Chapter Eleven
There are pages of your life that are best left turned to the left, face down, recalled simply as pleasant memories. My friend Billy once said some things should never be revisited because everything has changed and you will lose the fond memories. I agree. Then why was I driving a hundred some miles to Rememberland? I could blame it all on Breen, it was her idea; but ideas like this one, took two for fruition.
She had said “I want us to touch our pasts…take me to someplace where you took an unfortunate young girl who momentarily lost her sanity and went out with you.”
“Since you put it in such complimentary words Breen…you know I did have some good times, not all of my dating experiences were disasters!”
“I wasn’t referring to you Dave...the poor unfortunate women,” smug smile, laughing eyes.
We drove one sunny morning, drove back in time, not to times I still knew, but to places I had not seen in years. She wanted to see the street I was born on, the street I spent my pre-teen years on, the street I took her to so long ago, the apartment buildings of my life she knew nothing of, the colleges, the bars, the park I would walk in on Sunday afternoons, the main drag in the neighborhood where Breen had met my friends, the Dunkin Doughnuts, the restaurants, the places where I used to shop; a lifetime full of places all seen in one day. We left at six in the morning and arrived back after eleven that night. In between we became entwined in each other's lives; promises to do the same for hers; promises to never let each other drift apart again.
But all this was touching the city, not the people, not the flesh and blood, not the voices, we only glanced; “this was different;” “This has changed;” “I think it was like this.” But it was important to Breen, far more than to me, because I had lived it, tasted the waters, drank the wine, walked the windswept streets in winter, and sat at an outdoor café in the spring. It was important to Breen because this was a part of me that she had shut out of her life. She simply wanted to get a sense of feel as to who I was.
As we were getting into the car for the trip, Breen had informed me that I was to hold her hand. We were doing this together, no jokes, no misunderstandings of why we’re making this trip, no misunderstanding of how we would introduce ourselves should we have to, “Mr. Item;” but more importantly, she wanted to feel my reactions, not simply observe. “You know holding hands leads to other public displays of affection…like putting my arm around your waist while standing in a line, like…”
“Dave, I want you to hold my hand, but…just don’t press your luck, OK,” laugh, taking my hands in hers, “I’m trusting you with my emotions, not just today but for a long time to come, and this is the last serious conversation we will have today.”
So I read between the lines, and she reads the lines reflected in my eyes, “lighten up and enjoy the drive.”
We drove down a street I had never driven on before, my family moved soon after I was born. We drove past the elementary school “where I stole my first kiss on a bet.”
“She still hate you?”
“No idea, but I had a crush on her for three years.”
“She still hates you!”
“Thanks.”
“I have a feeling you are going to say that a lot today.”
The street I lived on as a child; sled rides down the steepness, the bike rides throughout the neighborhood, the back ally where the older boys once cornered me and I became a crab apple target. The street of my teen years. My junior high, the place my high school once stood, replaced by a building that just did not evoke solidarity with the past, the community college, the two universities, we caught the third on the way back; I spent a few years in school. The place where I entered the Army, places I worked, where I frequented, and where I spent nights alone amid crowds of people because my heart was broken over Breen.
We drove past apartments I had lived in. As we neared the first one Breen asks, “Any interesting stories you want to share? No? Come on Dave, you’re squirming around like the car seat is burning your rear end!”
“I am not squirming; well kind of, I gave myself a wedgie.”
“You can keep that to yourself...I’ll close my eyes and count to ten so you can adjust your clothes.”
“You’re so polite, just don’t count fast.”
“Be real, I am not going to close my eyes. If you want to pull your...,” she is looking at me like something just occurred to her.
“Your what?”
“Underwear, Dave!”
“So why did you stop in mid-sentence?”
She’s blushing.
“Breen, I am surprised at you. Where you going to say something else?”
“I was going to say underwear...it’s just...OK, I tried to picture you in your underwear. Happy now.”
“Just don’t try to borrow any.”
We passed a place that once held a book store and coffee house. Sensing a change in my mood, “You’re quiet.”
