Sean
Well shit. Now I have to go.
I almost smiled while I stood there holding the letter. He may have been capable of being an unmitigated ass at times, but his apology was both sincere and entertaining. I knew at that moment I’d be down there bright and early awaiting my pickup, though I’d make a point not to look too happy about it when he rolled up. I once heard Ronnie say that it was good to make men squirm a bit, that it gave you the upper hand. When Sean was involved, that wasn’t an easy thing to manage. I’d take all the help I could get.
10
He rolled up precisely on time, wearing the expression I knew he would; that Cheshire cat routine was getting old. I turned my pouty and wounded face up to a ten, and watched all that smug happiness drain from his face. That’s much better. He pulled up right in front of me and jumped out of the driver’s side as I was opening the passenger door. He made a disapproving face and I hopped in smiling at my apparently annoying feminism.
His BMW 6 series coupe was fully loaded and totally decked out with custom improvements. I was no stranger to the pros of luxury cars having had a father who would rant incessantly about the wonders of German vehicles and bought nothing less than an Audi on principle alone, but Sean’s ride was the shit. The leather was softer than a baby’s bum and the interior was posh. The jet black seats and dash contrasted beautifully with the exotic wood grain and occasional chrome detailing. It was nothing less than a work of art. The console was crazy, having only a flat screen and a knob; apparently buttons and gauges were for poor people. The magical knob controlled everything in the car, from the temperature and volume to the navigational system.
“This is an impressive ride…your Mercedes is too. Tell me, do you just appreciate fine German engineering, or are you trying to make up for personal shortcomings?” I kidded. As was becoming commonplace, my witty comment was met with silence and a glare that could combust internal organs. “I’ll take your silence to mean it’s the former.”
It may have been a bit of a low jab, but I did secretly enjoy that I could get him going so easily. The results I could get were amazing when I knew which buttons to push.
“So, did you figure out where you wanted to go today?” he asked, as though no longer fazed by my earlier comment.
“I did. I think I’d like to go to the zoo. I’ve never seen wild animals anywhere other than TV and photos, and I think I’d enjoy them very much,” I said, feeling a bit like an overexcited kindergartener on a field trip.
His lips pressed to a thin line
“The zoo it is.”
Guess he’s not an animal lover…
We took the trip at a reasonable pace, only exceeding the speed limit by five miles per hour. He never once put the radio or iPod on. The windows and panoramic sunroof stayed closed. He seemed withdrawn and especially contemplative. It made for a very exciting start to the trip.
“Can I ask a question?” I queried.
“Aside from the one you just asked, yes.”
“So you have this sweet ride that’s got a crazy sound system, wicked sunroof, and an engine that goes balls to the wall in like two seconds, and you choose to drive it like a ninety-year-old woman on her way to church on Sunday?”
Without a single word he hammered the gas and started driving like his ass end was on fire. We got up to 120 miles per hour easily, and he showed no signs of slowing. He wove through traffic like a stunt driver in a big budget action movie. He then rolled all the windows down, sunroof included, and cranked the stereo so loud that I felt the bass reverberating through my chest. It took a minute or two to remember how to breathe again. When I finally did, I looked down at my fingers as they attempted to carve out a place in the armrests, amazed they weren’t bleeding from their efforts. I turned to see what had gotten into Sean and was met with a mischievous grin.
“Is this more to your liking?” he asked, looking way too much at me, and not nearly enough at the road.
“Yup. Super. Wanna keep your peepers on the road and potential victims ahead of you, please? And possibly ease off the gas a bit?”
With that he began to slow the car to a much more amenable speed of eighty miles per hour. His point was well made - no backseat driving in his car.
The atmosphere eventually lightened in the car and my chest, and we enjoyed some witty banter on our way to Boston. I was so excited to finally see the animals that I was unable to for so many years. However, it seemed selfish to want them caged up just so they could be on display for me. My love/hate relationship was why I had put off going for so long, but I pushed my hang-ups to the back of my mind when we arrived and prepared for an excellent day of exploring and learning.
