Through a Stranger's Eyes
Page 7
Chapter Seven
The plan for the day was to meet Breen after work for a quick meal at a local cafe, then take her to the car dealership to get her car; which she was dropping off in the morning. It’s an hour after lunch – Mexican – and I am in the seventh floor boardroom of a prospective subcontractor to listen to their very tedious concept presentation.
Looking out the window I see two men on bikes weaving their way through traffic. The traffic is heavy; an understatement. Between runners that cross major intersections with total disregard for the cars, trucks, and pedestrians, and the bicyclists that fly through red lights, it’s a zoo during this time of day. I should be paying attention to the meeting. Could blame it on a heavy lunch leading to 'after lunch brain wave deprivation', but it’s of course thoughts of Breen that are pulling my mind away from the large flat panel screen upon which theatrical PowerPoint graphics - replete with animated polar bears and sound effects that are supposed to enhance a meaningless presentation – are being successful in having a mind-numbing effect on the audience. The first couple of charts were somewhat amusing; if not very professional. However by chart fifteen the tide had turned against the presentation team.
Being amused for the afternoon is not the point of this exercise, I am supposed to be swayed to agree with their program and recommend that dollars be thrown at it. So I’m looking out the window thinking about Breen and trying to avoid a likely death by PowerPoint. That is until the resounding thud, a whole bunch of very loud OH SHIT!s, accompanied by the immediate sound of chairs scraping their way back from the table.
My mind snaps back to reality and I am looking at Dr. Philip Blazissisky lying slack against the boardroom table, his face obviously had made the thud sound, and from the look of his askew, smashed glasses Dr. B had not planned to fall asleep. The men who had been sitting on either side of Dr. B were now standing against the wall and, like the others in the room, with skin tones of chalk. Except for Trudy who, as I start to climb over the table to a sleeping (?) Dr. B, calmly gets up from her seat two spaces down and goes to him. She checks for a pulse and announces to the room, “The presentation is over;” then points to one of the comatose men, “Call 911 and tell them not to rush, unless one of you feels faint.” Some premonition there Dave!
With the rest of the attendees now sitting in the lobby – staring through the open door - it’s just Trudy and yours truly holding fort with the now former Dr. B. I would have left but she blocked the door, “No Dave, you get to stay with me.”
“Why me?”
“Because you owe me.”
“Trudy I owe you lunch, not staying in a room with a dead person.”
At least I won on leaving the door open. Trudy is 28, bright, has good common sense, and doesn’t take shit off of anyone. She has little patience with smart mouthed people; except me, because she thinks I’m funny for ‘an old guy.’ I think she’s a ‘wise ass youngster.’ We get along great. Others, they respect her business abilities and professionalism; but at least one ogling male has been swiftly told to back off.
Looking at the open boardroom door Trudy very politely asks for my suit coat.”
“My coat?”
“Yes Dave, your coat.”
“What for, it’s not like he needs to be treated for shock.”
“Just give me your coat. It would be nice to cover him so the gaggle of geese out there will stop staring. Besides, I think it’s the least you can do considering you invited him.”
“Why don’t you use your coat?”
“Dave, look!” And she opens her jacket to reveal a very classy, sheer blouse.
“Where you going after work?”
“Dinner with my husband. Now give me your coat.”
“You never wore clothes like that in college.”
“I did not have the money to buy nice clothes in college. Wait, how do you know what I wore in college?”
“I saw the video of you at a MTV Summer Break event.”
“I should say something unprofessional, but I’ll let your comment pass. DAVE, just give me your coat!”
I comply, but obviously not happy about it. Taking my coat, she covers up Dr. B then asks, “What is your problem?”
“I don’t like to pal around with dead people.”
“Neither do I Dave.”
Two hours later the paramedics, firemen, building security, department heads, and the police let us leave. Trudy is holding my coat and extends her arm for me to take it. I don’t want to touch the thing. “Will you take the coat, or do you want me to tell the world how Dave is afraid to sit next to a dead person?”
