And Then She'll Ask Me, Do I Look Alright? And I'll Say Yes, You Look Wonderful Tonight

--"Wonderful Tonight (live)", Eric Clapton

When I came out of the hotel bathroom on that April day in 1995 I wasn't expecting the sight that awaited me. I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting. I suppose you could say that I wasn't expecting anything except to sit down on the bed till we had to leave for dinner. Furthermore, to illustrate just how little I was expecting, I had gotten fully changed in the bathroom into a t-shirt and jeans before coming out.

Breanne definitively had not gotten changed during my time in the bathroom. I found her lying on the bed, covers off, still in her bra and panties despite the fact that she had had ample time to dress in the interim. I don't know—when she had come out of the bathroom in the white hotel towels I had just assumed she would get ready soon after. Neither of us had made that instruction implicit. It's not like I had told her, get ready because we'll go to dinner right after. Both of us were tired after three days of being out on the road walking and this was our first real opportunity to relax on an honest-to-gods bed so perhaps I should have known that she might want a breather that day. Yet I can only go by past behavior. In past behavior with anyone I had never found anyone just waiting for me in solely their delicates.

Nineteen years old and, yes, that was the first day I'd actually shared a hotel room with somebody of the opposite sex.


It was the first time for a lot of things on that trip besides the obvious. Aside from my family, it was the first time I'd spent four consecutive days exclusively with one person. Even on my last trip to Georgia I had had some kind of buffer with Breanne's parents. This trip, however, it was pretty much just me and her the entire.

As comfortable as I was around her it just never occurred to me that we could just walk around half-naked in front of each other. I was not aware we had reached that point in our relationship.

I still remember what she was wearing too. It was this white bra with orange floral prints on it. If there's one thing I remember it's those orange prints because during the walking she had mentioned how she tries to wear something orange everyday, even if it's only something small. I remember thinking, just like St. Patrick's Day, well, there's her something orange for the day. And below she had on a pair of modest black panties, nothing too revealing or sexy, but damn it all if she didn't look adorable like that. And it wasn't like she was posed or anything. Her chestnut brown hair still looked disheveled as it dried. Her oceanic blue-green eyes were vehemently locked in on the tv set and paid me no attention at all. She looked approximately the way I probably looked watching tv. If anything she looked comfortable at that moment in time, in that exact place. Going by posture alone it would've looked like she and I had been hanging out in hotel rooms like this for years.

“I feel like I'm overdressed for this party,” I announced, sitting down on the bed beside her.

Giving me a quick glance up and down, she replied, “Hush. You're fine, sugar. I'll be getting ready shortly.”

I turned towards the television myself. She was watching Pretty Woman on one of the basic cable channels. I didn't go for the obvious question of whether or not she had seen it already. That too we had gotten into a whole discussion of obvious questions being met with obvious answers. Or as she'd put it, that kind of question ranked right up there with asking if somebody was cold when they were plainly shivering or asking if somebody could walk when they were plumb knocked out on their lily-white ass on the ground. What I almost asked was if she thought I should shed some clothes just to make it less awkward.

But it was relatively obvious there was only one person present who found the situation awkward. Before I could ask the question, she piped up again.

“I apologize for my state. I just didn't know what I should be dressing for. First day in the city and you were mentioning you wanted to go some place nice. I wasn't sure how nice we wanted to go.”

“Nice enough. Is there a dress code in the restaurants around here?”

“Not that I know of, but I'm not sure how fancy we're talking about here.”

“It's up to you. We could go somewhere where what I'm wearing is fine...”

“Or what? Somewhere what I'm wearing is fine?” she laughed.

“Hey, there's nothing wrong with what you got going on there, Breanne. Nothing at all, “ I answered back.

For a long time I'd thought she was pretty. From the earliest days of her e-mailing me current pictures of herself or sending short videotapes of typical days in her life, I had known she was one of the prettiest girls I'd ever known. From her dimples, to her slim figure, to just the way she carried herself whenever she knew people were watching her, I found it easy to believe that she had been complimented on her physical beauty from day one. What it took me a long time to understand was that it wasn't a put-on. She didn't spend hours making herself pretty. She didn't cake on the make-up. Hell, she didn't even spend all that long looking at herself in the mirror. If there's one thing that spending three days waking up next to someone in a rather small tent it's whether or not somebody can make themselves presentable with limited resources. For the last three days not only had she managed to make herself look presentable, she had managed to keep herself looking pretty despite no showers and very wrinkled and often slightly dirty clothing.

It could have been have the fact I was at last looking at her from the right side of fifteen, as we had just celebrated that birthday a few days back, but I have a skulking suspicion it had more to do with the fact that she could appear magnificent under any circumstances that led me to the conclusion that my friend simply was beautiful.

I didn't know how to say it any better than that. Around that trip I stopped kidding around with the childish descriptors of “being cute” or “being pretty”. It was around then she really turned out to be something special to me, someone of real astonishing physical loveliness.

I watched her stand up unceremoniously and move to the other side of room. She was smiling, no doubt congratulating herself for thinking up something incredibly clever and wicked for me. When she reached the other side of the room she stood their plainly, hands on her hips, her hair spilling just below her shoulders.

