Through a Stranger's Eyes

by Steven S Walsky

  Chapter Sixteen

  So on Sunday it was off to church as a group; not a ‘family,’ but not ‘family and guest.’ Oh, when the two returned from their visit with Ken’s mom and shopping I was promoted, or maybe demoted, from guest, as I was given the task of potato washer/peeler; almost to ‘family.’ Aunt Margaret drove a ten year old gray Buick sedan; the last car she intended to buy, thankfully. She had insisted she drive to church Sunday morning. A tradition, a need to remain independent, and a means to show she approved of me. I learned very quickly that impressions were important in this area of the country; which was small town, traditional, conservative values. Yes, we were on our way to meet the rest of the women, as Breen and Uncle Steff referred to them.

  We picked up Ken’s mother on the way. I got out of the car, was introduced, and was warmly received; everything was fine, just as Breen had said. I felt happy for Breen, knowing she could now relax; and told her so later that day. I was in front and Breen, Ken’s mother and Uncle Steff were in the back. When we had got in the car at the house Uncle Steff commented that at Breen’s age she did not need a chaperone.

  Aunt Margaret drove the Buick as if she were driving a tank; you did not want to have your Vette parked anywhere nearby. Also, braking was STOP; seems she had forgotten the process of slowing down. Stopping like this cannot help but draw attention to yourself. Heads turned, but I am sure it was more than Aunt Margaret’s slam on the brakes stop, which she likely did every Sunday. No they turned because of who would exit the car. This would be something to talk about for at least the next few months.

  I could have kissed Ken’s mom, she got out, immediately took my arm and led me over to one of the women and introduced me as Breen’s boyfriend. This was not planned, taking Breen, Aunt Margaret, and Uncle Steff totally by surprise. All was well and I felt even Aunt Margaret looked more relaxed. When we got back at the house I overheard Uncle Steff tell her that she had “...worried for nothing. Women!”

  During arrival introductions, during the church service, and during the social minutes that followed Dave, the other one, was part of the shadows trying to blend in like lavender wallpaper. I paid no attention to him, and Breen bless her Christian heart, did try to say hello. But Dave would have nothing to do with us; he just visibly sulked like a child whose parents won’t give him money for the ice cream man. Did I care? Yes and no. I felt bad for him, but I was not going to lose sleep over it. During the service Dave would steal a glance, OK stare, out of the corner of his eye, and his mouth was set like someone forgot the sugar for the lemonade. Jealousy, anger, and unwarranted feelings of betrayal. Uncle Steff had echoed Breen’s comments that Breen befriended Dave and had never given him reason to feel there was, or could be, anything more than what there was. I felt no jealousy towards Dave, nor towards anyone else for that matter, because either Breen and I were an ‘item,’ or never would be. I trusted her to respect my feelings since that was the only way she would trust me with hers.

  The women all said goodbye to me no differently than Breen’s family; I am not making believe they accepted me completely, because I am sure some held out hope for Dave and others felt widowship should be a lifelong avocation. On Saturday Uncle Steff had commented that should he ever die he would like Aunt Margaret to find another husband, a comment that was just made and totally out of context for what we were talking about; hear it and move on. Nevertheless, its value was not missed on my behalf. That weekend I learned a lot about Uncle Steff, Aunt Margaret, Ken’s mom, strong family ties, and the meaning of ‘tisk, tisk.’

  Not more to tell about Sunday, until seven that night. Breen and I were at the local, small town, no mint chocolate chip, nice family ice cream place, not even really talking, just letting the nervousness of the weekend pass, relaxing before our road trip in the morning. Who should walk in, the other Dave with one of the ladies I had seen at church. Obviously Dave wanted to say something. His expression left no doubt he was checking me out, and not a friendly checking. Now he was probably kicking himself for this opportunity of seeing Breen away from her aunt. Not only was I with Breen, but a woman was with him. I had the impression Dave would have quickly forgotten he was with someone if I was not there. Tough luck Dave.

