10 May 2006

Everything in my life is going well until today.

It’s a Wednesday night around 10 p.m. R. has just gone upstairs to bed about ten minutes ago, and I have just finished straightening up the kitchen and am getting ready to retire for the night as well when my cell phone rings.

That’s odd. No one ever calls me at this time of night, especially not a weeknight.

I flip open the phone in the darkness of my kitchen and see David’s number flashing on the LCD screen.

Shit. He never calls me at night, because he never knows if it’s safe for me to talk to him. What the hell does he want, anyway? We already talked earlier today.

David had called me earlier in the evening while I was sitting in traffic on the way home. He had had a terrible day at work and told me he needed a friendly ear. I allowed him to rant and rave for fifteen minutes until he ran out of steam. After that, I asked him for his professional opinion on a landscaping project I’d been thinking of doing. He offered on the spot to come up to my house that night to take a look at it, but R. was home that night, so I had to turn David down.

Now I consider rejecting the call, but decide to answer it.

“Christine?” he slurs. “Hello?”

“Ahh, no. It’s not Christine, David. It’s Lori.”

Silence. Then, “Oh…sorry, Lori. I guess I accidentally dialed your number.”

A famous quote I’ve read somewhere pops into my head, the author of which escapes me at the moment. I think it was Napoleon. There is no such thing as an accident; it is fate, misnamed.

I reply, “Where are you?”

“I’m out. In Ardmore. At a bar.” No kidding.

“Sounds like you’ve been enjoying yourself a little too much tonight, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You okay?”

I am completely taken aback when he begins to sob. “Noooo…cause you’re not in my life anymore, Lor!”

I purse my lips and try to think of how to respond. I decide to completely disregard any references to emotions and instead focus on the more practical issue at hand. “David, you’re not driving tonight, are you?”

“Noooo,” he whimpers.

“Good. Now call your girlfriend and figure out how to get home. I’ll talk to you later.” I snap my cell phone shut and sink down into one of the oak chairs at my kitchen table. He’s still drinking, then. Still drugging too, probably. Man, am I glad that he’s not my problem anymore. I feel bad, just for a moment, for his girlfriend. She must really have her hands full with him.

Nevertheless, this incident has planted a seed, and my mind is now spinning with a thousand different thoughts. People are usually most honest when they’re wasted, isn’t that what everybody says? He still has feelings for me. Accidentally dialed my number, my ass! He knew exactly who he was calling, but he needed to be drunk first to do it…why? He still loves me, I just know it. But I guess he hasn’t really changed much. Why can’t he just grow the fuck up and quit drinking? It would be perfect then.

That night, I realize that I still love him, too.

When I Close My Eyes

One of the things that most convinces me that David and I are psychically connected are the dreams I have, and always have had, about him.

I don't usually put too much stock in dream analysis, due to my natural skepticism, but the dreams I have about David are always eerily life-like, without exception. My dreams of him don't feature anything unusual or otherwordly or fantastic, unlike my normal dreams of flying (which is a recurrent dream I’ve had since I was very young) or topics of mundane interest, like my job. In my dreams, it’s just him coming to visit me.

I seem to dream most intensely about D. when he is most in need of love and support. In 2004, David and I had gone many months without talking. Until recently, this was fairly normal in our relationship, because I was trying my damnedest to concentrate on my marriage to R. I think David knew this, so he kept his distance. But there was a period during which I had multiple dreams about David every single night for about a week. These dreams shook me up pretty badly. I decided to ring him just to say hello, but when I called his cell phone, I received a recorded message stating that the number I had dialed was no longer in service. At that point, cold, hard panic descended upon me. I didn't know if he was still using or not, and I began wondering if he were still even alive.

My dreams bothered me enough to galvanize me into a course of action that I typically wouldn't pursue: I called his mom's house and spoke to her directly. After a few minutes of awkward small talk, I finally said, "Lynda, I know this must sound awfully strange, and I feel silly even saying this out loud...but I've been having a lot of dreams about David this week for some reason, and I just need to know if he's okay. I tried calling his cell, but it's turned off."

His mother was silent for nearly a full minute, and I began to think that she was going to hang up on me. After all, David and I had been broken up for four years at that point, and I was now a married woman. I knew my concern for him must have sounded extremely odd, perhaps even inappropriate.

But then she sighed. "Well," she said, her voice sounding distant and old, "he's locked up again. For DUI."

Sitting at my desk with the phone wedged between my shoulder and my left ear, I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers into my temples. "Oh, no."

"Yep," she said matter-of-factly. "And he's really not doing well at all. He got some kind of infection since he's been there. They're not sure what it is, but he's been very sick. I haven't been able to get out there to visit him yet. He's having a really hard time right now." A pause. "I'm not surprised that you've been dreaming about him lately. You two have always had a connection. Maybe he's trying to reach out to you somehow in your dreams. He knows you've always been his friend. And right now he really needs a friend." She sounded so sad. I could've cried for her.

She gave me his inmate information and I told her that I'd write him a letter and try to visit him if I could. As soon as I got off the phone with her, I dashed off a couple pages to him and mailed it out that same day, requesting that he send any responses to my work address. A week later, I got a letter back from him at my office. He had been shocked to hear from me but seemed genuinely thrilled that I'd written to him.

Over this holiday weekend, the dreams started up again. I don't know whether to believe they're due to the current situation I've found myself in with David, or if there's a deeper meaning to them. All I know is that every night for the past five nights, after I close my eyes and fall asleep, I have seen D. in my dreams.

I miss him so.

Email - One Last Shot

I don't know if you'll ever get this message, but I had to put it out there. I have had no one to talk to about this, so I am emailing you. You probably don't even remember that I set up this Hotmail account for you, but I don't care. I haven't heard from you, and this is the only thing that makes me feel close to you.

I love you. I love you so much. I have always loved you and I always will. I miss you terribly, and these past two weeks have been killing me. I've felt empty and desolate without you. I miss hearing your voice, miss seeing your face and holding your hand and kissing you. God, I miss that.

I don't know what I did to cause you to not show up at the train station that Saturday. I have no answers, and haven't heard from you, and it hurts so much not knowing what I did or didn't do, or what I could've done.

Did you regret that we made love? Or maybe you decided to get back together with your girlfriend. Or maybe you were out getting high. Or maybe you really just wanted some easy sex that night and I was the perfect person to get it from.

I really don't know. I wish you would just tell me what happened. I'm not even angry about it...just sad and confused. I would never yell at you or hold it against you--I'm not your girlfriend or your mother...I'm your lover, and you can tell me anything. Anything at all and I would accept it. I would never judge you, because I love you and I just want to know the truth.

If you regret what happened, just tell me and I will never bother you again. But let me state for the record that I don't have any regrets at all, because I believe that we belong together, and that what we did wasn't wrong. It was the universe pulling us together, as it always has. You have to know that's the truth, too! We have always been drawn back to each other, and I think it's more than just a coincidence. It's for a reason.

I am not ashamed of loving you. You are so precious to me and there are no words that could sufficiently describe how I feel for you.

Do you miss me? Do you think of me at all? Your silence hurts. I would give anything just to hear from you again, just to see you again and laugh together. I miss you so much. I haven't known what the hell to do with myself for the past two weeks. I feel completely lost, just wandering around and going through the motions of my life without any joy whatsoever.

I hope you're well. I love you.

Flashback

"I'll never get married," he murmurs as we lay together in the back of my SUV. We've just made love, and we are basking in the afterglow of it.

"How come?" I ask, genuinely curious, although I think I know the answer.

"I don't believe in it. It doesn't mean anything. It's just a piece of paper...it doesn't change how you feel about the person."

"Well, no," I concede. "But marriage is how the society we live in recognizes couples and families. There are financial and legal benefits to marriage that you just don't get if you're living together. And if you have kids, I think it's usually better to have two parents. That's not to say that divorce is wrong...it's more important to raise a child with one good parent alone than two parents who hate each other and fight all the time, but still..."

He's quiet, staring up at the ceiling of the SUV. I know he's thinking about his own childhood, how fucked up it was, and I know that he must have so many regrets about how he was raised. His life could have been so different. My heart aches for him.

"I've just seen how badly it can turn out," he finally says. "Look at my brother...my parents...Patrick and his first wife. All of them thought they'd be together forever, and they weren't. It's just bullshit."

I long to tell him then that I would've married him, that I've dreamt of marrying him since I was nineteen years old. I'd wanted to be his wife. I'd wanted to be the one he came home to every single night. I'd wanted to take care of him, and him to take care of me. I'd wanted to make a home with him. I'd wanted to grow old with him. I'd wanted a family with him. The only man whose children I honestly ever felt like I wanted to have was D's. I don't feel that way about R. Yes, I do want children, and I suppose eventually one day I will have them. But I don't have, and never have had, the burning desire to have R.'s babies, specifically. Not the way that I've always wanted to be the mother of David's children. When I look into his face, I can almost imagine having a child with him. I know he'd be a loving father.

It pains me to hear that he doesn't believe in something I wanted so much with him. But that's the way he feels, and I respect it. So I bite my lip and sigh, cuddling up in the crook of his arm more snugly, wishing there was some way I could confess all of these feelings without completely freaking him out.

Then, of course, reality smacks me in the face. What kind of life partner could I expect him to be if he still has a drug problem? What kind of a father could I expect him to be? He can barely keep it together long enough to take care of himself. It's so unfair. Why are there so many problems? Why can't I have what I really want?

Life is cruel, isn't it?

11/21/2006

Last night, David was supposed to have been with me. We had planned it over a month ago. R. was on a business trip and would be gone until tonight.

The plan was that I would pick David up from work and bring him back to my house. I was going to cook for him: filet mignon, baked potatoes, green beans amandine, crusty Italian bread. And then we would have all night together to kiss, touch, lick, suck, nibble, explore, undress each other by candlelight, bathe together in my oversized tub, and make slow, sweet love to each other, then fall asleep, completely sated, tangled up in each other's arms.

