Discovery in Pencil

"But I don't want to, I said, sinking my teeth into my lower lip as I looked at him.

"Aw, come on. I need the practice and it's been a long time. He smiled. "Please? It'll be fun.

I shrugged and turned away. "I don't know. I've gained all this weight and I'm a little bit uncomfortable.

He stepped forward then, all six foot two inches, and pulled me close. "I just saw you naked this morning, you know, he whispered into my ear, and I shivered in spite of my hesitation.

The look on his face confirmed what I already knew. I
couldn't deny him. His sweet smile and hopeful eyes said that I would do exactly what he asked. I wanted so much to make him happy. "Okay then, but I just want you to know how nervous I am. I laughed a little, but I meant it just the same.

"Look, you go take a bath and relax while I set up, okay? I'll find something for you to wear and bring you a glass of wine. Seeing the look on my face, he kissed my nose and said, "A small glass, really small. I promise.

I pinned up my hair and lay back in the tub. True to his word, he opened the door a few minutes later with a handful of something silky and white, and half a glass of the chardonnay that had been in our refrigerator, unopened, for nearly a year. After all this time, it finally came in handy. The water felt nice, hot and soothing, comforting me through this latest episode of reforming trust.

This was just part of our relationship therapy, I theorized as I lay there. Our counselor had said time and time again that acknowledging and validating the other's needs, wants, lifestyle, and work, was an excellent path on which to embark in order to salvage our marriage. And opening ourselves to the fear it created was just another step to take on shaky, out of practice legs. I quelled a surge of anxiety and began to soap my body.

I should be grateful that he wanted to spend time with me after all that had happened. His almost insane drive, my empty feelings, the inevitable pulling away from each other that the combination caused. I knew now that trying to fill that empty place in the arms of another was not only wrong, but unsatisfying as well. I wanted my husband back, and he wanted me. It was clear that he was trying to make things right with us again. In place of his usual anger, or lame jokes, there was a new side of him to learn. Although I was hesitant, I didn't want to alienate him just as it was beginning to take shape. He deserved nothing less than my best effort.

My nervousness bewildered me. I'd known this man for more than half of my life. He had seen me naked a thousand times at least, and it wasn't like this was a new activity. I'd done this for him so many times I couldn't hope to count them. But that was all before the downhill slide we'd slipped into. It was somehow so different then; we knew each other a lot better just five years ago than we did now. I realized I was in the midst of a strange paradox that seemed bent on playing itself out recklessly. He was almost a stranger to me, and the feeling that I was about to do something forbidden with a strange man excited me. Yet, I knew he could easily send my newly built world crashing down around me simply by withdrawing the love he still claimed to feel.

It humbled me to feel the power of the moment, but it frightened me also. I knew I needed to trust him above all, with my doubts as well as my hopes. I couldn't help thinking, If only I were younger, if only I weighed a few pounds less. A thirty-nine year old body just wasn't the same as a twenty year-old body. And to be placed on display was, at that moment, the scariest thing I could imagine. No matter that the audience numbered just one.

Deciding that I couldn't draw the night out any longer, I drained the bathtub, dried myself, and slid into the robe he'd brought to me. After checking my makeup and rearranging my hair, I finally opened the door and stepped into the living room.

"I was beginning to think you were going to stay in there all night, he laughed, but his eyes were soft as he looked at me, and his voice was warm. "You're so beautiful; you don't have to hide from me.

Blushing as though we'd just met, I glanced down and saw that I'd unconsciously clutched the thin robe close against my chest. Laughing at myself, I looked around the room. Colorful scarves lay loosely atop the lamps, and the sofa now stood on the wall opposite from its usual place. The drapes were closed tight, and the phone was nowhere to be seen. Candles burned softly on the high shelf that ran the length of the largest wall. Muted light flickered on his face, softening it further. The room was seductive with delicate color and soothing fragrance.

A fresh glass of wine sat on the old steamer trunk that served as a coffee table. Seeing my gaze, he quickly explained. "Just in case sweetie. You don't have to drink it if you don't want to. I nodded, but picked up the glass anyway and took a sip; I'd stopped drinking, even socially, a few weeks past.

"Okay, I said, trying hard to cast away that horrible nervous feeling that seemed to fill me so totally, "what exactly do you have in mind? Instantly he became animated, his face shining with excitement as he began talking rapidly and moving about the room. I couldn't help but smile at him.

"Well, I thought we'd put you here on the sofa¦ sort of sitting you know, with the robe hanging down around you. He paused and sat down, "No, no, that's no good. He ran a hand through his hair, and I took another sip of wine. Rather a gulp of wine. The nervousness was waxing and waning systematically as the warmth of the wine spread through my body. "I know. You'll sit here on the arm of the couch¦ right on the edge¦ with your legs together¦ and look over there toward the hallway. That way the light illuminates your face and highlights parts of your body. You can put your arms behind you and lean back on them.

He stood then and guided me into position. "Can you make your back straighter? Almost arched? Yeah, like that. And leave the robe open, so it hangs on the outside of your breasts. Stepping back, he stared at me seriously, his forehead creased, his mouth tight, while I suffered pangs of embarrassment that made my face hot. "Wait. Let the robe fall off your right shoulder a bit. Yes, just like that. And leave the hem over your hip.

