FEAST OF MEN

by Ayn Dillard

  I try to console myself enough to fall asleep but can’t. I look at our photos and the warmth fills me up, along with a kind of peace. We look as if we belong together and the love we feel for each other is apparent by just looking at the photos. It’s amazing to realize, we met that very day because the connection is as if we’ve known each other forever.

  I read, watch TV and write in Boyd’s birthday card. I enclose the photos of us in the card. Then put one of the photos into a silver-shaped-heart frame and place it on the dresser beside my bed. I recall that I hung his airline jacket in the hall coat closet. I run to get it and put it on. God, the jacket smells just like him. I feel comforted.

  The universe brought us together for a special reason and it wasn’t just to feel more pain—that just couldn’t have been the reason. It must be to open us up, so we will be able to experience the intense pleasurable feelings of hope and love. We shared incredible warmth and have memories to fill our hearts forever. No one or anything can ever take away the remarkable gifts we gave to each other on our magic day. These memories will last forever.

  I gather up the things to give to Boyd and print out the ending to my book. It’s really not complete, but I want him to read it. I write him a note at the end. ‘Daddy throws me in the air and I learn how to fly. So, I’m then able to recognize my prince. I jump into my true love’s arms with full understanding, knowledge and trust. No fear only love, as we live in the joy of each other forever.’

  If we never see each other again, he’ll have these things in times of remembering and will be able to reflect on our week of love. He’ll always know he was loved very much for one special week in October.

  Damn, this is so sad. Damn, I’m so tired and damn—I can’t sleep. It’s now three o’clock in the morning. It feels as if I toss and turn all night long.

  REALITY AND THE PLAN

  October 29

  I awaken at eight-thirty emotionally drained and feeling as if I didn’t sleep at all. Today’s the day. A week of phone conversations, no physical contact and today will be the last time we’ll see each other for six months. I try to fall asleep again but it’s a lost cause. So, I get up and shower. I flip into stress as I’m having an internal fit, anxious to see and talk to Boyd. He told me that his wife was flying out early this morning, I wonder if it’d be safe to call? I told him not to call me until this afternoon, but judging by the way I’m feeling now. I may be dead by then.

  Then I think—screw it, there’s something really wrong if I can’t call the man I love when I’m in this much stress. Yeah Natalie—duh, there’s something terribly wrong because the man you love is married. Except, if this is anything real, I should be able to call him.

  I won’t wait until this afternoon because I’ve waited long enough. I want to see him now. Okay enough of this, I’m calling him. I am not putting myself though stress for one minute longer. What’s that saying? ‘You teach what you most need to learn.’ Well, this situation sure shows what happens when a person’s core issues are activated and stress shuts down a part of theie brain. I’m going from 0 to 10 on the stress scale and becoming emotionally dyslexic, even while I am trained as an observer to know what’s happening. It still happens, because I’m human and living proof. I’m the poster child for stress. Temporarily, I’ve lost it. I am so emotionally stressed about not seeing the man I’m falling in love with—because loving and being loved is the most important thing in the world to me.

  Love is the one thing, I’ve always wanted and what’s been so elusive to me. Finally, I find the magic and the love and now, I have to be separated from it. Why, what and who do I need to become—Gandhi?

  Do I have to be able to love then lose everything in my life over and over again, until I’m numb to the pain of it all? Is it so I’ll be able to handle anything and not crack? To be able to live without anything that I want while experiencing no stress to prove something to the universe. What am I trying to prove or learn? This just can’t keep on happening. This disappointment is way too much for me to continue dealing with.

  Is this my challenge and what I asked for—for my soul’s growth? I laugh hysterically because all my intellectual knowledge isn’t helping me this morning. How many more lessons do I need to face and conquer? Of course, this married man thing is so damn stupid. I detest this type of betrayal and now, I am participating in it. But it’s as if a magnet is pulling us together and it’s impossible to resist. I feel so alive and in love with this man. Except my emotions are way out of control and it doesn’t feel good at all.

