Tsunami Across My Heart

by Marissa Elizabeth Stone

  We seemed linked inexplicably, in the way that we both understood the dynamic of this kind of experience. He shamefully admitted that he would occasionally allow his roommate the same pleasures his cousin took but how confused he felt about everything. This, while I understood it, was something that I wasn’t quite sure what to do with and for the early portions of our romance made me question any real future we had with one another. What would be the effect of his cousin’s advances on him as a father, a husband? I couldn’t know, and if I was wrong about how it could affect him then the consequences could be so huge.

  For me, I knew the way in which my own sexually abusive experiences deeply affected me and at the time I think that I was still young enough, but self deceived enough, to think what had happened was really my fault. I wasn’t sure about what Eric was doing with his own residual affectation, but I knew I understood his deep and abiding pain from it. There has always been an understanding between us that only recipients of this experience can fully understand with one another.

  We lay in one another’s arms for some time and when we stirred and made love again it was tender and I was vulnerable to him in a new way I hadn’t been before.

  My connection with him deepened, and widened, my feelings growing for him, and my desire intensifying.

  Chapter 9

  The next afternoon, we started our drive up Highway One all the way to San Jose. It is a beautiful drive along the Pacific Ocean. We had dinner on the harbor in Santa Barbara before we left town, the boats gently bobbing and swaying during our candlelit dinner. I loved the way he commanded all the attention in the room, his handsome face glowing as he held my hand atop the linen covered table. The conversation was easy, appreciative of one another, and totally in the moment.

  After dinner we climbed into the car, and as we drove we held hands. As we started traveling north, I watched the white capped waves crash against the shoreline. The sun set beautifully and shimmered against the surface of the ocean as we wound our way further and further north. Eventually reaching our hotel near San Jose and settling in for the night well after midnight.

  The next morning, Eric had planned a little time for site seeing and he took me back over to the coast. We spent time wandering the streets in Monterey and meandering around the aquarium contemplating the life of John Steinbeck. The setting for “Cannery Row”, the characters came alive as I meandered through Doc’s lab full of animal parts displayed in sepia toned little jars. I expect to see Debra Winger and Nick Nolte sashay into view, and I follow Eric out of one building and into the next mindlessly, happily.

  We drove to beautiful Carmel and walked down to the public beach which rests at the foot of a long staircase, old and worn from many visitors. It’s not that large of a beach, but it is especially beautiful, white sand with blue water crashing on the shore its big black rocks standing poetically, braving the furious surf. We walked along the beach and he wore jeans and a big sweatshirt over his strong shoulders. The wind was blowing so the air was cool again, but the sand felt hot against my feet.

  He felt so right, so strong, his shoulders looked perfect and he was comfortable with the sleeves of his campus gray sweatshirt pulled up to his elbows. His jeans were faded almost to white against his sinewy thighs and his feet lay brown against the dry white sand that danced across the surface of his foot. I longed for him in every way. I knew I could love him completely. I wanted to love him.

  “So where does Clint live? Isn’t he Mayor of Carmel now?” I asked him as I entwined my arm into his and pressed against him, breasts taut, attentive to the touch and feel of him close at hand.

  “Oh he lives out beyond that point to the left. I’d have taken you over there today, but he’s busy with Sandra you know…” he winked as he teased me.

  “Uh huh, I hear ya. I see how you are, keeping all your fancy friends for yourself.”

  We stopped and looked out across the water at the waves crashing against the rocks, the spray pounding white and the droplets flying into the air like fireworks. The sound caressing my soul and clearing away any doubts, any stress, and any unhappiness that lied within. I was content, completely content in his company. He wrapped both arms around my waist the way he had on the balcony. I like that feeling so very much, the way it reminded me of the evening of our first encounter, and he rested his chin on my shoulder and it was easy being quiet together.

  It’s a funny thing how we don’t’ really see or appreciate bliss at the moment we have it. We’re taught to look forward to the future so much that when we’ve obtained Nirvana we frequently have no idea we’ve touched the pinnacle of our desire. Every time I have been at that stretch of sand since, I have secretly, silently stood in the same spot looking at the same rocks with the surf spraying loving adoration across them while I was praying silently for my love of Eric. Over the years I’m sure I’ve stood there at least three times since always with the smell of him, the feel of his body encircling mine on that beach echoing in my heart.

  Chapter 10

  “Come on, it’s time to go. We have to meet everyone for dinner and it’s going to take a few hours to get back to San Jose, especially with traffic.” Eric said to me, breaking the moment, and bringing me back to Earth again.

  Eventually we returned to San Jose for his Rugby tournament. All of his friends had gotten there long before our meandering had led us there. There were a ton of people there and Eric laughed and carried on with everyone and had a great time. I surprise myself that I can be so quiet when I first meet people because the real me is not very quiet at all.

  Dinner was fun but I sensed a little edge to Eric after dinner. He seemed distracted and he wasn’t very attentive anymore. He rushed through unpacking the car and getting his stuff in order and he seemed overly stressed. Upstairs, alone, he sort of put me off and was too tired for any kind of intimacy, and I was tired too, but never too tired for him.

