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“Do you think that what happened with us just happens to anyone? What we feel for each other? We're hardly... hardly two separate people now. Some people search all of their life for this and never find it. Others don't even think it exists.”
— The Bridges of Madison County, 1995
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september 9th 1995.
Barbara had always liked that vague feeling of inspiration she got after watching a captivating film. That spark. Ever since she was a kid.
That’s what she feels, exactly, as she walks with Melissa next to her. Like that small child, seeing Pam Grier on the big screen for the first time, walking home with two of her best friends from church choir, feeling unruly. There was never any specific word to explain how Barbara felt after witnessing something so blasphemous, feeling so sinful.
Just this feeling, this spark, inside of her. And Pam Grier’s beautiful yet wicked smile accompanying her walk.
She feels like that ten year old girl doing something her parents wouldn’t approve of. She’s done too many things they wouldn’t approve of, He wouldn’t approve of. But it’s tolerable, the feeling, like this. Right now.
She feels Melissa’s arm brushing hers next to her, then the face of Meryl Streep flashing before her eyes. “Don't kid yourself, Francesca. You're anything, but a simple woman.”
“So,” Melissa bumps her shoulder, Barbara can almost recall the face of her childhood friend. “What do we think of the film?”
It’s a dangerous question to ask, to Barbara of all people. Hebrews 13:4 Marriage should be honored by all, and the marriage bed kept pure, for God- “I think it was… compelling.” Compelling. To Barbara Davis, eldest daughter to a strictly Catholic family, woman of—
Compelling. To Barbara Davis, unmarried.
“I really liked the part where she asked Robert if he wanted more eggs or to fuck on the-”
“Good Lord, Melissa.” she turns to her, barely, just a glance. Then the sound of heels against the cobblestone, one foot after the other.
“You want a cigarette?”
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“Il ne me reste plus qu'une chose à faire : rien. Je ne veux pas de biens, pas de souvenirs, pas d'amis, pas d'amants, ce sont tous des pièges.”
/
“Now I have just one thing left to do: nothing. I want no possessions, no memories, no friends, no lovers -- they're all traps.”
— Trois Couleurs: Bleu, 1993
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november 7th 1993.
The early snow of the year coats the pavement. Melissa likes to look behind and see the prints their steps create on the white surface, like two, very small penguins.
She barely knows this woman, yet to discover the many beauties and secrets she hides behind those big brown eyes. This woman walking next to her and they’ve just gotten out of the film theatre. One of the most stunning pictures Melissa has ever seen.
This feeling is familiar, the spark, she likes to call it. The surge of motivation it gives, like she can own up to the melancholy, inside and out of her heart. It’s familiar, like that time she went to see a David Lynch movie in college, by herself. What was it? Blue Velvet, yes. Melissa remembers that day rather vividly. Wanting to see every movie to surface the planet, but also wanting to go home and wallow, in her own misery.
She’s brought back to the moment by Barbara coughing, still next to her. She feels like she can still hear the track from the film, Budenmayer.
Melissa has never been to the cinema with Barbara before, she realizes. And for some obscure reason she wants to ask her everything. Everything she knows about herself, and life. The first time she has ever seen a film. What her grandmother was like. Barbara’s childhood home, her hopes, dreams, her mother’s dreams, if she ever liked talking to her mother. Her siblings, Melissa knows she has three. Something, anything anything.
“Do you smoke?” Melissa buries her hands deeper inside her pockets, a pack of Marlboro Red’s with her favorite lighter.
“Not regularly.” Barbara looks at her, head slightly tilted. It’s almost dark out, the streetlights turned on. Melissa’s hair glows a different shade of red in the snow, Barbara realizes without meaning to. Melissa takes out the pack of cigarettes from her pocket, holding it out in front of the other woman. “You want one?”
Barbara shrugs, why not. But Melissa opens the pack to reveal only a single smoke left in it. “Shit.” she mutters under her breath. “I mean sorry, I thought there was more in it. I’m really-”
“It’s rather alright sweetheart.” Melissa still can’t place this, for fucks sake, can’t place this weird squeeze inside her stomach each time Barbara uses that language, specific word, with her. “They are pretty strong for me anyway.”