“Trudy I doubt anyone will side with you.” I reach out and take hold of the coat by thumb and forefinger.
We head for the elevator, me still holding the coat by thumb and forefinger at an arm’s length away from my body. Trudy smiles at me, “I’d laugh at you, but the group in there would think I was being irreverent of Dr. B.”
“I’m meeting my...”
“Your what?”
Trudy’s ears perked.
“My girlfriend,” there I said it, “for dinner, but seeing Dr. B like that has put a downer on things.”
“Thanks for staying with me.”
“You’re welcome, sorry about the remarks.”
“You would have stayed even if I hadn’t blocked the door...or at least stepped back in once you saw I was staying. What an afternoon. Dr. B has a sense of humor,” she realizes what tense she just used, “…had…No…has; because I’m sure he’s in heaven and was laughing at us arguing over the coat.” The elevator arrives and we ride it to the first floor in silence.
When I meet Breen in front of the café, the first thing she asks is, ‘Where’s your suit coat?”
I try to hide the mood I am in, but I come off sounding distant, “Had to drop it off at the cleaners near the office.”
In a very mommy voice, “Did little Davie spill something on it?”
A little too edgy, “No, Trudy got kuddies on it!”
Breen looks at me as if she was beginning to regret asking about the coat, but recognizes my comment was not directed at her. Concerned, “Is this something I should hear about before, or after dinner?” I explain the afternoon as we wait for our food.
Story and food finished, Breen says she can understand my mood and tells me to cheer up, “I’m sure the cleaners can get the kuddies out.”
“Why me?”
“These life episodes from the book of strange events, are they something I will have to become accustomed to hearing about, or do you expect me to participate?”
“My life is quite normal, thank you.”
She’s holding my hand, “Dave, I don’t spend my afternoons sitting with dead people, while chatting about clothes.”
“We were not chatting about clothes...I just wanted to know why Trudy felt I had to be the one to...forget it.”
“Okay,” 'but you need to as well'. She was right.
When we get to car dealership Breen tells me three times that I do not have to wait because she is sure the car is ready. I wait anyway and was rewarded by Breen – hat in hand – saying a wrong part arrived and the right one would not be in until morning. She asks if I want to go someplace. “Not tonight, I don’t think I will be great company.”
At her apartment complex Been tells me that she does not expect me to wine and dine her every minute of the day and “two people have to feel comfortable around each other even when one has a bad day.” I look into those emerald green eyes and place my hand on her cheek, slid my hand under her hair, then kiss her. She asks, “You feeling better?”
I nod, “outstanding medicine there lady.”
As she is closing the door to the apartment I call after her, “That kiss of yours proved my life is not ‘episodes from the book of strange events’.”
That night Breen’s concern about my life’s routine predictably filled my head with thoughts about how Bre
en’s presence in my life will change my life. Those thoughts were still there the following evening as we stood in line at the movies. Take for example Sundays. Along with maturity came my Sunday morning routine. Sunday mornings are my idyllic mornings. I wake up on ‘workday’ time regardless of the day of the week, thanks to years of practice getting out of bed before the sun, so I can join the millipede of cars making the long commute. So, on Sundays I put the early rising to good use. This is the day I can leisurely read the Sunday paper in the quiet morning solitude, nestled in the overstuffed chair by the window. I actually started the practice years ago at my first apartment, sitting by the window with fresh croissants, coffee, the paper, and the birds of spring singing their songs outside. OK, there were no song birds. My apartment was on the twelfth floor; maybe a pigeon or two on the ledge pecking at the window for handouts.
Now on Sundays I have several hours before I dress for church, signaling the start of the outside day. I should note that Saturday mornings are quite different; Saturday mornings are get up, take the dog out, eat, and take a nap, then starts the day of shopping and the errands of home ownership. My view of Sunday mornings is the epitome of the idyllic life. Even on the road I try to reserve Sunday mornings for quality time with my inner self, or as one friend puts it, 'inner self' is such a mature way to say 'lazy self'. So how Breen would fit into this routine was on my mind as we walked through the doors of the movies.
