Title: Caught
Author: oosh@gmx.net
Keywords: FF, voy, lesbian

---

Caught

by oosh@gmx.net

[With thanks to my friends in the FishTank, March 2002]


It was absurd of me, I know, but that dress just caught my eye. It was
in the window of one of those really expensive Oxford Street boutiques,
and I don't know what possessed me even to go up and take a closer
look. Yes, it was beautifully cut, and from a distance the fabric
seemed muslin-light - though, as I approached, I was amazed to see that
it was a fine knit of finest wool; and the waist was so artfully
gathered that the skirt fell into lovely soft pleats. I liked the
colour, too: a very light coffee-beige, almost creamy, with little
amber beads upon the hem. Somehow it looked light and caressing, and in
the hot summer evening I fancied that I'd feel blithe and refreshed in
a dress like that. Could I have worn it? Once, definitely. But now?
Well, I'd not want to have to clean a wine-stain out of such a thing.
And when, steeling myself, I looked at the price-tag, I knew it was
fantasy: I am not in the same league as those who can afford a dress
like this. Nearly six hundred pounds? Not this year.

I took one last, regretful look. Really, there was almost nothing else
to see: the display was brightly-lit, but the store behind was dark, it
being nearly six. They'd have been closed for almost half an hour.

But then, quite by chance, as I stared pensively into the gloom beyond,
I caught a glimpse of movement, right at the back. A white cuff, a hand
on a black shoulder, moving to get a better grip. The shop assistants,
still there after all this time.

And suddenly, as my eyes became accustomed to the dark, my world turned
on its side: it was as if the shop window had become the thick glass
floor of Cousteau's ship, and I the uninvited witness of deep-sea
mystery.

Their dresses were black, their cuffs white - their uniform, I suppose.
But I could see from that lovely, upraised, dark-nyloned knee, from the
languorous, under-sea movements, from the gracefully tilted heads and
grasping fingers, that this was no casual good-night kiss.

Long ago, one of my friends tried to explain to me how the smallest,
most subtle things elude the scientist: even the act of watching
disturbs the intimate motions of what is observed.

And so it was with my two creatures of the deep: like two startled
fishes, they sprang apart and hovered, suddenly darting, suddenly
still. One hand hung in the air like a tendril, expressing sorrow,
frustration, anger, hurt.

I did not see the eye that turned on me in anger - but I felt it. And
then, amid the hubbub of the street, I feared that I heard a voice from
inside, shrill with reproach, and another, low and reassuring.

Horrified at the terrible change my presence had wrought, I turned and
moved away - only to stop a few yards further on, too ashamed to run
from the scene of an accident that I myself had caused by my idle
staring. Instead, I stood there, an island in the middle of the broad
pavement, wishing that somehow I could undo the harm, while people
flowed to and fro around me. I struggled with the idea of going back,
banging on the door, protesting: "Don't stop for me, you fools! Do you
think I don't understand? I'm your sister!" But I knew it was
impossible.

And then, half-turning despite myself, I saw them come out, noses in
the air, not a glance at one another. One strode out to the edge of the
pavement, nearest the traffic, while the other swiftly locked the shop
door. Then, side by side, yet on opposite sides of the pavement, they
walked toward and past me, not seeing me.

I had to go that way myself; and so for a few moments I followed them,
wondering: for now it was as if, despite their common uniform, they
were utter strangers. Like friends no longer on speaking terms, they
were as far apart as they could possibly be on this broad and crowded
pavement. Yet, for all the distance between them, they seemed to move
in parallel.

For a little while I observed them, scarcely believing what I saw. I
almost laughed, as the crowds hurried past them and me, that I alone
could see the invisible silver thread that connected these two apparent
strangers. Would it draw them back together again? Would they dare to
join hands? Then, reproaching myself once more, I hastened my step and
passed between them. And as I did so, I shuddered with a thrill of
secret joy and pain, cut through by a filament of gossamer.

Often in the days that followed, I found my memory returning to that
incident, and reliving that subtle mixture of elation and regret.

And then, one night in the small hours, I awoke thinking of them. I
felt it again, that thing that I thought had passed through me. But it
was still there, like an exquisite lightness; and as the invisible line
began to tighten, there arose within me a kind of inexplicable,
disembodied jubilation that I have seldom felt before. Despite the
pain, I wanted to cheer, as the line tightened more and more, and
gradually the hook tore up, up through my left lung, and into my heart.