“Ain't nothing wrong with this?” she asked.

“No. Nothing at all,” I answered her.

She then took her hands to the side of her head. She started ruffling them through her brunette mane, the whole time with her eyes still locked on me. I watched as she shifted her weight on her legs to her left side. She looked a bit more defiant, a bit more sarcastic in her stance.

“Or this, Eeyore?”

“Nope. Not at all.” I grabbed the remote from the nightstand to turn off the movie. I wanted to give her my full attention.

Next she spun around, allowing me to see the smooth shape of her back, the delicate lines the encapsulated her unique physique. My eyes traced their way up from her in-step, up her thighs, the contours of her butt cheeks, the small of her back, the nape of her neck, everything. It was like watching the unveiling of the Statue of Liberty. There simply was too much to take in on a single viewing, too many places your eyes wanted to wander. To do any real justice to the task, you had to be diligent. Diligent and thorough.

“What about this?”

“Can't find anything wrong with that either.”

I knew she was teasing me. She knew she had a power over me that defied all common sense. It'd taken me a long time to get over my apprehension in letting her know she had me in the palm of her hands when it came to how I felt. For a long time I tried to downplay just how much in love with her I was. Whether it was a question of her age or the fact she really was (and still is) my closest friend, I didn't want to commit to saying or revealing something that would cross over the invisible line I had drawn for myself. I didn't want to take the extra step of allowing all my feelings for her to be known. From the moment I let her know that I, indeed, reciprocated the feelings she had for me things between us had gotten a lot simpler and a lot more complicated at the same time. Before when I had thought she was merely playful, she had now turned into a different beast entirely. She had turned into someone who rather enjoyed torturing me mercilessly.

She turned around to again face me. She then walked the few steps till she was right beside the bed and me. Leaning over as to give me a full view of her cleavage as well as to place her face maybe six or seven inches from mine, she asked me again, “Nothing wrong with this?”

I wanted to pull her down onto the bed. I wanted to do a lot of things, actually. However, the larger part of me was curious to see where she was going with all this teasing. I mean—we'd had a lot of fun in the tent, but it certainly wasn't the same conditions we had here. The last few nights the only light we had was mostly moonlight and the far-off lights of whatever rest stop we happened to be at at that point. The last few nights the quarters were kind of cramped, which necessitated a proximity to one another that I would never quite complain about, but it also didn't lend itself to any sizable displays of showmanship. It was what it was, two people alone in tight quarters, conducive to a very specific type of evening.

That night at the hotel, well, the sky was the limit. I wasn't about to put an end to the night's festivities out of sheer tradition.

I watched as she stood up again, still next to the bed.

“I was thinking, sugar, that maybe we should order in tonight and save the 'good' dinner for tomorrow. I only have my one pristine evening dress and I reckon it would be best if that's the one I wore when we drove back tomorrow, you know?”

“You want to stay in tonight? But what happened to spending two good days in the city?”

She started to curl one of her brunette tresses.

“Hell's bells, all I have are the dingy clothes in the bag. I have nothing really suitable to going out on the town tonight except the one dress.”

“Whatever you wear will be fine, Breanne. Nobody will care.”

“That's not true. I'll care, please, thank you.”

“I'm sure you'll look fine.”

“No, I won't. I'll look beat. I'll look like the wrong end of the ugly stick, as my daddy says.”

I stood up next to her by the bed. I placed my hand warmly on her bare shoulder where I could feel some of her hairs barely tickle my hand. I didn't know what I was going to say. I only knew that it bothered me some that she could think that something as silly as clothes could detract from her natural beauty. To me that was like worrying about the trim of the house when the rest of the house absolutely sparkled. To me there was nothing she could wear that would ever lead me to believe that the ugly stick had come anywhere near her.

Sometimes I believe that Breanne intentionally discounts the way she looks for my sole benefit. She knows that I'll defend my assessment of her till the day I die. Even knowing that she might be fishing for compliments, I'm still inclined to this day to give her what she wants. It bothers me that much to hear her, to hear anyone, say she doesn't measure up. She has her flaws, but the way she presents herself, the way she handles herself isn't one of them.

“I know you've heard me say this a thousand times, Breannie, but I honestly think you're one of the loveliest creatures that has ever graced the Earth. I don't just think it's a question of whether or not you're beautiful, but of how much more beautiful you are in comparison to everyone else around you. I think you just blow everyone out of the water, it's that bad.”

I watched as she smiled. She then started cupping her breasts in her hands and squeezing them together.

“You just like these,” she announced matter-of-factly.

“I like those, and that,” I said pointing to her still unkempt mane, “and those,” indicating her lit-up blue-green eyes. “And I especially like those,” nodding towards the precious dimples that were making themselves known. “If I had to make a list of everything that I liked about the way you looked it might well go on for forty pages, Breannie. And you know how much I hate making lists. There would just be so much to list down. It would be so extensive that people might think I was shopping for body for my very own Frankenstein monster... or should I say my very own Breannestein monster.

“You're just too sexy for the world,” I laughed.