“Really?” Melissa asks with such a sparkle in her eyes, head jerking away momentarily. “That’s great actually. There’s a store just over there, “she points with her head, “I wanted to get something as well.” she starts walking with little pep to her step, passing the crosswalk hurriedly.
Barbara can feel her eyes rolling, without even meaning to. Essentially, she should tell Melissa to slow down, to not rush with the icy ground underneath. By routine, she should. But she can’t find it within herself as she watches her speed up the steps of the corner shop, leaning against the brick wall herself.
“Why are you crying? / Because you’re not.”
And she waits, waits and thinks of her own mother. Not so far from this part of town. She should want to get to the car. Should want to leave as quickly as possible. But strangely, the urge to flee doesn’t surface. Not with Melissa beside her, she doesn’t find it within herself.
The redhead hurries back down the stairs, holding onto the railings like a small child. She could be, Barbara thinks.
“Ya want me to light it for you?” she asks, all chivalrous. Barbara does a small go ahead gesture with her hand that causes both of them to giggle, ever lightly.
Melissa lights her cigarette first, with her heart shaped lighter that she seems to like so much. Then slowly, sort of anxiously, she takes out another one. And even more slowly she places the butt in between Barbara’s parted lips, her exhale causing a mist in the cold air. Barbara’s lower lip trembles, something Melissa tries to ignore, so faintly. But it does, nonetheless, it does.
And Melissa does the unimaginable, to Barbara at least. She leans in and lights her cigarette with hers, in between her lips. Close, closer than she ever felt them.
“You have to inhale Barb.” she mumbles with the cig still pursed between her lips, the muffled sound leaving from the side of her mouth. Barbara almost chuckles. She inhales, the thankfully Silver, not Red, in and pulls away coughing.
“Sorry.” she mutters, “It’s been a while.” Melissa just takes the butt in between her index and middle finger, blowing away the smoke and leaning with her back to the wall. It suits her, not just the cigarette, Barbara thinks.
“’t’s okay.” she looks away momentarily, searching for something to soak up her interest, something that’s not Barbara’s lips. “It’s a miracle you’re smoking as it is.” There are lots of things Barbara probably does, that Melissa doesn’t know of, yet. “So should we get going or…”
“Let’s stay a while.” Barbara says, the snow is lovely, covering the sidewalks, leaves of the trees, Melissa’s blue raincoat. From her pocket she extracts two Blow Pops lollipops, “Ya want one? I like the cherry one with the cig, you know.”
“No, thank you.” Barbara whispers, looking at the way the blonde retreats the sour apple back inside her pocket. She really could be a child. “So what did you think of the film?”
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“But now that you have it...” / “Ah! Now that I have it I want to keep it forever. I want to love you the way I do now for the rest of my life, but... if we leave, we lose it. And I can't make an entire life disappear to start a new one.”
— The Bridges of Madison County, 1995
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september 9th 1995.
They keep walking, through the streets of Philadelphia. The rain had come to a halt before they left the theater, all roads still covered with it. Melissa loves the smell, reminded of her childhood paired with the cigarette she’s sharing with Barbara. She’s trying to quit.
Just when she’s about to ask for the smoke back, she spots a photo booth, one that she hasn’t seen before. They never visit this part of town other than to drop by the local theatre. She imagines herself, that’s the curse of having such vivid mental imagery, herself and Barbara in the booth. Posing for the small camera hidden in the wall, the enclosed space, Barbara looking at her freely, just momentarily, the photo immortalizing it.
“We should get our photo taken.” Melissa whispers, turning to look at Barbara. There’s something different about her tonight. So peculiar, so like that night exactly 3 months ago.
Melissa points at the photo booth by the corner, Barbara searching briefly with her eyes. She turns back to look at Melissa, so so peculiar, and smiles, till the tops of her teeth is visible. Her gums showing through, like the gaps of sunlight across the maple’s leaves.