“Do you know how many of the people I knew during those years are now dead.”
“Dead?”
“Mortality slaps you in the face. My closest teen years, young adult friend, my…she died from a heart attack. Women aren’t supposed to die young from heart attacks, not my friend anyway. That sounded bad, didn’t it?”
“I met her remember. Your mom thought of her as a daughter, and she was like a sister to you. You introduced me to her for approval didn’t you?”
“Yes, and sorry about the serious conversation. I kind of slipped into it.”
Breen leaned over and kissed my cheek, squeezed my hand.
Forcing myself back to happier thoughts, “See that building over there? It was once a firehouse; from the 1920’s, hook and ladder, that’s why it’s long and narrow. I had visions of turning it into a restaurant…La Firehouse.”
“What kind of food, French?”
“No idea, just wanted to make it into a restaurant and La Firehouse sounded good.”
Breen laughed and shook her head.
“You seem to shake your head a lot when I tell you things.”
“Definitely things; most definitely things,” as she shook her head again.
Lunch that day was at the Market downtown. Dinner was candle lit, even though Breen first complained that we were not dressed properly for the occasion; a candle lit dinner is romance, proper dressing is dating.
The restaurant had a violinist who asked if I had a request. “Yes, play a waltz,” and I took Breen’s hands in mine and reaffirmed that I would try to learn how to dance for her. I told her she made my heart dance. I did not apologize for turning the evening serious, nor did she complain.
The waltz plays for us, only us, because all others in the restaurant have faded into the shadows.
“Dance for me, or dance with me?” with a sly smile and soft voice, “I hope it’s with me, because I can’t picture you in a tutu doing Swan Lake in my living room.”
“With you...how am I supposed to put you in a romantic mood if you don’t take me seriously?”
She slowly removes her hands out from under mine; not rushing, but slowly, allowing her fingers to brush, linger across my hands. She then slowly stands; eyes fixed on mine, holding me. Breen moves to my side of the table and is now standing next to me, “Come here,” beckoning me to stand next to her. I stand, her eyes pulling me toward her as if they had magnetism. And when I was standing in front of her, Breen places her arms around my neck; my arms are now around her waist; we are looking into each other's eyes, just inches apart. Gently, romantically, “Don’t move or sway, just look at me. Dave I want you to try to learn to dance with me. I need you to dance with me. I don’t want you to use the closeness of dancing as a means to an end...no, not a means to an end...but a beginning.”
As if knowing my intentions she places a finger on my lips, “Let’s not seal this pact with a kiss...kisses come later tonight...seal this pact with words, do you really want to try?
”
“Yes, I want to learn only because of you. You’re my inspiration, my desire. Without you...my arms would feel betrayed should I learn to dance for anyone else.”
Breen forgot herself and kissed me and when our lips parted she realized what she had done. I took the initiative to break our physical contact and, as I allowed my arms to slowly retreat from her, “I want to learn to Tango, to express my feelings for you and feast on your sensuality.” Breen did not stop looking pleased for the rest of the evening.
On the drive back Breen told me about her life after I last saw her. She did not delve deep into it, just deep enough to let me know she wanted to share it with me, but not so deep the mood of the evening would change.
We arrived at her apartment complex about twelve, said good night for at least a half hour, I did not want to leave her; she was right about the day's events, the trip had brought us closer together. We sat in the car holding hands like kids coming home from a date. We watched the stars in the sky. “Look, a shooting star; Dave make a wish!” I did and without even asking, she knew what I had wished for. That was her cue to really say good night and, with one last kiss, we walked to her door.
The next day I took out an old photo album and idly leafed through the pages. When I got to those of Breen I hesitated on the thought of taking one out to place it somewhere in the house. I decided against it, and moved on. I was glad I had saved them; the few Breen had got trashed. I called Donna and we talked about Donna’s home town, her memories. I called Billy, told him I had taken a drive down memory lane, but I would never be ready to move back. Then I started to clean the house because I intended to ask Breen to dinner; actually, Breen, Ve, Donna, Fred, Billy, his wife, and another friend of Breen's.