  At nine-thirty, I dial Boyd’s number. He answers immediately, “Hi, darlin’!”

  I inquire, “Hi, how are you?”

  “I’m fine. Natalie, wait a second—I’m on the other line—hold on honey.”

  I respond, “Okay.”

  He comes back quickly, “I was talking to my attorney. He said to tell you, hi!” He jokes as we laugh nervously together. “I didn’t call you earlier honey, because I thought you were going to sleep late. You asked that I call you this afternoon, remember? Did you get the message, I left for you yesterday?”

  “I got your message and it made me sad. I know that I asked you to call me this afternoon and I was going to stay up late writing and sleep late. Only I didn’t—couldn’t—I am just not doing well right now.”

  “Why, what’s wrong, baby?”

  “Don’t know. Not sure. This—us—what we’re doing. What we are about to do.”

  With much stress, “What Natalie, what is it? You’re scaring me baby. Do you love me? What’s going on?”

  “Yes, I love you. It’s just—I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just need to see you now.”

  Chuckles, “Maybe, you need another one of those stress sessions with your friend.”

  “Yes, I probably, do.” chuckle to myself, he’s right about that. Feelings of rejection and abandonment are penetrating me so much that I can even taste the fear.

  He inquires, “What do you have on?”

  “A white cotton robe, my hair’s in a ponytail and I don’t have any make-up on.” I chuckle to myself as I think, he’s always asking what I’m wearing and it’s so sophomoric.

  “White robe, huh? Maybe, I shouldn’t come over. Maybe, we should meet somewhere. Like in a restaurant, so we won’t be tempted to make love. I don’t think we should make love, do you?”

  “I don’t know, but I would rather talk with you in my living room than in some restaurant.” I feel better now—talking with him is relaxing me. “Or do you think we should go to some more ‘joints’ out on the highway, but I think we hit them all last Monday—don’t you?”

  He says, “Yeah, we probably did.”

  I continue, “Since it’s rainy and dreary outside. Let’s talk in my living room. I want to stay in my house and not go out. We’ll be able to talk here just fine.”

  He states, “I don’t want to be tempted to do anything that we might regret and sure don’t want to do anything that might hurt you or me.”

  “We won’t.”

  He then says, “Hold on a second, another call’s coming in. It might be the airport.”

  “Okay.” as I sigh to myself.

  He checks the call then comes back. “Natalie, I’ve got to take this. Call you back in just a few minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  “Talk to you in a few, baby.”

  Okay, well totally great, I need to talk to him now, not later—but now. I also need to get a grip. I need to do something that’ll take my mind off things. Okay, I’ll put on my make-up. I do so, then fix my hair and begin to write up some research. While I’m writing, anxiety creeps back. Damn it. I want to see Boyd right now. I don’t want to wait until this afternoon and I hate feeling like the ‘other’ woman. So, I call him.

  Surprised, “Natalie baby, hi! What’s wrong? I was just getting ready to call, but am still on the phone. I have got to finish up this call. I will call you in a minute, okay? Okay honey?�
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  “Okay.” I take a deep breath.

  Off the phone, I’m furious and filled with stress and anger with myself that I called him. I go back to writing then the phone rings.

  “Natalie, what’s wrong baby? I needed to finish up that call. All these calls are coming in at once. Damn, there’s just too much to handle. Are you okay? Are you okay honey?”

  “No, I’m not doing well and I don’t know what’s wrong. I just feel strange.” As I think—he’s so stressed and my calling him doesn’t help.

  “You’re scaring me, Natalie. What is it?”

  “I need to see you. I need to see you, right now.”

  “Okay then, I’ll jump in the shower and be right over, but you can’t keep calling me. If I forget to erase the caller ID, my wife will see your number and become suspicious. I can’t have Natalie Duncan’s number on caller ID. Also, my wife just left for the airport when you called. There was a chance that she might not fly out today because of the weather and all we need to happen is that she picks up the phone when you call, to hear me say, ‘Hi to you’ in a loving tone’. That’d be it! She’d go ballistic and come after me with her claws sharpened. We’ve got to be careful.” Hearing him say this makes me feel sicker than I already am. I don’t want or like being something that he has to hide.

