The Greek Persuasion

by Kimberly K. Robeson

  20

  Jessica is still in my bed on this early Saturday morning. The last three months have flown by. Every Friday, after our three-hour classes, Jess and I go for lunch, then to The Burn for a happy hour drink; we celebrate another week of teaching done, one week closer to summer break. One week I drive, the next she does, depending on who will be designated driver. We unwind and dance for a few hours, then always end up back at my place. Jess shares a big house with two roommates, and we just like our privacy so much more, so our place of weekend habitat has been my condo. Saturdays, like today, she usually sleeps in. I can never sleep past 8:00 a.m., but Jess can sleep until noon. And she sleeps so deep—it drives me a bit nuts. I wake up at 7:00 a.m., thinking about all the papers I have to grade, all the things I need to do around the house. There are bills to be paid, furniture to be dusted, and more papers to grade. My head is full of lists, lists, and more lists. But she sleeps and sleeps. A slight puffing, whirring, and snore escapes her every so often, not like Ravi’s snoring that kept me awake. Hers is somewhat delicate, almost lovable. Jessica usually stays the weekend, leaving Sunday afternoon, so she can get some grading done and prepare for the week ahead. I like the company, but today I’m uneasy. I can’t lie in bed any longer, so at 7:43 a.m. I put on a pot of coffee and turn on my computer.

  Thair’s Story

  Thair met a woman at work, and for the first time since her brief encounter on holiday, she was once more enamored with a woman. The sex certainly was great. Thair likened sex with a woman to chai tea. It was sweet, smooth, went down easy. Sex with men was like a bold cup of java. Stronger, thicker, a bit bitter to the taste, but the pleasure it gave, unequivocally addictive. With Jessica the sex was delicious. Light snoring, no rolling over, just warm, soft flesh. So much touching, so much time spent looking into each other’s eyes, talking, laughing; sex was endless, never a rush. Of course, there were times when she and Jessica got a bit wild, a bit aggressive, but mostly, the way she climaxed with a woman was certainly different. Was it better? No, she could not say it was. It was just different. And there had been so many other differences in the months that Thair had been dating a woman. Some differences were simply inconvenient (Jess expected Thair to take out her own garbage and change her own light bulbs), others were more serious (only a few districts in San Diego where they could go to avoid lascivious or disgusted stares and feel genuinely comfortable), and some differences were downright frightening (two white men with a confederate flag on their monster Ford truck had yelled out the window: “You fucking bitches need some cock to set you straight! CUNTS!”).

  The “c” word still rang in her head weeks later. Challenges existed that had never crossed Thair’s mind when she was in a heterosexual relationship. When dating men, there were unlimited excellent restaurants to explore, places they could share a bottle of wine and be romantic. She had never felt harassed. In fact, quite the opposite. With James and Ravi, Thair often heard: you two make such a nice couple! In the months that she and Jess had been dating, no one had ever complimented their coupledom. Instead, old ladies stared if they were to give a quick peck in a restaurant. Their husbands usually looked on lustfully with one hand on their penises under the table. The stares, hoots, and hollers Thair could ignore, but the men in the pickup had truly frightened her. So much so that she wanted to call the police, but Jessica calmed her down. “Honey, try to relax. We don’t have a license plate number, and even if we did, and the police could find them, it’s really hard to book someone for a comment we supposedly heard. It would be their word against ours. Do you really want to start something with two uneducated, possibly violent assholes?” Thair was surprised that Jess, who had seemed so polemically inclined towards issues she believed in, would allow such an event to slide so easily. Couldn’t a verbal assault be considered a hate crime?

  These things had caused Thair to reflect on the difference of being in a lesbian relationship compared to a straight one, but none of this was bothering her this morning. It was something else.

  It was what Jessica had said the night before.

  It had all started with a conversation about exes. “Thair, tell me a little more about Ravi.”

  “Why? I’ve told you several times that it’s over, totally over.” Thair said in a petulant manner.