I informed Breen and Donna over coffee at Donna’s. Breen asks why. In a half joke, “It’s a chance for our immediate circle of friends to see us holding hands...you know...”
“Are we supposed to...you know...kiss in front of everyone, you know.”
“'You know' is an acceptable expression, you know, it’s...”
Donna cuts in, “Platitude, I believe the word you’re looking for is platitudinarian. Breen, I forgot to warn you that Dave has a tendency to be dull.”
“Breen I forgot to warn you that platypus over there likes to impress me with her command of a very abrasive English language.”
“Do you two ever come to blows?”
“Well, he is fun to smack with a rolled up magazine now and then; aren’t you Dave?”
“Don’t give Breen any ideas. If your mother only knew how you treated the most wonderful man in your life.”
“If, her mother you know only, you know,” chimes in Breen and they laugh so hard coffee is spilt.
As we are driving back to Breen’s apartment, Breen delves into my relationship with Donna, “Donna likes to needle you about language, why?”
“It’s her way of reminding me I have a prejudice against lawyers; not her, lawyers as a profession in general.”
“Why?”
“Lawyers or Donna’s needling?”
“Needling” “I was the one that indirectly convinced her to make the switch to law and when she informed me of her decision I said something like damn, another lawyer.”
“Nice and blunt. I can see why Donna has license to jab you with large needles.”
“Obviously I will get no sympathy from this corner.”
“Take up knitting.”
“Thanks for the suggestion. Donna has a PhD in anthropology and minors in...no, a Bachelors in Romantic Languages and a Masters in some history period. So, one day we are talking on the phone and she tells me that she just does not have a feeling for the profession she had chosen. I tell her it’s because she is too alive to fall into the history trap. History should be alive, not the study of, the remembrance of death. We should study history to understand the who, what, and why of people’s thoughts, actions, and how they see today, so we can understand where we are going tomorrow. Hopefully to make the changes that will improve tomorrow. She agreed. Her professors were, for the most part, lost in yesterdays, reading history like a dead language. They teach dates, not how the currents of life have woven human existence into the fabric of today’s society. A week later she calls and tells me that she has applied to law school.”
“She also uses the barbs to remind me that she can do the Sunday New York Times crossword in less time than I can read the first clue.”
“You want to know a secret?”
“Sure.”
“She told me that the barbs are to let you know that she wishes she had your ability to paint with words.”
“Umm...did she say anything about the pickup truck barbs?”
“She did not have to tell me, I have the same opinion...you enjoy your trucks, just don’t expect me to give up my luxury sedans!”
“NASCAR?”
“Dave, I’ll go...but...we will cross that bridge when we get to it,” kiss to temper the pain.
Changing the subject, she asks, “Do you want me to come over early to help you get ready for the dinner?”
“I would like that. Hummmm, how early?”
“Not that early! You can show me around the house...BUT...I expect only a tour. Don’t even think about, daydream about a rest stop in the bedroom, understand!”
“Yes Breen...fortes fortuna juvat.”
“Fortune favors the brave? There is nothing brave about a dinner party.”
“I was not referring to the party.”
“I am well aware of that. Unlike your favorite saying, sarcasm is not lost on this adult! Donna also told me that you feign linguistic ignorance.”
Donna called that night, she decided to decline bringing Fred; which seemed odd, as this would be a perfect time to introduce him to our friends. I did not press the issue.
Tuesday night while I was shopping for the dinner party my cell phone rang. It was Donna. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, or, in this case, Swedish meatballs.”
“Donna, good evening, and I am not serving Swedish meatballs, thank you.”
“Why the store out of frozen meatballs? Thought you were shopping when no one picked up the phone.”
Something in the tone of her voice. “What’s up?”
“Oh nothing, just thought I would call to see if you needed me to do anything.”
“Just be there for me,” silence, “you still on the line,” thinking maybe the silence was a lost connection.
“Oh nothing, I’m here, just my mind working overtime.”
