Near Love Stories
by J. B. Hogan

"Me, too."

"How's the tour going, really?" he asked.

"Great," she said, "seriously. Nice small places. My favorite."

"They're the best," he said.

"They sure are," she agreed.

The conversation lulled again. He squirmed around as if he didn't know what came next.

"Can you stay tonight?" he finally asked her bluntly.

"What would our agents say?" she laughed. He tried a weak smile. "Wouldn't I be interrupting your work?"

"You could never interrupt my work," he said.

"Say please," she teased.

"No games," he rejoined. Her smile faded.

"No games."

"I'm not trying to be a jerk here," he said.

"You're never a jerk to me," she said.

"Where are we now?" he asked her.

"Let's see," she joked, "Fourth Avenue and---." She stopped when he didn't smile. "We're trying to get back together," she stated.

"How do we do that?" he asked sincerely. "What do we do? What do I do?"

"Tell me again why you love me," she said simply, seriously.

"You know why," he said.

"Please," she said, "tell me."

"I love you---," he began, then paused, trying with all his might to articulate for her, as he had tried other times before, the source and depth of his feeling with as much clarity as he could, letting himself go completely.

"I love you because you are very special. When I used to see you on TV or watch you in concert, you were always trying to minimize yourself, to be a down to earth girl, a regular person. And you are; but you're more, too. You have something else. You have an extraordinary gift. You sing with a beauty and sweetness that comes from somewhere inside, inside you. From some deeper you, some special you that makes you bigger and greater than the you who must live in the 'regular' world. You're an amazing artist, and whatever it is inside you that makes you so, that's what makes me love you the way I do."

When he was done, she took his right hand in both of hers. He looked into her eyes, saw the tears there, saw one roll slowly down her cheek. He reached over and wiped it away with his left index finger.

"To me," he told her, "you're the most beautiful person in the world. Simple as that."

"Will you come back," she asked, controlling the tears, trying a smile. "Back with me."

"Is it really what you want?" he asked in turn. "For the long haul?" Am I enough?"

She looked at him for a long time without speaking. Unconsciously she rubbed his hand with her fingers, searched his eyes with hers, searching, he felt, for his very soul.

"I'm exactly what you see in front of you," he said, not breaking eye contact with her. "There's nothing else. I can't be anybody else but who I am."

She continued to plumb his soul with her eyes for a few moments more, then she shook her head up and down slowly. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

"Will you come back with me?" she asked again, this time dry-eyed.

"Yes," he smiled at her, "if you want me to."

"Yes," she said softly, taking both his hands in hers. "Yes, I do."

-END-