  “I’m sorry, Thair, you know this isn’t about trust. I just want to hear more about what happened. I don’t often wear my heart on my sleeve, but I don’t want to do whatever the poor bloke did and lose my sweet Thair forever.”

  Thair smiled. She loved it when Jess used this voice, one of protectiveness, one that also sounded a bit possessive. Jessica continued: “I know we both have friends that are ex-lovers, but I guess when we see mine, it feels transparent. When you see Tawny, you can tell that we are friends and nothing more. But, when we saw Ravi last week at Panniken, the warmth in your eyes was unmistakable. And, okay, I am a bit jealous.”

  Thair was playing with her wine glass, swirling the liquid in circles as she listened to Jess. She honestly did not want Jess to feel insecure. She had few romantic feelings for Ravi, but it was true, she did still feel a certain physical pull to him. And, yes, there was a part of her that would jump in bed with him again if she were single … ah, those slim hips and wide shoulders. But there was a big “but.” She was not in love with Ravi. Of that, she was certain. But how did Thair feel about Jessica? Was she in love? Or at least, was she falling in love? With Jessica everything was really good. Jess never held back her feelings; an open book, from politics to love, she made no excuses for anything, for anyone. She stood behind her beliefs but knew when to back down, knew when a few steps back actually meant a few steps forward. Thair loved that about her even if she didn’t always agree with her decisions.

  They had open communication: they debated so many things, but their differences of opinions only brought them closer because after every feisty conversation, they would simply agree to disagree, then laugh and make ravenous love. And there was never any residual resentment. With men, if there was a difference of opinion, Thair found herself the next day trying to baby the man’s bruised ego. With Thair and Jess it was simply good old-fashioned discourse; she imagined this was the way Aristophanes and Eryximachus argued that fateful day when they talked about the superhuman race and the creation of love. They stated their ideas, asked questions, spewed opinions, didn’t necessarily agree, and when all was said and done, like Thair and Jess, they kissed and made up.

  It was a solid relationship, exciting too. Jess knew Thair’s body like a map. There was not one unexplored continent, not one mole-of-an-island that hadn’t been tenderly kissed or caressed. Jessica would spend hours exploring every crevice, every peak, every flatland.

  And Jess had this deep, raspy laugh that was so genuine, came from the heart, it kind of reminded Thair of her grandmother’s laugh. Jessica was an extraordinary person and a fantastic lover.

  But she was also a woman who hungered to be a mother.

  Jess continued to probe, “Thair, tell me, even I can see how sexy and intelligent Ravi is.” Taking Thair’s hand gently, “Can you tell me what happened? I really want to understand.”

  Gosh, where to begin? Thair, on a whim, decided to tell her the story of the hand and the heart. “I guess I have always seen relationships in terms of pictures, images, symbols …”

  Jessica squinted a bit but didn’t interrupt.

  “I know this sounds silly, but I feel like there is this hand that is connected to my brain, and it travels down my throat and stops just before my heart; this is my hand of logic. Then there’s another hand that starts at my heart that is desperately reaching up to grab a hold of the hand that is dangling its fingers in my throat. The problem is, the logic-hand never wants to reach down far enough to hold onto the heart-hand. It’s as if my heart wants to stretch, but the other hand always pulls back. I guess I imagine when I meet my … my … I can’t believe I am going to say this—my other half, The One who is tru
ly meant for me, the heart-hand will stretch out and hold onto the logic-hand. And I will just know.”

  As she finished talking, Thair realized that she sounded a bit loony. Brain/logic-hand? Heart-hand? This love thing was making her certifiably insane. The beauty was, through all of this, Jessica was listening intently.

  There was a long pause, so Thair remarked: “I can’t believe I told you about my brain and heart-hand theory. You must think I am crazy!” Thair said this as she tried to purge a nervous laugh.

