Date: Sat, 31 Jan 1998 22:37:15 -0500 From: Words from the Monastery Subject: SUB: VDC: The Gift (short story) THE END IS NEARER! And I'm not talking about the world either ... ;) The 1998 WRITERs' Valentine's Day Contest Remember, save your critiques please and send you entries to Michelle and me not the list for entry into the contest. ***** The Gift The story simply wouldn't come together. He'd written, rewritten, scratched out and tried again, played all kinds of games, and it just wouldn't settle. Today was the last day of the contest, with the deadline at midnight, and he still couldn't get the right beginning or middle on the story. Oh, the ending...he had woken up one morning with the ending, and wrote it down as fast as he could type. He'd done some minor editing, but basically it had been ready from the start. But somehow, he just couldn't work up a beginning that matched the ending. And now, to top everything else off, with just hours to go, his wife wanted to go to dinner? Go out and... He looked at the ending one more time. Damn, how could he set up the situation, with the old married couple, famous dancers in their time, but now living on their pasts, and determined to get a divorce? And the councilor and the telepath... The telepath reached out and touched his hand again. Just for a moment. Then she smiled, a small smile that barely touched the corners of her mouth. She nodded and looked into his face. He had closed his eyes, and there was a tear sliding into the wrinkles under his right eye. He muttered, in a grumble that we shouldn't have been able to hear, but somehow could, "yeah, okay." The telepath touched her hand, too. This time it took longer, but it was still not really long. Then the telepath grinned, a smile that started with her raised eyebrows and washed her whole face in happiness. She shook her head and said, "You two. Here!" This time, she touched both of their hands. And I closed my eyes, because something itched behind my eyebrows, between the tops of my ears, somewhere that there isn't anything _to itch_. And in the darkness, I saw, I felt, I was... I swirled out of the spin, falling... And his hands were there, warm, firm, catching me as they always did... I looked across the stage, doing a simple brise, just waiting, and there she was, impossibly high, floating at the top of the grand jete, toes pointed, arms and hands perfectly in position. I leaned back, one arm high, the other at my waist, and he lifted me, he lifted me as if I were a feather and _tossed_ me, then caught me and gently, smoothly delivered me into the next movement perfectly on the beat, with a warm shiver somewhere inside at the power and grace of his dance. She turned in pirouette, with an saucy wink for me, well hidden from the audience. I...she...he...I... There was a moment of darkness, and then the telepath was staring into my face. "Who are you?" "What kind of idiotic..." Before I said any more, she smiled again. "You're fine. I thought for a moment I was going to have trouble with you--did you know you've got a low-level talent for reception?" "A what?" "You're a telepath. Not a very good one, but you've got enough talent that you 'overheard' me...and them." "And just what did I _overhear_ as you put it?" She shook her head and pointed to the two of them. "Well, you asked me to confirm that they were serious about the divorce. Unfortunately, when I touched them, I found out that they were getting the divorce for all the wrong reasons. She thought he deserved someone who didn't yell at him, someone who...well, someone she isn't. He thought she should have a real man, someone who could stand up by themselves and wasn't crippled with arthritis." "So what did you do?" "I showed them how they see each other." "You did what? He's an old man walking with a cane, she's a...well, I don't know of a kind way to put it." "A bitch? Sure, that's what you and I see. But that's not what they see." I waited, and she thought about it. "You see, in their hearts, they still dance. And that's what I showed them." The telepath moved aside again, and I saw that she was holding his hand. It was wrinkled and age-spotted, but for a moment, I saw again... I swirled out of the spin, falling... And his hands were there, warm, firm, catching me as they always did, and would. And then he went to dinner. The deadline, and the story, could wait. Sometimes the gift is where you are.