“Want me to stop by on my way home?”
“No...yes, would you?”
“Sure, but I’ll need to use your fridge so the Swedish meatballs don’t defrost.”
When I arrived at Donna’s I got the impression that, although Donna was dressed for the gym, she was not interested in going. Her face bespoke something serious, even if she tried to hide it behind a smile. We went to the kitchen and Donna made tea; good, no frills black English grade tea, cream and sugar. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know. Supposed to meet Freddy at the gym, but I called and took a rain check. Things are moving pretty fast between Breen and you, aren’t they?”
“Yes, maybe too fast. What do you think?”
“Ummm, watch your heart Bro.”
“Bro? That’s a new one...Sis, but much nicer than a Donna smack on the head.”
“Do you think love is like a virus...like, you falling in love again, is it catchy?”
“Depends,” this was serious, “you feel like you’re catching love?”
“Don’t know...that’s the problem, I get these strange feelings about Fred.”
Normally I would come back with a one-liner, but not this time, “Are you worried that these feelings are related to me and Breen?”
“Don’t know. Dave I have used the term ‘don’t know’ more times this past week than in my entire life. Am I reall
y in love with Fred, or is it because I think I am losing you as a friend?”
“No way, we’ve been through marriages before, remember?”
“But it was different then. This is different with Breen. She’s too much like me! I don’t want to lose you...OH NO, don’t think I am talking anything more than friendship! Oh shit, Dave, we are like sister and brother.” Donna pauses, reaches out and covers my hand with hers, “I’ve been thinking a lot about this, about the bond that’s between us. It’s more than friendship. It’s not sexual, but love just the same. Am I making sense?”
“Perfect sense. There has always been an underlining sexual attraction between us, don’t want to sound clinical...guess we both recognized from the very start that any physical relationship would not last more than a few minutes. It’s our love for each other, good word you used, that our love for each other is far more important. Friendships like ours are rare.”
I could almost literally see the thought process at work and thankfully I sensed her mood improving.
“Am I being foolish, worried about nothing?”
“Maybe the worry is good; it speaks of how important our concern for each other’s welfare really is.”
“Well, and notice I am not under the influence when I say this, I do want you to be happy, but I am jealous of Breen, so that’s the truth and I am sticking to it.”
“I have been jealous of every man you have known.”
“Good!”
“Good?”
“Let’s keep it that way Dave. Let’s keep the jealousy, our friendship, our acceptance of the other’s love life,” definitely more upbeat.
“Donna you never cease to amaze me. You can be so damn desirable one minute, my sister the next, my nemesis the next, and all in the span of,” looking at my watch, “one minute.”
She notices that she is still holding my other hand, grins “Longest we ever held hands.”
“We did have a twenty minute kiss once.”
“Dave it was less than five, we were both way under the influence, dateless on New Year's Eve, and I used a full bottle of mouth wash the next morning! But we did, didn’t we? Can I trust you alone in the world?”
“Alone in the world?”
“Is there an echo in here? Yes, alone in the world, cause you’re on your own reading your heart about Breen; just armed with my blessing, and please don’t get second thoughts about me when I kiss you at your wedding.”
“Do I say thanks? I’m not sure what is more improbable at this point in my life, a wedding or you looking forward to kissing me.”
“Sisters kiss brothers at their wedding.”
“Sis, anytime you need a hug or a long kiss, just ask, that’s what big brothers are for.”
“Dave, big brothers hug, just hug, what you have in mind is socially unacceptable in our society.”
“OK, so I’ll kiss you like a friend.”
She laughed, and we left all thoughts of losing our friendship melt away, just like the ice cream I had unintentionally left in the car.
“You really use mouth wash?”
“No, but I did enjoy the kiss that one time Dave, trust me, that one and only time, don’t even think about trying it again, cause you will get smacked on the head, hard.”
“So what about Fred? Seems you have left him at the gym to work out his frustrations.”