I had been looking forward to last night since early October.

Instead, yesterday marked the twelfth day that I have not heard from David at all.

Last night, I took a long, hot bubble bath in that oversized tub, surrounded by candles, all by myself. I closed my eyes and desperately tried to imagine that he was there with me. But it just wasn't the same.

I am so unspeakably angry and sad that that experience was taken away from me. I didn't even have a choice in the matter.

When will I get over him? Does he even think about me?

I admit I broke down this morning and called his foreman's cell phone. Yes, big risk, I know. When Ron answered, I told him it was me, that I was sorry for bothering him on his cell phone, but would it be much trouble if I could speak to David for just a minute?

Ron chuckled humorlessly and said, "I wish I could help you, but Dave didn't show up for work this morning. If I see him tomorrow, I'll let him know you called."

I replied, "Oooookay...not what I was expecting to hear. Thanks!" and quickly hung up.

He must be having some issues, then. David is a total workhorse and the only times I've ever known him to not go to work (and not call ahead to let them know) is when he's been on a binge.

I wish I could help him. But I can't. Only he can help himself. And I know he's back with Christine. And I know that she's no good for him.

I am so helpless.

Icing on the Cake

Besides all the other fucking bullshit that I'm dealing with at the moment, I just got a call from R.

He's having almost a full-blown, OCD-induced panic attack about the sump pump. Apparently, we lost power at the house because of the weather today, and he's afraid that we're going to have a flood in the basement because the sump pump will fail.

Never mind that we have a top of the line battery backup that will kick in for HOURS, in case we lose electricity.

He just started Prozac six weeks ago and nothing has improved yet.

I need a fucking vacation. Far, far away from all of this.

I'm so sick of being the voice of reason in my marriage.

Or maybe I should just file for divorce.

Blah

Today is as bleak as ever.

For the past six days, the despair and sense of loss I've experienced have been absolutely staggering. I've been wondering how it is possible that I have managed to keep breathing, keep smiling, keep functioning this week. How have I managed to even get up out of bed each morning?

Worst of all is that there is exactly ZERO people in my life (even in my innermost circle) who have any clue as to what's going on with me. I have no shoulders to lean on. I have no one to talk this over with. I am alone. I guess that's why I keep posting here.

R. has persisted in asking me, "Are you SURE you're okay?" about twenty times a day. There is only one correct response to his question: "Yeah, I'm fine."

Because what else am I supposed to say to him? "Actually, honey, I feel fucking terrible, depressed and angry as all hell. Because the greatest love of my life, the person who I truly felt was my only soulmate in this world, the man who I'd just started an affair with, who made love to me so tenderly last week, is MIA...and I'm sure it's because he's relapsed on crack. So my life sucks right now, but thanks for asking!"

Ummm....no. Don't think that would go over very well at all.

I miss David so much, it's like an itch inside my head that I cannot scratch. Nothing brings relief. I wonder how he's doing. I hope he's okay. I alternate between wishing he would just fucking call me, and then hoping that I never hear from him again. I feel insane, frankly.

And I just know that he's moved back into his crackwhore's apartment. I just know it. How could he not, if he's been using again?

How could someone who poured his heart out to me ten days ago, who told me that he's loved me for almost ten years and that he'll always love me, who promised me that I'd be "back in his arms again" by Christmas, who teasingly informed me last Wednesday night that I was his Viagra (yes, he did!!) just disappear without a word to me?

That's the worst part. Not knowing. No closure. Just questions. Even if he'd just given me a perfunctory phone call or a fucking text message that said, "Later!" at least I'd feel better.

And I keep wondering: was I the cause of his relapse? Was there something about having sex with me that made him go back to drugs? Was it the memories of our past relationship that triggered this? Is it because I'm married to someone else and he can't stand it? I'm at a total loss.

Or perhaps he just used me, just wanted a good lay to get back at his girlfriend. That fucker.

I found a few excerpts today online, taken from a book called "How to Survive the Loss of a Love." It's brilliant. I may be quoting it often here. Just reading the words is immensely helpful. Definitely gives me some food for thought.

Thoughts on Surviving a Loss:

You Will Survive. You will get better. No doubt about it. The healing process has a beginning, a middle and an end. Keep in mind, at the beginning, that there IS an end to this. It's not that far off. You will heal.

If You Need It, Get HELP. Now is not the time to to "be brave" and attempt to "go it alone." In fact, it takes great courage to ask for help.

Acknowledge the Loss. You may struggle to both believe and disbelieve that this could have happened to you. It has happened. It is real. Recognize that a loss has taken place. You may wonder if you are strong enough to bear such a loss. You are strong enough. You are alive. You will survive.

It's OK to feel numb. Expect to be in shock for awhile. This emotional numbness may be frightening.

It's OK to feel fear. "Will I make it?" "Will I ever love again?" "Will I ever feel good about anything again?" These are familiar fears that follow a loss. It's OK to feel them, but, to the degree you can, don't believe them.

It's OK to feel nothing. There are times when you'll have no feelings of any kind. That's fine.

It's OK to feel anything. You may feel grief-stricken, angry, like a failure, exhausted, muddled, lost, beaten, indecisive, relieved, overwhelmed, inferior, melancholy, giddy, silly, loathful, full of self-hatred, envious, suicidal (feeling suicidal is OK; acting upon the feeling is not), disgusted, happy, outraged, in rage or anything else.

All feelings are part of the healing process. Let yourself feel. Let yourself heal.

Be With Your Pain. If you're hurting, admit it. To feel pain after loss is normal, natural, proof that you are alive, a sign that you are able to respond to life's experiences. Although you may be frightened by it, be with your pain. Feel it. Lean into it. You will not find it bottomless.

It is an important part of the healing process that you be with the pain, experience the desolation, feel the hurt. Don't deny it or cover it or run away from it. Be with it. Hurt for a while. See pain as not hurting, but as healing.

Realize You're Great! You are a good, whole, worthwhile human being. You are OK. You are more than OK, you're great. Your self-esteem may have suffered a jolt. Your thoughts may reflect some guilt, worry, condemnation or self-deprecation. These thoughts are just symptoms of the stress you are going through. There is no need to give negative thoughts about yourself the center of your attention. Don't punish yourself with "if only's." ("If only I had [or hadn't] done this [or that], I wouldn't be in this emotional mess.") Disregard any thought that begins "If only."

Give Yourself Time. The healing process takes time. The greater the loss, the more time it will take to heal. In this age of fast foods and instantly replaceable everything, it's hard to accept that anything takes time. You require time to heal. Give yourself the luxury of that time. You deserve it.

Do Your Mourning Now. Don't postpone, deny, cover or run from your pain. Be with it. Now. Everything else can wait. An emotional wound requires the same priority treatment as a physical wound. Set time aside to mourn. The sooner you allow yourself to be with your pain, the sooner it will pass. The only way out is through it. When you resist mourning, you interfere with the body's natural stages of recovery. If you postpone the healing process, grief can return months--even years--later to haunt you. Feel the fear, pain, desolation, anger. It's essential to the healing process. You are alive. You will survive.

Expect to Feel Afraid. Fear is a natural result of loss, a part of the healing process. There are so many things to fear when one suffers a loss:
fear of being alone
fear of being deserted or rejected
fear that you'll never love again
fear you'll never be loved again
fear of the pain, desolation and torment that may lie ahead

Far from being the dark thing we are trained to treat fear as a child, fear is, in fact, extra energy to successfully meet the challenges of healing and growing ahead. You will successfully meet the challenges. Fear, when used as the energy it is, can help you meet those challenges. Don't fight the fear--use it. Fear is a friend, not an enemy.

It's OK to Feel Depressed. Pretending to have more energy, enthusiasm or happiness than you actually have is not productive. Pretending expends energy that could better be used for healing. It's OK to feel "low" for awhile. Crying has its own specialness; a cleansing, purifying release.

It's OK to Feel Angry. Everyone gets angry at the loss of love. Everyone. It's OK to feel anger. It's OK to feel anger toward the person who left (even if he or she left you through death); the person who took something or someone away; the social conventions or customs that contributed to the loss; the fates.

It's not OK to hate yourself; act upon your anger in a destructive way. Let the anger out (safely, please!): Hit a pillow. Kick on a bed. Yell and scream (a car parked in a deserted place makes a great "scream chamber"). Play volleyball, tennis, handball, soccer. Hit a punching bag. Play piano at full crescendo.

If the anger is channeled and dissipated in these harmless (indeed, helpful) ways, you'll avoid senseless arguments, accidents and illness. Your anger will pass as your hurting heals.

Stage Two

And now I'm just mad. Mad as hell. And scared.

Mad at myself for being so dumb! I can't believe I made the decision to have sex with this guy when I have absolutely no idea what nasty little fucking diseases he may be carrying. My choice to sleep with him was just careless and stupid. And it will never happen again. Granted, we used protection, but that is not failsafe! And I went down on him, too, before that. Even though I didn't finish him off orally, he was still in my mouth.

I feel sick to my stomach. God only knows what kinds of crackwhores David has been with in the past six years. Ugh. How could I be so idiotic?

I am cursed. I seriously believe that. Cursed because I don't think I will ever be with another man who gets me as aroused as David. I don't think I will ever find another man with whom sex would be so exciting or thrilling. Never again will I find another man who makes me so wet, so horny, so alive and thrumming with desire. So free. And whom I love so much, to boot.

I could cry (have cried already, actually) just thinking about that. This man was my ultimate match: our personalities, our intellects, our bodies meshed so well together.

There will never be a replacement for him. Any other man in my life is strictly a substitute for what I had with David. I knew that even as I was marrying R., even as I was wearing that white gown and walking down the aisle of the church, with all eyes on me. I knew that I was never going to feel that way about R., that I would not know the happiness that I knew with David.