I am thinking to myself in ‘the perfect picture, pun intended’ slight chuckle, “Oh, nothing Breen, just thought of the last movie he was in;” good cover-up. ‘The perfect picture would be a soft kiss on her cheek, ummm, which cheek?’ another chuckle
“Dave if it’s that amusing why not tell the people you keep bumping into.”
“Sorry.”
‘A kiss to remind her I wanted her to be there next to me, then having made sure the covers were snug around her luscious body,’ “Oops, sorry,” as I bump into yet another person.
“Are you sure you’re not daydreaming?”
“No, when do I ever daydream.” Where was I, right, ‘kiss, snug the covers.’ So simple a wish.
But as I settled into my seat I could not help but wonder if that dream about leaving her side to seek solitude in the roll of the tide against the beach was important. Maybe the tide, ever present, persistent movement against the sands, was like time eating away at what years remained for us to share. This is why I hate movie dates; too much time to daydream; specially after having sat next to a dead man, a reminder that age has a way of catching up.
Seated, with the lights lowering and the commercial blaring (why so loud all the time), I almost slip-up by putting my arm across her shoulders; that’s a no-no. At least I remember some of the things Breen did not like. But she does place her hand over mine and gives it a little squeeze. We watched the movie, or at least I pretended I was paying attention, because I was thinking about how to approach the subject of formalizing our relationship; not engagement or ‘move in with me,’ but let’s stop pretending you and I are not an ‘item.’ Neither Breen nor I had broached the subject of ‘is there someone else in your life I am competing against.’ The five days for instance, why?
“Dave the movie is over,” oops, thankfully a not too disappointed nudge from Breen, “enjoy your …well if was not a daydream, since ‘I don’t daydream,’ I guess it was rapt attention to the movie…but, then I’m not going to press my luck asking if you enjoyed the movie, am I?”
“I watched the movie, you can quiz me. Take for instance the scene where the guy in the suit…”
“Give me a break, at least say something like, I was dreaming of you.”
“I was.”
“Tisk, tisk, you’re a fool Dave, but a nice one.”
As we walked to the car Breen held my hand; the thin veneer of caution was broken through that night at the mall. Ours arms had a slight swing to them as we walked; not as pronounced as the two high schoolers in front of us, but a happy swing none the less. Once in the car, I leaned over and ran my hand across her cheek, then I kissed her. As I started to move away Breen used her hand to stop me, it was resting on the back of my neck. She played with my hair and studied my face, “Why are you scared to kiss me?"
“I’m still not sure if you want me to. Is that a dumb thing to say?”
“It’s my fault. Before, it seemed as if all you ever wanted to do was kiss me, and I felt that sex was the whole relationship. Guess you’ve became gun shy?”
“Breen, do you know I love saying your name?” She starts to say something, then just smiles at me and nods yes. I take my time, keep check on my voice so Breen can take in each word, “I love to say your name, even in my dreams, because it is the total you, all that I love about you. I will never lie to you about the sexual desire. I’m sorry if I was not able to express how I felt, feel about you, the total you; the Breen that makes me happy to be alive.”
“We have a lot of getting used to, don’t we?”
“Yep. Work with me, OK?”
In an up-beat mood, “To a point, if I let you feel comfortable kissing me any time you feel like it, I’ll lose bargaining chips!”
Later, while stopped at a red light, Breen used the visor mirror and light to make a grand show of checking for lipstick smears. “You’re not wearing lipstick.”
“Just checking to see if you were, and left some on me when we kissed.”
“Cute.”
“I know I am. Pull over.”
I did, into the parking lot of a dance studio. Breen looked at the studio’s sign, “did you ever learn to dance?”
“No.”