“Okay.” she passes the cigarette in her hand to Melissa, it’s about to go out anyway. Melissa looks at her as she places it between her lips, touching Barbara’s lipstick stain. Matthew 5:27 Barbara swallows, But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already-
“Who goes in first?” Melissa asks, blowing the last bit of smoke to the direction of the street, leaning against the empty booth.
“Isn’t the whole point going in together?” Barbara looks at her, quizzical. It isn’t mature to say a 32 year old woman looks cute, but Melissa isn’t that mature at any rate. “Yeah but it gives us three pictures anyway… I thought maybe, okay.” Barbara is gazing at her like she’s about to tilt the world’s axis, focus. she has to focus. “You go in first, then as it counts down we switch spots. And we can both be in it together for the last shot. How’s that sound?”
“Perfect.” Barbara smiles once again, lips closed this time, the color same as that night, 3 months ago. Melissa is sure. She throws away what’s left of the cigarette, looking at Barbara in the eye as she puts it out with the tip of her shoe.
Barbara takes out her purse, rolling in a few coins, bent knees as Melissa looks at her. Her head hung and pulse racing. “Oh it’s working!” Barbara exclaims, getting into the booth, the curtain halfway open. Melissa smiles at her enthusiasm, she looks so young like this. She is young, just looks even younger. A college girl doing something defiant, heart pounding, eyes filled with life. She wants to hold her close and not let go.
“It’s counting down Barb.” Melissa points towards the camera, closing the curtain all the way, only her head poking through the small gap. Solely focused on Barbara, the light flashes once, twice and snaps the picture. Melissa knows she’s supposed to react, quickly switch spots with Barbara but she can’t move. She can’t get her eyes off, time ‘slows down’. It’s cliché, no other word for it. Barbara’s pearly whites shining and she wants to kiss her, she feels like her heart will stop beating if she doesn’t.
“Common girlfriend, it’s your turn!” Barbara holds both her arms and places her down, the shutter counting down, Melissa still looking at Barbara. One, “Look at the camera Melissa.” two, Barbara’s fingers on her jaw, trying to turn it away, and three. The photo snaps the exact moment Melissa thinks of kissing her, once more.
“Oh you didn’t look at the camera!” Barbara slips inside the booth, Melissa’s thigh pressing hers, looking at the camera, “Please, this time.” the words slipping through her teeth. Melissa’s mouth still agape as she turns to the wall, gaze leaving Barbara finally. It’s challenging for her to do it, to look away before—
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june 6th 1995.
The second time Melissa has ever seen Barbara drunk was during the summer farewell party. The first time it happened she was too dumbfounded to say or do anything about it.
The teachers all around, humid air of the beginning summer, outdoor in front of the school and the most amount of booze Melissa has ever seen inside a school ever since her high school graduation. And Barbara. Barbara swaying around the space with easy confidence, heavenly. Or Barbara, staring at her lips more often than she does when sober. “I forgot something in my bag at the classroom.” Melissa’s fervor to join, “I can come with if you like.” It felt like their own little secret, the way they walked through the empty halls of the school.
Melissa didn’t mean for it to happen. She didn’t have a plan. It was just an idea blooming and flourishing inside her head. Just as a concept, a vision even. It wasn’t her exact goal to do it when Barbara was drunk. She never even thought she could ever do it.
“You know you have such nice lips Melissa.” Barbara. Barbara talking about her lips, the Barbara she knew pretty well by then. Standing inside the classroom Melissa had been accustomed to seeing her do the thing she loved. “I have just the color for you somewhere around here.” Barbara, looking through her bottom drawer of her desk, a smidgen of skin showing, her shirt lifting, just a lick. Melissa’s eyes averting, looking to the ceiling, Barbara rummaging.
Barbara’s hand holding her elbow, her upper arm to guide her, the whole evening. Melissa abiding by her, as always. Her arm grazing her chest to lean over the table, instead of asking Melissa.
“Oh honey I’m sorry I couldn’t find it bu-” Melissa’s lips on hers, abrupt but not unanticipated, not hasty. Pressing, not pushing. Without touching her, without holding her, just waiting. Waiting, please please do something.