I am angry as hell that I have been denied that happiness for the rest of my life, because of David's addiction. Yes, it's selfish of me to think this way. Right now, I can't say I care, though. I just want to beat my fists against a wall and scream and howl.

It would be so ridiculously easy to disregard the consequences, to say that I don't care what happens down the road, to just say "fuck it, I only live once anyway, may as well enjoy it for now." But I know deep down that kind of attitude could be deadly.

I have to get tested.

Resolve

I am hurting.

I am not sleeping well.

I feel really shitty.

I miss David so much, I can just about taste it in my mouth.

It seems the weather this week has been reflecting my emotions. Every day has been grey, overcast, rainy, and miserable.

I feel like the biggest joy in my life has been wiped out.

But I'm doing the right thing, aren't I? I'm putting aside my own selfish desires (spending time with him) in an effort to get across the message that I cannot and will not see him if he is still using.

Why is the right thing to do always the most difficult?

***************************************

Something that I felt today
Something that I heard
Swinging from the chandelier
Hanging on your word

I remember watching you
Once upon a time
Dancing from across the room
In another life

A little bit of resolve
Is what I need now
Pin me down
Show me how

Looking back to find my way
Never seemed so hard
Yesterday's been laid to rest
Changing of the guard

I would never change a thing
Even if I could
All the songs we used to sing
Everything was good

A little bit of resolve
Is what I need now
Pin me down
Show me how

One more year that you're not here
Has gone and passed you by
What happened to you?

One more tear that you won't hear
Has gone and passed you by
What happened to you?

Foo Fighters

Walk the Line

I've been thinking a lot lately about Johnny and June Carter Cash. Walk the Line is one of my favorite movies of all time, and the love story behind it is just incredible. And after listening to the lyrics of "Ring of Fire" so many times, it may as well be describing my relationship with David.

Many sources have credited June Carter Cash with helping Johnny overcome his addictions, but they never quite explain how she did it. Of course, if you've seen the movie, you're led to believe that her love for him was enough to make him stop drinking and popping pills.

But real life doesn't work that way, does it? In my experience, love is usually not enough. Even with the best of intentions, it takes more than love to conquer those demons.

It is also well-noted that Johnny got straight because, with June's help, he became a Christian fundamentalist. Heh. Where does that leave me? I am an atheist. So I won't be going to church with David anytime soon.

"What June did for me was post signs along the way, lift me when I was weak, encourage me when I was discouraged, and love me when I was alone and felt unlovable. She is the greatest woman I have ever known. Nobody else, except my mother, comes close."

Johnny Cash, Cash: The Autobiography

"I have always enjoyed being a part of his life. I've always loved him, and he's always loved me."

June Carter Cash, Rolling Stone interview, 2002

The Letter

I sent David my letter yesterday. This will be the last time I communicate with him until he starts his program again. Or rather, IF he starts his program again. That part isn't up to me.

I think this may hurt me more than it hurts him, but it is what it is, and this is how it has to be.

11/13/2006

David,

If I follow my gut instincts—and they’re usually pretty reliable—I suspect that you had a relapse on Friday night after you cashed your paycheck. That’s why you didn’t show up on Saturday and didn’t call me all weekend.

We’ve been friends for a very long time. I cherish you and our friendship so much, David, and I cannot sit by and watch you disrespect and abuse yourself. I love you way too much for that. And I will not allow you to disrespect and abuse me. By continuing to drink and use drugs, that’s exactly what you’re doing to both of us.

When you stood me up on Saturday morning, I felt used, disrespected, scared for you, and very, very sad. I cannot tolerate this type of treatment, and so our friendship can continue only if you get yourself into a recovery program.

Until I see you ACTIVELY seeking help to overcome this problem, I will assume that you have no interest in quitting. And if you have no interest in quitting, then I can only assume that you have no interest in alleviating the tension, frustration and pure hell that your alcohol and drug use is causing to EVERYONE in your life.

I'm not going to see you any more until you get help. Also, I'm going to ask that you don't call me again until you get help. If you choose alcohol and drugs over treatment and recovery, you can't be around me. I have already been affected by your alcohol and drug problem, and my own welfare is my first priority.

Bottom line: if you are not in active recovery, I cannot and will not be in your life, in any way at all, ever again. I realize that you are going to do what you’re going to do, and I have no control over it, but I need to take care of myself first.

I am not doing this out of anger, because I am not angry at you.

I am not doing this out of hate, because I don’t hate you.

I am doing this out of love. I hope you understand that.

Be well and realize that anything is possible.

Sunday Morning

I woke up early yesterday excited to see David, yet afraid and somehow knowing that I wouldn't.

I made all the excuses necessary to leave the house and get on the road by 9:30 a.m. By 9:53 a.m., I was at the train station where we'd talked about meeting. I walked up the ramp just as the train was pulling in. No sign of David anywhere.

I sank down onto the green metal bench and made a deal with myself. I'd wait for the next three trains. If he didn't show up after that, then it was over.

The trains run every 30 minutes on Saturdays. I spent 90 long, lonely minutes waiting for him. He never showed.

How did I pass those ninety minutes? Staring at the ground. Talking out loud to myself, like some kind of mentally ill streetperson. Feeling foolish and desperate and sad and used.

He used me. What else is new?

I finally left the train station at 11:30 a.m. and did some Christmas shopping. After all, that had been my excuse to go out by myself, so I needed to come home with at least a few bags.

I took a long walk last night at nightfall. I swore to myself that I wouldn't cry over this, as though I knew it was going to happen, but I did. I bawled like a baby for over three miles. Could barely walk through the darkened streets of my neighborhood. The mascara I had so carefully applied that morning wound down my cheeks like black claw marks.

Hoping things were different. But I guess not.

When I got home from my walk, it was time to make dinner. I hadn't eaten a crumb of anything all day long. Wasn't even hungry, really, but I knew I had to eat something. So I made pasta for R. and me. Picked at it while R. kept looking at me and asking what was wrong. I wound up screaming at him and then apologizing profusely. Told him I was just tired and had a pounding headache. At least that part was true.

How easily the lies slid out of my mouth.

I took another Klonopin at 7:30 p.m. and went to bed. Read my old diary from 1998 and it could've been describing my emotions last night as well: the loneliness, the pain, the emptiness, the anger, the frustration, the despair that I felt whenever D. pulled one of his frequent disappearing acts.

But soon enough the pill kicked in, and I was blessed with a deep, dreamless sleep until 8 a.m. this morning.

I wandered downstairs to the kitchen and opened the blinds to a dull, overcast sky. R. followed me, came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. Asked me to come back to bed with him, that maybe we could do some "nasty things" together. I nearly snorted in disbelief and disgust. What fucking great timing he has. The man hasn't bothered with me in months, but he goes and picks the day after I have my heart completely wrenched from me to ask for sex.

I allowed him to lead me back upstairs and lay me down on the bed. I was trying to be the dutiful wife, but I found myself giving him orders, telling him how to kiss me, how to hold me, how to position his arms...so that if I closed my eyes, I could just pretend it was David kissing me and holding me.

It failed miserably. After ten minutes of struggling, I finally sat up and told him it wasn't working for me. R. asked me twice what was on my mind.

It took every atom of my willpower to keep from saying, "David."

I am broken.

I know better than to believe it's a personal insult. David didn't show up not because he doesn't love me--I do believe he loves me, or at least I'd like to believe it--but he doesn't love me as much as he loves cocaine.

That's how it always was, and that is how it always will be.

The End

I have responsibility over myself and my life.
I have a choice. I've always had a choice.

If I make the choice to keep David around, then I am accepting his decisions and therefore I cannot be shocked when he breaks my heart all over again.

No amount of love from me or anyone on this earth is going to save him.

***********************************

How do you love someone
That hurts you oh so bad
With intentions good
Was all he ever had

But how do I let go when I've
Loved him for so long and I've
Given him all that I could

Maybe love is our hopeless crime
Giving up what seems your lifetime
What went wrong with something once so good

How do you find the words to say goodbye
When your heart don't have the heart to say goodbye

I know now I was naive
Never knew where this would lead
And I'm not trying to take away
From the good man that he is

But how do I let go when I've
Loved him for so long and I've
Given him all that I could

Was it something wrong that we did
Or because others infiltrated
What went wrong with something once so good

How do you find the words to say goodbye
When your heart don't have the heart to say goodbye

Is this the end
Are you sure
How should you know when you've never been here before
It's so hard to just let go
When this is the one and only love I've ever known

So how do you find the words to say goodbye
When your heart don't have the heart to say goodbye

Alicia Keys

Things I've Said

"Just promise you'll never do this again. Do you give your word? Say you give your word."

"OK, I'll give you one more chance."

"We'll go to meetings TOGETHER."

"He's such a wonderful person when he's not using."

"They're not all the same."

"But I loooooove him!"(voice going up 8 octaves)

"But I REALLY BELIEVED him this time!!!"

"What if he died? It'll be all my fault."

"Where have you been? I'm just relieved you're ok."

"Don't worry about money tonight, I'll pay the bar tab."

"You haven't ever had sex with a prostitute, have you? No? Whew....thank God!"

"Do you really promise this time?"

"I will help you conquer this."

"I know you love me more than anything."

"Awww....that's so sweet of you to think of me and bring this rose."

"I'm sorry you don't feel well. Why don't you go lay down and I'll bring you something to eat."

"I forgive you."

"Yes, I do trust you."

"I won't bring up your drug use again."

"Let's just forget it ever happened. Tomorrow is a new day."

"You look like you need a good meal."

"I love you, too, baby."

Reality

"I couldn't call you because I knew then I'd have to deal with reality."

"You always bring up the past and throw it in my face."

"There’s no excuse for my behavior."

"I know I've been selfish, that I am selfish, I don't know if I even know how to NOT BE SELFISH."

"Hey, I feel bad enough, I don't want to hear this right now."

"I don't understand why you insist on fighting."

"You're my world."