“I think I’m in love with him. Not out of whatever because of you and Breen, but really, I do love him. I just don’t want to force the relationship because of some sub-conscious need to formalize the relationship quickly, a need to compensate for you not being around as often. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, it makes sense. Just, I’m wondering who needed this conversation more, you or me.”
She walked me to the door, we hugged, and she kissed me on the lips, “last time, from now on, its cheeks only.”
On the day of the dinner party Breen arrived in time for breakfast, for which, over her objections, I went all out; eggs, an omelet with green pepper, tomato, onion and mushrooms; toast; bacon; juice; coffee; and conversation. I knew I could become used to her being here every morning and I sensed from her smile that she could become used to being pampered, but only to a point. As I poured her a second cup of coffee I asked her to, “Talk to me in French,”
We had moved into the living room, “I want no other woman to speak to me in French but you.”
“Let’s hold off on the French this morning, you and Gomez Adams. Don’t get serious on me Dave...I mean, conversations today. You’re already serious about me, so there’s no use warning you off, is there?”
“No. I completely disregarded the warning sign, dangerous curves ahead.”
“And watch you metaphors, similes...cadit quaestio! No question, no debate, no argument.”
“Now I have two of them in my life.”
In plain words, but in a non-threatening tenor, “Poor Dave, get used to it. Just remember that possession is...in this case, one hundred percent of the law.”
My reply was a smile and slight right, left movement of the head and a silent laugh conformation that I accepted the commitment our ‘item’ relationship required.
Breen crossed her legs and stretched her arms above her head. I watched the crimson colored material of her blouse pull tight across her breasts; my eyes betrayed my thoughts. She instantly dropped her arms and gave me a look of ‘nice move, Romeo.’ Then she started to laugh, “Sorry, I did not mean to...” searching for a word.
“Tease?” Breen nodded.
We toured the house. Not to see the walls, the floors, the steps, for they do not make a home; we toured so Breen could see who I was behind the facade to the outside world. She picked up a Blenko glass pitcher, “I like the deepness of the red;” a die-cast race car, “Kellogg’s, I read somewhere that NASCAR fans are the most brand loyal of sports fans;” a Rosenthal china dog; she smiled and shook her head in disgust at the two liter bottle of Diet Pepsi I was drinking from. She rummaged through the can goods, “nice collection of vegetables, but where’s the zucchini” (“no way!”), and asked about the late-nineteenth century etchings. She felt the fabric of the sheets and commented on the lack of ‘manly’ brown and the warmth of neutral, yet inviting colors in the bedroom. She looked into the closets and leafed through my suits and shirts, she checked out the shampoo I used, and checked out the CDs I had bought, and in the process of the morning’s flow, she had run her fingers over the beating heart that accompanied her on the tour.
For lunch we went to a fast food Chinese place nearby and nibbled at steamed chicken and vegetables. “I noticed a lack of alcohol.”
“Some wine, mostly gifts; some Scotch, mostly un-drunk; and beer makes me gain weight. I drink occasionally, if that’s what you’re asking. I can remember the last time I had more than two drinks, it was the first Tuesday in October 2001.”
“Good memory.”
“I met Patty Loveless that night, a meet-n'-greet after a concert in San Antonio.”
“You didn’t tell me that, Dave. What is she like in person?”
“Considering it was after eleven at night, she was very pleasant, tired, and sincere. She had to be tired, but took time with each of us that were allowed back stage. Signed a picture, but you’ll have to give me a kiss to see it!”
“Dave, sweetie, snuggles, lovey-dovey, cuddles, dip-shit. I don’t sell kisses, I don’t buy them, give them away, nor do I forget them, but for you, I’ll let you kiss me if you show me the picture. It’s the least I can do.”
“You’re so sweet. Do you want your egg roll?”
“Yes! That’s another thing Donna warned me about!”
Our guests started to arrive about four. Breen played at hostess, while I finished in the kitchen. We had a good time, well at least most of us. Seems Billy lost his first plate of food to Dog; I had warned everyone not to turn their backs on Dog!