  The day of the tournament I sat on the sidelines with girlfriends of Eric’s teammates. They all knew Elaine and were slightly surprised to meet any competition in his presentation of me. When Eric hit the field one or two of the girls said as much. I wasn’t sure what I should or shouldn’t say, but mostly I just held on to what I felt for him and my hope that his resonance, affinity and comfort with me would eventually win his heart and allegiance.

  As the day wore on I gained my own comfort level with the other women and conversation was easy and light. I no longer felt like an interloper in a tight circle of friends. Girls surely came and went in this larger circle of teammates and their women. They liked me on my own merits, and I quit worrying about Elaine.

  Eric was an aggressive but smooth player. He loved the game and it showed. He was quick, agile and covered in dirt and grass in the blink of an eye. I’d never seen the game before and it was alien but interesting. The culture and brotherhood of the team was intense and funny, and gregarious seemed to be a character trait required for any man in a Rugby scrum.

  I glanced to my right and I saw a woman dressed in baggy shorts and an easy, comfortable sweat shirt similar to the one Eric had worn that morning. Her demeanor was collegiate, not very womanly. Her long blonde curly hair breezed off of her shoulders and her bright face smiled with anticipation. Eric, who had been aggressively wiping the sweat off his brow and drinking water from an upturned bottle, seemed to suddenly stop in his tracks as he caught sight of her and slowly lowered the bottle.

  Two of the girls next to me said “Oh my God….”, and a third said “He is SO screwed.” and suddenly their attention was riveted to me. This, clearly, was Elaine, and she was walking directly towards Eric.

  She smiled at him adoringly, as he inquired “What are you doing here???” He was stunned and I saw him almost peer backwards to see what I might say or do about this sudden turn of events, but stop himself so as not to call attention to a stranger among the women. Clearly it was the last thing he expected to have happen.

  They spoke for several minutes. I vagu
ely heard him say he had plans the entire weekend and wouldn’t be able to spend time with her, though I didn’t hear him say anything about me specifically. I knew about her, knew where she stood in his life. Likewise, I knew where I apparently stood and where I’d rather be. True to my ideas about the gift of loving, I didn’t make myself obvious to her, and didn’t threaten him with exposure in any way, but it still stung.

  The other women next to me said in almost gleeful anticipation, “What are you going to do?”

  I simply replied, “We live two thousand miles apart, and I don’t fly home for two more days, what am I supposed to do? It just never has been my style to make a public scene, or to demand that a man give me what I want in the way that I want it. The times I’ve put that forth, it’s always blown up in my face.”

  I’m not sure if it was the denial of what I basically needed from my father that kept me from aspiring to what I truly desired and deserved romantically. Whatever it was, I wanted the ultimate without having to ask for, much less demand it. It had to be a gift. My sense of what it must feel like to have this realized is stunted in some ways. I think if I had a reference, a way to have completely felt it, I’d somehow have managed to create it. But, at the time I sat there quietly while he dispatched Elaine and the girlfriends of his teammates were incredulous in some ways, understanding in others.

  “Thank you for not making a scene Marissa. I guess you realize that was Elaine?” He guided me down the length of the field away from the other women. “I swear I didn’t know she was going to show up like this. She came to see her brother and wanted to surprise me.”

  “Oh? Why, I imagine you were, indeed, quite surprised.” I said sardonically.

  “And you? Are you angry?” he peered over at me as we walked away from the field.

  “Well, in a lot of ways, I don’t have a right to be angry do I? It’s not as though I own you or something. But do I wish you wanted me and only me and that you were willing to assert yourself in a way that demonstrates your desire for me? Of course I do! It makes me want to leave, go home, and I feel stuck and as though I don’t want to leave you at the same time. Mostly, it just stings, like salt dumped into a wide open wound Eric.”

  Tears stung my eyes and the more upset I was the more pronounced my drawl. I stopped, took in a breath and looked away refusing to cry in front of him anymore.

  It bothered me that it wasn’t his inclination to protect me, us, over her and them. It definitely dampened the remainder of our trip home through the vineyard filled valleys. The trip back was quiet. We still held hands, and the view was one purple mountain after another against dry golden fields. It couldn’t have been lovelier. I could tell he felt conflicted. He could tell I was hurt, disappointed and I’m sure my energy reflected a certain weariness at being denied the kind of love I craved and seemed to be destined to be forever just out of my grasp. I didn’t know how to be loved, not truly, and I couldn’t create what I didn’t understand.

  Finally, I just wanted to go home and it was another day or so before it was going to be time. By the time I did get on the plane to return to my Southern roots I fully expected that to be the end of us.

  Chapter 11

  Instead of the romance ending, as it naturally should have, he buffeted my distanced responses and was just simply persistent about staying in touch in the coming months. While maintaining he’d not hidden anything and couldn’t help my expectations weren’t met, he couldn’t and wouldn’t say that we might not someday evolve into what I wanted. He dangled himself like the proverbial carrot and my desire for him just wouldn’t wane as a result. Hope springs eternal, like they always say.