  Breen said hello, the woman said hello, Dave said a mumbled hello, and me, I said hello. We ignored Dave’s stares as we at our ice cream and when it was time to leave Breen said goodbye to the two as we walked to the door.

  That night Donna’s Sleeping Beauty remark was still haunting my brain. I was not going to call Donna back and spoil her mood by unburdening myself of any last ‘pastnesses.’ But falling asleep that night was difficult as my thoughts kept going back to the day Breen closed the door on my life.

  So who was the Dave who Breen sent packing so many years ago, never to be heard from again? Not that my life was in any great shape, not that I would instantly grow up, become responsible, stop treating women as objects of fleeting attention, stop the partying, stop the daydreaming of what I wanted to be and accept responsibility. No, my life did not instantly change. As for my moving on to a lasting relationship with a woman, I recognized I needed to mature. My surrender to Breen’s charms was pathetic; but my selfishness of need was, to me, disgusting. I had to learn to pick myself up off the floor and put her memory behind me. I had to stop sitting alone amongst the crowd, crying in my beer. I had to forget her and stop using the hurt as an excuse for my actions.

  I may have been harsh on myself, but the harshness resulted in maturity. The process was slow. In the subsequent days, then months I dissected and analyzed my life, trying to find the answer. Oddly, inspiration arrives in the most improbable wrapping. For me inspiration arrived while watching Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I fell for Teri Garr as she stood in the kitchen while her world started to spin out of control. How could her husband, Richard Dreyfuss’ character, ever think of leaving HER to follow some spacecraft.

  Like all of us, I never expect to live a ‘movie’ life or be the perfect person described in love stories. I needed to be at peace with myself, peace by accepting who I was physically and mentally. Accept my physical imperfections, see my gifts, and put aside daydreams of walking into that kitchen, punching out Richard Dreyfuss and living happily ever after with Teri Garr. Be real! Daydream of winning the lottery instead, you have a far greater chance. I opened my eyes to reality.

  Then my acquaintance Jackie opened my eyes to what the Pub was for me, a crutch. I recognized that if I really wanted to get over Breen, to change as a person I had to throw down the crutch and learn to walk on my own. I left the Pub on Trinity Street; I left the people there - they did nothing for my life but feed my self-pity – and I moved on with my life.

  Pictures I had taken of Breen eventually became just one more photograph in my past, the album sitting unopened. Her letters became mere souvenirs, as did the items she had given me, now left in a box. Life goes on, we move on and the physical things associated with the emotional memories, also become memories, some to revisit, but some only by chance. One day you meet someone else and that person deserves your full attention, you close the book on a chapter of your life. You recognize a journey has ended and a new one has begun.

  Which brings us back to fairy tales. The true facts surrounding my first days with Breen had become distorted. I wanted to understand, and in the process of the self-analysis, the facts became distorted. As the years passed, the distorted facts became more fiction than fact. Fiction became fact. And one day, when faced with an uncomfortable life, I reached back into the corner of my mind for those old memories. The fiction was far more pleasant than the underlying facts. I had to recognize it takes two to fail a relationship and images of the past became the honey to sweeten the medicine.

  In the morning, having checked out of the motel, I drive over to pick up Breen and to say goodbye to Aunt Margaret and Uncle Steff, who made believe he was going to stuff the d
ogs into the trunk of my car while Aunt Margaret fed me another slice of cake. As I am carrying Breen’s suitcase to the car, this old Ford comes into view and slows down as it passes the driveway for a long look. “Don’t do something rash Dave,” its Uncle Steff whispering from behind me.

  “No way, if I did Aunt Margaret would cut off my ration of cake and pies.” But I had to do something, so I walk down to the end of the driveway and checked the mailbox. Of course it was empty, because it was too early for the mail.