  He continues, “I used the car phone to call you and my wife pays that bill. I bet I spent fifty dollars in phone calls to you this past week. I just can’t let her find out about you. It’ll ruin everything and cause a lot of trouble in this divorce. Baby, I told you I was coming to see you. So, what’s wrong? What’s wrong honey?”

  “I don’t really know. I just need to see you, to see if you’re for real and if this is real.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right over. Helen, our housekeeper will be here before eleven. She can pick up my son from school. I’ll jump in the shower then will be over in just a few minutes. Okay, Natalie?”

  “Okay, good.”

  Off the phone, I decide to write about us. Sitting on my bed, wearing my white Calvin Klein robe with my hair and make-up done, I write on my laptop. I am stressed beyond belief and trying to calm myself before Boyd arrives, by writing our story.

  In what seems like a second my doorbell rings. I’m not even dressed yet. How’d he get here so quickly? I rush to the door to see Boyd through the front window and my heart skips a beat.

  I open the door as he rushes in and tosses his trench coat over the chair in the entry hall.

  I exclaim, “You got here so fast!”

  “I hurried because I was worried about you. You’re scaring me. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, maybe, yes—no—I’ve been writing.” I hug him around his neck and he holds me tightly.

  “You look beautiful, Natalie.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But what are you doing still in your robe with your breasts like that?”

  “What—my breasts like what?”

  He exclaims, “I can’t look at you that way. You don’t have a bra on. I can’t stand this. Did you plan this?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You got here so quickly.”

  “I’m not going to sleep with you. We can’t. I can’t. It’d make things too difficult for us—for me.”

  I ignore his babbling and take his hand, “Come see what I’ve written about us.” I sit on the bed, while he reads on my laptop what I’ve written.

  I inform, “I began writing to calm myself down and lost track of the time. It’s only half done.”

  Boyd reads, making comments along the way. “Yes definitely, this is a once in a lifetime connection between us and our energy together is electric.” He laughs at the part about the airplane and the drive in the car and we look at one another and smile our knowing smiles.

  He confirms, “Yes, you’ll probably resent my children and yes, you’ll probably be resentful of the money, I spend on them and not you. There sure are a lot of questions here Natalie. Except the ending, that’s for sure! Shit! Fuck! What’s going on here? That’s for real sure.”

  I ponder all the things I wrote, and let him read that I probably shouldn’t have, but I want honesty and no games. So, if he can’t handle it all, he’s not my guy. Boyd continues talking about what I’ve written, but I can tell he’s really thinking something other than what he’s saying. “Natalie, you need to clean it up a bit, but you are an excellent writer. While reading your books and articles, I wrote tons of notes in the margins.”

  “Okay—so you can edit my work.”

  “I used to edit my first wife’s father’s articles. He was a professor and wrote quite a lot. I have a knack for doing it. My wife gets furious when I correct her.”

  “Well, I’d appreciate your help.”

  “Natalie, may I use your phone? I need to make a call.”

  “Sure.”

  Boyd dials a number, while I sit perplexed beside him and wonder—because he’s calling some sort of a workout center negotiating for a membership. This certainly is a weird time to be making this call. Is he trying to distance himself by focusing on something else—anything—in order to feel in control of the situation? We are both stressed to the hilt. I exit into my bathroom, shut the door then go into the closet to get something to wear. I grab a white tee shirt and black riding pants and begin to put my pants on just as Boyd shouts.

  “Natalie, what’re you doing in there?”

  “Getting dressed, what are you doing?”

  “I am looking out the window at the swimming pool.

  Please, come out. I want to see you.”

  Still wearing my robe, I come out. “You were on the phone. So, I thought, I’d get dressed. Are you joining some workout club—thought you already had one?”

  His back is to me as he stares out towards the swimming pool, “Yes, World Gym. I’m trying to negotiate a membership with a friend.” I reflect to myself, Boyd’s wearing a light green Ralph Lauren shirt with Khaki pants and looks like an ordinary preppy guy.

  “Well okay. I have something for you.”

  He turns around, smiles, then turns back to stare out the window, “You do? You’ve something for me?”

  “I got the photos back—the ones we took last Monday.”

  He replies, “I noticed the one on your nightstand.”

  He’s guarded in his manner, different today than the man I jumped out of the airplane with. That man was happy. This man’s unhappy, worried and sad. I hand him the birthday card with the photos in it.

  “Gosh honey, for me?” he smiles warmly.

  “Yes, for you.”

  We sit down on the bed together as Boyd opens the card and reads what I’ve written more than once, then he stares at the photos of us for what seems like forever. “Gee, thought I looked better than that. I thought I looked handsome, but I guess what it was—is that I felt handsome because I was so happy.” He chuckles.

  I comment, “That’s just how we looked on that day. A bit disheveled and tired but I think we look great.”

  “You look beautiful. Your face is glowing.” He turns to me, smiles then kisses me on the cheek.

  I reply, “I think we both look great.”

  Immediately, he gets up to put the card and photos in his coat pocket in the entry hall, almost as if he’s afraid someone is going to take them from him. “I put these in my pocket now because I don’t want to forget them. Remember, I left my glasses the last time that I was here. I guess that I leave things because I don’t want to ever leave and want to always return.”

  “Yes, I remember.” As I think, he doesn’t seem like himself. He’s quiet and somber. We’re both speaking in soft careful tones as our exuberant spontaneity seems to have exited. He sits on the edge of the bed and holds his arms out, I sit on his lap. We hug each other tightly then look deep into each other’s eyes.

  “Natalie, I need to call Helen, our housekeeper to see if she got there all right. She was having car trouble this morning.”

  “Okay.” As I pon
der—geez, did he just come over to use the phone?

  “If she didn’t get to my house, I’ll have to be going. So, I can pick up my son at eleven-thirty.” He dials the number while I sit on the bed beside him praying silently, ‘God please, he can’t have to leave so soon after he just got here’.

  He asks into the phone, “Helen, will you be able to pick up Evan from school at eleven-thirty?”

  Immediately, I get up because I feel that he’s able to sense my stress. I feel like a fool and go back into my bathroom and shut the door to get dressed, but again just as I’m beginning to take my robe off and put my clothes on, he shouts. “Natalie, Helen can pick up Evan! So, I’m able to stay. Natalie, where do you keep going? What are you doing in there?”

  I answer, “I’m trying to get dressed, Boyd.”

  “Well, please, come out here. I want to see and talk to you.”

  We’re both behaving really stressed, like we don’t know what to do and we’re hurting very much. Out of the bathroom, still wearing my robe, I sit on Boyd’s lap again. “I need to be close to you, Boyd.”

  “Natalie, we can’t make love because I can’t handle this if we do.”

  I state, “Just hold me—who said anything about making love?”

  “Okay, I’ll hold you, darlin’, but did you wear this robe to make me crazy? I want to remember the day we met and don’t want anything to mess up that memory. Sex is just sex. Nothing could compare to the day we spent together. I’ll remember that day for the rest of my life.”

  I reply, “How could us being close or having sex mess up that memory? I understand what sex is, Boyd.”

  “Natalie, you’re naïve about men. The next time, a married man asks you to sit by him, you tell him to go sit far, far away. Tell him, ‘Hey buddy, you go sit somewhere else.’ Do you hear? Do you hear me, Natalie? Then when the man comes over to your house be wearing your God damned clothes. Do you hear?” Boyd’s shouting now, as I look at him in shock. I know that he’s hurting and feeling guilt then he says. “I don’t want to do anything to mess this up. Do you understand? I want you to have a good memory of us. Did you wear this robe on purpose to drive me crazy?”