"Can I use your car to go pick up some Christmas gifts for you?"

"I know I'm a piece of shit. You don't have to remind me. I tell myself everyday."

"I'll do anything you say to make this better...anything."

"Please don't be mad."

"This is the LAST time."

"Even when I'm using, all I think about is you."

"Let's talk about it tomorrow. Not right now."

"Don't leave me."

"You can't have sex when you are high."

“Why can’t you just TRUST me???”

"My phone died, that's why I never called you."

"I think about you CONSTANTLY."

"At least I can say one thing, that I never cheated on you."

"Don't worry about where I was, but I can promise you I am not doing anything wrong."

"I can't promise you I won't do it again. I don't want to lie to you."

"I'll never go anywhere without you again!"

"From now on, my life will be about two things: work and you. I swear!"

"Please, just give me one more chance."

"I love you."

Hate Me

I have to block out thoughts of you so I don't lose my head
They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed
Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I'm alone
Playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home

There's a burning in my pride, a nervous bleeding in my brain
An ounce of peace is all I want for you
Will you never call again?
And will you never say that you love me, just to put it in my face
And will you never try to reach me, it is I that wanted space

Hate me today
Hate me tomorrow
Hate me for all the things i didn't do for you
Hate me in ways, yeah ways hard to swallow
Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you

I'm sober now for three whole months
It's one accomplishment that you helped me with
The one thing that always tore us apart
Is the one thing I won't touch again

In my sick way I want to thank you for holding my head up late at night
While I was busy waging wars on myself, you were trying to stop the fight

You never doubted my warped opinions on things like suicidal hate.
You made me compliment myself when it was way too hard to take

So I'll drive so fucking far away that I'll never cross your mind
And do whatever it takes in your heart to leave me behind

Hate me today
Hate me tomorrow
Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you
Hate me in ways, yeah ways hard to swallow
Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you

And with a sad heart, I say bye to you and wave
Kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I have made

And like a baby boy I never was a man
Until I saw your blue eyes cry and I held your face in my hand
And then I fell down yelling "Make it go away!"

Just make her smile come back and shine just like it used to be
And then she whispered "How can you do this to me?"

Hate me today
Hate me tomorrow
Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you
Hate me in ways, yeah ways hard to swallow
Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you

Blue October

And So It Begins...

I haven’t heard from David tonight as I was expecting. I have no idea if our plans to go to Lancaster for the day tomorrow are still on.

This is a perfect example of one of several reasons why I would be completely insane to leave my marriage for David. I cannot live with this constant uncertainty and stress. I worry about David when I don’t hear from him. Not that I expect to talk to him every single day--I'm not that clingy--but when someone tells me they’ll call me and then they don’t, that is a deal-breaker for me.

While my husband has his own flaws, he is as dependable and reliable a man as I could ever hope for; he is truly a man of his word. He calls when he says he’ll call. Sometimes he even calls when I’m not expecting to hear from him at all.

When I don’t hear from David, it brings back a flood of terrible memories for me. When I left him on Wednesday night, he told me he’d try to call me the following day.

But I don’t want to feel vulnerable. I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment. And David has disappointed me so many times in the past. So, thinking that I was playing it safe, I told him not to worry about it, he didn’t have to call me on Thursday, to instead just wait until he got his cell phone back on Friday after work.

He said okay. Then he kissed me and told me that he loved me. And that was it.

It’s now 10:34 p.m. on Friday and I haven’t heard from him. He’s left me hanging.

Plus, I know today was his payday, and that opens up another can of worms for me.

Payday, when we were together, meant there was a 50/50 chance, or perhaps even better, that David would cash his check and disappear into the underbelly of the drug world for the weekend. He would reappear several days later, looking like a ghost of his former self. Crack bingeing does that to you, I suppose. And for three years, there was nothing I could do but hold my breath and cry endlessly and hope that he came away unscathed.

Well, guess what? I can’t live like that anymore. I’m not nineteen anymore. I’m a grown woman, in control of my life, and I don’t have the tolerance to bear that kind of pain any longer.

If I don’t hear from him by 10:30 a.m. tomorrow, I’m pulling the plug immediately and will never speak to him again. It hurts my heart to think about it, but I can’t deal with this. It’s one thing if I have to deal with his crazy (ex?) girlfriend, whom I suspect he will wind up going back to anyway. I’m OK with sharing him in that way. After all, I’m married, so he has to share me, too. So in a twisted way, that’s fair and equitable in my mind.

But drugs? No way. I can’t deal with that shit anymore. Those days are behind me. No matter how much I love him, there’s nothing I can do if he’s up to his old tricks.

About an hour ago, I took a Klonopin because I know how difficult it will be for me to sleep tonight with all this weighing on my mind. And the most disturbing discovery of today was finding a song that he told me about the other night at dinner, by a group called Blue October. He didn’t remember the name of the song, but he described it, and I found it on Google. It’s called “Hate Me.” I looked up the lyrics and I wonder if he was trying to send me some kind of message when he told me about this song. Or maybe I’m just analyzing this too much.

Lyrics to follow. Then I'm going to sleep. The Klonopin is beginning to kick in, thank god.

Reasons

I love when you’re honest with me, even when honesty hurts. I will never judge you.

I love when you’re sitting next to me, even when you’re not saying a word. Just being in your presence satisfies me.

I love laughing with you, and I love the fact that I can make you laugh.

I love the way you look at me. You make me feel beautiful and desirable.

I love your street smarts.

I love your style.

I love your confidence. It’s one of the sexiest things about you. More than that, I love the fact that you have no problem admitting when you don’t know something. That makes you even sexier.

I love your curiosity. You have a thirst for learning new things, just like I do, and I appreciate that.

I love that you love my taste. You make me feel like you can’t get enough of me.

I love that you support me in everything that I do. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.

I love your text messages and voicemails. Just hearing your voice makes me feel like flying.

I love talking to you about anything and everything. I enjoy hearing what you think about things, even if I don’t always agree or understand.

I love that you are so non-judgmental of me and of others.

I love that you are so protective of me. I feel safe with you…I’ve never felt safe with anyone else.

You make me laugh like no one else.
Your intelligence constantly amazes and impresses me.
You have a good heart.
You’re a beautiful man.
You’re the most competent, thoughtful, sensual lover I’ve ever had.
You flatter me, build me up, hold me down.

No one fits me like you do.

Diary

Lay your head on my pillow
Here you can be yourself
No one has to know what you are feeling
No one but me and you

I won't tell your secrets
Your secrets are safe with me
I will keep your secrets
Just think of me as the pages in your diary

I feel such a connection
Even when you're far away
Ooh baby if there's anything that you fear
Call 489-4608 and I'll be here

I won't tell your secrets
Your secrets are safe with me
I will keep your secrets
Just think of me as the pages in your diary

And only we know what is talked about, baby boy
I don't know how you can be driving me so crazy, boy
Baby when you're in town why don't you come around, boy
I'll be the loyalty you need you can trust me, boy

I won't tell your secrets
Your secrets are safe with me
I will keep your secrets
Just think of me as the pages in your diary

Alicia Keys

Consummation

I walk into the bar down the street from his shop twenty minutes earlier than I’d told him. Traffic was lighter this evening, and I've arrived way earlier than expected.

I peer around the corner of the crowded bar; the clientele tonight is mostly old men sipping martinis and Manhattans. I wander to the end of the bar and spot the back of a very familiar head. But it’s not David. It’s his foreman Ron, who also happens to be married to my cousin’s best friend. Ron doesn’t see me; he’s watching one of the small televisions mounted above the bar. But I am standing so close to him that if I breathe heavily enough, he’d feel it on the back of his neck. Next to Ron is an empty barstool, with a black jacket that I recognize as David’s slung across the back.

I can feel my face twisting in horror as I assess the situation. Ron cannot see me here. I can’t afford to face him. I suspect that he knows what’s going on between me and David, but so far he hasn't seen any physical proof of it, and if he did, I know the news would spread like wildfire on that side of my family. That would be the end of me.

I swing my hair to block the left side of my face and quickly walk past him and down the stairs to the restrooms around the corner. I figure that David must be in the men’s room. I have to see him before Ron sees me. I stand just in front of the men’s room door, shifting my weight back and forth between my feet.

A few minutes later, David swings open the door and nearly recoils when he sees me. Can he can read the dismayed expression on my face? He gathers me into his arms and kisses me briefly.

“Whoa, you scared me! You...you're always showing up when I least expect it. It's like you're always just here with me...weird, huh? What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you here for another fifteen minutes.”

“Ron’s out there.”

“Yeah…I can’t believe it. Dude never wants to stay for a beer after we leave the shop, but tonight of all nights, I mentioned that I was coming over here and he decided to come too.”

“I can’t have this, David, you know that. I walked right up behind him before I realized it was him. He didn’t see me, I don’t think, but I can’t have this.” I bite my lip hard. “What do you want me to do?”

David sighs loudly, and I get the sense that he’s growing weary of keeping this secret. “I want you to come out and sit down with us and have a drink, that’s what.”

I shake my head, my eyes wide. “No! You know I can’t do that. Look, I’ll move my car to the parking lot of the bank across the street. Take your time. Finish your beer and then come meet me.”

“Okay.” He leans down to kiss me again. He tastes so good, and his lips are so sweet and full and soft, all my anxiety melts away.

I leave the bar through another exit and move my SUV to the bank lot across the pike, watching and waiting for David to come to me. Ten minutes later, he’s in the seat next to me, kissing me tenderly.

We pull apart and his eyes glint. “Fuck it! I’m tired of doing this behind everyone’s backs. Let’s just run away together! Just jump on 95 and drive. What do you think?”

I don’t know how to reply. I was right; it seems he is getting tired of sneaking around. I need to set him straight, but how do I do it without upsetting him?

