Post-Mortem

The following morning, I text him.

I know the letters said a lot. Hope ur not too freaked out.

He calls me around 1:30 from the telephone in the shop. He never got my text message because his cell reception has no reception.

"How was your night?" I inquire innocently.

He laughs. "Do you mean before or after I saw you? Because after I saw you, I felt great!"

I giggle. "I felt great, too. Thank you."

"I just got finished reading both of your letters," he says. "They blew me away. You write so well."

"Well, that's why I sent you that text message earlier," I reply. "I know that they said a lot. I hope you don't think I'm this crazy girl who's totally stuck in the past. After I left you last night, I almost wished that I could take them back, so you wouldn't see them."

"I would never think that," he reassures me. "Your letters are beautiful, and I'm glad you gave them to me. They made me feel so good. And bad, at the same time."

"That's what I didn't want," I explain quickly. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"No, I know that. It's okay. I needed to read that. And I wish that I could explain how I feel as well as you do...the distance between my brain and my mouth is really, uh, long, and most times I just can't even say things that make sense."

"I know. Don't worry about it. I understand you."

"Yes, you do. If anyone understands me, it's you." He pauses. "Look, I don’t know if this is gonna come out right, but if something ever happened to your marriage because of me, I would never be able to live with myself...I would feel awful."

"David...it is what it is. It’s almost like I’m leading a double life with you. And I’m okay with that. Nobody has to know. This is just about you and me, and that’s it. And you are the only person I could ever imagine myself doing this with. So I'm not sure I understand what you're saying. You're not worried you're going to break up my marriage, are you?"

"No...I just think that we...it’s taken us years to get back together. A lot of mistakes, a lot of heartbreak. And I just don't want anything bad to happen to you. That's all. "

"Okay." I still have absolutely no idea what he means, but I decide not to pursue it further for now. Instead, I switch gears. "So did you get a chance to listen to the Foo Fighters CD I made for you?"

"No, not yet. I'm working in the shop all day today and my boss put on some Christmas music earlier...to get in the holiday spirit, I guess. He asked me if I had any other music to listen to, and I almost told him to put on that CD, but I wasn't sure he'd go for it. He's pretty hip, though. I think he'd probably like the Foo Fighters. So maybe I'll put it on later."

"Just make sure you really listen to every song on that CD," I instruct him. "Give them all a chance, even if you don't think you like them at first. I didn’t even like some of them at first! But I picked them especially for you."

"I will, I promise. Ya know, my boss turned off the Christmas music a while ago and I've just been listening to the radio all morning. It's kinda crazy...every song I’ve heard today makes me think of you, I swear. Every single song. Even this Limp Bizkit song came on a while ago, and I was listening to it, going, 'Yeah! That's just like me and her...'." He laughs at himself, sounding embarrassed. "Everything reminds me of you...you're everywhere."

I sit in the empty stairwell, hugging myself and grinning like a lunatic. "I know how you feel. That happens to me a lot, too. Hey...I need you to do something for me."

"Hmmm?"

I take a deep breath. "Look, I don't have very high expectations of this, David. I don't want to place any demands on you. I’m so afraid of being disappointed. I just want to be the person you have the most fun with."

"You are," he says solemnly. "I have fun with you every single time we're together, no matter what."

"Good," I reply. "But I'd like you to ask me to do stuff, too...I feel like I'm always the one trying to orchestrate us getting together. It makes me feel bad, and I hate feeling like that. I want to feel like you want to see me, too."

"I know," he says. "I know what you mean. I just have to be careful. She's always watching me. She always has an eye on me. Not that I care, but..."

"Yes, you care," I interrupt. "Of course you do. It's self-preservation! So you have to care. You need a warm bed to sleep in every night, and a place to live..."

"Yeah," he agrees. "You're right."

"I understand." And I do. But how is it possible that I'm married, yet I have more freedom to roam around, getting into trouble with him, than he does? Ah, that's right: my husband actually trusts me.