I even traced the pattern of stimulus-and-reaction that caused my nervousness and excitement. Yet everything was fuzzy and uncertain.
Should I put my arm around her or not? Was she waiting for me to do it? Would she get angry?
I could tell I was still behaving like an adolescent and it angered me.
"Here," I choked, "why don't you make yourself more comfortable? Rest on my shoulder."
She let me put my arm around her, but she didn't look at me. She seemed to be too absorbed in the music to realize what I was doing.
Did she want me to hold her that way, or was she merely tolerating it?
As I slipped my arm down to her waist, I felt her tremble, but still she kept staring in the direction of the orchestra.
She was pretending to be concentrating on the music so that she wouldn't have to respond to me. She didn't want to know what was happening.
As long as she looked away, and listened, she could pretend that my closeness, my arms around her, were without her knowledge or consent.
She wanted me to make love to her body while she kept her mind on higher things.
I reached over roughly and turned her chin. "Why don't you look at me? Are you pretending I don't exist?"
"No, Charlie," she whispered. "I'm pretending I don't exist."
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