Because of James Windsor
Him
He told me this was our own little secret. No one had to know but the two of us.
It was irrevocable, the implications it made. It had left me with scars so deeper that no one knew about, leaving a dent in my life when he left, taking a piece of me with him. If I had been smart, and if he hadn't been so damn perfect, then none of this would have happened.
He had been like a drug to me, sucking me in and sending me under by the first look we had shared. Even from where I stood halfway across the room, I could feel the heat and intensity that rose off of this man like a cloud. I had been busy talking to Clara and had not turned around immediately. When I did it only had been for a glance to see who had been staring at me, but as the staring continued, I turned around fully to make eye contact with whoever was staring at me.
That must of been the exact moment I had sold my soul to the devil himself. His big radiant brown eyes held a stare with mine, even if it was decent and proper to look away once you had been caught staring at somebody. Not for him. We gazed back at one another, as if we now held a thread in between us. I felt as if I could live the rest of my life in his gaze, and I would of been happy to just then, even if it was a sin.
I knew exactly who this man was. This man was James Windsor, a younger friend of my fathers who had come by the house in respect to my father and to wish me a good sixteenth birthday. This man was eight years my senior and forbidden for me to even gaze at with such thoughts. He did not seem as thoughtful as I was on this, because even at dinner he had arranged for us to sit directly across from one another.
The family and guests were listening to the evening radio as our two negro servants Patsy and Carol served dinner, not paying attention to James and I who sat directly in the center of the table. Patsy sat down a basket of freshly made biscuits, and James and I both reached for the biscutes at the exact same time, our hands brushing up against each other. My eyes snapped up once again to meet his gaze, and his dangerous smirk. I could feel a current vibrate through just that touch of skin, making me blush.
After dinner all of the guests and family members retired to the parlor to talk to each other and to have a grand time. I sat down on the sofa next to Clara, who was busy chatting with Uncle Vincent. I could feel when he sat down, even if I had not seen him sit down. I avoided talking to him, trying to listen to Uncle Vincent talk about his days as a youth. My concentration kept on faltering, ebbing back to the man who sat on the sofa beside me.
"How have you been performing in school?" His voice sent a tremor down my back, and when I turned to him, his face was not those of sheer boredom that lingered on the faces of most adults that wished to talk about school. His face was one of respectful curiosity.
I spoke timidly to him at first, not wanting to bore him with girlish details, but the more I went on, the more I opened up to him. I talked about Father and Mother, and about Clara having eyes for the boy down the street. I talked about Sarah, my friend, and about politics. We talked for a while, until he walked out on the veranda to smoke a cigarette. I lingered behind for just a while, until I thought no one would see me if I slyly walked towards the direction of the outhouse but instead turned and walked onto the veranda where Mr. Windsor was.
None of the other men were out there, so it was just the two of us. We noticed the beautiful stars in the sky, and as I leaned on the rail, his hand brushed against mine. I entwined our fingers, knowing how wrong it would be. We were bordering the flames of Hell, and none of that mattered to me. I looked up at him and I could of swore that there was just as many stars in his eyes as there were in the sky. He leaned down to me and kissed my lips. It was the first time I had ever kissed a man, and it set my heart on fire.
We continued to kiss on our own accords until I wanted to go inside before anyone got suspicious and come looking for us. I walked in, and he followed a few minutes later. Most of the guests and family were full of the imported wine and did not take notice of the two of us. I talked to James Windsor, momentarily yawning and deciding to retire for the night. James Windsor walked me into the hallway and kissed my hand at the bottom of the stairs.
I walked to my room in the attic and changed into my cotton nightgown. The attic was my sanctuary, and was always a welcoming place to me. It had been mine after I turned thirteen and began to complain too much about sharing a room with Clara. I was busy brushing my hair to the hundredth stroke when I heard a knock on the door. Thinking it was Mother or Clara, I allowed them entrance.
James Windsor stood in the doorway where I thought would of been my mother. My heart leaped and he shut the door snugly behind him as he walked over to me. He got on one knee in front of me and confessed his love for me. A romantic woman I was, and a gullible girl as well. I leaned down and kissed him on the lips once more, drinking my own poison.
He told me no one needed to know about us as I laid back on my bed. No one needed to know about what happened between us. It was just the two of us in the attic alone. He promised that he wouldn't hurt me as he came into me, the first man who has ever touched me in such a way. I kissed him and embraced him, James doing the same to me all through the night of passion and intensity. I was sure that my parents would kill him and make me watch as they did if they knew, and would probably whip me afterwards. We were Methodists, and we were not allowed such pleasure until after marriage.