  I don’t stay angry that long and I tend to make excuses when I should set definite and firm boundaries. I forgave him, reduced my expectations ultimately and while we saw each other several more times that year, I dated other people too. But whenever there was sadness or a hurt and I needed someone to truly understand me, Eric was always the one I turned to.

  There was never a time in our affection for one another where we lived in the same city or were exclusive with one another. With the raw honesty of that second week together, all the things that led to our strong affinity and my acceptance of him warts and all, the necessity to hide our allegiances or our feelings or what either of us wanted or was doing with our time never took hold like it seems to in most relationships. He wouldn’t dare be jealous of other attentions I had at home after the incident with Elaine, but somehow he didn’t make me feel less than an honorable woman for them, or that he cared any less for me because of them.

  I credit this more than anything to the lasting nature of our friendship and affection. He never had to be anyone but himself, and neither did I. He knew how I felt. He never lied about how he felt. He has been one of the few people I have ever been connected to in my life that I was completely, truly authentic with.

  While later I avoided this sort of resonance and intimacy with other men it was truly enduring and almost impossible for me not to want to hold on to. Letting go of Eric, meant in some ways letting go of that authentic measure of self I had in our relational mirror. The company of his enduring acceptance and the humor and grace with which he reflected what he saw in me genuinely was invaluable to me. I loathed letting it go, and missed it when he was unavailable to me. We knew, understood and discussed our personal dynamics. For some reason I never really appreciated it then like I grew to later on. I found great comfort in knowing he understood certain aspects of me that no one else would without a lot of explanation. The emotional shorthand between us resonated and comforted us both in the face of whatever difficulties our past or present lives afforded us. There were no secrets about who I was or how I behaved or what I wanted or how I was affected by the events around me.

  Even the man who fathered my children never knew and accepted me wholeheartedly the way that Eric did. I don’t think our ability to be so completely self revealing with one another had the same singularity for Eric that it had for me. I don’t think he struggled with this kind of revelation as I did. When the chips were down and I felt like I was drowning he had the capacity to be my emotional lifeline, that golden silky thread back to my true and centered self. I didn’t have to care if he knew me; I risked nothing in the exposure of myself. It wasn’t until so much later that I realized withholding it meant I risked never having all I dreamed of creating.

  Beyond the emotional and experiential realm, we were both willing to pursue our dreams, work hard and realize our ambitions. I was and am proud of his success. For a long while I thought he would have made a much stronger partner to my own successes and I longed for the strength he displayed in his work. He knew as much about computers as I did. Our religious and spiritual orientations were closely aligned if not identical, and I always liked his willingness to look within and find his strengths and weaknesses and to be honest about what he found. I could tell him anything that was going on in my life without reservation, and then about how I felt and what I wanted and needed in relationship to those events. But the limit was always that I knew that he was not physically available to meet all of my needs, nor was he likely to make himself available in the way I’d like him to be.

  I felt destined to be cheated out of a greatness of love and acceptance from Eric, and helpless to do anything to make him see what it was I so desperately wanted to share with him. He never really wanted what I could envision between us, he never saw the same thing that I could practically taste as if it were the salty spray on the beach in Carmel. Over time, his limitation, his lack of recognition of the depth of my feeling for him, beyond being disappointing, had a way of making me discount the significance of my self revelation and connection to Eric. Surely it meant that I’d love another man more completely, that I’d be better suited to another man, that the my ultimate capacity to connect and love in a lasting way had not casually been conceived, given birth to and lived out its existence without any kind of permanency or significance. I always w
ondered what might have happened between us had we been in the same city, or been willing to be exclusive.

  Chapter 12

  As that first year passed, David came back into my life again and Eric’s limited availability and his lack of meaningful pursuit meant that it wasn’t realistic to measure the two against one another. Men have revolved in and out of my life like they rode on a carousel, and my close girl-friends comment about how men don’t seem to ever completely leave me behind. I am a memorable lover, uninhibited and intense, so have been told “I’ve never forgotten you. I still dream of you at night” by almost every lover I’ve ever taken. If it weren’t for the terminal sense of separation or the confusion over being valued so sexually all my life, I might feel flattered, but often it just makes me feel alone. So, at the time, I didn’t ask Eric for more than we had, and I don’t think he expected me to either.

  I did see him “one last time” before I promised to be faithful to David in our round two of romance. Funny how many times I’ve assumed the last visit with Eric was indeed the last. One day something, someone I love more completely, or eventually death may separate us once and for all. I’m not convinced that even the veil of death has done that in the past. I felt connected to him in some otherworldly sense as though I must have loved him before. We spent that stolen night together in my garden bath in Charlotte with the phone ringing incessantly.

  Here I was ignoring David, who was asking me to promise to love him forever, who I thought I would love forever. Just after I gifted myself a farewell to