“I would never, ever do anything to put you in danger,” David says, meeting my gaze. Did he read my mind? “You have a good life…I just want to make it a little better.” He gives me a small, sad smile.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m a bad person for doing all this.” His opinion matters to me. I know I’m not perfect, but I don’t want him to think I’m terrible, either.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person at all.”

Reassured, I lean over the console and kiss him. We decide to go to Applebee’s again, and he holds my hand as I drive down the pike.

After dinner, we get back into my car and start making out again. “Let’s go park,” David whispers, and we both laugh as we kiss.

We wind up in the parking lot of the Observatory, the softball field where we had our very first kiss all those years ago. This has always been a sacred space for me. It’s too damp and chilly to go out on the field, so we pull down the rear seats of the SUV and hop back there again. This time, I’ve come prepared: I have a few condoms and I've also brought a soft blanket, in case we get cold.

Once again, David lowers himself over me and we kiss for what seems like hours. I feel myself unwind as he delicately sucks on my lips, my neck, my ears.

“I…am…so…fucking…wet…” I murmur as his hand slides up my sweater. “I think...I think I’m melting. I want to get naked right now.”

We strip, and his hands travel up and down the length of my body, following the curves of my hips and ass and breasts. He moans as I reach down and wrap my hand around his cock. I can’t bear it. I need to get him inside me.

“Where are your condoms?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. I tell him where I’ve stashed them, and he makes short work of putting one on. Then he turns back to face me. I am lying under him, naked and vulnerable and shaking with desire for him. He kneels between my thighs and looks me unflinchingly in the eye. “Are you ready?”

“Yes...” I whisper, smiling. “It’s been a while for me…so I might be a little tight.”

No sooner have I spoken than David thrusts into me, neither too fast nor too slowly. He’s just right. Perfect. I can’t help myself; I’m not a screamer naturally, but he just feels so fucking incredible as he opens me up that I begin gasping, yelling, “Oh my God…oh my God…ohmyGodyoufeelsofuckinggood…oh my God!” I don’t feel self-conscious at all, the words just come pouring out of me, like I don’t even have control over my brain as he enters me.

He is thick and hard as a rock, his ass pumping up and down as he pushes ever deeper into me. He grasps my thighs and pulls them around his waist. At first, we just stare into each other’s eyes as he goes to work on me, but soon I shut my eyes, needing to be alone while I experience the incredible sensations that he’s giving me.

I open my eyes a few moments later, and he is still staring at me, biting his lip as he rides me hard. “I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too,” he whispers back, and it all feels and sounds so good to me that I’m scared for a moment that I may just break down in tears. I realize that I have been in love with him all along. But I don’t want to freak him out with the intensity of my feelings, so I manage to keep it together.

Sweat is pouring off him, dripping down onto my face and body. The SUV has become sauna-like, condensation gathering on all the windows. David is thrusting into me steadily, his breath coming out in vicious pants. He’s working so hard to please me. “You need to tell me how you want it,” he gasps.

“It's perfect,” I moan. "This is perfect. You are perfect, your body feels so good, you are fucking amazing!"

He slows down for a moment. “Did you come?” I whisper.

He laughs a little, sounding embarrassed, and collapses on me. “Yeah...I’m sorry it was so short.”

“No!” I protest. “It was perfect. I swear I never yell like that, but you really made me holler. You just felt so good.”

“I think that’s what got me off so fast,” he explains. “I heard you yelling and I just couldn’t handle it. It felt too good.” He rolls off me and drops onto the upholstery. "Woooooo!" He gives me a silly grin. "When can we do that again?"

I giggle. "How about Saturday in Lancaster? Maybe we can find an empty barn somewhere!"

He laughs. "Yeah, or we could hop into a buggy and do it there!"

We kiss and cuddle for a long while, and then I remember how he had mentioned his aching back last night on the phone. “Roll over and I’ll rub your back,” I command. At first, he demurs, telling me I don’t have to go to any trouble, but soon enough he rolls over, exposing the long, smooth expanse of his naked back, which has always been one of my favorite parts of his body. I begin massaging his back, neck, and shoulders as he groans in relief. “You have nooo idea how good that feels…”

Smiling, I straddle his ass and slide my bare breasts from the small of his back up to his shoulder blades, an action which intensifies his groan. I massage him for a good ten minutes and then I just drape myself over his back, snuggling up to him and kissing him all over. All I can think about is how much I really do love him. He’s like a shining light, and I feel warm and content just being in his presence. I am so crazy about him.

Finally, we dress ourselves and push the rear seats back into their upright positions. We sit side by side in the backseat chatting for another fifteen minutes, and then I tell him it’s time for me to go home.

We jump out the rear doors and he grabs his coat and his backpack, then bends over and kisses me gently. He pulls back for a moment and whispers, “I love you.”

I murmur, “I love you, David,” and kiss him back.

Election Day

It’s Tuesday evening, and I’m sitting in traffic on the way home from work, heading to the polls to cast my vote in the general elections. I still haven’t heard from David, and I’m starting to think that maybe he just changed his mind about us.

My phone blares from its resting place in the car door and I grab it. The caller ID reads “Unknown.” I stare at the phone. This is a risk. It could either be David, or it could be his crazy ex-girlfriend. Should I answer it?

I decide that I should, and I’m rewarded for my choice with David’s sexy voice on the other end of the line. He’s calling from a payphone at the bar around the corner from his house.

“I miss you so much,” I blurt out. So much for playing it cool.

“I miss you too,” he replies. “I miss talking to you…and I miss seeing you.”

Deep breath. He hasn’t changed his mind after all. Happiness floods over me. “When can I see you again?”

“As soon as possible. Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “What do you want to do? Grab a bite to eat, go to the movies?”

“Anything, as long as I’m with you. We could go to the moon and I’d be okay with it…actually, that would be pretty cool,” he teases.

I laugh, and it feels so good to let out all the tension I’ve felt for the past week. “Okay, we’ll figure something out for tomorrow night.” I pause, then quickly add, “I was wondering if you’d be interested in going on a little road trip with me on Saturday, if you’re free…if you’re not working a side job with your brother. I was thinking about going out to the outlets in Lancaster. I know it’s probably not the most exciting thing for you, but if you want to go, I’d love to have you with me. And we would have all day together.” I hold my breath, waiting for his response.

“Yeah, absolutely,” he says enthusiastically. “That would be great. I haven’t been there in forever.”

“Good! We can talk about the details tomorrow night, then.” That dizzying sensation of buoyancy returns to me, full-force. “So what happened with Christine?”

He brings me up to date on the events of the past week, how he left his girlfriend and moved back into his mom’s house. I congratulate him because I know how miserable he’s been, but secretly I suspect that sooner or later he’ll wind up back together with her.

“You need to find someone who will treat you right,” I tell him, keeping the last part of my thought to myself: and I wish it could be me. Because I don’t think we’d do well together exclusively. We tried it for three years and it didn’t work then; why would it be any different now? My trust level is very low, and I just am not prepared to put my heart on the line with him again like I did before. I feel safer this way.

“Did you get my message?” he asks me. He’s trying to gauge my reaction to his “I love you” without actually coming out and saying it.

“Yes. And I’ve listened to it about six hundred and fifty times since yesterday.”

His laughter warms me. “Good. Listen to it one more time after we get off the phone tonight.”

I pull into the parking lot of the municipal building and turn off the car. We chat for another fifteen minutes about our days. Then I ask him about his sister in New York, who is pregnant for the first time and is about to give birth. He tells me that if she doesn’t have the baby by next week, she’ll have to be hooked up to a monitor. “I forget the actual due date, though.”

“It’s November twelfth,” I inform him.

He cracks up laughing. “You’re amazing! You have the best memory. How in the world did you remember that?”

“Because I was on her gift registry online and it has her due date there. I was thinking of maybe sending her a gift for the baby, but I don’t know...I’m not sure it would be appropriate for me to do that.”

“Nah, don’t sweat it,” he reassures me. “You’ll see her at Christmas.”

What is he talking about???

Before I can respond, the words pour out of him. “Because you’ll be back in my arms by then...back where you belong.” I hear him take a deep breath. “I never should have let you go. I love you, Lori. I’ve always loved you...and I will love you for the rest of my life. I’ll never stop loving you.”

I am stunned. I never expected to hear anything like this from him again. And nothing I could say to him seems like a sufficient response to such a naked display of emotions.

“I love you,” I reply slowly. “I’ve always loved you, and I will always love you, too.”

In Bloom

Like a long-neglected flower that has finally been pushed into the sunlight again, I am blooming. Unfurling. Opening up. I feel alive again.

I have never laughed so hard with anyone else like I do with David. I have never wanted to take away the hurt, to care for someone the way I care for him. Every word of every corny love song I've ever heard finally makes sense to me. I understand what unconditional love feels like because of him. And when I am with him, I feel like I am home. No matter where we are or what we're doing. He is home to me.

Tonight, all the longing I've felt for the past six years has finally been fulfilled. All the fantasies I've entertained in my mind have finally been acted out. And it was beautiful. So beautiful.

He entered me and it was ecstasy. I tried to hold back, but I couldn't help it; I just gasped and cried out again and again. He filled me up. Kissed me until I was out of breath. Held me so tightly that I felt like nothing else could ever touch me again.

Changes

Since this as-yet unconsummated dalliance has begun, I am changing.

I am taking better care of myself. Eating better, and less. My pants are beginning to droop around the waist.

I take more time each morning before work to carefully apply my makeup and style my hair (Never know if I’ll have the chance to meet up with him after work one night).

My house is cleaner and neater (Maybe he’ll stop by when R. is out playing golf or poker).

I begin buying sexier underwear. Racy, lacy bras that display my generous cleavage. Panties that fit snugly across my ass. R. raises his eyebrows when I return from the mall bearing shopping bags from Victoria’s Secret. He’s never known me to buy such things and isn’t sure why I’ve started now. I tell him it’s because I’ve been losing weight (he concurs) and want to show off my body to him.