  “Thair, no, you’re not crazy. Thank you so much for sharing that. Really. In fact, I think you’ve described what I am feeling. I could almost feel these hands enter me, one holding onto the other tightly. I know it’s only been a few months, but I am sure you know how much I … I love you. I don’t just love your humor, intelligence, and beauty, I am so in love with you. Using your analogy, if I may, my logic-hand and heart-hand are completely intertwined, completely connected.”

  After her admission, Jessica sat there calmly, another of her strengths, to open herself up, become totally vulnerable, unafraid of the consequences. Instead of meeting Jessica’s gaze, Thair looked down, a burning sensation in her throat.

  Taking Thair’s hands gently in hers, Jessica, in an almost whisper-like voice, questioned: “Sweetie, I do feel compelled to ask, what about you? Where are these hands in relation to us for you?”

  Silence again. Thair moved in her chair a bit, brows furrowed, finally she spoke, “Jess, God. I … I … don’t—”

  But before Thair could complete her answer Jessica remarked, “Thair, I’m sorry. Please don’t answer yet. I don’t want to push you. I certainly don’t want to push you away. So let’s just enjoy our wine and

  I feel Jessica kissing me on the neck, so I drop the screen to my laptop and swivel around.

  “What are you writing, babe?”

  “Just those silly stories I told you about.”

  “I’m sure they aren’t so silly. When do I get to read them?”

  I let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ll ever really want to share them …”

  Jessica’s eyes drop, with feigned sadness she states, “Okay. But you know I would love to read them if you ever change your mind.”

  “I know. And for that you are so sweet, and I love you.” Oh shit! What did I just say? I meant it in a very casual way, but I cannot ignore the expression on Jessica’s face.

  “Thank you. I needed that. I love you, too. I thought after last night I may have frightened you away. You know, talking about babies and … hands and all!” With that she lets out one of her deep laughs. Then she looks more serious, “Thair, I know that we haven’t been together long, but when you know, you know? Right? Isn’t that what you said? I knew, probably from our first kiss, that you are the woman I would love to spend my life with. And I have always been honest with you from the beginning. I have a complete life, but I also want to be a mother. I have always wanted to be a mother, and now it just feels like all the pieces of the puzzle are in place.”

  I look deep into her. I do love her. I am in love. But can I go back on everything I believe and become a parent? Share a child, be part of a two-mother household? I admire her character, just the way she is; it’s as if an aura of positive energy surrounds her. And with her I feel so light, so happy. The way she throws her shoulders back, how she makes clever comments, how she astounds me with her knowledge of almost anything. While these thoughts cross my mind, she gets up and faces the sliding door, dressed in a simple white T-shirt, looking outside, at what I am not sure. She reminds me of Artemis as she stands there, the sexy tomboy diety who was known as Goddess of the Hunt, but a goddess who also loved children and who later took on Eileithyia’s role in aiding childbirth. Like Artemis, my lover’s strengths are two-fold: physically powerful and utterly compassionate.

  My cheeks radiate love. A strong pull at the hands in me, maybe my heart–hand and brain-hand will finally clasp fingers?

  Then I notice her touching her stomach in a motherly way. My enigmatic brain-hand shortens. What is she thinking? What am I thinking? I don’t want to be a parent. I hear myself say out loud, “Jess, we do need to have that conversation again. But not today. Okay? I really just want to have some fun. Is that okay with you?”

  “Of course, my princess.” She is now towering above me with her hand gently resting on my shoulder. “It’s just that my biological clock is ticking at light speed. Shit! I’m almost forty-one, so I do need to know how you feel about kids.”

  “Jess, please. Not today. Please. Not today. I just don’t have it in me.” God, I love this woman, but I am certain of what I don’t want. Yet … Phaedra wants to be a grandmother so badly.

  “Sorry, sorry.” She says this as she lightly kisses my neck again. “You’re right, let’s not talk today. Instead …” she kisses me on the shoulder, “I have an idea,” another kiss, “how about you turn off that computer,” her hand slip between my legs, “and I’ll show you—” before she can finish her sentence, I turn around and we are kissing passionately. She has both her hands on the computer chair, then moves down on her knees as I spread my legs, anxious to have this woman use her talents on me.