  “It’s too early for the mail,” a dry voice emanates from the Ford. “Yep, too early,” and I walk over and place my hands on the bottom of the window frame, “too early for the mail, and since I just had some really delicious cake that Aunt Margaret made fresh just for me, I guess there’s no point wasting my time asking if you want to go somewhere and talk over coffee. I’m willing to pay the bill, Dave!”

  Dave was small town and city sarcasm went over his head; but the calm, measured tone of my comment got the message across. If Dave was going to say something, he thought better of it, placed the Ford in gear and drove off.

  When I got back to the porch Uncle Steff asked me what I said. When I told him, Uncle Steff asked if I would have ‘paid’ for the coffee.

  “For Breen I would pay for a lot more than coffee.”

  “I better check on the dogs, you may not have been joking about picking up their tab and I would be the one stuck explaining their disappearance,” laughing on his way inside the house.

  “What’s so funny,” Breen asking as she passed Uncle Steff.

  “You know, man stuff, have to check on the dogs.”

  Final goodbyes said, we head back to the city.

  As we drove back Breen was deep in thought, so I used the opportunity to think about the visit and what the weekend would really mean tomorrow morning. My mind drifted along the street of memories as the car drifted down the highway.

  We traveled back from Breen’s aunt’s house in relative silence, Breen lost in thought. Outside the earth still was rotating, the grass and flowers still swayed in the breeze, and I am sure raindrops were falling somewhere. But in the car it was as if time was unimportant as Breen contemplated what was on her mind. We stopped for lunch and I doubt Breen remembers what she ate.

  As we neared home, where the highway parallels a river, Breen wanted to stop at the same scenic overlook we stopped at on the way up. She asked me to wait by the car and started to walk along the waist-high wall at the edge of the overlook. Breen stopped about thirty feet away and stood looking out towards the river valley. I leaned against the car and forced myself to look away from her, not wanting to bother her.

  The sky was an expanse of blue that defied the word blue as we know it. It was a blue of everlasting depth and exhilarating warmth of the soul. The few clouds only added to the magnificence and gave height to the heavens.

  Restless standing by the car, I had moved to the wall. I felt Breen move next to me and we silently stood there looking at the river below with no expectations, just allowing the restfulness of its flow to carry away the last vestments of trepidation. The scenic splendor around us echoed the joy of our hearts. I had never felt this way before. As I contemplated what words of ode I would sing of the treasure that now stood beside me, a hawk moved on the air currents to my left. My thoughts stopped, I watched, I just followed the bird’s movement as it searched for something my human eyes would never see.

  ‘Human eyes would never see,’ how prophetic. What had I missed? What had I not seen? Words of love and devotion splintered and my mind was suddenly filled with a single question I had failed to ask, yet this last piece of the puzzle had lingered in the recesses of my heart. My promise to myself was to ask what had to be addressed and chance losing Breen, or fear losing her by not asking.

  Placing my arm around her waist and lowering my head to emphasize my seriousness, “Breen, why did you come back?”

  “Curiosity…mixed with needing to touch my past.”

  “Thank you for being honest. Why did you ever let me be part of your past? Our first time together, our trip, it was a complete failure on my part. You even told me that you did not enjoy the experience, nor the next. But there was a next, why?”

  “I needed someone and I am not ashamed to admit it. You were that someone for as long as there was no one else. I am truly sorry.” She laid her head on my shoulder.

  As soft and needing as I could invoke in words, “what about now? Are you looking again?”

  “I deserve that. At first, before I saw you. Then, I don’t know how to explain what happened…Dave, please don’t judge me for crossing mountains.” She lifted her head and looked into my eyes, calling out to me.

  Another reference to a Patty Loveless song; When Fallen Angels Fly. I wondered if she knew I had worn out that CD. “Yeah, 'we’ve both been wrong and right'. We have both loved someone else and that should not be changed.”

  Her head once more against my shoulder, I knew our relationship had grown stronger. She was comfortable, secure. It was a sense of security being with me; my being a part of her life.