The day was perfect for being outside. It was seventy-five degrees with no humidity and only a few clouds. Being somewhat pigmentally challenged, I didn’t enjoy the sun as much as others seemed to. I doubted very much that the blazing orb in the sky was a problem for my companion, Captain Mediterranean, and his light olive complexion.
Some people really do have all the luck.
When we walked through the main entrance area I was instantly overwhelmed. The zoo was enormous and I had no idea where I wanted to start. As if sensing my dilemma, Sean sighed and grabbed my hand, heading off to some exhibit on our left. Not sure exactly where we were headed, my anticipation built with every step. When we came upon the gorilla enclosure I almost leapt out of my skin. They were my favorite. From the first moment I saw them on National Geographic channel, I fell in love with them. There was something so strong and majestic about them with an intelligence that was clearly visible; their eyes held wisdom in a way that was unbelievably human.
Because the enclosure was a large glass semicircle, there was room to go right up to it. I managed to find my own little spot away from all the other onlookers, to sit and marvel at what I was seeing. I focused on their behavior and dynamics, and could easily tell the hierarchy amongst them. The young ones played as their mothers watched, all the while being supervised by one massive silverback hiding along the back wall. He must have sensed me observing him because he turned and looked directly at me. It was glorious. We shared a moment of eye contact that felt like an eternity, and then it happened. He ambled over towards the glass directly in front of me. We were so close that I could see every detail on his face. He slowly put his right hand up to the glass and looked at me - really looked at me. I returned the gesture by placing my left to the glass, directly over his. He then placed his other on the glass and I again followed his lead. To my continued amazement, he placed his forehead against the glass and lightly grunted at me to do the same. I obliged. We stayed like that for at least one minute before he snorted loudly and ambled away. I felt oddly connected to him in a way that I couldn’t make sense of. As the day went on, I felt that same strange connection with the animals repeated over and over again.
11
“I’d planned on doing more with you today in the city, but I didn’t expect you’d be so enthralled with the zoo,” Sean said casually.
“Sorry,” I replied sheepishly. I was embarrassed by how long I was able to stare at the polar bear exhibit without blinking.
We’d spent the entire day wandering the zoo, sometimes seeing the same animals over and over again. Sean indulged my every childlike request without complaint and never urged us to move along. I didn’t pay much attention to him while we were there, but I did catch him looking at me in the reflection of the sea lion aquarium. He looked so amused, the way a parent looks at a child when they’re having a new experience.
“No need to be. It was fun. Perhaps the circus next time?” he asked with a curl at the corner of his mouth.
“No thanks. Clowns are terrifying,” I replied, shuddering at the thought.
The other corner of his mouth followed suit, and a full-on grin crossed his face.
“I’m sure I could keep you safe,” he said dryly. I didn’t doubt that for a second.
Wanting desperately to change the subject, I
asked where we were going for dinner. He said nothing, but turned up the wattage of his smile, and placed his hand on the small of my back, guiding me down the street. We were both silent as we walked; I soaked in the city lights, and he did whatever it was he did when he was quiet. It was surprisingly comfortable and easy.
I was gazing off at a tall building in the distance, when he ushered me to my right, off of the main street. My pulse quickened a little in direct proportion to the increasing darkness of my surroundings. We were walking down what appeared to be a poorly lit alley and to say it was ominous was an understatement.
Stacks of wooden palettes lined the brick walls narrowing the passable space and offering cover for the types of people inclined to lurk around in the darkness. Broken bottles littered the ground, their shards crunching loudly underfoot as we made our way further down. When the dumpster just beyond us rattled I shrieked, turning to dart back to the safety of the street. Before I could, Sean grabbed hold of me, pointing me to face a large red door with no signage or address.
“Are you ready to eat?” he asked calmly, with that damned smile on his face. Again.
