Part 1

He stood off to the edge of the large, three story atrium in the library, and watched. Silently. He knew he was close to his objective, but wanted to wait until the crush of between-class students had dissipated before proceeding. It had been a long time since he'd been on a college campus (was the last time in Norway? That was a mission he'd just as soon forget…), and he was amused by the tattoos and pierced body parts and brightly colored hair. These were definitely unconventional folk, even as college students went.

He'd heard about the progressive, interdisciplinary curriculum. He'd seen the statistics on the graduates - people who could think creatively, solve complex problems, and work in teams. People who knew how to navigate the murky unknown in search of the clearly uncommon. People who went on to lead interesting lives. He understood what drew the students, but couldn't quite predict what sort of person would come to be an administrator in an organization like this. What sort of innovative approaches to systems management would it take to feed this sort of a learning laboratory?

Michael had been in Section so very long.

As the crowd thinned and his musings faded to a single-minded attention to task, he looked around to chose his next move. He must have looked less certain than he felt, for he was approached by a person from the crowd.

"Can I help you find something?" she asked.

Not wanting to be rude, and even though he was fairly sure of his way, he said, "I'm looking for the people who run the computer and telecommunications systems, thank you."

"Down that hall and to the right," she pointed. "Are you looking for anyone in particular?"

He hesitated. He wasn't normally inclined to reveal too much. But her eyes were almost the same green as his own and her shoulder-length loosely curled blond hair bespoke her Scandinavian heritage. Her simple hand-painted silk dress was feminine and intriguing and not too revealing all at the same time; he knew it would move well when she walked. And he could tell she was comfortable in her body, inside those inviting curves. He felt compelled to smile and be open - god, what an unusual impulse.

"I'm looking for Cygnet," Michael said quietly.

She smiled warmly, dipped her eyes briefly, and then looked directly at him. "You've already found her."

He was unintentionally speechless -- another unusual experience for Michael. He knew Cygnet was in charge of all the technology systems for the college, and that this wasn't the first time she'd held such a position. The woman before him looked too young, Michael thought Much too young.

"I'm not what you expected," she said. It was not a question. And truth be told, she actually wasn't all that young.

"One never *expects* to encounter a beautiful woman," he replied. "And what could possibly motivate you to call yourself Cygnet when you're already a swan?"

She laughed quietly to herself. And again she looked at him directly; uncertainty didn't seem to be a part of her persona. She simply said, "It's complicated." After a short pause she asked, "Michael, what can I do for you?"

Obviously, no introductions were required. And she probably knew about his tour of story board writers and lurkers; no explanations were required either.

"Can we go someplace …. private?" he asked.

She enjoyed another quiet laugh. "My pleasure," she replied.

"Exactly," he thought.

She lead him out the door of the library, across campus, into the parking lot, and hopped into her powder blue convertible Porsche 911S. His Mercedes followed her out to the country.

************

Part 2

They arrived at a small but impressive home on the edge of Puget Sound, surrounded by trees and looking north to the Olympic mountains. No doubt, the sunsets were spectacular. The house had elements of both Japanese and Scandinavian architecture: simple bold lines, beautiful carved wood beams, hardwood floors, the entire north wall framed in glass. Leaded glass french doors opened onto a large plant-covered deck overlooking the water. Somehow - he didn't quite know how - it fed Michael's inner stillness.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" she offered, as she opened the doors to the deck.

"Not just yet, thank you." He had a mission to complete first.

They sat down on facing benches out on the deck and quietly observed each other. His peripheral awareness took in the activity at the bird feeders and the smell of gardenias and roses.

He broke the silence first. "I'm here to ask you if you would consider not just lurking on the message board and the story boards. You've been a fan for a long, long time - since the beginning of Jeanette's board - and appreciated all the talented and wonderful folks who bare themselves there daily. They need to know that you care for them, rely on them for companionship, rejoice in their wit and their wisdom."

She held his gaze for a few moments. And then turned away. She paced the edge of the deck for a long while, looking north and distracting the hell out of him with her barely-controlled feline grace. But he waited.

"I respect your request," she finally said, and stopped in front of him. "I appreciate that I should come forward as a part of the community, and let everyone know how much they make me laugh, and challenge my preconceptions, and inspire me to move beyond old limitations. I owe so much to them. I'm not the same person I was a year ago." Again, her eyes held his.

"But Michael," she continued, "it isn't easy for me. I hope you can be patient."

What could he say??!

************************

She fed him warm crab and garden fresh tomatoes and basil just picked from a container on the deck. They drank too much chardonney and watched the sun sink into the glass-still water. She took him out in a sea kayak to watch the otters play in the bio-luminescence. Upon their return, she could tell that he was undecided about where to go next with their time together, and she made her decision.

She understood being enigmatic. She understood about locking the gate to one's inner garden. But the time between them had been easy and he hadn't pushed and she felt like she wanted to give him this one gift; that she wanted to share the one thing about herself that he might find most valuable. As they curled up on their respective ends of the couch in the living room and watched the shadows from the dozen candles she'd lit play across each other, she spoke.

"I have a confession to make, Michael." She spoke quietly but clearly.

He was silent, but looked at her and slowly raised his eyebrows.

"I've written one story on the old round robin story board."

He waited.

"But I used a different name."

"Why?" he asked.

She smiled apologetically, and simply offered, "It's complicated."

He decided to respect her privacy, and moved on to the more interesting question.

"Which one?"

She hesitated. She knew this wasn't going to be easy for him. "It was called Perspective. Do you remember it?"

God, how could he forget. His heart rose into his throat and his eyes filled with tears.

"You found my son. He's alive! But geezus, you ended the story the second I recognized him, and despite appeals from several of the round robin board regulars, you never did write a sequel."

She moved in to hold him close and murmured apologies into his ear. "I didn't know how to take the story from there and not add to your pain. I didn't know how to develop your relationship with him without putting him - and you - in danger. I just couldn't do it. I wanted your heart to hold onto all the unformed possibilities without being weighed down by the probable realities."

At that moment, and for that reason, he loved her more than she could possibly have understood.

When he finally caught his breath, he asked tentatively..."Cygnet?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Can we imagine a story about him now?"

***********************

They stayed up late into the night, drinking too much wine, and crafting and recrafting stories. They laughed and cried and ended up intertwined, limbs and hearts and souls. As sleep innocently overtook them, he pulled the blanket from the end of the couch over them. He was at peace.

The morning sun roused them slowly. They made slow gentle love to the cadence of the earth waking up. They discovered, to their mutual surprise and wicked delight, that they were both skilled at tantric sex. The morning wound on. He thought about staying (a day, a year, forever), but his obligation to meeting the other board members finally intruded.

They showered together. Dressed together. Found coffee and peaches and raspberries together. And finally stood out on the deck in silence. Together.

He started to speak, but she silenced him. "I know," she said simply.

He looked at her in wonder, and tried to understand for himself the whirlwind of emotions he felt. Again, he started to speak.

Again, she silenced him. "I know."

He drew her in and held her to his pounding heart. Their embrace was gentle, two hearts not needing to cling because they were secure in their commitment to one another.

He would be back. She knew he would be back. And she would be waiting.

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