagerness at the thought of spending more time in the company of this man who had held me spellbound, as not only was his smile engaging, but also his mind. I'd not met a man who could hold my interest conversationally.

I felt a mixture of joy and sadness as the theatre cleared. None of my fellow students had stayed to enquire further about careers in forensics, that saddened me strangely. Saddened me because they'd not seen what I had in his man. I barely knew him yet he had my sympathy, as the subject of his talk seemed to have had no effect. But along with that came joy. The joy that my time with him was to be spent with him alone, that thought brought back that smile to my face.

We went for coffee, not the university coffee shop, but a little place downtown, away from the tourists and the noise. A place where we could talk, and talk we did. The smile didn't leave my face; the butterflies remained in my stomach throughout. I can tell you now what was different about him. When he talked, he talked with me, not at me. His eyes locked to mine, not wandering to my breasts. I've not had that, ever. This man, Gil, was not like other men. My boyfriend would not understand him, few men would, few women for that matter. But from our first meeting I felt as if we connected.

That was the first of many meetings while I was at university. Each time we greeted each other with a smile. I now had a smile especially for him, the one he'd given me that first time we met, and one that each time we met I could not hide from him. Despite this, this closeness I remained with Eddie, my boyfriend. There was a distance between us, Gil and I. A chasm we could not traverse. We may have been mere millimetres apart yet it was as good as ten thousand miles apart. He was honourable, knowing I was engaged he would not even take my hand, and how I ached for his touch. It was painful at times, no medicine could cure it, but I would not force him into actions that would betray him. I had met a principled man, befriended him, yet that honour, those principles were what kept us apart. I would gladly forego my love of Eddie for him. All he needed to do was ask. I yearned to be close to him. Counting the days, hours, minutes until each meeting, then hoping for time to stand still while we were together.

I have to admit I was not as noble as him. I would try to take his hand only for him to seek some cause to snatch it back. Snatch is the wrong word; he would find some excuse to take it back. He would have a sudden urge to find his keys, or point to some interesting bug on a tree we passed. I thought it was me, his hatred of me, that he was so revolted by my presence that he could not bear my touch. That he pitied me in some way, putting up with our meetings as some benefit, a service to charity for the joke that I was. A woman with ideas above herself as my mother and Eddie constantly reminded me. One of the few things the two of them agreed upon.

It culminated one day when I took his hand at a coffee shop we'd stopped at. He took the opportunity to quickly retrieve it, with the pretence of drinking; his hands needed to steady his cup. Whether it was Eddie's snide remarks the previous night, as I'd studied for my finals, or just me wanting to have answers for my fears, but from somewhere I found the courage to question him.

I cast my hands down, studying my hands, the smile leaving my face. "Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"Each time I try to touch you, have some human contact with you… you find some excuse to pull away. Why?"

He touched me then. I remember it now as clearly as that moment when he sought out my face. His fingers gently tipped my chin, and then remained there so that as he spoke I could see into the depths of his eyes. "I respect you too much. You are engaged to another man. I could not and will not do anything to cause that to change. I am not the kind of man who makes a habit of stealing a woman from someone. You are worth more than some cheap meaningless affair. Each time you touch me…"

"Don't…" I'm a coward I could not bear to hear more. I didn't want him to declare his feelings all of a sudden. The fear of rejection took hold, so I pulled away. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…it won't happen again." The smile returned to my face, hoping to reassure him, hide my feelings in the smile he was used to.

There was a brief flash of something in his eyes as he withdrew his fingers. I think he saw my deceit. Then all too quickly the smile returned to his face, his eyes.

"We're still good, right?" I had to ask.

"Yes, of course. You're my best friend." He chuckled. "At times my only friend. How do you put up with me?"

I giggled. "It's hard but someone's got to do it." He joined me, our laughter increasing and in laughing I knew we'd be okay.

We've not spoken about the touching since. But as the years progressed, and we tried to plot a course across that chasm, we slowly started to touch again, just the slight touch at first.

All this may not have happened of course if we'd not worked together. We'd have remained friends; in each other's lives in some way I've no doubt of that. Maybe by now, after twenty years, it would have dwindled to the hurried message on a Christmas card, the occasional birthday card and nothing more. I'm so glad it didn't become that. I'm not sure if I could have coped with that feeling of absence, not that what we have now could be considered as closeness. But he is in my life, a part of it, not the part I wish, but still a part.

As we started to work together, so the physical closeness grew. He was still the honourable friend of mine, that line between us was clearly drawn and nothing could tempt him to cross it. Although I admired this nobility in his nature, I despised it, as there was nothing I wanted more than to have him surround me, immerse himself in me so we became one. Wrong I know, I was still engaged, I should have ended it finished that relationship. But for what, the hope of a love I'm not sure he shared. I had a ring on my finger, the promise of…of what, I couldn't tell you. I know we'd made promises that night he proposed, I just can't remember what they were. Maybe I'd spent too much time with Gil, maybe his feeling of honour had in some way rubbed off on me. I don't know. I just remember thinking I'd promised Eddie so much, the guilt of what I felt for Gil weighed heavily on my mind. If I knew then what I know now then I'd not have carried that guilt around with me for so long. I couldn't have betrayed him, yet I did with each time we worked together, shared a companionship that should have been forbidden. My love for Gil grew and without my realizing it, as it grew it strangled my love for my fiancé.

Maybe that's why I married Eddie. I know people question it, wonder what I ever saw in him. They saw what I had created. A man who competed with a whisper of love I had. Jealousy does strange things it fuelled what we had. A marriage built on guilt and jealousy is destined to fail, I know that. Yet despite this knowledge I willingly entered into marriage with Eddie. Taking his name, his love, hoping to find a fulfilment that I was prohibited from having with Gil. I married out of guilt, not love. I want to make right what I felt for Gil, what I tried to hide from Eddie, despite my suspicion he knew. I felt guilty for not staying true to him, worse than that, for craving the love and attention of another.

If I had not married him, stayed with him in some way, then I'd have not had Lindsey. I could not tolerate for that to happen now. She is a true joy in my life. I would not be without her. I have to admit too, life with Eddie was not all bad. My desire to be with someone I could not have, coloured my recollections. It was by no means a perfect marriage, we had problems, to be expected when you consider how we entered into the union, but we also had good times. I regret that, that I allowed it to fail, watched it crash around me. I should have fought harder, maybe if my heart did not lie elsewhere I'd have had reason to.

But why was my heart still held by another. I have no explanation for that. There was no cause to consider he felt, well felt anything really. There were no words of love that passed between us, no hint to how he felt beyond friendship.

I however, well the smile, the one I had that very first day we met, that still reappeared. Each time I saw him. I don't know if it was relief, or something else, a feeling of, he's there, he came back. Foolish I know as we both worked in the same place, he had every reason to be there; it would have been unusual if he had not been. I guess a part of me thought he'd returned to be with me, stupid I know, but I never said my thoughts were rational. So each time I saw him that smile returned, a comfort for me, a small release of my feelings. I was careful to keep it a secret, hide it from the disapproving looks others may cast in my direction. I did not want to embarrass him, cause him to be compromised in some way. So my smile was carefully hidden from others. Did he know? Sometimes, no, or if he did, he did not acknowledge it. But there were other occasions where he would reply, a smile or a wink, like a secret hello that passed between us. Like a fool I stored each of these tokens in my heart as some signal that he did have some feelings of love for me, although they were of no real consequence. I was far from rational, I accept that.

Our friendship grew over the years. We grew closer, to the point where we could finish each other's sentences, their thoughts. Well all except for our feelings. Those we kept locked away secure inside ourselves, protecting them from each other, yet I longed for him to breach these defences.

With this closeness the touching returned. It never went as far as holding hands. Yet it was a comfort, even though it left me longing for more each time we broke apart.

There were different touches too. Each one guarded so as not to cause that invisible line we'd drawn to be crossed. There was the gentle brushing of our shoulders together, a way of saying that we were there for each other; an understanding of what the latest case had thrown in our path.

There were other ways he'd show his support and care for me, a guiding hand on the small of my back that would send shivers up my spine, and prevent cognitive thought. The hairs on the back of my neck would quiver under that touch. I longed for it to continue, for his hand to remain in that position, but he'd only allow himself a few brief seconds. Why? I hope it was because his reaction to that touch was as immediate as mine. But I realize the real reason was purely as we'd reached our destination, he'd succeeded in his intent of propelling me faster than was my intent.

He'd even take my hand on occasion. Not what you think, or what I hoped for, but still he'd take my hand; he'd steady me. Once on a rooftop, he reached out for me as I went to join him, I didn't need that hand, after all I used to be a dancer, but once it was offered there was no way I was going to refuse it. Here was a chance for me to make physical contact.

Another time, he'd reached for me, his hands on my hips to help me climb out of a boat. We'd had an argument throughout that day, lucky in retrospect as my anger kept me at a distance, so when his hands were on my hips I was careful to ensure we did not become too close as he helped lift me to the floor. It would have been so easy, yet if I had acted in such a way I'd have surely lost his friendship and ultimately him.

At other times it was me who initiated that contact, a hand on his shoulder, his lapel, his arm, and a way of offering my support when he faced a difficult decision. He tolerated this comfort. Part of me wished he craved it, loved it as much as I loved giving it. Yet I could not dare to hope for that. I had to be careful, consider cautiously each time I touched him, ensuring it was right, it would not embarrass or cause anger.

However we crossed that line once. For a few brief seconds we'd negotiated the chasm, finding a safety on the other side, we barely thought possible. He was vulnerable; maybe that helplessness was what bridged the gap, I don't know, I'm just grateful for those seconds. He was at the hospital, awaiting surgery, he'd confided in me and I took this as an invitation to become a larger part of his life. I went to see him, catch him before the surgery. He'd looked so exposed, sitting on the bed, his legs swinging in nervous anticipation of what was to happen. There was so much I wanted to say, yet knew I couldn't, the timing wasn't right, my fear of rejection surfacing all to swiftly to conceal my true thoughts. Instead I managed to offer him good luck.

The moment I'd said it, I realized it was inadequate, he needed more than that, so I reached out and to my great surprise he reacted not with anger, or disgust, but taking the comfort I offered. As my arms encircled his body, I savoured the feel of him pressed against me. We fit so well.

Maybe that's what makes everything now so hard. I know how well we fit, both mentally and physically. Yet we are not together. Every time we get close, the opportunity rises for me to say something, but I don't. I loathe my inability to tell him the truth of my thoughts, but cannot do anything to solve this situation.

I still have my smile, his smile, but it's not enough anymore.

How do you tell your best friend you're in love with him?

The End