Artist: Vincent Van Gogh

First Night

Dylan quickly glanced up and down the cobbled stone street before returning his gaze to the untouched glass of wine. He was certain that Jenny would walk by the cafe – any moment now. He shifted his chair slightly once more.  He needed to be sure she would see him sitting at their table.  On this particular night, with a forgiving full moon in play – she would surely stop when she saw him. Absently, he traced the lip of the glass.  ‘Yes … she would surely stop’, he floated out to himself.

The memory of her image flooded his mind – impossible beauty that always made his heart stop.  With those swirling blue eyes that hypnotized him so easily.  Her simple brilliant smile, that pulled his breath away.  The rhythmic sway of her fingers as she walked – her private dance with the breeze.  A dance she invited him to join.  He could still see her dress flirt across her knees as she reached for his hand. He smiled at the thought of her fluid movement that teased his senses.

And yet, he felt the undercurrent of silent stillness … of movement lost. How long had it been since he last saw her – last felt her?  He tried to ignore the question – he knew it had been too long.  Leaving her that day seemed like the right choice – the only choice. He wondered now, as he seemed to do a lot lately, if it was the only choice. ‘So much time lost’ he sighed to himself.

He’d convinced himself he came back to finish the book.  Though he thought it was done, it felt incomplete.  He knew the real reason he came back to Arles – to see her.  Had he always known he would return – for her?  With a touch of hope, he slid his hand around the contour of the glass – caressing it with his fingers as he drifted in thought.

He floated back to the first night he saw Jenny …

Michael