Soulmate

When Thomas sat next to me, I shivered. It wasn’t that I was cold, I just felt this shudder go through my body. My mother used to say that this happened when someone walked over the place where your grave would one day be. I wasn’t superstitious, so I had other ways of explaining it; maybe if auras did exist then this body shake happened when yours came in close proximity to another’s that was either completely in sync or completely opposite of yours.

Thomas wasn’t really a man that others would take a second glance at. He wasn’t striking, didn’t have an aquiline nose, didn’t have shiny hair, or perfect teeth. He was just a regular man, who wore regular clothes and presumably had a regular wife and kids playing in a house with a white picket fence.

As he reached above me to place his carryon in the overhead, I barely glanced up. At that moment I was deeply engrossed in the book on which I was writing my thesis. Being afraid of flying, I was trying to leave the areoplane mentally if not physically. I only looked up when Thomas lightly placed his hand on my shoulder, as if to beg my pardon for the interruption.

From the moment he touched me, I was absorbed in him. My eyes lingered on the pages, but my mind wandered, and circled. It dove and spun, and danced. Thomas had created a neurological reaction in me that was akin to an opiate coursing through my veins.

Only when the stewardess came along to offer us beverages did Thomas and I begin to converse. He was polite at first, asking me about my trip and my job. I was quietly responsive, saying more with my gaze than with my voice. It wasn’t long before all conversation ceased, and we held each other in unvoiced contemplation. I’m not sure how I came to understand so much about him, but beneath the brown business suit, battered briefcase and mousy hair I saw an artist’s soul. It was a soul which I recognized, and it mine.

Passing over Toronto, Thomas’ hand grew closer to mine, as if searching warmth from the cold Canadian sky. Our fingers entangled beneath the thin airline blanket, and each touch was electrifying and smooth. Clasped hands eventually become sweaty and sticky when they are holding another’s; ours became as hot and beautiful as dry logs placed in the center of a fire.

By the time we began our descent into Minneapolis, I knew that I would never again be whole without Thomas. I decided with bone crushing clarity that I must stay with him and be close to him. Our energy together was the kind that could make all darkness and evil disappear. If I had been happy before, I now knew that was only because I had no idea of what pure joy was.

The areoplane landed smoothly and the pilot come onto the loudspeaker, “Thank you for flying Eastcoast Air with us today, and enjoy your stay in the Twin Cities.” Thomas released my hand gently, and reached into his right pocket to pull out his cell phone. He flipped it open and held down the power button in one smooth move. As the phone chimed on, he glanced over and smiled at me. “Gotta check in with the old ball-and-chain. You know how it is. Nice meeting you… Andrea was it?”

“Audrey,” I said, and silently put on my jacket.