“Would you learn for me? Learn so you can waltz me off my feet?”
“I’ll try.”
“Good answer; that was a test. I did not want a ‘yes’ because maybe you do have some predisposition towards two left feet. I don’t want you to appease me or humor me, just be honest with me. OK?”
“I want the same, OK?”
I saw her hand go towards the seatbelt release, but it did not register fast enough, “Well I think we made it through the OKs, now it’s lip-lock time!” She moved fast, I was caught off balance, but survived. When she let me up for air, “not bad Dave, with practice you could be pretty good at lip-locking.” This is that moment you tilt your head down, scrounge you lips to the side and concentrate on what just took place and what you’re supposed to say in response to a barb coming after a good lip-lock on your part considering she caught you by surprise.
Breen kind of saves me, “Don’t say anything, just drive. Hate for you to spoil the moment with an analogy; probably on guppies or African kisser fish.”
“African kisser fish?”
“Just made that up.”
“Thanks.”
“For explaining the African kisser fish?”
“No, for being here with me.”
“This is why you need to take dance lessons, it takes two to tango.” She laughed at her joke, and I laughed at how wonderfully absurd this night was becoming.
A few minutes later Breen points to a diner, “Let’s stop, I need some ice cream to keep my lips cool in case I want to kiss you again.”
As we walk to our seats, “I’ll get another chance?”
“I said in case ‘I’ want to kiss you again.”
“Breen, this is supposed to be a two-way relationship, remember.”
“Of course, but I am not going to make it easy for you,” as she poked me in the side and slid into the booth.
“Glad you like ice cream, I cannot imagine what these midnight forays would be like if you were into pork rinds.”
While love has its serious side, there should always be room for a scoop of mint chocolate chip.
We arrived back at her apartment late, with not much time for more than walking her to the door, an enjoyable hug, kiss, and ‘sweet dreams’ goodnight. And, as I sat in the car, not yet turning the key, my mind starte
d to think again. ‘Again’ was not what I expected; I remembered the five days and ‘again’ was a nagging feeling that Breen was not telling me something. Strange, how the best of times can lead to your worst thoughts. My worst thought was the unknown, and the more I thought about the unknown the more tonight’s events became a ‘why for.’
My thoughts should not have been warranted; nevertheless, they had everything to do with Breen’s flight of passion in the car, her desire to dance with me, her very happiness being with me. It was something I felt in her kiss good night. Something was not right and Breen was trying to work it out. We had – or at least I believed we had – crossed over the bridge of ‘holding back’ our feelings. So why was Breen being evasive? I started the engine, and glad that you could not see or hear the car from Breen’s apartment; at least she did not see me hesitate leaving the parking lot. An uneasiness followed me all the way back to my place, and it hung around for the remainder of the night.
I wrote some prose before finally falling asleep. The words were about winter and the changes the fall brings as winter takes hold of the land. Serious words. I had not penned such lines for ages. Metaphors of life, of love, of my feelings. In the morning I saw the day would be a bright one, the sun had jumped into the sky and left nothing of the night lingering around. The paper I had written on was still on the bed, slightly rumpled from being rolled on. The rumpledness seemed to add character to the words, like age lines on the wood of the bar and tables at a bar in Heidelberg. Boy, minds can take dramatic leaps in time and place.
What had I accomplished all these years? Who was I really; just as Breen asked that night she wanted me to do something ‘good angry.’ Was there someone in her life? Maybe what was nagging me had been there all along, just I was so wrapped up in needing her I was desensitized. It was the kiss good night. Her lip quivered and it was not my imagination. You work so hard to feel the other person, to open your every nerve ending to feel her vibrations, only to overload your brain with data. Damn, why do I need to answer, to even ask such questions? Why can’t I leave well enough alone and enjoy the ride into the sunset? Because I was already into the sunset; I had already been there, done that and rode off without her beside me.