It was just James Windsor that I thought of. I got lost in his golden brown eyes, with the small black specks in them. His black hair falling around his face and down his shoulders in such a way that most men refused to wear their hair. His flawless translucent skin drawn mine to his, as well as his soft pink lips that felt like the soft skin of a peach when kissed.
He was mine, yet when I awoke, I found him nowhere in sight. Sad I grew, not knowing where he was. I dressed myself and walked down to the breakfast table where my family and three guests sat, but none of them was James. I asked my father where James Windsor had went to, and he told me that he had left during the night. I grew depressed yet not without the hope that James Windsor would return to me.
That is, until I heard Uncle Vincent and father talking in the parlor one afternoon over tea. Father talked of how James Windsor got up and left town just a fortnight ago. Mr. Windsor had told my father that he got a better job offering in New York, and that he could not miss the opportunity.
Betrayal filled my heart, and tainted my soul. This man whom I had given my everything to had left me. He was nowhere to be found anywhere around here. I was upset at this. I was heartbroken. I ran to my room where I sat in front of the small window, peering out of the attic, hoping somewhere deep in my scarred heart that the man that I loved would appear walking up our walk, coming to ask my hand in marriage. A foolish girl I was indeed.
I felt my soul whither in sorrow and depression. I wished to gain no more out of this life. I had given my soul to the devil and he had taken it without a fight, respectively. He left town so he could not hear my cries. No one could hear my cries as I sat up in the attic all alone. My parents and Clara left me be most days, and at the mealtimes I would come down and put on a mask of innocence and contentment but would soon wander back up to my room.
The pain became overwhelming to bear, and it kept me up at nights. One dire night I arose from my bed and walked over to the dresser, pulling out the panty hoes that I had stashed away in there. I began tying them one by one together by knots, pulling on them to make sure they were strong enough. I already had a noose about my throat as I wrote my last words to my family, wishing only the best for them but only trashing many of my last letters. I found my last words in a moments notice, and wrote them in shaky handwriting.
I stepped onto the chair and tested the rafters, finding a spot in the middle of the bedroom. I got ready, stretching my neck out so it would murder me instantly. With one last cry on my lips, I kicked the chair from underneath my feet, clutching tightly to my note, hoping one day to feel the arms of my lover around me once more in eternal flames, because surely that was where I would be finding him in a few years, possibly the same way as I said goodbye to this world.
In my left hand was my last note of redemption:
It was because of James Windsor....
...Because of James Windsor...
It was irrevocable, the implications it made. It had left me with scars so deeper that no one knew about, leaving a dent in my life when he left, taking a piece of me with him. If I had been smart, and if he hadn't been so damn perfect, then none of this would have happened.
He had been like a drug to me, sucking me in and sending me under by the first look we had shared. Even from where I stood halfway across the room, I could feel the heat and intensity that rose off of this man like a cloud. I had been busy talking to Clara and had not turned around immediately. When I did it only had been for a glance to see who had been staring at me, but as the staring continued, I turned around fully to make eye contact with whoever was staring at me.
That must of been the exact moment I had sold my soul to the devil himself. His big radiant brown eyes held a stare with mine, even if it was decent and proper to look away once you had been caught staring at somebody. Not for him. We gazed back at one another, as if we now held a thread in between us. I felt as if I could live the rest of my life in his gaze, and I would of been happy to just then, even if it was a sin.
I knew exactly who this man was. This man was James Windsor, a younger friend of my fathers who had come by the house in respect to my father and to wish me a good sixteenth birthday. This man was eight years my senior and forbidden for me to even gaze at with such thoughts. He did not seem as thoughtful as I was on this, because even at dinner he had arranged for us to sit directly across from one another.
The family and guests were listening to the evening radio as our two negro servants Patsy and Carol served dinner, not paying attention to James and I who sat directly in the center of the table. Patsy sat down a basket of freshly made biscuits, and James and I both reached for the biscutes at the exact same time, our hands brushing up against each other. My eyes snapped up once again to meet his gaze, and his dangerous smirk. I could feel a current vibrate through just that touch of skin, making me blush.
After dinner all of the guests and family members retired to the parlor to talk to each other and to have a grand time. I sat down on the sofa next to Clara, who was busy chatting with Uncle Vincent. I could feel when he sat down, even if I had not seen him sit down. I avoided talking to him, trying to listen to Uncle Vincent talk about his days as a youth. My concentration kept on faltering, ebbing back to the man who sat on the sofa beside me.
"How have you been performing in school?" His voice sent a tremor down my back, and when I turned to him, his face was not those of sheer boredom that lingered on the faces of most adults that wished to talk about school. His face was one of respectful curiosity.