“This is dinner?” I asked looking dubiously at the crimson entrance.
“So judgmental, Ruby,” he said with a joking hint of condescension, “It’s the best food you’ll ever eat.”
With the small of my back captive again, I was strongly guided through the entrance as he held the door. Ever the gentleman.
“How on earth did you know about his place? How does anybody know about this place for that matter? You’d think they’d hidden it on purpose.”
He smiled down at me as we approached the host.
“Exclusivity is easily kept through camouflage, Ruby. Some places are better kept a secret.”
The owner smiled as we entered and sat us back at the “usual table.” I’m not sure exactly who it was usual for since I’d never been there and Sean lived in Portsmouth, supposedly busy teaching at the college. I blew off the comment to peruse the menu. What I loved most about mom-and-pop style restaurants was their remarkable ability to keep the food simple and familiar, but deliver it in a way that far surpassed your expectations. The red door place was no exception to that rule.
“You should really try the crab cakes…best in New England,” he said bringing me out of my indecision.
“Um…sure. That sounds great, but,” I stammered, trying to explain myself, “I…um…I’ve never had one before.”
“How can you live on the east coast and have never had a crab cake? Did your parents keep you in a cage?” he asked jokingly, clearly trying to drive home his utter shock and confusion. I stared silently at my menu as his laughter slowly faded to nothing, matching my soundless state. He continued to say nothing, waiting for me to somehow explain why that comment had drawn such a reaction. When I finally had my emotions in check I raised my head enough to see his mouth, but not meet his eyes.
“Cages come in all sorts of size, shape and style,” was all I could utter softly under my breath.
He seemed to pause, thinking of what best to ask next for clarification.
“And yours?” he asked gently.
“Mine was forged by my parents’ insecurity, fear and overprotection. We lived in a tiny, rural town not far from where my parents worked. I was homeschooled with a private tutor. I had few friends growing up and was never allowed to do the normal kid things. They worried about myriad things that could happen to me if I left the house: get hit by cars, wander off, be made fun of, break something, be mugged…or worse.” I drifted off after that sentiment, trying to banish the memory of the woods that instantly flickered in my mind. “There were no playgrounds, birthday parties, sleepovers, movies, and never any boys. As I got older they became more desperate to control things. They became dietary fascists and very strict vegans. So long story short, I’ve never had a crab cake. I don’t remember what meat tastes like. I don’t enjoy being vegan, but it’s how I’ve eaten for so long that I just stuck with it. I feel like I’m honoring something that they valued, even though it’s not really me, and not especially easy or enjoyable for that matter.”
“Well,” he said, “That explains why you’re so thin; you haven’t really eaten for years.” He instantly started to laugh his hearty laugh that I couldn’t help but smile at when I heard it. My mood instantly improved with his energy. “I’m not trying to push you off the wagon, but if you’re into trying it, I think you’d love it.”
I smiled in response to his reiterated suggestion. As I looked down again at the menu to see what the crab cake entailed, something about his energy changed. His hand reached across the table and grabbed mine with moderate intensity.
“You need to understand something. People are not meant to be locked up and hidden from society…especially not children.”
His eyes were fierce and the energy that roiled off of him made it hard for me to breathe. He paused for a moment, shutting his eyes as if trying to expunge something from his mind. Taking a deep breath, he reopened them slowly. The intensity in his candlelit eyes was disturbing, and I swore it made them darken.
He spoke his next words slowly and succinctly.
“You will never be caged again.”
Not knowing what to say, and horribly uncomfortable with our contact, I smiled sheepishly while trying to delicately pull my hand away. His grip instantly tightened, not to the point of discomfort, but to let me know that he wasn’t letting me off the hook that easily.
“Look at me, Ruby,” he said, giving a tiny squeeze.
I put my menu down and lifted my eyes up to meet his gaze. It burned through me like paper over flame.
“You will never be caged again.”