A fairytale…all this is but a fairytale and fairytale is the only metaphor that fits; knowing full well that fairytales are not real. I made a decision, not a snap decision, but one that had been lingering around in the back of my head ever since she agreed to see me again: I would ask her any question I wanted an answer to, regardless of how dangerous asking might be to keeping her in my life this second time. Later in the day I called Breen and suggested we spend Saturday at the park.
However, before I could meet Breen at the park I had to make a quick trip to New York City for an early morning meeting. I went up the afternoon before by train. Taking the train is a great experience, and far more relaxing than flying. The view from the train is an optical exercise in extremes; countryside foliage and harsh urbane blight. The tracks once laid in vibrant manufacturing areas and behind working class neighborhoods, now reside in wastelands of rusted metal and aged bricks. But the view from the train’s window affords a truthful look; the naked truth of what our city fathers hide from investors, from the tourist magazines, and from themselves.
I spent the late afternoon and evening walking the streets of mid-town. The sights and sounds of the City are so dramatically different from the areas I work and live in. Thus, for me New York has a refreshingly unique personality. It’s as if each of the defined sections, such as the Village or China Town, is but a tablecloth upon which a magnificent dinner is placed. It is as if each area accepts everything that is placed within; not stripping away the identity of these individual entities, but weaving them into the tapestry spread out before you.
All is odd in New York, thus no one entity stands out for very long. The rounding of a corner can bring to light a micro dot of total misplacement, a relic of the past wedged between ultra-modern shops and restaurants of ‘progress.’ Or it can raise the curtain on a montage of human existence: two Orthodox Jews – with their large black brimmed hats and black coats in contrast to the noonday heat - walking past the tourist bedecked steps of St. Patrick’s Cathedral turn their heads to look at two blond haired Scandinavian girls - dressed as rodents for an advertising promotion - yelling at a Pakistani taxi driver who, claiming to not understand their version of English, is explaining - high pitched, at a feverish pace - to a policeman why he ran over their Mouse Cart, while four Chinese tourists - wearing I love New York t-shirts and carrying bags from an East European deli - are taking pictures of the hundreds of Wisconsin cheese pamphlets now littering the sidewalk. Nothing is odd when everything is unique; this is New York City.
In the morning I am late leaving the hotel. No worry because I had stayed at a hotel at 52nd Street and Third Avenue and I only needed to walk to 49th and Park; two streets down and two over. It’s raining the misty kind of rain that makes umbrellas useless because it swirls around you, slipping inside your clothes and disposition. Knowing where I am going I just walk amongst the crowd on the sidewalk, thinking about some of the stores I had visited the previous day. My mind drifts back to the time I came to the City for Donna’s graduation from law school. I had arrived two days early so I could do some shopping and buy the graduation gift she was to pick out. That was the deal, Donna picked out a gift – within reason – so I would not do the “typical man stupid thing of buying something dumb;” so much for her trust in men. When I reached my hotel there was a note from Donna, I was to go to 653 Fifth Avenue and see a specific salesman.
I should have remembered that Donna’s definition of ‘within reason’ was not the same as mine. The next morning I discover 653 Fifth Avenue is Cartier. The gentleman I was directed to meet was very pleasant and smiling (read ‘warning sign’ Dave). “The young lady has exquisite taste,” danger, danger, danger! With that he proceeds to take a velvet box out of a drawer behind the display case, and I was almost blinded when he opened the box to light. Yes, Donna has exquisite taste, and thankfully the sight of a pair of $14,000 diamond earrings rendered me speechless.
“Something wrong sir?”
Yep, Donna has exquisite taste, “No, I was just wondering if more than one Donna could have stopped in. But why ask, because I am sure she is somewhere nearby.”
He smiles and says, “not sure, but she said you would have the most amusing wordless stare.”
“Thanks, she got me par Donna,” as I signaled with my hand - hidden from view by my body – for him not to pay attention, in a louder voice, “well thank you, but I think I’ll pass on the gift.”
