(Thanks for reading; any comments/thoughts to share? Please…)
– Well, did you miss me?
+ I have been busy.
– Yeah, I know what you mean, I noticed the lack of interest.
+ You should talk…
– Hmm. Can I take that to mean that I have been missed?
– I was beginning to think that in your mind I must have died and was buried; that you’d had enough and that it was the end of the line.
(I had been mentally preparing for this figuring, others have given up on me, why not her?)
+ You have no idea what happens in my mind.
– True and trust me, I wish I did. Anyway, you must work with folks like me and I am guessing, fully aware of how these projects get done. It’s been quite an experience but I don’t want to dwell on it. I am still under their yoke and may be until the end of July now; it sucks.
(She was undressing, behind a screen, getting ready for bed and I thought, cool, I wonder if I’ll get in there with her…it’s a good thing we can’t, yet, read thoughts. She emerged attired in shorts and a tee shirt, I studied her legs. I like them, I really like them! The world, they say, is divided into two types of men, those who have a compulsive attraction to a woman’s cleavage and those who prefer legs. I cannot explain why but I count myself amongst the latter.)
+ Everyone has to make a living some how.
– Not everyone…too bad I have to do it the fucking hard way.
+ Find an easier way then.
– Easy enough to say. I have thought of it, you know. The problem is I don’t know what. Some times I think of giving up on everything, moving to Florida and living a quieter, less expensive, life near the beach.
(Does she like the beach, I wondered. Maybe not, it’s possible she is easily sun burned. She had slipped into the adjoining bathroom and returned moments later brushing her hair. I wanted to get closer. Close enough to smell her hair, maybe play with it a little. But I kept my distance.)
+ Why don’t you?
– I’m not sure; it’s too hot in summer?
+ Is that the only reason?
– There may be others, I’m not sure. Why? Can you think of any?
(Aside from the possibility of us running into each other some place again, as we’d done six years ago.)
+ I don’t know any thing about your life; you don’t expect me to know the answer, do you?
– You could know anything you want to know about it; just ask…
+ There’s nothing.
– You can’t be serious.
+ Do you actually think I think about your life? I mean, really…
– Why not? I think about yours…
(To be fair, only as a single person; that is, as if the world that she must actually live in doesn’t exist. Yes, willfully ignoring reality and why do people do this? So they don’t have to deal with its implications, right?)
+ That’s your problem and I really wish you wouldn’t! It’s none of your damned business.
– Why are you so angry about this?
+ I’m not!
– Are you mad at me for some reason then?
+ Absolutely not!
– I see. Because I’ve been thinking that maybe you are mad at me for chasing the almighty dollar and not you. You have to know that this has affected me a lot more than you; if it bothers you at all…hell, I have been thinking that you’ve deserted me when I needed you most.
(I should go sit next to her on that sofa, I thought, as my mind went back so many years to the train station when this had actually happened on a bench there; it was probably the closest we’d ever been. But I guess she’d noticed my fascination with her legs and strategically placed them on the sofa to either better exhibit them or to cut-off the possibility of sitting there. She’s a teaser, all right.)
+ I have much better things to do.
– I realize that. You know, anger is okay; it means you care. I’ve been referred to as the “world’s angriest man” by some who should know and understand me better….
+ Well, are you?
– How could one even tell? My response, to the sometimes in jest label, has been to say, “if Mel Gibson has reasons to be angry, why wouldn’t I…”
+ Do you justify your actions by pointing to someone else’s?
– No, but if Mel Gibson has things to be angry about why shouldn’t I or any random person for that matter?
(Perhaps the anger comes from living a life that is at odds with the life one would like to live or to put it another way, being a man not living up to his full potential. I made a note to ask her which, of all the things she knows I do, I should pursue earnestly.)
+ Rationalize it however you want but the assumption that having money fixes everything is wrong.
– But it helps, doesn’t it? I’m mostly impatient, frustrated, but no one cares. Do you wonder what I look like these days? You know, in bed, lights off, about to go to sleep, do you some times wonder?
(Should I admit that when I go to sleep, I do wonder what it’d be like if she was there, next to me and exactly how much should I say? Do I tell her, that I like to sleep on my left side – no matter what that quack Dr. Oz says about it, and if she does too, our forms would be nesting, that my right arm and leg would be wrapped around her, my lips pressed to the back of her neck and that there is no question in my mind that my hand will wander, caress and follow her curves. What would be the point though? I mean, she probably does all of this already and none of it has a damned thing to do with me.)
+ Not really, no.
– The year you got manacled…
– You know what I mean…
+ You think of marriage as being manacled?
– For some people, yes. I didn’t mean to imply that it is true in your case, it’s just a word I borrowed from Mr. Fawlty to describe the institution, sorry.
+ You must live a sad life.
– That should be no revelation to you. Anyway, that year, was an interesting one in a few ways. I stopped being an employee and started doing my own thing; my brother-in-law, the man most responsible for getting me here died – murdered, we think, no one really knows all these years later and of course, November happened. So, yes, an interesting year and one I will never forget.
+ I’m sorry to hear. Murdered? What happened?
– Thanks. It’s good to hear you say that, I remember asking for it at the time but I guess folks were otherwise busy. It’s too long a story to tell but for once, you’d like the stars and writers from Law and Order to show up and “solve” what happened in his case. I’m being sarcastic, of course…are you pregnant again?
(Would she really care or want to know that the poor man, rest his soul, was found nearly unconscious, in the middle of the street with no obvious signs of an accident, went in to a coma and died without ever regaining consciousness?)
+ Why would that be any of your business?
– Just wondering, some folks seem to do these things one right after the other; sort of get it out of the way….
(In the briefest flash, the implication of my question occurred to me; the idea that she’d be involved in the procreative process with someone. A thought that was immediately banished, stifled, because while it is understandable, in the circumstances, it was unbearable to me.)
+ Well, it’s still none of your business.
– I know that, obviously. Well, I hope handsome is doing well…correction, I know he must be doing quite well.
(I meant it sincerely but she probably didn’t really get that.)
+ Thank you.
– Do you suppose that if we have a soul that exists outside and independently of our body that it gets recycled, reincarnated into a newborn? After our body dies, of course…
+ Am I a theologian?
– You don’t have to be to think about the possibility
+ I suppose it is possible.
– So if it’s possible, do you think then that the soul gets to decide which baby’s body to adopt and therefore, who the parents are to be?
(It was a sort of chicken and egg question; is the soul an independent attribute of a person that exists outside of the body or is it developed or formed by the body, specifically, the brain? I have been thinking it’s the former but why would be a whole other discussion.)
+ How the hell should I know? What is the point of this?
– Well, I was wondering if handsome had a choice in picking his parents, that’s all…anyway, we just passed an anniversary of sorts…
+ What would that be?
– You have forgotten?
– Well, let’s forget it then. I do sometimes wonder though what would have happened if I had said anything more than what I did…
(Yeah, what would have happened if I had professed undying love, for example?)
+ Oh, that.
– Yes, that.
+ You might have gone to jail…
– Funny, right?
+ No just very awkward.
– I’d still like to write that story some day but I won’t and haven’t written a word, as promised.
(The plan was to write it as mostly a play with the dialog in a sort of verse; not quite Shakespearean, if I am honest, because it’d be way beyond my capabilities. So, it’d have been more like a screen play.)
+ Might be best that way.
– Yep, it is curious because the person who has inspired me to do so much writing has also throttled my desire to write that particular story.
+ If you are referring to me, I have done no such thing…
– If that is how you see it, so be it. But you know what, I hope that when you are done with me, that I’ll be done with the whole thing. I don’t want to be inspired anymore, no new muse, no nothing; I think I’d just want to be left alone and likely never write again as I have done these many years.
(I can’t believe I said it, but I did. When she is done with me, I have no desire to get this way with anyone else.)
+ I am sorry to hear that.
– No you’re not and I can think of a few reasons why you shouldn’t be. Tell me, when you were a teenager, dreaming about boys and so on, did you ever, ever think that you’d meet someone like me and care as much as I believe you do?
(I don’t think she’d ever understand why I find this fascinating. Is it possible that she sees in me what no one else does and if yes, what is it? I’d never know but it is quite interesting.)
+ Haven’t you said that assuming things make you a fool?
+ There you go then.
– I don’t believe you. So, what was it? Did you, during your formative years, have a nanny or two who have influenced your view of the world?
+ Are you saying that I have not formed my own views on things? That I am incapable of this?
– Come on, that’s not what I am saying. I have said it before, you are not an elitist snob and I am wondering if your early life has anything to do with that; that’s all. The streets around here are some times lined with nannies and their charges and I have often wondered how and if they influence the lives of the kids they attend to…
(Even now, there is so much more that I want to learn about her; hell, this entire conversation might have been more enjoyable if I only knew her better.)
+ And my parents? They had nothing to do with who I am?
– Of course they do, to a degree, like all parents. But I know someone who was a nanny to a child from a few weeks after his birth all the way through his college days. Amazing stuff…she was effectively this dude’s surrogate mother, how could she not have some sort of impact on that kid’s life?
+ People are different.
– I suppose. Do you still care about me?
(I imagine that, in her life, there are a few guys on a totem pole and I have to believe that I am probably the lowest one on that pole. The only consolation is that I am on there at all. I wanted her to say yes and I wanted her to say it while I was looking into her eyes because that is where I’d recognize the truth, whatever the truth may be; I accept things. But, we were in the same room only in the boundaries of my mind and that is no place to look for truths in this matter.)
+ What do you think?
– I hope so because I’ve been thinking that if you get accustomed to not hearing from me, as in these last few months, you may lose all interest and stop giving a crap….
+ Why else would I let you talk to me?
– There is that.
(And at that moment, I wanted to, so badly, go over to her and have her show me exactly how much she cares, without inhibitions. But, again, there was the invisible wall of separation…)