I suddenly feel predatory, more alive, more feminine, more sensual since that night with David. Just three nights ago, with a little help from my vibrator, I experienced the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life. As I touched myself, I thought back to that night in the backseat of my SUV, David kneeling over me, shirtless, his fingers deep inside me, whispering that he was going to make me come. His face and body were all I could imagine as I felt myself beginning to peak, my eyes closed, alone in my bed. And when I came, it was so exquisitely intense that it bordered on painful.

I am ensnared.

Monday

Another six days pass without word from him, and I am bereft. I try to push him out of my mind, but am dreadfully unsuccessful.

Today I delve into my work, glad for the distraction. Around 4:15 p.m., I am in my boss’ office, discussing a new client. It’s nearing the end of the day, and if David were going to call me, he would’ve done so on his lunch break. It’s too depressing to think about.

I return to my desk and my cell phone is blinking madly with a new message. I have missed a call.

In one swift movement, I swipe my phone off my desk and nearly run out into the hallway. As soon as I hear David’s voice, I clap my hand over my mouth to muffle a scream of joy.

“Hey, where's my beautiful little disco bunny? I miss you. I’m sorry I haven’t called you. It’s been pretty crazy around here. I got good news, though…I did it...I’m out! I’m a free man. And I would love to talk to you. I’m just up at the bar around the corner, havin' a beer and grabbin' a bite to eat. I’m pretty beat. I’m stayin' with my mom, so I’ll try and give you a call back later. I hope you get this message. I’ll talk to you soon, all right? I love you. Bye.”

I’m suddenly filled with gratitude that the hallway outside my office suite is deserted, because I am bouncing around like an overexcited child on Christmas morning. I’ll never know exactly how he has the ability to move me like that, just by leaving me a voicemail.

I listen to his message twice more before forcing myself to return to my desk.

I love you.

Nothing can touch me for the rest of the night.

Forbidden Love

I don't care if it's not right
To have your arms around me
I want to feel what it's like
Take all of you inside of me

In your eyes
Forbidden love
In your smile
Forbidden love
In your kiss
Forbidden love
If I had one wish
Love would feel like this

I know that you're no good for me
That's why I feel I must confess
What's wrong is why it feels so right
I want to feel your sweet caress

In your eyes
Forbidden love
In your smile
Forbidden love
In your kiss
Forbidden love
If I had one wish
Love would feel like this

If I only had one wish
Love would always feel like this
Wishing on the stars above
Forbidden love
If I only had one dream
This would be more than it seems
Forbidden love

Love should always feel like this
Heaven forgive me
Never forbid me
Love should always feel like this

Madonna
Bedtime Stories, 1993

Halloween

It’s Tuesday and I still haven’t heard from David. I know that his cell phone is lost, so I don’t expect to hear much from him anyway, but I still think that if he really wanted to talk to me, he could call me from a payphone or borrow his foreman’s cell phone.

By Tuesday afternoon, I feel absolutely terrible that I haven’t heard from him. I'm unable to concentrate on work, and I decide that I need to take a drastic step. I tell my coworkers that I have a doctor’s appointment that afternoon and that I need to leave work an hour early. Then I call R. and tell him that I have a meeting with my boss from four until five, so I might be leaving work a little later than usual. I gather my things and rush down to my SUV. It’s 3:50 p.m. and I have no idea what time David gets finished work, or if he’ll even be at the shop today, but I know that I have to try to see him.

It only takes me about ten minutes to get there from my office, but they are the longest ten minutes of my life. I park my car in the lot in front of the shop. From here, I have an excellent vantage point of the two closest bus stops to the shop.

I sit in my idling SUV, listening to music and feeling more than a little foolish. It dawns on me that this may be all for naught. There are so many variables that are out of my control in this situation. Maybe David didn’t go to work today at all. Maybe he DID go to work today, but his foreman dropped him off directly at his house at the end of the day. There is no guarantee, after all, that he’ll be coming back to the shop. Maybe he got finished much earlier in the afternoon and is already halfway home on the bus before I even got here.

I close my eyes and try to envision David. He’s wearing his jeans and workboots and the same black coat that he wore last Wednesday night to Applebee’s. I picture him sitting next to me in my SUV, kissing me passionately.

Twenty tense minutes pass, and I look eastward down the pike. Suddenly, I can’t believe my eyes: there he is! He appears to be looking right at me, but I know that can’t be the case; he’s just checking the traffic as he crosses the street. I honk my horn and wave wildly but he doesn’t see me.

I roar out of the parking lot and somehow manage to pull up to him as he sits on the bus stop bench next to an older Korean woman. He is rifling through the backpack resting against his feet and doesn’t see me.

I roll down the passenger window and say nothing, waiting for him to notice me first. The Korean woman sees me staring at him and finally nudges him. His eyes meet mine and his face breaks into a radiant smile.

“Need a ride?” I ask breezily as he jumps into the SUV.

“You!” he exclaims. “I can’t believe you’re here! How did you find me?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I start, “but I was sitting in the parking lot around the front of your shop, waiting for you. I didn’t even know if you’d be here today, but I figured I’d take a chance. I just had to see you. But I don’t want you to think that I’m stalking you. How was your day?”

“Better now!” he replies. “I’d never think that you were stalking me.”

“Good. Because I don’t want you to think that I’m crazy like that girlfriend of yours.” David shakes his head and I continue. “Do you have a minute? Can we talk?”

“I have all the time in the world.”

I pull into the shopping center, shift my SUV into Park, and launch into the story about his girlfriend’s voicemail message on my cell phone. He sits across from me, listening with wide eyes, until I finish. I try to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice, but I can’t help asking him, “Why would she think it was me who sent those emails?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. When she found them on Friday afternoon, she blew up my foreman’s cell all freaking day”—he pulls a terrible face and imitates her shrill voice—“’I know that she sent you those messages! I know that you two were together last week!’” His face relaxes into its normal expression. “I just told her she was crazy, that I don’t even check my email because I don’t have access to a computer, so how could I know about it?”

I consider his story. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure that she really didn’t think it was me. I’m telling you, I was a fucking nervous wreck this whole weekend. Every time the phone rang, I just about jumped out of my skin. I really thought that you broke down and told her.”

“I’m sorry! I don’t want you to feel like that. She has no idea that those emails were from you. She’s dumb as a box of rocks, and I just told her I didn’t know who sent them, that maybe the emails came to me by mistake. She was all right after I said that.” He sighs. “That’s another reason I hate her…she’s just so fucking stupid. I’m getting out of there soon. I just don’t have anywhere to go right now.”

I exhale deeply. Another close call. This shit has got to stop. “Do you have time to have a drink with me now? I need a drink,” I tell him, motioning to the Ale House across the parking lot.

“Yeah. I need a drink too.”

I manuever my SUV to a parking spot in front of the Ale House and we amble in together. In the doorway to the bar, he turns to me and says sheepishly, “I’m sorry, but I’ve only got five dollars on me right now.”

“That’s okay,” I reply. “I’ve only got enough for a drink for myself, too. And R. has me on freaking Lo-Jack with the money, so if he sees that I’ve taken more out, he’ll start asking questions.”

“Why?” he asks in a perplexed voice.

I roll my eyes. “R.’s always been that way with me and money. Always tracking how much I spend. He thinks I’m gonna make us go broke or something.”

David snorts. “That’s ridiculous. Tell him that you work forty hours a week, just as hard as he does, so he should just fuck off.”

I smile, and in an odd way my heart is warmed by his words. We step up to the empty bar and I drop my purse on the barstool. David pulls me into his embrace and kisses me slowly and sweetly, and all the tension dissipates from my body in that instant.

The bartender clears his throat. “What can I get you?”

We pull apart and David orders a Bud for himself and a fuzzy navel for me. He keeps one hand on my thigh as we sit and talk about our days. I describe the movie I'd seen with some friends on Saturday afternoon.

Then he tells me again how much he hates not only his girlfriend, but her kids. “And that’s not good,” he remarks. “I’ve always loved kids, but her kids are so bad that they’re making me start to hate kids in general.”

I shake my head sadly. “I wish I could do something to help you.”

“I was thinking maybe I’ll move into that dive motel down the street,” he tells me.

“No way! You can’t be serious. That wouldn’t be good.”

“Sure it would,” he counters. “Twenty-seven ninety-nine a day, a clean bed, no one to bother me, free cable TV, free porn…”

I laugh and lean into him again, thrilled that we are together here and that I’m free to kiss him as much as I want. Our tongues touch gently and David wraps his arms around me, but the bartender interrupts us. “Uh-uh. None of that here, okay?”

We pull apart again and he mutters an apology to the bartender. We spend the next few minutes in silence, sipping our drinks, our heads cast downward like chastened schoolchildren. As soon as we finish our drinks, we go dutch on the bar tab and head outside. David smacks my ass playfully as I walk ahead of him. I giggle, and he smacks it again, just a bit harder, and grunts longingly as he cups it with his hand. I can’t believe he’s being so forward out in public, but I love it. Adore it.

“Hey,” I say, “do you want to go to the movies tomorrow night? It’s Wednesday, and I’m free all night.”

He frowns and says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Because now I know she’s watching every move I make, and if I don’t come right home from work tomorrow, she’s gonna know that something’s up. So I want to throw her off this week. I’m just going to go straight home from work tomorrow night so she won’t think anything of it.” He pauses and clasps my hands in his. “I’m sorry. I would love to see you, but I can’t.”

“I understand,” I tell him. “You’re probably right. We’ll just have to get together another time. But I’ll miss you.”

David leans me up against a pillar in front of the bar entrance and kisses me until I'm breathless. “I could do this all night,” I murmur.

“Me, too.” He presses his erection into my groin as he pulls away from me. “Feel that?”

I nod and grin back at him as we return to my SUV. We get into the car but I don’t even have a chance to put the key in the ignition because he pulls me into his arms again and kisses me harder. His lips make me feel drunk and warm. I slide my hand down over the crotch of his jeans and, feeling his unbelievable hardness, I give him a little squeeze. He moans as he kisses me.