  Breen said nothing for a while, just resting her head on my shoulder, then “It was selfish of me to think about using you. I saw you a couple of weeks before I spoke to you. My insides took a jolt I never expected to feel. It was as if I had somehow crossed back in time. The worst part was realizing seeing you made me happy. How could I do that to Ken? Sure he wanted me to find someone new, to carry on with life, but words are so much easier than reality. I was ashamed that my heart fluttered and I was ashamed that all these years I had thought I had no feelings for you. Please, don’t say anything, not yet. You tell me how much you pined for me, how much you ached at the thought of never seeing me again. Me, I convinced myself that I never wanted to see you again, and I found true love, so it was easy to do that. What do we do now?”

  “I’m not in competition with his memory, can’t be.”

  “I know. I don’t want you to be. I want us to have a chance no matter how complicated and confusing this whole thing is. Dave, I know you love me. I saw it in your eyes that very first moment years ago when you held your silence, even if you tried to keep it a secret. I saw it when we were together, but I convinced myself to disregard it. I saw it again when you turned to look at me in the coffee place…I just need to find a way to show you how much I love you…I’m not sure you want me to, or can trust me.”

  “You just said you loved me. Tell me again.”

  “I love you,” sealed with a kiss. “Hold me.”

  I did, and when my arms wrapped around her she asked me to hold her tighter. For what seemed like an eternity she was content to press against me. Then she buried her face in my chest and started to cry. They were personal tears and I knew the reason, I felt like the lowest person on earth. But I held her as tight as I could. When she stopped crying she looked up at me and placed her fingers over my mouth to keep me from speaking, “For two people who have traveled life’s journey we still have a lot to learn about love, don’t we?”

  “Yep."

  "But the important thing is that we have always loved each other. Just, our lives had to take different roads, different journeys. What matters is we have found each other again.”

  “Breen, do you want me?"

  “Yes, I want you. Let’s give ourselves the chance to travel together. You told me the difference between need and want. I took that as your way of telling me how it had to be between us…not half way, not just for today, but for always. That’s what I needed to answer when we went to Aunt’s house. It was not about giving my body to you again, that would simply be sex. It was ‘wanting to give you me, Breen the person, because I get you in return.” She kissed me as if it was the first time we had ever kissed and I felt the desire; the doors opening to her, no longer guarded, no longer afraid to accept my entry. As our lips parted she asked “What about you?”
r />   I answered by taking her deeper in my arms and kissing her…letting the world revolve in my love for her.

  Two weeks later I was walking through the door when I heard Breen leaving a message on the phone answering machine “...call me when you get back.” I had just enough time to stop the recorder and tell Breen I was on the line. “Took Dog for a walk. You’re calling early?” It was seven in the morning.

  “Remember when we stopped for dinner coming back from my Aunt’s and you said you missed French bread?”

  “Even though you say I’m getting old, since it was only a month ago I still remember stopping.”

  “Very funny. I know a place that makes great croissants and I thought I would pick up some and come over about 8:30. You game?”

  “Never turn down a beautiful woman; specially one that feeds me.”

  “Good, see yah about 8:30.”

  Placing the phone in its cradle I told Dog he just got a pass, because the bath he knew was next on the list of things to do was now out of the question. Dog took advantage of the situation by barking his let’s play bark at me. “Ok, we’ll play slobber toy,” and Dog made a beeline into the dining room to find an appropriate squeaky toy.

  The game is quite simple to play. I throw the toy, Dog brings it back, I have to wrestle the toy away from him, and throw it again. The task of removing the toy from his between gripping teeth becomes more difficult as the toy takes on the descriptive game title. So we played slobber toy, with me sitting on the living room floor, and Dog charging after the toy as it sails across the air into the dining room.