I spoke timidly to him at first, not wanting to bore him with girlish details, but the more I went on, the more I opened up to him. I talked about Father and Mother, and about Clara having eyes for the boy down the street. I talked about Sarah, my friend, and about politics. We talked for a while, until he walked out on the veranda to smoke a cigarette. I lingered behind for just a while, until I thought no one would see me if I slyly walked towards the direction of the outhouse but instead turned and walked onto the veranda where Mr. Windsor was.
None of the other men were out there, so it was just the two of us. We noticed the beautiful stars in the sky, and as I leaned on the rail, his hand brushed against mine. I entwined our fingers, knowing how wrong it would be. We were bordering the flames of Hell, and none of that mattered to me. I looked up at him and I could of swore that there was just as many stars in his eyes as there were in the sky. He leaned down to me and kissed my lips. It was the first time I had ever kissed a man, and it set my heart on fire.
We continued to kiss on our own accords until I wanted to go inside before anyone got suspicious and come looking for us. I walked in, and he followed a few minutes later. Most of the guests and family were full of the imported wine and did not take notice of the two of us. I talked to James Windsor, momentarily yawning and deciding to retire for the night. James Windsor walked me into the hallway and kissed my hand at the bottom of the stairs.
I walked to my room in the attic and changed into my cotton nightgown. The attic was my sanctuary, and was always a welcoming place to me. It had been mine after I turned thirteen and began to complain too much about sharing a room with Clara. I was busy brushing my hair to the hundredth stroke when I heard a knock on the door. Thinking it was Mother or Clara, I allowed them entrance.
James Windsor stood in the doorway where I thought would of been my mother. My heart leaped and he shut the door snugly behind him as he walked over to me. He got on one knee in front of me and confessed his love for me. A romantic woman I was, and a gullible girl as well. I leaned down and kissed him on the lips once more, drinking my own poison.
He told me no one needed to know about us as I laid back on my bed. No one needed to know about what happened between us. It was just the two of us in the attic alone. He promised that he wouldn't hurt me as he came into me, the first man who has ever touched me in such a way. I kissed him and embraced him, James doing the same to me all through the night of passion and intensity. I was sure that my parents would kill him and make me watch as they did if they knew, and would probably whip me afterwards. We were Methodists, and we were not allowed such pleasure until after marriage.
It was just James Windsor that I thought of. I got lost in his golden brown eyes, with the small black specks in them. His black hair falling around his face and down his shoulders in such a way that most men refused to wear their hair. His flawless translucent skin drawn mine to his, as well as his soft pink lips that felt like the soft skin of a peach when kissed.
He was mine, yet when I awoke, I found him nowhere in sight. Sad I grew, not knowing where he was. I dressed myself and walked down to the breakfast table where my family and three guests sat, but none of them was James. I asked my father where James Windsor had went to, and he told me that he had left during the night. I grew depressed yet not without the hope that James Windsor would return to me.
That is, until I heard Uncle Vincent and father talking in the parlor one afternoon over tea. Father talked of how James Windsor got up and left town just a fortnight ago. Mr. Windsor had told my father that he got a better job offering in New York, and that he could not miss the opportunity.
Betrayal filled my heart, and tainted my soul. This man whom I had given my everything to had left me. He was nowhere to be found anywhere around here. I was upset at this. I was heartbroken. I ran to my room where I sat in front of the small window, peering out of the attic, hoping somewhere deep in my scarred heart that the man that I loved would appear walking up our walk, coming to ask my hand in marriage. A foolish girl I was indeed.
I felt my soul whither in sorrow and depression. I wished to gain no more out of this life. I had given my soul to the devil and he had taken it without a fight, respectively. He left town so he could not hear my cries. No one could hear my cries as I sat up in the attic all alone. My parents and Clara left me be most days, and at the mealtimes I would come down and put on a mask of innocence and contentment but would soon wander back up to my room.
The pain became overwhelming to bear, and it kept me up at nights. One dire night I arose from my bed and walked over to the dresser, pulling out the panty hoes that I had stashed away in there. I began tying them one by one together by knots, pulling on them to make sure they were strong enough. I already had a noose about my throat as I wrote my last words to my family, wishing only the best for them but only trashing many of my last letters. I found my last words in a moments notice, and wrote them in shaky handwriting.
I stepped onto the chair and tested the rafters, finding a spot in the middle of the bedroom. I got ready, stretching my neck out so it would murder me instantly. With one last cry on my lips, I kicked the chair from underneath my feet, clutching tightly to my note, hoping one day to feel the arms of my lover around me once more in eternal flames, because surely that was where I would be finding him in a few years, possibly the same way as I said goodbye to this world.
In my left hand was my last note of redemption:
It was because of James Windsor....
...Because of James Windsor...