I pull away long enough to tell him that I think I should be in charge of condoms in the future. “Because you know she’s going to find them and then all hell’s gonna break loose,” I remind him.
He agrees wholeheartedly. “I was actually just thinking about that earlier today. There’s nowhere I can hide them. She goes through my backpack all the time, and I don’t want to carry them in my pocket.”

I cup his face in my hands and trace his cheekbones with my thumbs. “Well, there are plenty of hiding places in my purse and no one will ever find them. So let me worry about that part, okay?”

We kiss some more, his right hand caressing my breasts over my thin cable-knit sweater.

“By the way,” I whisper. “I wanted to tell you something else too, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“Hmmmm?”

I kiss him softly on his lips. “I just wanted to tell you,” I kiss his neck, “I’ve been in love with you since I was nineteen years old. And if I believed in reincarnation, I’d say that I know for a fact that we’ve been together in our past lives. We have a connection and,” I motion at him and then back at myself, “...it’s more than just this. It’s deeper than just the physical. Our souls are connected; I really think they are.”

He looks me right in the eye and murmurs, “I know. And I hope it never goes away.” He kisses me again. “I have to go,” he says regretfully as he pulls back from me at last.

We kiss once more, and he opens the passenger door and gives me a wink. “I’ll talk to ya.”

Close Call, Pt. 2

My cell phone rings the next day while I’m at work. It’s after two p.m. and I had been wondering if I'd hear from him again.

“I don’t have a lot of time, but I wanted to thank you for last night,” David tells me. I can hear the smile in his voice. “I had a great time with you.”

“Me, too,” I answer warmly. “Amazing.”

A moment of silence passes between us. “So,” I ask him, “is this going to be an every Wednesday night thing for us?”

“I’d like it to be,” he replies earnestly. “That would be great.”

But the following day I get a frantic phone call from him while I’m eating lunch at my desk. “We have a problem...Christine got into my email and saw some of your messages."

Oh shit!

The only good thing about this is that there is no possible way those emails can be traced back to me. I had set up an anonymous email account in Yahoo! several weeks ago, just as a precaution in case something like this happened, and my name is not connected to it whatsoever. Still, she is on the warpath, watching and waiting to see what happens next. The idea makes me very uncomfortable.

“Do me a favor,” he continues. I’ll give you my password...can you go into my email now and delete anything you sent me?”

It only takes me a few minutes to do it, and I feel complete relief afterwards. I don’t hear from him for the remainder of the day, and I hope that he’s not going to get into too much trouble.

Saturday morning, I wake up early and check my cell phone before R. gets out of bed. I have a missed call and a new voicemail from a number that I don’t recognize. I lock myself in the bathroom and dial my mailbox.

It’s her. She sounds calm, much calmer than I’d be in her shoes. The message she’s left me instructs me to stop talking to David. She says that they still live together and that they love each other very much, and that I have a husband who I should devote myself to. She’s not comfortable with my friendship with him, she's never met me, and she wants me to stop calling him.

I roll my eyes and chuckle. If she only knew that he was the one who called me ninety percent of the time. But still. What has led her to believe that I was the one who had sent those emails to him? He must have broken down and told her. I feel betrayed by him. Way to throw me under the bus. I would never do that to you.

The rest of the weekend passes in a grey fog. I am distraught, paranoid, heartbroken. Every time my cell phone rings, I answer it immediately, expecting to hear her voice again. But I don’t.

Backseat

We get in my car and continue to kiss. I can feel myself opening up. I want him so badly. We break away and I ask, “So...where should we go?”

David shrugs, still trying to kiss my neck as I pull out of the parking lot. I start driving while he gently strokes my hair.

We decide to park not far from his house, in the semi-full lot of the same restaurant where I first saw and fell in love with him almost ten years ago. It’s a crazy idea, but it’s the best we can do right now.

We start kissing again, frantically this time, trying to touch each other through our thick winter coats, grappling like wrestlers in the front seat of my SUV. I pull away from David and motion to the backseat. The seat folds down and increases the size of the trunk so that there’s just enough space for both of us back there. Plus, the rear windows are tinted, which affords us plenty of privacy.

We struggle for a minute to pull the seats down, and then we crawl into the back of the SUV like two teenagers. He drapes his body over mine and kisses me into the upholstery until I swear I’m about to melt. His right hand holds my face while his left arm cradles my head. I cannot move, cannot protest, cannot do anything but surrender to his firm, smooth tongue thrusting into my mouth. So this is what kissing is supposed to feel like. I haven’t experienced this in years. God, he is still so delicious!

My head is spinning. I don’t know what to do to him first. I suddenly feel like a novice at this. Finally, I order him to remove his shirt. He pulls his hoodie and t-shirt over his head and reveals his broad shoulders, well-defined chest and flat belly. An involuntary noise escapes my throat when I see his naked torso. He looks even better than I remember.

He lowers himself over me again and starts to gently bite my neck, pushing a few errant strands of my hair out of his way. I can do nothing but close my eyes and enjoy the sensations that his mouth is sending through me. He asks if he can taste me. I tell him no—I just want to have his lips on mine for as long as possible. He doesn’t put up a fight, instead goes right on kissing me.

Our hips grind back and forth together, slowly at first, then faster and faster until we’re crashing against each other. David's erection is rock-hard and throbbing against my stomach. He pushes my shirt up around my neck and caresses the tops of my breasts, then pulls them out of the cups of my bra and lovingly admires them. I lay beneath him and smile up at him, feeling vulnerable yet safe.

David looks me in the eye. "So beautiful," he whispers before beginning to sweetly suck each of my nipples, his face angelic. I shudder and squirm underneath his weight. He tells me to pull off one of my pant legs, and I comply—in fact, I can’t get it off fast enough! He slides his finger into me and I moan, tightening every muscle in my body.

“I want you to come tonight,” he whispers. “I want to send you home wet.”

I smile in the darkness. I know that I won’t come, but I appreciate the sentiment anyway. He skillfully manipulates his hand when I tell him to touch my clit. As soon as he does, I close my eyes and see stars flashing before me.

Soon, his fingers are slamming into me as my hips rise higher and higher to meet them. He asks if he’s hurting me, and I gasp, “No.” I am vaguely aware of the sensation of climax rising within me, but I know that I won’t come this way; I usually don’t. All I can think about right now is how much I want to feel him inside me. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask him breathlessly.

He pauses for a moment, then shakes his head, a regretful expression on his face. “Sorry, I don't. I wasn’t even thinking this would happen.” I have to believe this is an utter lie.

I pound my fists into the upholstery in complete frustration. “Damn it! Oh, God...I just want you inside me. But we need a condom...fuck!”

David looks contrite as he glances out the rear window of the SUV at the Wawa on the opposite corner of the pike. “We could go across the street and get them.”

“Forget it, next time,” I respond. “Just...lick me.”

He goes to work between my thighs with expertise and enthusiasm, distracting me from my disappointment over our lack of condoms. I pull my legs apart as far as possible within the confines of the SUV and his tongue delves deep into me, coming out occasionally to circle my clit. It feels divine. I recall how much this man enjoyed eating pussy when we were together. I used to tease him that he could teach a class on it. He still could, I decide.

I surprise myself by having a minor orgasm as he simultaneously licks and fingers me—it’s something I certainly didn’t expect to happen tonight—and then I am spent but eager to return the favor and please him. Mesmerized, I watch him as he slides his fingers out of me and begins to lick my juices from them with relish as he stares at me. I am surely going to explode from this. I can't imagine R. ever doing this.

We switch places and I straddle him, one leg still out of my jeans. I lean over him and kiss him deeply as my hands snake up and down his chest and stomach. “What can I do for you?” I purr as my hand grazes the button of his jeans.

“You’re almost there,” he whispers back, and I giggle as I undo his jeans and tug down his thin cotton boxer shorts. His enormous cock takes my breath away; it’s thick and long and quivering as I wrap my hand around it.

“You still have the finest piece of equipment I’ve ever seen,” I tell him with a smile.

"Thank you," he whispers back to me. "I shaved down there today just for you."

I start rubbing him up and down feeling like a beginner at this, just hoping he’s enjoying himself. I lick and kiss the breadth and length of his chest and stomach, flicking my tongue against his erect nipples.

He moans as my mouth travels lower and lower. I take him between my lips and swirl my tongue around his cock, occasionally looking up at his face. His eyes are mostly closed, but then he sees me watching him as I run my lips up and down his shaft. We maintain eye contact for several minutes as I suck him, and it just about sends me over the edge. Then he places one hand gently on the back of my head and guides me, never forcing me to go deeper than I can, just showing me the pace he likes.

I let my hands take over for my mouth as David pulls up my shirt again to expose my breasts. “I want you to come on me."

“Yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm. All over me.”

He moans as I increase the speed of my hand on him, pausing to lick my palm for lubrication. His breath comes out in short, violent puffs. As I jerk him off, I gently rub the head of his cock along the underside of my bare breasts. I hadn’t thought it was possible for him to get any harder, but he does, and I know that he is on the verge of orgasm. “You like that?” I whisper, biting my lower lip.

He doesn’t answer me at first, then suddenly says, “Are you ready?...Here I come.”

The force of David's climax is so strong that his teeth chatter, and he makes a lovely, strangled sound at the very end of it. It’s like music to my ears. I watch him with satisfaction. His orgasm seems to go on forever. When it finally subsides, he kisses me immediately, softly and sweetly this time, then sighs as he strokes my hair. “That was long overdue,” he repeats.

I smile and nod in agreement. “Yes, it was.”

He helps to clean me up. The windows of my SUV are completely fogged and opaque, a fact which we both remark upon simultaneously, then laugh together. Two halves of a whole. After we put ourselves back in some semblance of order, we cuddle up and kiss for a few minutes.

