What If?






                                                       Could You Love Me Then?

What if it was one of those Southern nights that feels as though it was dipped in humidity? There could be a sliver of moon amidst a sprinkling of stars, the moonlight so faint that we cannot see each other's features, but only our shadow-silhouettes through its champagne light. The air would be warm, but moist, so that chill-bumps would dimple your skin where the breeze finds it. Or perhaps it’s not the breeze dimpling your skin, maybe the bumps have raised themselves from trepidation, from the surprise of finding the bare skin of your arms and legs alone in the night with a strange boy. Maybe those bumps are because I am right here, so close that you can hear me breathe; the only other sounds the anxious cries of indiscernible crickets, and the rustle of black water stirred by bare feet dipped over-side of the dock. You would wish for a voice to break the silence, a single word even, a blanket of security. A word that might relieve the tension which hangs thicker on the air even than the humidity. We are very alone.
   
What if I found your hand in the dark? What if you were unsure, but didn’t pull away? What if, without that wished-for word I silently asked for you? What if our fingers locked in a lover’s grip, a grip that told you, “It is ok.” What if, finally, when you were nearly devoid of hope, my ragged voice then whispered that the night is lovely with the moonlight rippling the water, and that I am happy we are here to share it.
   
   And what if the hoot-a-hoo of an owl from out the darkness startled us to jump? What if I threw my arms around you protectively? What if there was nervous laughter between us as we felt youthful heat radiating from each other’s bodies? What if I touched those chill-bumps on your arms, and I rubbed my hands along them, gently, sweetly, like your mother rubbed them when you were a child and she thought you were sleeping? Your skin would feel cool on my fingertips, and in my palms; soft, so that I would keep rubbing, but much too slowly to warm it. In the darkness I would not notice that your eyes had closed.
   
I might lean in to kiss then, pausing my lips next to yours, wondering, feeling your breath, pulling that breath inside before parting my lips to taste. You might even kiss me back, your pulse pounding your ears and drowning out the crickets.
   
And what if I laid you down under the swirling stars while the dock rocked and the waves lapped the sand? What if my hands explored and my lips followed... and what if you surrendered to them?
   
What then?

If you surrendered?

Could you love me then?

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