Satisfied at last, he walked a few feet away and dragged his chair into position. I sat stiffly at first and watched him sharpen his pencils and arrange his drawing pad. He scowled as he worked, turning his unremarkable face into intensely focused earnestness. I smiled again.

"Okay, are you ready? he asked.

"Yes. I guess so. I was acutely aware of my nakedness, suffering another moment of reticence and embarrassment. Stiffening with the pain of remembrance, I half expected him to launch into a volatile account of how wrong I was sitting, or how the light refused to cooperate, but he kept his calm face and even managed a wink.

"Comfy? Need anything?

"I'm fine, I stammered, blushing once more under his gaze.

He began to draw. I tried to be still, and I must have done a fair job because as the moments sped by, his pace increased. Soft music soothed my soul and I gradually relaxed and let it happen as my thoughts wandered. He was studious, and his brow furrowed even more as he concentrated on the task at hand.

I became engrossed in watching him, astonished at the way he worked. Maybe I'd really never taken the time to notice before, but somehow, in the middle of what at first looked like a painful process for him, something detested, I saw real passion surface and break through on his face. It was so beautiful. He was almost enraptured, and his movements fluxed like a soft spray of water. I could literally see the tension leave his body as his eyes took on a glow that made me want to melt into them, just so I could share the feeling.

Hours passed this way. He filled one piece of paper only to tear it off and start another. He left me alone, but moved the chair all around the room and drew me from every angle. He was passionate and quiet and terribly exciting. I knew what he felt, in a way. The lines left his pencil as the words sometimes left my fingertips. Joyously. I truly saw him, perhaps for the first time ever, and I wanted him for always to be just as he was in those moments.

At last, he was done. I saw fatigue in his eyes, and realized dumbly that I felt a similar tiredness. Smiling, he helped me to my feet, but I stumbled and instantly he was on his knees, massaging my blood starved legs and apologizing for having me stay in the same position for so long. Stroking his hair, I just wanted to hold him, and I whispered that it was okay. I was okay.

We kissed a beautiful, soul-touching kiss. The feel of his tongue in my mouth, playing softly, exploring shyly, was the most sensual thing I'd ever felt. A little shocked, I realized that we had stopped kissing like that years ago. Silent regret for the time wasted renewed our vigor as the kiss deepened.

We were both filled with wonder when we finally broke away. The look on his face must surely have matched mine, and that thought pleased me. "C'mon, let's look. He whispered.

"Okay, was all I could manage in response as he led me across the floor.

Proudly, he showed me the drawings. They were not complete; he would go back and add shading, and subtle highlights that would deepen the pictures. But I was devastated and groaned aloud when I saw them. Hideous was the first thought that came to mind. I was so old looking, and clear as day much heavier than I should be. Tears came to my eyes and I was crushed when I saw the smile slip from his face.

"What's wrong baby? You don't like them? He asked.

Stuttering, and fighting back sobs, I tried to explain. "No, they're wonderful. It's me I don't like. Look at me! I'm old and fat and ugly. I knew it already, but seeing myself like this¦ I broke off and cried harder.

"Please don't cry. Can't you see? He pulled me closer and we sat together on the floor surrounded by images of me. "See? Look here. He pointed to the first drawing. "This one shows more of your face. I love that innocent look in your eyes when you talk about something you're passionate about. That's what this one is all about. He looked at me. "Your face. He grabbed another sheet, "And this one. Well, see that curve right there? He pointed at the place just under my navel. "That's my favorite spot on your stomach. It's soft and sexy. It says you're a woman.

I blushed and tried to see it the way he saw it, but I failed. All I could see were flaws and fat.

"Then, this one. With gentle hands he turned my head to the left, and I saw the one from the back. "I know every freckle, every spot on that back. And this freckle. He pointed again, "This one right here. It's my favorite. Every time I touch it, you shiver. Every time. A giggle reached my ears. The man was actually giggling.

He reached out and pulled over another sheet of paper. With a big smile, he propped it up in front of me. "But this right here is all the best of you.

Confused, but excited, I simply asked, "Why?

With a look that would melt ice, he stared at me and grasped my hand. "Look, you'll see. Look closely.

Concentrating as hard as I could, I stared at the drawing. It was close up, and from the front, drawn toward the end of the session. My hair was slipping from the clip that held it; the robe had long since fallen open and away. My legs were parted a little, and my smile was slight. I looked deeper, still seeing nothing but a half naked, aging, slightly overweight woman. Frowning, I shook my head at him.

He sighed and pointed again. "Look. It's you, baby. Your face is relaxed. You aren't worried about your hair, and that is so sexy to me. You're happy and smiling, and your eyes are calling out. See how soft they are? Your body is poised in the most receptive position¦ trusting me¦ wanting me¦ accepting me. And this spot right here, he showed me with a shaking finger, "is the softest part of your body. It's so soft; it's like touching a cloud, or a puff of air. I have to touch you again just to make sure it's real. His finger led to the upper, inner thigh of my left leg, and I trembled on the verge of understanding how he saw me. The things he said were thrilling yet shocking; he'd never talked to me like that before, at least not for far too many years.

"I dare any person to look at this picture of you and not see¦ woman, motherhood, sex, and life. You are everything, and I love you so much.

I did see it then. Through his eyes, I saw everything he described and more. I felt his love, deep and true. I knew that the woman in the drawings could not be, without him there to see her first.

We were on our way back in time, back to understanding, love, and passion, only this time tempered by new discovery.