Finally, he says to me, “I guess you’ve got to get on the road.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “I guess so, and you’ve got to get home, too.”

Reluctantly, we crawl out the rear passenger door of the SUV and pull the backseat up to its original position. He hugs me for a long time, kisses me some more, and then tells me to drive home safely.

"I'd like to take you out dancing soon," he adds.

"Oooh, that would be great! God, I haven't been dancing..."

"...in forever," he finishes my sentence for me. "Me, neither."

"Okay," I reply. "Just let me know when you want to go."

I smile at him as I turn the key in the ignition and he hops out of the passenger seat. I wish him a good night, then I pull out of the parking lot and head home, watching the reflection of his silhouette get smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror, until he’s out of sight.

Applebee's - Redux

We’ve made plans to meet again the following Wednesday after work. By this point, I’ve convinced myself that I’m not doing anything wrong. I feel nothing but anticipation--not even a shred of guilt over what I know is the inevitable.

I meet David at a bar near his job, and together we drive down to Applebee’s in my SUV. As we sit in traffic, I can barely bring myself to look at him for any length of time, and he shakes his legs furiously up and down as he reclines in the passenger seat. I make a lame joke about my anxiety, and he humors me by laughing in response. I’m glad to see that he’s as nervous as I am.

I pull into the parking lot at Applebee’s and together we head toward the door. He makes a smart remark about how much he enjoys walking behind me so he can admire my ass in the jeans I’m wearing. Walking ahead of him, I grin but ignore him.

We grab a table in the bar area and spend two hours together, laughing, drinking, and eating. Our waiter makes several comments to us about being a couple, even refers to me when speaking to D. as “the Mrs.” Neither of us makes any attempt to correct him. We just exchange conspiratorial glances and smile.

David looks good enough to devour. He keeps apologizing for not being cleaned up enough for me—he’s still in his work clothes: old jeans, work boots, a faded brown hoodie and a black t-shirt underneath—but I tell him truthfully that I prefer him this way. In fact, I can’t look at him for too long because he’s just so gorgeous—it’s like staring directly into the sun. I’m blinded by his beautiful face, his long, lean body...the whole package. He’s incredible.

About fifteen minutes into our meal, David takes my right hand between his two enormous, calloused, warm palms. It feels good. Natural. It just feels so right. I don’t pull my hand away from his.

He keeps asking me if I’m okay, if I feel okay about all this. Nothing’s even happened yet. I nod and laugh. “Of course I’m okay!” Being with him makes me feel like I’m twenty years old again, which I tell him giddily. I feel buoyant, as if I’m floating a few feet above the ground. I forget about every other aspect of my life when I’m with him.

After the waiter clears our dishes from the table, David asks if he can try some of my frozen strawberry daiquiri. I watch him wrap his lips around the straw and take a long sip, his eyes almost shut. Then he turns to me, his face expressionless, and murmurs, “Can I kiss you now?”

This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, and I am positively helpless to resist him. I lean forward to meet his lips and feel a thousand fireworks explode within me as he gently presses his mouth into mine. The soft hair of his mustache tickles my face; it’s different, but it feels marvelous. His kiss is slow, sensual, and makes me shudder with desire. Our open mouths just barely touch, and we breathe in synchronicity. His right hand cups the side of my face as the tip of his tongue caresses mine. He carefully takes my lower lip into his mouth and sucks on it with the tiniest amount of pressure.

My entire body weakens at his touch. I’ve come undone.

I pull away and look down at the tile floor beneath my stool. He presses his forehead against the crown of my head and runs his fingers through my hair. “Wow,” I breathe.

Finally, I look up at him, trying to gauge his reaction. Does he feel it too?

He smiles. “That was long overdue. I feel like I’m twenty again, too.”

Soon we’re kissing again, in slow motion, completely oblivious to our surroundings. I pull away again reluctantly and remark that we should probably quit now because we’re in a family establishment. He wraps his arms around me and pushes his head against mine, rubbing his face slowly back and forth in my hair and inhaling deeply, as if he can’t get enough of my scent.

We pay the bill and leave. Outside the restaurant, I hesitate. Where can we go from here? Suddenly David grabs my shoulders, turns me around to face him, and gives me a long, searching look before he kisses me again, this time more forcefully, as we stand beneath the warm glow of a streetlight in the parking lot.

Time stands still.

Home Alone

I'm at home alone on Friday afternoon when my phone rings again. I haven't heard from him since he called to tell me on Wednesday night that he couldn't meet me at Applebee's.

“I’m dripping wet right now,” I tell him.

“Really? Dripping wet?”

“Yeah...I’m starting to think it’s like some kind of Pavlovian response to hearing your voice.” I can sense his smile on the other end of the line.

“Pretty soon, you’ll start moaning as soon as your phone rings,” he teases.

The conversation turns serious as he starts to describe the way he would touch me if he were with me right now. “I’d kiss your lips long and hard...lick your neck...kiss your shoulders…”

Is it possible to be this wet? My panties are sticking to me.

We start reminiscing about the sex we had when we were together. I tell him that I can close my eyes and picture being in his bedroom again, leaning on his bureau and looking directly into the mirror, him behind me, both of us naked, his right hand cupping my bare breast, his left hand grasping my left hip as he expertly thrusts into me. My lips part slightly in a soft moan when he brushes my hair to one side and gently bites my neck.

His breathing becomes heavy and fast as I describe the scene to him. He tells me huskily that he may just have to take care of himself in the bathroom at work when we get off the phone. I myself feel a dull, frustrated ache between my legs and wonder if and when we will ever have the right opportunity to reenact those times.

"We had a pretty good thing, you and I," he says.

"Yeah," I agree.

"What happened to us?"

"Don't know." Actually, I know exactly what went wrong: he had a serious drug problem and I had reached the very end of my rope with him. I started to hate the person I had become when I was with him—distrusting, resentful, nagging. But I don't want to break the spell and remind him of all this, so instead I just continue, "We were kids. Too young."

"Yeah. And dumb," he adds. "What were we thinking? What was I thinking?"

I keep silent for a moment, but then the words come pouring out of me as though I have no control over them. "I will never forget the first time I saw you. Never in a million years. I'll never forget sitting out on the loading dock of the restaurant, in the middle of my shift, having a cigarette, and seeing you walk past with your headphones on. I don't think anything unusual happened just then—you looked over at me, I waved to you, and you waved back and kept on walking—but it was one of those life-altering moments for me. I felt like I had been struck by lightning at that very instant. I just knew.”

Letdown

On Wednesday, David calls me at 10:30 a.m., sounding happy and excited. “We’re still on for tonight, right?”

“Yup,” I confirm.

“I can’t wait.”

“Me neither,” I answer, but I’m nervous. I feel traitorous and dishonest. Things with R. have gotten a little better, and now I’m questioning the wisdom of pursuing anything with him. Oh, well...I’ll just have to get over it. Because I’m curious, frankly. I want to see his body after all these years, want to touch him, want to see if he still kisses the same way, if his hands are still as effective as they used to be at arousing me. I wonder if he feels the same way about me.

“I’ll call you when I’m leaving work,” he tells me. Sure enough, my cell rings around four p.m. He’s getting out of work early today; he's finished his job way before he'd anticipated, and his foreman has driven him home. David tells me that he’s killing some time at a bar just around the corner from his house, and asks me to meet him there instead of Applebee’s.

“What about your girlfriend?” I question him. “There’s a chance she could just walk in there.”

“She’s not allowed in here,” he answers. “Long story. But if you still want to meet at Applebee’s, that’s fine with me. I’ll jump on the bus and take it up there. No problem.”

“Yeah, Applebee’s is better for me,” I tell him. “I’m leaving here at five-fifteen, so I should get there just before six.”

“Okay. See you then, kitten. And I can’t wait.”

Once again, five o’clock arrives and I race into the ladies’ room with my gym bag. I change into a new pair of black panties and a lacy black pushup bra that I’d purchased with this specific occasion in mind. Then I pull on jeans and a tight brown chenille sweater that is not only soft to the touch, thereby encouraging frequent stroking, but also hugs my 38C breasts in a most flattering way. I spend a few minutes touching up my hair and makeup, and then I’m ready.

My drive to Applebee’s cannot go fast enough. I’ve only been in my SUV for a few minutes when I feel an inexplicable urge to turn around and drive home. My heart thuds in my chest. What I’m about to do is wrong, and I know it. But that’s crazy. I’m in control here, and it will only go as far as I let it. No harm in getting together with an old friend for drinks and dinner. I can stop this if it goes too far. I have all the control.

Desperate to quash the small but nagging voice in my head, I turn up my radio and start singing along to the music. It proves to be an effective distraction; by the time I’m a few minutes away from Applebee’s, my guilt and anxiety have eased into a shimmering excitement. I’m tingling all over. Then my cell phone rings.

“I’m hammered,” David mumbles.

“Hammered?” I’m confused. Does that really matter? It’s not like he’s driving to meet me at Applebee’s, he’s taking the bus. He just got to the bar an hour ago. “You’re drunk already?”

“Hammered,” he repeats. “Busted. Christine saw me waiting on the corner for the bus and now I can’t make it out there.”

I can feel the color draining from my face. The bubble of anticipation that has been building inside of me all day bursts. “Is she still there now?”

“Mmm-hmm. Right behind me,” he mutters.

“Does she know that you were coming to meet me?” I demand.

“Nah. I’ll tell you about it later.”

I let out a big sigh of relief. “Well, that’s okay,” I say, fake-chipper, trying to convince myself that I’m not that upset, yet failing miserably. “We’ll get together soon another time.”

“But I want to see you tonight,” he whimpers, sounding on the verge of tears. “I really needed to see you tonight. Fuck! I am so sorry about this.” His voice drops lower and gets faster. “Listen, I gotta bolt now. But I want to take you out for your birthday. I’ll call you later.”

The phone goes dead.

Shit.