“I know,” was all I could say. The whole interaction was such a strange thing. I couldn’t figure out why he was so concerned. He looked tortured as he told me this, as if he had an understanding of my life and was trying to somehow convey that message without actually saying it. Or he just felt sorry for me; I knew a lot about that. The thought of his sentiment being pity angered me.
“New subject. Now,” I blurted before my anger could creep to a more dangerous level. I hated pity more than almost anything else in the world. I lived surrounded by it for years. I wasn’t interested in any more.
“OK,” he said cautiously. “Care to tell me how you got into the jewelry business? It seems like an odd calling for you.”
I laughed inwardly at his remark. He had no idea how odd it was.
“My parents pushed me in education when I was growing up, always wanting the best for me. They were adamant about me having a strong education and well paying career. They constantly stressed that I couldn’t rely on someone else to take care of me…that nobody would want to sign on to that responsibility,” I said, fiddling with my silverware. ”My parents were a study in contradictions. They did everything they could to make sure that I wasn’t capable of being on my own, but then stressed me out about being able to be. At any rate, I went to school for biomedical research. I couldn’t use the microscope, but I was a whiz at chemistry and spent the better part of my college years researching various formulations for medications to cure autoimmune diseases. After my parents died, I decided that this was more their calling for me and that I never really enjoyed it. Having my sight allowed me to explore my more artistic side that my parents tried their best to stifle, saying that it could never get me anywhere in life, and that such things should not be indulged by those who couldn’t afford to.
“I took time after their deaths to contemplate what I wanted to do…where I wanted to go. I knew I couldn’t stay in the house I’d grown up in and sold it a month or so later. I needed change, but I didn’t want to wander to far from home, so I somehow settled on Portsmouth to live. After weeks of walking around, deciding what part of town to buy in, I realized that I was always drawn to the shop windows of the handmade art, pottery, jewelry - anything artisan, really. I love the idea of recycling and re-purposing, and reall
y love accessories; it seemed a good fit. I like to think I’m pretty good at it too…well, at the designing at least. Running the business is a whole other story.”
“I thought you said your parents let you dance as a kid?” he asked, seemingly perplexed. “You just said they didn’t let you indulge in such things.”
“That was the only thing they ever conceded to. I begged for two years straight, then they finally hired me a private instructor and built me a studio in the basement, sans mirrors of course.”
The waiter came and took our orders: two crab cake entrees and a bottle of Merlot. I knew we weren’t on a date, but it started to take on a decidedly date-like tone. More likely than not, I was just over-analyzing.
“What were we just talking about?” I asked, not waiting for a response. “Oh yeah, dance. So I started with my instructor when I was eight, and never stopped.”
“Is it different now?” he asked quietly.
“Different? Why would it…oooooh. Hmm. Well, it’s easier to do self-correction, that’s for sure,” I said laughingly, hoping to set him at ease. He looked as though he was treading on offensive ground.
“No, really. Please. Tell me how it’s different…I just can’t imagine.”
He looked truly curious, so I thought about his question at length before answering.
“Well. There’s the obvious answers to that question. It’s easier to learn something new, and far faster to pick up on choreography etc. I also now have a sense of whether or not I’m any good. I think in some ways it made it much more pure without sight because I wasn’t influenced by what I saw around me, or what I was told was good. I just did what felt right to me.” I realized I’d been looking down at the table as I answered his question, and shifted my gaze up to him. He looked absolutely riveted, as if what I was telling him was the most fascinating information ever. I was pretty certain that it wasn’t, but that didn’t seem to matter to him. “Now…now it’s totally different. At the risk of sounding vain, I love to watch myself in the mirror. I have a studio above my apartment and I use it all the time. Dance has always been an outlet for me for emotion of any kind. That hasn’t changed. But the ability to see what you’re feeling translated into movement that tells a story is so beautiful. It’s such a gift, and it’s way cheaper than therapy”.
Caged Page 5