“And it isn't that you're only hot or sexy or whatever. It's that you're just gorgeous without even trying. I mean—I've woken up next to you for the last couple of days and I can't think of anything else I'd rather wake up to than this face. It might be cheesy to say, but I really could stay awake just to watch you smile while you're sleeping. Just like I could stand here now and just watch you stand here like this doing nothing, just being beautiful. You want to believe that the whole world is going to look down on you if you're not wearing the right thing or if you something looks a little out of place. It's just not true, though. Everyone can see just like I can see that you something that transcends whatever you have on or whatever mood you happen to be in. You have something indefinable, ephemeral. It's this inner grace that doesn't allow you to appear anything less than what you are. It's this inner fire that just raises everything else about you despite the changing tides of the day-to-day. You're tired for one day. You're cranky for one day. And you might feel less than your best for one day. But you're beautiful eternally. You're sublimely and completely awe-inspiring to me, Breannie. There isn't a day that I don't see you, that I don't think of you, and I'm completely lost in love for you. You make me that weak all the time. You should know that by now and, if not, I should tell you that everyday because it's true.”


it's late in the evening
she's wondering what clothes to wear

She paused as the smile gently worked itself from her face. Apparently, the cavalier attitude of the evening had been broached. Now we had progressed onto something substantially more serious in the evolution of our conversation. Breanne has never been one to let things slide lightly. She may be a lot of things and she may give off the impression that she only lightly considers her actions, but I know her better than that. I know her well enough to know that everything you say to her does sink in. Even at fifteen, she possessed enough mental acuity to let every word I had just sink in wholesale without questioning their veracity.

“You're just saying that because I'm indisposed at the moment. If you saw me at my grubbiest, you might well change your tune, Eeyore.”

“I doubt it.”

She faced me once again.

“I don't doubt that you very well could mean everything you said just as I don't doubt it's coming from a good place. What I doubt is if you really believe what you say or if you're attempting only to make me feel better. I don't need false compliments to make me feel better. I've never had. I know what I look like and it sure ain't perfect.”

“I never said you were perfect.”

“Close enough.”

“I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that I thought you were perfect. I'll try better not to give you that impression next time, my Breannie,” I laughed.

She let the meaning of what I said sink in before she continued with a slight smirk on her face.

“I don't care what you think of me because I know it's good. That much is obvious. I don't care if you think I'm the most wicked child on the planet or if I'm the saintliest of creatures. I don't care if you think I'm as ugly as a lopsided duck or as beautiful as a dish of ice cream on a Summer's day. All I care about, darling, is that you tell me plainly what you're thinking. I don't need the hyperbole. I don't need you to fan my already mile-high flames of vanity. I want to know what you're thinking without holding back AND without exaggeration. If I'm not looking my best, it's okay if you tell me. I won't hold it against you, you know?

“You're the one person I've always counted on to go and tell me thing straight. It wouldn't do for you to lie to me now even if only to make me feel better. If you want to go out tonight, that's fine. I'm sure it'll be a hoot-and-a-half. Just don't tell me I'm going to look gorgeous or beautiful or what have you because that won't be the truth. I'm a big girl now, I can take being seen looking better than some, but less than average. I can take one day off from being one of the prettiest girls in the room. What I can't take is you telling me what I want to hear because if I can't trust you, then who can I trust?”

I just shook my head. I took one good stock of the young woman before me—the fifteen-year-old young woman in her white bra with the orange floral print on them and the black panties, the young woman with the unruly hair and slightly saddened eyes, the young woman who I had had the privilege of calling my best friend for almost two years at the point—and I told her exactly what I felt.

“If you trust me, then trust when I say that you're beautiful. You're beautiful, you're beautiful, you're beautiful. I don't know how to say it any plainer than that. And trust me when I say I couldn't lie to you about that any more than I could lie to you about how much I love you. There are just some things that I'm just not that good at pretending. No matter how much it kills me, I just can't pretend to see you as anything less than my most beloved beautiful creature and I just can't pretend to love you any less than I do.”

“That would be the lie. That would be me not telling it to you straight, Breanne.”

She searched my face for a minute for any trace of sarcasm or guile. She tried to find the chink in the armor of my resolve. Finding nothing, she had no choice to believe that I was sincere when I said she would ever be my idea of beauty.

She took my hand and placed it on her heart. Not saying, she just left it there for fifteen seconds maybe while she locked her eyes on mine. I don't know what she was trying to tell me, but I had a good idea of what she wanted me to believe. Her eyes told the story that her mouth couldn't say. Even though she might not ever fully believe she's as sexy or as lovely as others have claimed her to be, from that moment on I knew she believed that I believed. From that moment on I knew she believed me when I told her she could trust me on that issue.

“Let me find something appropriate and I'll take you to dinner tonight, darling. How's that?” she said, finally letting go of my hand.

“It sounds like a plan.”

Finally, just before she went back into the bathroom to freshen up before getting changed, I told her something I should have told her right from the beginning of the conversation.

“Oh, Breanne, did I mention you look lovely tonight?”

“You might have mentioned it once or twice,” she slowly replied before shutting the door with a good laugh.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers