Never Again

by Heather Starsong

  I didn’t want to learn. In spite of some obvious conveniences, it felt all wrong to me. Wrong to depend on a smart phone to remember your mother’s birthday, wrong to substitute Facebook for real connections. Just wrong, taking us further and further out of meaningful contact with each other and the natural world. But I didn’t say that. What was the use? I got up and started clearing the table.

  Zachary tapped his screen a few times. “Speaking of tango. It’s seven o’clock. Time for practica at the Pearl Street Studio. Shall we go?”

  Around the middle of February, Zachary made a four-day trip to Seattle to handle some business and visit his family.

  While he was gone, I decided to catch up with my journal. It had been my habit to write in it three or four times a week, recording the events of my days, my thoughts and feelings. But since Zachary had come into my life, I’d been too absorbed with him to think much of myself or take time to write. My last entry was only a brief account of Zachary’s and my visit with Robin’s family.

  So much had happened since. We had become lovers, fought over the cell phone, danced and danced, spent most of our nights and mornings and all of our weekends together. I realized as I wrote how deeply I had fallen in love with him, how much I had lost myself.

  “Danger,” I wrote. “This is all out of balance. This can never be more than a passing affair. It’s not responsible for me to go on. I am not a young woman, not thirty, no matter how my body looks and feels.

  “But I love him. I’ve never had such dancing, such ecstatic sex. And I’m not lonely anymore. His face lights up when he sees me. I’m ‘the one’ for him. That’s so precious.

  “Then how will it end? There will be pain. Is it worth it? Does it have to end? Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  Suddenly irritated, I pushed my journal aside. I can’t think about it anymore. I don’t know what to do. Let it be.

  It was evening. I got up and went dancing, danced with all the partners who had been my favorites before Zachary.

  “Where’s lover boy?” Tim asked.

  “On a business trip.”

  “Did you ever tell him how old you are?”

  “Yes. I had a hard time convincing him, but he finally believed me. He’s not very comfortable with it but seems to have accepted it for now.”

  “He should. You’re a catch. And dancing better than ever.” We circled the floor. “What really happened to you?” he asked. “Everyone’s wondering. It can’t be just a makeover. I don’t see any white roots in your hair. And you never used to have as much energy as you do now. It seems like you really are as young as you look.”

  “It’s true. I’ve had a miraculous healing. But I can’t talk about it. Let’s just dance.”

  He let it go and the tanda ended. I enjoyed the evening and the variety of my different partners, but none fit me as well or danced as beautifully as Zachary. I missed him and didn’t stay late.

  He was home again by mid-week, and I was glad to see him. One night alone once a week was fine, but after three nights I longed for the warmth of his body, the sound of his voice, the way he teased me and made me laugh, his companionship.

  I had dinner ready when he came to my house from work. We ate together, went dancing, made love, and slept in each other’s arms. But something was different; he was remote. Telling myself it was only because he was tired from his trip, I brushed aside the anxiety I felt. In the morning he seemed himself again.

  Saturdays we always celebrated the weekend by sleeping late and taking lots of time to make love. The Saturday after his trip, as we lay together in post-sex bliss, he stroked my belly. “Clara, is there something you want to tell me?”

  I turned my head lazily to look into his eyes. “There’s always lots of things I want to tell you, but nothing special right now except—you’re so yummy.” I rolled over to kiss him, sensed a question. “What is it?”

  “Well, I was wondering. We’ve been together for two months now, and you haven’t had a period. I know you asked me about STDs and all, but you’ve never asked me to wear a condom. So I was wondering if maybe you wanted, if maybe you were…”

  I sat straight up on the bed. “Pregnant?”

  “Yeah.” He smiled, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners in the way I found so enchanting. “I’d love it if you were.”

  I was flabbergasted, speechless. The implications of his words battered me from every direction. “I… Zachary!… I wouldn’t,” I stammered, then finally managed to get out, “I’m not.”

  “Oh, too bad.” He reached up his arms for me.

  I pushed him away. “Are you out of your mind? We’ve known each other for two months, only two months, and you’re thinking I’d just… maybe just happen to get pregnant?” I gestured wildly. “Don’t you realize that having a kid is a very big deal, a serious, huge, long-lasting commitment?” I closed my eyes and shook my head, blowing out my breath, then opened my eyes and glared at him. “If you want to have kids, there’s a right way to do it. First you spend at least a year getting to know each other, maybe living together, to see if you can get along. Kids need their parents to get along. Then you marry. Then you wait at least another year to settle into your marriage, because believe me, once the kids come, it puts a big strain on your marriage. Then you talk it over before you start trying to make a baby.”

  He bounced up to sit opposite me. “Calm down. That’s very old-fashioned. Most people don’t do it that way now.”

  “No, they don’t. And there are a lot of unwanted children in the world. I can’t believe you would think I’d just let it happen, without being married, without discussing it first.”

  He looked puzzled. “Then how come you didn’t ask me to wear a condom?”

  “There are other kinds of birth control.”

  “I know. But you haven’t had your period. I was just hoping.” His face was tender with hope.

  I softened. “Look, I probably should have told you. But we’re just getting started; it seemed premature. I didn’t ask you to wear a condom because I’m sterile.”

  “Sterile!” His brow wrinkled.

  “I’m not bleeding because I went through menopause twenty-six years ago.”

  “But you’re young again now.”

  “They didn’t give me that part back.”

  “Oh.” He touched my cheek. “Maybe you could call them, the aliens, and ask them to make you fertile again. They probably could. I’m so gone on you, I want to marry you, spend the rest of my life with you, grow old with you. I want you to be the mother of my kids.”

  “But I don’t want more children.”

  “You don’t? Why not?”

  “Because, like I said, it’s a huge, long-term commitment. I’ve done it. I’ve even done it twice. Lisa and Greg were grown when I started all over again with Robin. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything, but I don’t want to do it again.”

  “I don’t get it. You’d be a terrific mom. I saw how you were with Katie and Colin. And you have all that experience.”

  I shivered. I reached over the side of the bed, picked up my discarded nightgown, and slipped it over my head. “You don’t have a clue. It’s a long haul. There’s diapers and shots and having your sleep interrupted for years, figure three years for each kid. There’s school and homework and lessons and driving them everywhere. Then high school and them learning to drive and all the trouble they can get into. Then college and weddings and grandchildren. And it doesn’t end there. I’ll be a mom until I die.”

  “I guess it is a lot of work.”

  “Tons. Twenty-four seven. But that’s not the half of it. There is no love so deep as what you have for your child. At first they’re so little and vulnerable. They cry with belly aches and get sick and you can’t take their pain away. Then they get bigger and fall off things and injure themselves, and get their feeling
s hurt and struggle with life and have disappointments—and you suffer it all with them as if it were your own suffering.”

  “They’re also cute and adorable and amazing, like my nephew Chris.”

  “Which only makes you love them more. I don’t think I could bear the intensity of that love again. I already have it for Lisa and Greg and Robin and their children. My heart is full. And I don’t even know if I’ll be around much longer.”

  “Why not?” Zachary caught my hands. “You’re not sick or anything, are you?”

  I froze, as shocked as Zachary by what I had said. Since meeting him I had buried the possibility the Elirians had given me, but clearly it was still percolating under the surface. “No, no. I’m not sick. I’m okay.” I took a deep breath. “Look, Zachary, we shouldn’t be talking about marriage and children. We’re just beginning our relationship and we’ve spent most of our time together dancing tango, an unrealistically romantic activity in which you have undisputed lead. You need to know that’s not how it would be if we made a home and raised a family together.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve had a hint of that.”

  “And,” I went on, “there’s also the fact that I am forty-six years older than you, two generations older, brought up in a world you can barely imagine. You know my young body, but I don’t think you can ever know my old spirit.”

  He smoothed back my love-tousled hair. “I know your spirit. I see how gentle and loving you are, how playful and fun, the way your family adores you, how wise you are. Why do you think I love you so much?” He gathered me into his arms and rolled me to lie down on the bed with him.

  “I just need to take it slowly,” I whispered against the sweet skin of his shoulder. “I’m still trying to figure out who I am. It’s been such a big change for me.”

  “It’s okay. It’s okay.” He stroked my back, kissed my hair. “We can take all the time you need. We’re young still.”

  The days lengthened. I planted seeds in trays on my south window sills—tomatoes, marigolds, basil, snapdragons and lobelias. Some days it was warm enough to putter in the garden, cutting back dead stems, clearing out leaves. The first crocuses opened golden in the sheltered garden at the top of the studio steps. Spring was coming. I knew it could snow again more than once, but there was a smell in the air, a different hue in the sky, and happiness bubbled up in me. I began planning to open up a big vegetable garden in the back yard where I’d had one years before. As I grew older I had decided a big garden was too much for my aging body and had sodded most of it over, leaving only a narrow strip next to the house. But now with my renewed strength I looked forward to opening it again, to eating from it all summer long, and freezing some vegetables for winter.

  Every so often Zachary would ask me if I had thought about calling the Elirians. I thought about it a great deal. Some days I almost convinced myself I should ask for my fertility back, marry Zachary, and raise a family with him. I was pretty sure he would eventually move on if I couldn’t have children, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. Also Greg’s point was well taken that it might be good to have companionship in the long life stretching before me. But I didn’t call the Elirians. Every time I thought of it my stomach would clench. I didn’t know what I really wanted to ask them.

  When I meditated, deep conflict arose but I found no resolution. So, as the spring unfolded, I let the days and weeks pass, drifting in the sweet, passionate life I shared with Zachary.

  “I have a vacation coming up,” he said one evening. “Shall we go to Buenos Aires?”

  He had been several times. I had always wanted to visit that birthplace and heart of Argentine tango, but had been too timid to go alone.

  “I’d love to! When is your vacation?”

  “The last week in April. I’ll get the tickets and arrange everything. It’s all on me.” He whirled me away from the sink where I was preparing vegetables for dinner and spun me around the kitchen. “We’ll have a fabulous time.”

  I was excited. I set up a private lesson with the teacher who had been my mentor for the first years of my tango life, sorted through my dance clothes, and called Anne to see if she would take care of my seedlings while I was away.

  Zachary invited me to his apartment for dinner the following week. “I’ll cook for a change.” When I arrived, he was on the phone, tense and frowning. He nodded to me and took the phone into the bedroom. As he swung the door to, I heard him say, “Suzy, I can’t talk any more right now. I’ll call you tomorrow, I promise, and—” The door closed.

  I stood in the hall with my coat in my hand. Suzy? Wasn’t that the name of his former girlfriend, the one with the dance studio?

  He came out a little later, rumpling his hair.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “No. No, nothing serious.” He smoothed his face. “Hi.” He smiled and kissed me, held me close for a long moment. His heart was beating faster than usual and I felt him trembling slightly.

  “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

  “I’ve had a lot on my mind at work. Let’s go out for dinner. I was going to cook but I got home late.”

  We went to the same restaurant where we’d had our first date. He was clearly troubled, but also clearly didn’t want to talk about it. As we finished dinner he said, “Let’s not dance tonight. I just want to go home and hold you in my arms. Horizontal tango.” He made love to me that night with more than usual intensity and held me tight even when we slept.

  It was snowing the next morning when I got home, a wet spring snow. Fortunately the trees had not leafed out yet. As I shoveled the walk and the studio steps in preparation for my first client, I was uneasy. Suzy. What’s going on with her that he’s so upset? And why wasn’t he straight with me, pretending it was about work?

  I found out the following weekend. It was Saturday night, late, after an evening of tango in Denver. We were sipping hot cocoa at the counter in his kitchenette and I was babbling away about how excited I was to go to Buenos Aires. We were due to depart in only two weeks.

  He put his hand over mine. “Clara, I’ve got some bad news.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going to have to postpone our trip. Something’s come up at home and I need to take that week to go back there and handle it.”

  I felt a sharp pang of disappointment and under that a rush of anxiety. “Oh, are your parents okay? Is anyone sick?”

  “No. My parents are fine.” He bumped his cocoa cup with an abrupt movement of his hand, and cocoa spilled on the counter.

  “I’ll get it.” I got up, fetched a sponge from the sink, and mopped up the cocoa.

  “What is it then?” I asked. “It must be something serious for you to give up going to Buenos Aries.”

  “We’ll go. I’ve already talked to the airlines. Our tickets are good for a year.”

  “But what’s happening in Seattle?”

  He turned his face away. “Just some family stuff. I’ll handle it, and when I get back we’ll make new plans to go to B.A. Okay?”

  I looked at the half of his face I could see and felt my throat tighten. “Does it have anything to do with Suzy?”

  He spun around. “Suzy! What are you talking about?”

  “Isn’t she the one who used to be your girlfriend? I heard you speak her name when you were talking on the phone the other night. Before you went into the bedroom. And then you were upset, though you told me it was about work.”

  He turned his face away again, drumming his fingers on the counter, and didn’t answer.

  I laid my hand over his agitated fingers. “Zachary, look at me, please. What’s going on? You’ve never been evasive like this with me before. Please be straight with me.”

  “Okay. Okay.” He turned back to face me. His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched. “Remember when I went back last February to do some work in the
Seattle office?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I went dancing one night and Suzy was there. So we danced together and afterward we went up to her place. It wasn’t serious, just casual—for old time’s sake. Only now… she called me that night when you came over. She’s pregnant.”

  I stood up slowly, gripping the counter. A cold wind blew through me. In that moment, all the betrayals of my long life lined up behind this new betrayal, creating a howling abyss at the core of my being. My stomach twisted into an icy knot. I wanted to double over and retch, but I held myself straight. “You had sex with her? And then came back three days later—only three days later—and told me you wanted to marry me? How could you? Did you tell her about me?”

  “No.”

  “No. I guess not.” I spun away from the counter into the bedroom. My overnight bag sat on the bed. I grabbed my few personal belongings from the nightstand, my slippers from under the bed. Zachary was behind me. He caught my wrist.

  “Clara, it wasn’t anything.”

  I twisted my hand free and whirled into the bathroom, swept up my toothbrush, hairbrush, cosmetics, and stuffed them into my bag.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going home.”

  “Wait, we need to talk.”

  “I can’t.” I could hardly breathe. I rushed to the hallway, pulled my coat out of the closet. I lost my balance as I pulled on a boot. Zachary caught me.

  “Don’t go. It didn’t mean anything. You’re the one I love.”

  “Great way to show it.” I stamped my second boot on. “It didn’t mean anything? Just know it meant something to me. Like I can never trust you again.”

  I yanked the door open and ran out, down the metal stairs to the parking lot. Only then did I remember that Zachary had picked me up that night and my car was in the garage at home. I stood still a moment, lost. Zachary opened the door above and called, “Wait, Clara. I’ll give you a ride.”

  I couldn’t bear the thought of sitting beside him. I ducked behind a row of parked cars and took off at a run across the parking lot.