Love Song

The sun slowly slipped away into the anticipating horizon, casting hazy shades of orange, peach and purple-like hues into a darkening canvas skyline. Reflections of the painted sky dripped into the dense rippling sea. A yellowish hint glowed from the Pemaquid Point Lighthouse in Bristol, Maine, its brightness a contrast against the dusk-drenched silhouette of the light tower, the keeper’s house, and the surrounding picket fence. A delicate autumn scent filled the air as coastal winds gathered passion, rustling an American flag flying from a flagpole. Lindsey raised her camera and snapped a picture. The flash illuminated her immediate surroundings and then faded, briefly revealing the granite terrain. She sighed, “I just love an ocean sunset.” I responded, sitting close by on a grassy knoll, “Ocean sunsets always seem to give me clarity. Makes me feel we’re all part of something greater than ourselves.” “Heaven seems close, doesn’t it? Simply beautiful,” Lindsey said happily and in pitch perfect tone. “So are you,” I said. “Simply beautiful.” “Did you say something, John?” “I said, ‘So are you.’ You’re simply beautiful, Linds.” Lindsey smiled bashfully. “Thank you, John. You are very sweet.” “And I can’t get you out of my mind,” I continued. “Do you know that? I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t want this to ever end.” “John, what are you trying to say?” “I’m falling in love with you. No, that isn’t right. I’m in love with you, Lindsey.” Lindsey didn’t move. She didn’t speak. My words had affected her that much was obvious, but how they had affected her was still with the jury. I waited nervously for the verdict, watching her stare at the ocean for several minutes. And with each silent minute that passed I began to regret more and more my admission of love. If you tell someone you love them and they don’t feel the same way . . . ouch. “Lindsey? Did you hear what I said?” I finally asked no longer tolerating silence. Lindsey lifted her long hair from her shoulders and brushed the windswept bangs from her face. She sat beside me now and laid her head softly on my shoulder without saying a word. I put my arm around her and pulled her closer. This must be a good sign, I thought. I was still tense, however. “Know what I was just thinking about?” she said a few minutes later. “No, but I’d like to.” “I was thinking about the time you took me into your arms on our first date. I realized then that it was you that I’d been looking for my whole life. At nineteen years old the search for my soul mate was over. I kept thinking, ‘those are the eyes that I want to look into for the rest of my life.’ You’ll never understand how much I could see when you looked at me.” “I understand. I could feel it too.” “I think I’m falling in love with you also, Johnny,” she said without lifting her head from my shoulder. I exhaled enough nervous energy to change the flow of the tides. “Wow, you had me scared there for a moment! I mean, you really had me worried! Your silence was killing me.” Lindsey chuckled. “I’m sorry. I was just . . . I had no idea you felt . . . well, that’s not true. I . . . Oh, what am I trying to say? Who’s the nervous one? Your words melted my heart. A girl doesn’t recover quickly from the most romantic moment of her life.” “Yes, silly. Of course it is. What else could there be? You provided many in our short time together, but this . . . well, I’m very happy.” “I meant it all; every word of it. I have to ask you, though. Are you just falling in love with me? You’re not in love with me yet?” Lindsey lifted her head and playfully glared. “Don’t push your luck, Mr. Walker,” she said, lightly poking her finger into my chest. She stood and held her arms out. “Play some music and dance with me.” “I’d rather watch you, if that’s ok,” I flirted. Lindsey delightfully rolled her eyes. “You want me to dance for you?” “I would. I would love to watch the woman I love dance under the sunset.” Lindsey giggled. “The woman you love, huh? “Too much?” “I could get used to it,” she giggled again. “Ok, I’ll dance for you, but I wouldn’t do it for just anyone. You’re a lucky man, you know.” “Yes, I know,” I replied, with a smile from ear to ear. I reached for the 8-track player sitting next to me and pressed play. Frank Sinatra’s voice filled the evening air with melody as gracefully as an eagle gliding across the sky. Lindsey walked barefoot toward a sandy patch of ground. She held her shoes in her hands, as the tides ebbed to sea, leaving white caps to bubble against the shoreline. She was wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt with a light-colored blue blouse underneath. The untucked blouse bottom hung below her waist. I’ll never forget how simple yet so dazzling she looked that day. She danced, mostly twirling, her arms extended and her face lifted toward the sky, an innocent reminder that youth hadn’t long been left behind.