Donna stayed after the goodbyes to help c
lean up and, as I cleaned up alone, she and Breen sat on the sofa and discussed my furnishings. Thankfully Donna had never actually seen my bedroom, but she did pick out the sheets while shopping with me one cold winter day. With the house in some semblance of order, which meant nothing within paw reach that was edible, I joined them.
Breen closed the now near empty bag of Route 11 potato chips she had been rummaging through, picking out only those chips that met her satisfaction. On seeing my displeasure of her gluttony she looks sheepishly at me and yawns.
“Breen at least try to make an excuse.”
“You eat your mint chocolate chip ice cream out of the carton and I’ll pig out on Route 11’s. Besides, SOMEONE combined the different flavors into one bag and I was only in the mood for the pickle flavored ones.”
Donna was amused, “The alternative Dave is to drive her to Mount Jackson, Virginia and buy some more pickle flavored ones.”
Before I could respond, Breen jumped in, “You can go on-line and they list places all over the country that carry Route 11’s. We could do overnight FedEx!”
I wanted to throw my hands up in defeat, but that would be ceding to both of them, “There’s no alternative involved in this...discussion. She just plowed through the bag as if there was no tomorrow. The world will most likely not come to an end before you get another bag!”
Breen contemplates the bag and taps the Route 11 logo, “But what if the world came to an end...let’s say next Saturday at 11:599 PM. Okay, it’s now the first second of Sunday morning,” smiling at Donna, “and you, Donna and I are now standing in front of the Heaven information booth, and what do you think St. Peter says? He says ‘sorry today’s Sunday and all the convenience stores in Heaven are closed on Sundays!”
“Yeah,” pipes in Donna, “all the stores are closed in Heaven on Sunday!”
I respond, “I am sure the stores will reopen on Monday.”
Breen looks at Donna – the ‘play along’ look as if they had really planned this conversation, which they did not, but wanted me to believe they had, so both would get points – then says, “You missed the philosophical question David.”
“What’s philosophical about the stores being closed?”
Smug smile, “Simply, Heaven is an eternity and your realization of this eternity starts the second you are conscious that you are in Heaven. Thus we enter an eternity of Sundays.” Breen tosses me the bag of potato chips, “Eat up my love, I hate to hear you wine about the eternity of Heaven when the last NASCAR race you watch was a Saturday night race!” They high-five.
We wound up talking until eleven. When Donna excused herself to use the facilities before heading home, Breen walked over to the chair I was sitting in, “Don’t get up,” she leaned down, took my hands in hers and kissed me. “I’m also going home. I got to know you today far more than I expected and I liked what I saw, I really did, but I’m not ready to stay the night.” I understood, but I know I did not hide my disappointment very well.
Donna walked back into the living room, “I decided the two of you deserve each other.”
My response was, “Oh?”
“The discourse on convenience stores in an eternal heaven would have swayed me without even considering the time and that we’re not drunk. I think you get the idea.”
They left together, the two women in my life; so different, but so much alike and each important in her own right.
The room was dark when I opened my eyes; the clock on the table next to the bed read 3:24 AM. I looked up at the ceiling and could just make out the blades of the fan slowly turning. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see the blades more clearly. Motion; like my life, constant motion. This was stupid Dave; it’s almost 3:30 and you’re supposed to be asleep. Not philosophizing about fan blades. But, this is who I am; I can not change the brain cells that crave to make logic out of the illogical desire to philosophize when I should be sleeping. My mind could not leave fear alone. I once read Il silenzio di un bacio pui di mille parole. I was scared that I would not hear the thousand words spoken by the silence of a kiss. Regardless of what I said in public, I had self-doubt.
I had no reason to feel this way. After Breen had driven off, I had walked through the house, stopping and remembering the looks, words, and expressed feelings each time Breen had paused on the tour. Donna was right about Breen seeing me as who I was; not by my words, but that which was in my life and that which I no longer sought in my life.
You have to take the good and the bad if you want to see yourself through a stranger's eyes.
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Through a Stranger's Eyes Page 11