  Finally Dog tires and plops down on the floor next to me. “You know Dog, she is definitely not going to like it when you try to get her to play this game by pushing a wet toy against her leg.” Dog just looks up at me as if I was talking to the moon. “Don’t act like you have no clue,” I reach out and scratch him behind the ear; Dog puts his head in my lap. The two of us sit there. Dog enjoying the attention, and me thinking.

  I looked over at the sofa and pictured in my mind Breen and I sitting on it the Sunday following our return from her Aunt’s. It was just a lazy Sunday afternoon. I was reading when Breen had finished using my computer and came into the living room, sitting down next to me. For a while – with her back against my side - she looked at a magazine. I felt her voice before she spoke, “Close the book and look at me,” her hand now rested on mine, “the words will still be on the page when you reopen it.” Breen waited silently while I closed the book – paged marked with a coupon for toothpaste – then placed the book on the end table.

  She reached for my hand again, “Now open your eyes and look at me.”

  “I see you even with my eyes closed.”

  “I know, but I need for you to sometimes let me touch your dreams, not just your heart.”

  “You are my dreams.”

  “And you mine.”

  “Then why...”

  “Unvoiced dreams can become weights on the heart.” Breen rested her head on my shoulder and I looked at her.

  Back to the reality of the day. Breen arrived five minutes late, but I forgave her because she was right, the strawberry and cream cheese croissants were fantastic; still warm, melt in your mouth fantastic. “I could get accustomed to this.”

  “Me being here, or the croissants?”

  “Have to think about that,” as I reached across the table to wipe a piece of croissant from the corner of Breen’s mouth. She playfully nipped at my finger. “Breen didn’t anyone teach you not to bite the hand that feeds you?”

  “Excuse me, I brought the food remember.”

  “That’s right; it’s just age, I forgot. I brought something.”

  “What?”

  “A little something for you; that is if you want it,” and I pulled out of my pocket a small Blue Box from Tiffany. When I opened the box, and Breen saw the channel-set, full circle band of baguette diamonds she covered her mouth with both hands and stopped breathing. I reached out and took her right hand and started to slip on the ring, but Breen stopped me.

  “Not my right hand.” She exchanged her wedding rings from left to right; then held out her left hand.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “I thought about this a lot Dave. When I told you I wanted you, I meant totally, not half way. Just the fact that you were willing to let me wear my rings tells me...thank you for wanting me.”

  With the ring now on her finger, Breen, dazed, kept holding it up to the light watching it sparkle. I interrupted her trance, “Like your eyes Breen.”

  “My eyes?”

  “The ring sparkles like your eyes when you look at me.”

  She got up and gave me a long passionate kiss.

  Back in her seat, “Where’s Dog?”

  “In the run, probably sleeping and dreaming of squirrels.”

  Breen was looking out the kitchen window.

  Somewhere in the yard beyond a dove softly cooed a song. Breen closed her eyes in concentration. A sudden shift of her body; I watched as her mouth reset itself with a tone of seriousness. Then, as if the moment was taken over by a desire to set some record straight, Breen turned towards me and asked in a voice that spoke of ten thousand love stories, “Do you want to dance?”

  No music was necessary to dance the dance she had in mind. She did not even wait for a verbal response, but reacted to my rising from my chair. And when my arms enfolded her, when my lips sought out her own, she melted into my existence and I into hers.

  We danced that afternoon and into the night. We shared an inner music that ushered in morning’s light. Now sitting on the living room floor, her back against my chest, my legs hugging hers, we watched the shadow play on the wall as the sun was born between the branches of the dogwood tree in the front yard. Breen took my arms and pulled them closer around her waist and whispered, “love can never come too late.” I drew her closer and kissed her neck.

  Want is shown in the silence of a kiss.

  —////—

  Through a Stranger's Eyes is a work of fiction (2005), and poems Wooden Ships (1967), My Only Wish (1977), Close Your Eyes and Trust Me (1977), and I remember Yesterdays (1977) are all copyrighted by Steven S. Walsky, all rights reserved.

  My Blog: Simplicitylane.Wordpress.com