I turn to fake leaving and Donna does the 100 meter dash from her hiding spot behind some other shoppers in Olympic record time; blocking my exit, and pointing to different velvet box the salesman now has in his hand. The nice salesman opens the second box to display gold and emerald earrings that were $12,950 more ‘reasonable.’ “I’ll wear them as soon as the gentleman pays you. Is that OK Dave?” in the sweetest voice she has ever used around me.
Donna is Cartier, she is Fifth Avenue, and she looked great in the earrings at graduation. Abrupt end to daydreaming because I looked up and I was at 56th and First; obviously I was going to be late for my meeting. Nevertheless, I had a nice trip, even if it was too short.
It’s Saturday morning and Breen and I are sitting on a bench feeding breadcrumbs to the pigeons. I ask her if she would like to do something different the next weekend, “I know, let’s visit your aunt Margaret.”
Hesitation, “Na, you would not enjoy going there.”
“Sure I would. Sounds like a great idea. When’s the last time you visited your aunt; I’m sure she would be happy to see you. Look, we intended to spend next weekend doing nothing so important that it would be terrible if we changed plans. AND, I am not asking you to SPEND a weekend with me. Where do you stay when you visit?”
Not giving her a chance to protest, “Good. You stay there and I will get a room in the area. If for some reason you can’t stay at your aunt’s, I’ll get you a room at a different motel. I’ll be your chauffeur, friend, nothing more. I’ll pay for the gas, the motel rooms…”
She cut me off, “Let’s walk;” a statement of need. As we rose from the bench, Breen laced her left arm around my right arm and took hold of the arm with her right hand. We walked along the path towards the play area, Breen lost in thought and I giving her room to think. Just as we reached the swings, a small rabbit appeared at the wood line, stopped at our sight, nose twitching, big brown eyes watching us. “He’s with me,” and to emphasize this Breen kissed my cheek. She laughed as the rabbit gave a shrug and bounded off back into the woods. “Going to my aunt’s is not a good idea; at least not right now.”
Breen moves us to the merry-go-round, and we sit; she still holds my arm and rests her head on my shoulder. “Dave…when I closed the book on our relationship, on my past mistakes, it was my aunt who I turned to. She was the one person I could lay out my heart to; you were the subject. No, don’t jump to any conclusions; I did not have the same loving feelings for you that you had for me. I did care for you. Otherwise I would not have spent three years of my life sharing time with you. But, oh gee…OK, after I said good riddance to you, that’s what it was, no use hiding the fact, I had a few boyfriends. Then I met Ken on a visit to my aunt’s. He was the son of her friend from church. Ken was the perfect husband; all the things you read about in Cosmo or Elle, all the things you wish for on a shooting star. When Ken died it was not a sudden event, we knew it was inevitable, we spent our time together joyfully and meaningfully.” I sensed the tears, the pain, anguish, longing, she tried to hide from me. But silently I prayed that this had not happened, silently praying that I could hear with my heart.
“About two years ago I started dating Dave again; an old neighbor of my aunt’s. He’s a great guy, thinks the world of me, anything for me, no questions asked.” I sensed a shift in tone, “We had good times together, but not the kind of relationship he wants. I have never given him reason to think it was a possibility, not even a real kiss. Ken…and you, in different ways gave me ‘counsel,’ but Dave and I just have fun together.”
In a serious, but more relaxed tenor, “Dave, you this time, Dave, the other one, is past tense. Boy, this could get confusing. When I moved here he waited patiently for each visit to my aunt’s. That’s when I realized the absurdity of continuing our relationship. I wanted permanency as he did, but not with him. Am I sounding cold?”
“No.”
She had drawn her legs up and was now hugging them, still with her arm looped through mine. I used my feet to slowly move the merry-go-round. “I don’t want to sound cold or ungrateful. Dave is too nice, too trying to please. Guess that’s why I asked you to do something ‘good angry’.”