  The phone is ringing and ringing and ringing, but I ignore it. Then I hear my mother almost yelling into the machine, “Thair, Thaaaaaair, are you there? Okay. Call me. It’s your mama. Everything is okay, just wanted to talk. Okay. Bye, honey.”

  Click.

  It’s late Sunday and Jessica has just left. No sooner than I kiss her goodbye, the phone rings again. I pick it up immediately since I know it’s my mother.

  “Hi, Thair!” My mom says with enthusiasm in her voice. “I got your message Saturday afternoon, but I couldn’t call back because I got in late.”

  “No problem. Jessica and I were out anyway. We went to a movie.”

  “Nice girl that Jessica? You two have really become good friends, huh? It seems you are together all the time.”

  “Yep.” I haven’t told my mom about my relationship, but I also haven’t lied about anything. Jessica has answered my phone and they have chatted, but they have yet to meet. I tell my mother that Jessica stays over all the time, and that I met her at the college, that she’s also a professor. My mom hasn’t asked any questions, so it’s the good ol’ “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy in action. Part of me believes she knows something; the other part of me believes that there is no way in hell she even imagines that “this Jessica,” as she puts it, could be my lover. I know Jessica wants me to tell her, wants to meet her. I’m just not ready, especially now after the kid conversation.

  “So, Thair, I wanted to know if you could come and feed my cat next weekend.”

  Suddenly my interest is piqued, “And where are you going, Ms. Phaedra?”

  I can instantly feel my mom’s coyness penetrate the phone lines.

  “Well, I met this really nice gentleman, and he wants to go on a road trip to San Francisco for a week, and I thought it would be fun.”

  “This gentleman? Where did you meet him? And how long have you known him?” From being interested, I am instantly worried, “And are you sure he’s safe, I mean to be traveling with him?”

  “If you stop asking questions for just a minute, I’ll answer you.”

  “Okay, sorry.”

  “His name is Robert, and I met him through Greta. He and Wade were friends before Wade passed away.”

  “So, did Greta set you up?”

  My mom laughs. “No, of course not, you know I won’t get set up anymore, way too old for that.” I know my mom is anything but old with her lively eyes and cute, slim figure.

  “So how did you meet him?”

  “He came by to see Greta, and I was doing yard work. Well, the three of us started chatting, and then he invited the two of us out to lunch. I declined, but I guess he got my number from Greta and invited me out to the movies. I went because he seemed like a nice enough man. And then we went to dinner the foll
owing week. You know how these things work. Anyway, he has invited me to accompany him to San Francisco, and it sounds like a lot of fun. So can you feed my cat?”

  “Sure. But … can I meet him? I mean, will I meet him before this trip? And I want his full name and info, and—”

  “Do you also want his social security number? Thair, relax. I’ll give you his phone number, but I don’t think you’ll get a chance to meet him since we are leaving on Thursday.” She says Thursday with a little squeal, and I can hear the excitement in her voice.

  We chat for another half hour about this gentleman, all the while I’m thinking, I can’t remember the last time I heard my mama so happy.

  21

  Costamar College, California

  May, 2003

  We are almost at the end of the semester, and as I look around at the students’ faces, melancholy fills my chair. This is a memorable group. English 200, the highest course I can teach at a community college, the course that offers me students who are on their way to a four-year university, students who are intelligent and simply a lot of fun. I love teaching, always have; it’s the endless grading that I abhor, but with every job, one must take the good with the bad.

  I put them in groups today and as I do this, I find myself reflecting on this mixed bunch. There is Freddie, a man in his mid-forties who just lost his wife from a tragic accident, an eccentric man, an oddball, my most adamant crasher in all my years of teaching. I told him several times that I would not add him to the course, but he kept coming back. I could have called campus police, but he struck me as witty; still, I was at full capacity: “Freddie, I will not add you.” I stated coldly.