The Weird and The Wacky Meet

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This story does need an introduction.   I want to start by saying that this story is fictional, and any resemblance to anyone is completely coincidental.  Even the emotions in the story are fictional.  It is a story about loneliness and possible redemption.  It’s not done yet, and I am not sure if it will ever be done.  Be kind, be gentle, and be nice.  -Amanda

 

 

                 Sand is fascinating.  Billions upon billions of miniscule glass beads just lying next to an ocean trying to reclaim the spheres it has worked so hard to form.  It’s said that the Atlantic coastline is shrinking by a couple inches each year.  Sitting on the beach, I look back on my house and wonder how many years before the Gulf of Mexico claims my tiny home.

                 I suppose if I actually wanted to find out, I could go get a tape measure and a calculator. But I’d rather stay lost in my own little world, filled with depression about the past, and anxiety and hope for the future.  I stay focused solely on the ocean slamming into the sand.  The wind is gentle, yet persistent, so I pull my knees closer to my chin.  Wind forces the hem of my sundress to whip against my ankles.  The sand forms a cushion unique to my shape.

                 Lost in my self-induced isolation, I finally hear footsteps crunch behind me.  My heart leaps up into my throat and my head flips around.  I recognize Marcus even in the oncoming twilight.  I’d know his figure and gait anywhere and his uninvited presence now does not surprise me.

                 When he reaches me, I feel us slipping back into our old patterns of almost telepathic communication.

                 After a few moments of silence, finally he starts with, “I left Mary.”

                 “And college?”

                 “That too.”

                 I want to interrogate him.  It’s been so long, and I’ve avoided all of my old friends in an attempt to become something of a hermit.  Still, I know he’s here to check up on me.  I can’t make him go back, and my fear of resentment forces a sob into throat.

                 After it becomes obvious I have nothing to say about him leaving school, Marcus continues, “He’s getting remarried.”

                 “I know.” I said this tersely, thinking that my ex-husband wouldn’t have stayed single for long.

                 “No one was sure if you knew.  You haven’t talked to anyone.  I miss you.”

                 Without a trace of smugness, I say, “I know you missed me.”

                 At this, Marcus crouches down next to me.  I am painfully aware of his closeness but the most piercing pain comes from the fact that I can’t bring myself to look at him.

                 This time he forces me to break the silence.  “Do you think his new wife will be as quiet as I was about the infidelity?”

                 “You felt guilty because of me, it kept you quiet.”

                 “Did I?  I remember modeling myself after Hillary Clinton.  I had too many reasons to stay, and no reasonable means of escape.  Hillary only dedicated three pages in her book to infidelity, and I couldn’t say more.  Besides, you and I have never even held hands.”

                 “I wish you could have told me more when this was happening. Why?”  His eyes sparkle in the setting sun as he questions me.

                 “I couldn’t.  I was humiliated.  It was a flaw in my ability to be a wife.  I didn’t want pity, and I couldn’t have you see me as somehow less.”

                 “I could never see you that way,” he says.

                 Finally, I look at him, checking for sincerity and pity.  When I found only sincerity, I forced back yet another sob.  Marcus reached out his hands and helped me to my feet.  I didn’t let go of his hand until we got to the house.

                 We walked in silence.  Thoughts about how I could make this relationship work kept dashing around in my head. All this time, I kept thinking about how we were both finally unattached.  I was mildly shocked to be touching him, to smell him, to feel him so close and right next to me.

                 Still, I had doubts and questions and baggage.  It was hard not to lay everything out right there.  When we got to my porch, I looked at him. “So…” I began.

                 “So…now what?” he asked.

                 “I’m not sure.  Why don’t we just go inside first?” I said, as I pushed open the door to my kitchen.

                 We traipsed through to the living room.  I wasn’t sure if I was comfortable enough to sit cuddled up next to him, so I deliberately chose a comfy armchair.  He asked again, “Where do we begin?”

                 “A relationship?  A friendship?  What drove you all the way down here from Rhode Island?”

                 He grinned stupidly and said, “You.”

                 I couldn’t help but grin too, “You’re a nut.  Seriously, we should have some sort of basic plan for at least the next few days.”

                 “Okay.  How about I start checking out the local colleges come Monday.  I’ll stay on the couch tonight.  Then we’ll take it from there.  I didn’t fly down here to have an older woman sex me up.  I flew down ‘cause I needed a change of scenery and a friend.”

                 “Friend schmend.  You’re here for the sex,” I said, while laughing.

                 We just kept on talking.  Somehow, I wound up on the couch next to him.  Before I knew it, his arm was wrapped around my shoulders, and my head was on his chest.  I am not sure who fell asleep first, but the next morning I woke up stiff and sore from sleeping sitting up.

                 “Good morning,” he said as I yawned.

                 “Morning,” I replied.

                 We untangled our limbs and he cupped my face in his hands.  His lips came down on mine in our first kiss.  It was filled with morning breath and passion.

                 Marcus looked me in the eyes.  “So, this is what it feels like not to wake up lonely.”

                 “I always wondered what it would be like to not be lonely in the morning, too.  It’s pleasant.  Let’s go make breakfast.”

                 “Sounds good,” he said.

                 I went into the kitchen with guarded optimism.  I didn’t know what changes would come in the future.  We’d both been hurt so badly in the past.  Those former demons could creep up on this new place in my life slowly, like the Gulf of Mexico was coming into my house.  I just knew that at that moment it worked and the floodgates were keeping the past away.

 

Copyright 2004

by Amanda Evans

Date: 05/10/04