Private Storms Part 2
the place where my desire for you is sending me
M.Le Brun is a romantic, although some might consider him an idealist.
Regardless, he enjoys the complete devotion of twenty-four teenage girls in an exclusive private school.
But his desires centre on only one lovely student—Abbey Forestier, a seventeen year-old girl of French descent with exotic looks whose skin is darker than the rest.
Of course he can never possess her or confess his love openly so he resigns himself to communing with her spirit in nightly reveries akin to astral travel, soul migration and lucid dreaming.
He closes his eyes and dreams his dream.
He’s lost on a school outing—he goes in search of Abbey and finds her, but now they’re turned around and neither is sure of the right way back.
It begins to thunder and they must take shelter. She gathers branches and he gathers fir boughs. She tends the fire—he builds the house.
The rains come and threaten them, but they’re safe from all storms.
She’s trembling and he takes off his coat and they snuggle beneath it to keep warm.
She wakes in the morning and her hair is damp—her skin smells of smoke—her eyes smart.
He awakens and rolls out of bed—her hair stuck to his lips—her perfume filling his nostrils.
They both shower in their separate worlds and let the warm water cleanse their souls.
That morning, he glimpses her in the hall—he smiles.
That afternoon in class, he seems flustered and shy.
She stays behind in the library to work on her lessons.
He presides over the study period and gazes at her loveliness.
Later, he drives home alone, seeing her eyes along the road.
She walks home solitary, lost in dreams of the sound of his voice.
Neither can wait for the night to fall.
How long will this go on they both wonder.
Can it last forever, or only a while—until one tires or the other takes a lover?
It’s unspoken, hidden and beyond the pale of what could ever be shared in polite society.
He wonders if it is even real.
She wonders where the world is hiding him.
But it all seems very real at 3 a.m.
It’s time for bed and she crawls beneath the covers—white curtains billow and float on the breeze.
He lies awake in a vast forest of sounds, hearing the rain and imagining her face.
A crooked arm of lightning shakes its fist.
He reaches out to comfort her.
She turns in bed and snuggles close.
The rain pours down heavily now—lightning, like wavering moonlight, fills the room.
He sees her face in glimpses on the pillow beside him.
She sees his face and his hair backlit by the storm’s bright flare.
“Does it seem strange that I should come to you?” he whispers.
“Not really. It was meant to be,” she smiles.
They spend the night, souls conjoined, mystically entwined in each other’s sheets.
Then one day it happens. Her diary is read. Her mother’s disconsolate—her father incensed.
There’s an inquiry—a flurry of harsh words and accusations. Monsieur Le Brun is dismissed on the grounds of becoming too intimate with his private thoughts.
Twenty-three girls attest to his indiscreet confessions.
There is no crime, no overt act—only suggestions—but definitely imprudent.
“He’s in a position of authority,” the headmaster avers.
“Even a hint of impropriety would sully the school’s reputation,” the board members agree.
Thomas Le Brun is terminated for unprofessional conduct and given three months severance pay.
Three months later, Abbey hikes in the woods. It’s an overcast threatening day. She veers from the path and becomes lost. It begins to rain.
She recognizes the hill and the nearby firs. She finds a deserted lean-to with branches piled safely inside to keep them dry.
She lights a fire and as darkness falls, she lies on her side and stares into the flames.
After midnight, her lover finds her, sheltered beneath the glistening firs.
He kisses her, takes her into his arms and soothes her fears.
They make love to force away the darkness. The storm clears and the moon comes out.
The stars above them, young and risen sleep—sleep the lust of rainfall, sleep the endless passion of dreams.
Beautifully written , and he loses all, because of meandering thoughts and wishes.
Thanks, Alan...a haunting parable of life
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