In a more serious tone, “I did not just happen to bump into you.” She looks for reaction in my face. I want to say ‘dah,’ but thankfully keep my mouth shut. “Hummm, guess you are not surprised after all. Sooooo,” in a rush of words, “I Googled your name found your work info, read your bio, no mention of a wife, and plotted to run into you.” Pause, then jokingly, “Actually you should be grateful I did not do this years ago, because I may have actually run into you.” She had apparently gotten past the ‘how is he going to take this’ and was now setting me up for the punch line. “Dave is still back at the ranch. He does not know you by name, just there’s a ‘you’.” Hard period, sentence ended, facts dispensed, now the wait for my reaction.
"What about your aunt?”
“Why did you bring her up in the first place?”
“You answer first.”
“She does not know. But I am sure woman’s intuition and my mood change has given her reason to suspect someone other than Dave is in my life; if she has not already been cried to by Dave. Now your turn!”
“OK, this whole…whatever it was seemed like a fairytale and fairy tales are not real. I believe that God answers our prayers, but I was not ready to simply, blindly accept you back in my life because of some coincidence.”
“Nice to know you wanted me there,” she moves and is now sitting halfway on my lap, arms around my waist, head resting on my shoulder. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Sure, and your change of position isn’t meant to sway my opinion...it's working.”
“I know,” kiss on the lips.
“Anyway! It was the five days. At first I thought it was someone in the area. No, you said you were going somewhere. Your aunt’s was a lucky guess. I just happened to bring it up because you did, and I figured you may have kind of Freudian slipped when you did.”
“So you ambushed me…I deserved it”
“Yep, like you ambushed me that day at the coffee shop. Breen, I had already realized neither of us had brought up the subject of someone else. For me there’s no one special.”
“Would you have volunteered the info?”
“Not right away; but yes, once you and I became more than just two old friends. What now?”
“I’ve told Dave that I had met someone, a friend from the past, and we were an ‘item’”
“In those words?”
“Noooo. I was very nice. But nice does not ease a broken heart…nor does nasty, does it.”
“So we’re an ‘item’?”
“I want us to be if you do. I would have liked to tell Dave, the other one…guess it was obvious who I was referring to, uh…I would have liked to have quoted him a line from a Patty Loveless song. He wants 'the girl next door'. What you were 'looking for is the one the middle'. I have always known that. I am …no, I want to be for you the perfectness you need in your life. I knew that the moment I saw you at the coffee shop. All the questions I had, the doubts seemed to melt away. I did get cold feet Dave, I needed to get away and think…that was not a fib. I just did not tell you I was going to my aunt’s house…guess I forgot about the other Dave, too.”
“You’re right. Nevertheless, I pronounce us officially an ‘item.’ And if you squeeze me any harder you’ll crack a rib.”
She holds on to me and I know this is the real Breen holding on. The tests, the forcing me to take action and work for our relationship, were all defensive measures. I was not sure how far ‘item’ implied the relationship would go. But, I was sure about Breen needing to feel secure in the knowledge that I was safe ground upon which to build a relationship. I also knew that I had to have answers to many of the same questions about her. Regardless of how my heart cried out, I was not going to be blinded by love.
Once I had thought I could never live without her. Then I learned I could. Now? To maintain objectivity I had to fight pure desire. Even if Breen’s actions were not meant to be seducing in the entrapment sense of the word, her very presence was seducing. Years ago when we had first met she was a desire I could not touch. Then she became the euphoria of my life. I tasted her presence like an addict. Followed by the withdrawal pains of separation. Later when love turned against me, as I questioned my divorce, her memory was the drug to whether the bad times. But what of today? I did not want to be the love sick fool, nor did I want to lose this second chance I was being offered.
“Dave...referring to you from now on, unless I have to mention the other Dave, will you tell me about all of the women you have known?”
“Probably not, but maybe one or two just to keep you honest. Ouch, my ribs!”
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