Just when she’s about to pull back Barbara reciprocating it, her back to the desk, hands gripping the wooden material, pushing her chest forward. A hairsbreadth between their lips when Barbara closes the distance once more. Still not touching. A few seconds just indulging. The muscle in Barbara’s jaw ticking, Melissa can almost feel it against her lips. Her lips quivering so so slightly.
Barbara’s phone buzzing, loud and crude. “Jesus,” Melissa can almost hear the itch in her voice, the need to scratch it. The itch to touch her lower lip. The urge to feel Melissa still there, maybe their lipsticks mixing, the color blending. “I’m sorry Barb… I should’ve asked.”
Barbara giving in, touching her lower lip, feeling Melissa still there. The buzzing from her phone carrying on. “It’s okay darling.” she couldn’t stop the nickname falling from her lips if she tried. Finally picking up her phone and mouthing to Melissa, “Just. Just go.”
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“This kind of certainty comes but just once in a lifetime.”
— The Bridges of Madison County, 1995
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september 9th 1995.
Waiting for the photos to print out, 3 minutes. Longest three minutes Melissa spent in the last three months. And Barbara is looking at her so knowingly, like she knows exactly why she wouldn’t look back at the camera. Like she is trying to communicate something with the way her palms are rubbing together, consequential.
The rain had started again, the droplets like tears in Barbara’s curls. Melissa’s cheeks growing pink in the cold. She can ask it, ask the question. She just needs Barbara to say something. They’re standing close, closer than they were before they got the photos taken. Head to head, waiting for the machine to print them.
Melissa’s lips look so daunting like this, puffed out due to the cold. She rubs her hands harder, blowing some of her breath in between in hopes to get warmer. They would get warmer in between Melissa’s. “It’s cold isn’t it?”
“Can I kiss you?” she said it, finally, fucking finally— because she wants to, she wanted to so badly.
Dumbstruck, trying to catch Melissa’s eyes, darting from one to the other, green ones stuck on her lips. Barbara knows she shouldn’t. She knows it’s wrong. She can’t remember why though, why like this, now. She can’t remember in this moment, can’t recite Hebrews as efficiently as she would find fit. Standing in front of Melissa, the rain covering them, promising to wash away the unborn sin. —for God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous. Francesca might have been married. Barbara isn’t. Yet.
She leans in, grabbing Melissa by her raincoat because she can’t keep her hands away this time. This time so sober, so here. Her mind not clouded by alcohol but by the softness of Melissa’s lips against hers. Kissing her back, pulling her in. Barbara can swear she felt an electric current, not from any rain but from Melissa’s lips, so languid, so supple and alive. So malleable, pliant, under Barbara’s touch. Like she was for her, made. Melissa’s hands on her neck pulling and pulling, oh please. She can hear it in the kiss. Please, please, let me. Please Barb,
I know, Barbara can’t say it with words. So she says it with the kiss, taking all of Melissa as she finds fit. This is the first time she ever kissed her, really kissed her.
The machine whirs, Melissa’s hands uneasy against her skin, so so soft. Not enough, will never be enough. She pulls back, so reluctant, unwilling. And the sound that escapes Barbara’s lips, a soft groan. Like it physically pains her to part away. It makes Melissa dizzy, she has to laugh. Has to leave out a soft giggle. Barbara looking at her, like she can actually love her if she wishes to, like she aches to.
“The photos are out.” Barbara bends down to pick them up, the three squares. The glint in Melissa’s eyes as she stares at her in the second picture, her ruffled up hair. Or the stunned expression as she looks at the camera, next to Barbara. “You look pretty.” Barbara turns to her. That was purposeful, it has to be, to measure Melissa’s reaction, she knows.
“You look beautiful.” Melissa says as she takes her hand, pulling her close, lacing her fingers. “Common, let’s get to the car.”
The mellow lights casting a glow over their faces, walking slowly on the cobblestone to Melissa’s Sedan, hand in hand. Maybe, just maybe, it doesn’t matter who Barbara promises marriage to. Maybe it doesn’t matter that Melissa’s mother never met Barbara. Maybe it’s just enough, here, under the streetlights that Barbara kissed Melissa. Or the other way around, one can never be so sure.