Tales from an Unknown Corner

CHAPTER – 58: Symbols and Other Things

On a whim, we checked how cold it was outside. It was cold, but not too chilly, and it felt fresh, so we decided to take a short walk. I went back to the room, grabbed our coats, and we went out. It was empty outside. Where the restaurant terraces lined up along the shore it was like a ghost town, so unlike how it would be in the summer, when the tables and chairs spilled over from the terrace to the wide promenade, filled with people, laughter, music, and the general humdrum of humanity.

The sky was still overcast, but slowly clearing up with the wind pushing the clouds. I had forgotten to check the weather forecast on TV in the dining room, but I hoped it would be clear skies tomorrow. Already a few bright stars could be seen between patches of clouds. We walked along the promenade until we reached the end. Then I steered us toward the shore where the cement pavement gave way to sand and gravel. The sea was lapping at the shore gently with a soft, soothing sound. The smell of decaying seaweed mixed with salt and iodine was strong.

I sat down on the sand, and pulled Dana to my lap. She sat sideways, and I put my arm around her so she could rest against my chest and arm comfortably. I lit up, but she declined, stealing a drag from mine every now and then. We sat there silently as we watched the few stars and the gentle waves that washed the shoreline. I felt at peace and content, maybe for the first time in a very long time despite the heavy talk we had had.

When I finished my cigarette, I flicked it out to the water, and then I pulled her in tighter, enclosing my arms around her. There was a cold breeze, and her hands were getting cold. She rested her head on my shoulder, and when her ice-cold nose made contact with my neck, I almost flinched, before pulling her back in to keep her warm.

“You’re cold. We better get back,” I said.

“No, I’m OK. I love this. Let’s stay a bit longer.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I was glad that she wanted to stay. I loved having her in my arms like that. In the back of my mind, something was already starting to stir. I knew what it was... remembrance of other times... I didn’t want to go there. I didn’t want to compare the past experiences with what I had now, right this moment. Yes, I did have similar nights with Rei, but they had been different, the times had been different, I had been a different person then. I knew that instinctively.

Why spoil it with comparisons when you know everything is different, every moment, every experience is different?

On the other hand, I wished it were summer, warm, and I had Dana on my lap, in my arms like she was now.

If wishes were horses...

Oh, God! Just shut up, will you!

I steered my thoughts to tomorrow, and made a preliminary plan, subject to revision, of course. Before leaving the island, visit the old church a few blocks away, then move to the other hotel in the town, and finally a short visit to the summer flat. I also wanted to put in an hour of Tai Chi practice, suddenly realizing how much I missed it, especially now that I was here. It was as if my beach was calling out to me, almost like the Siren’s Song! I hoped I would have the opportunity.

Maybe early morning, here, by the shore, when it is quiet, and everybody is still asleep.

The short time I spent on making the plan helped me to avoid dwelling on other thoughts, recriminations. There was, however one question that kept repeating itself, but I didn’t want to return to the subject.

Why did she tell me what she did? If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known...

Is it important? Let bygones be bygones!

And yet, the question kept me busy. Despite all the warning from my inner voice to put that question aside, I kept analyzing the situation. She could have easily hidden what she had done, and I wouldn’t have been any wiser. I suspect it was because I wanted to avoid what we went through: the fight at the hill, the tension, and then the talk. Perhaps, the relative newness of our relationship was another factor. This early conflict worried me despite Dana’s helping words.

“Mitch?” Dana broke the silence.

That took me out of my musings.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked.

It was an opening, but suddenly, I had cold feet when I was just given the opportunity. I decided to avoid the matter. “Nothing. Why?”

That turned out to be a mistake!

“Mitch, please. Something seems to be bothering you...” she trailed off.

“Nope.”

But she wasn’t convinced easily. “Honey, you seem to be pre-occupied with something. What is it?” she insisted.

“Nothing. Nothing important,” I replied. However, when she arched her eyebrow, reminding me we needed to communicate, I knew I couldn’t avoid it. Not after all we talked about, not if I wanted us to get past our difficulties and continue. As she had said, we needed to talk and communicate, and I needed to learn to open up.

“I... I was...” I started but couldn’t continue.

Shit! I don’t want to talk—

Take a deep breath, and calm down. This is important!

My inner voice was right, so I took a moment to calm myself down, before I tackled the job of asking her ‘why’.

“I don’t want to return to the subject, but... but I was wondering why you told me what you did. I mean... I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t told me.” I hastily added, “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to. It’s not important.”

She sat quietly for a while, mulling over how she wanted to answer my question.

“I had to,” she replied, at length. “I couldn’t hide it... once I closed and locked your suitcase.”

“Why?” I asked, before I realized how I sounded. “I mean... I’m not saying that you should have tried to hide it... I’m not trying to judge you one way or the other. But if it was only a matter of closing my suitcase, you could have left it open and—”

“I couldn’t,” she interjected. “Oh, I could have lied about it... something about not leaving things unlocked or unsecured in a hotel room...” She gave a soft sigh, before she continued. “I don’t remember what I was thinking at the time. I just knew I couldn’t leave your suitcase lying open when I discovered your diary. So I closed it.”

“I see...”

She must have heard something in my tone, because the next thing she said was, “Mitch. Would you rather have not known what I did?”

“I... I don’t know,” I said. “Once, I heard Kathy say ‘men aren’t supposed to know everything, especially something that would hurt their feelings.’ I couldn’t let that go, so I returned the favor, but... but there’s some truth to that I guess, even though it’s a very patronizing, presumptuous thing to say.” I gave her a rueful smile. “I know I’m guilty of doing that. A lot! Well, I mean being protective! But I really don’t know how I feel about what she said. It’s a gray area. There are so many things that factor in. There’s trying to protect a person, of course, by keeping certain things to oneself, but I also don’t like lies or telling them... another huge gray area, and a minefield. Yet, I do have my fair share—more than fair share—of telling lies. It’s—”

She cut me off with, “But as you said life is full of gray areas. In fact, it’s Cinevision color, not black and white, Mitch.”

I smiled at her humorous attempt. “Yeah, I know, but I don’t like it. Unfortunately, it is what it is, and I have to accept it as such. You know, I tried very hard to conform the world to my own sense of black and white, and it’s a futile attempt, but that never stopped me from trying. It still doesn’t... even right now, when I think and talk about it! Talk about Don Quixote! Anyway. I just don’t know. What I mean is this: I wouldn’t necessarily tell you whether I wanted to hear something or not. It’s not fair to you because you had to make the decision to tell, or not to tell something, or how much to tell.”

I tightened my arms around her, and kissed the top of her head. “Based on what I think I know about you, I would venture that you don’t like secrets, and didn’t want to keep it a secret,” I concluded.

After a lengthy silence, she said, “I think I might have been trying not to chicken out.”

“Huh? Chicken out?” I didn’t understand what she was getting at.

“When I did spin the wheels on the lock, I knew I had to explain... explain why I locked your suitcase. I didn’t want to tell you a lie. Once I found your diary, I was at a crossroads. And when I decided to look inside, I already passed the turning point. I would have to tell you what I did. But when I locked your suitcase, I knew I had to tell you,” she explained hesitantly.

I listened to what she told me, but it took me several seconds before I finally made the connection to “chickening out.” Then, everything she told me made perfect sense. As the realization set in, I gasped in surprise—

She cut off her safety line to—

Oh, God, Dana! You are... you’re so much like me!

She had eliminated almost all the possibilities of avoiding the matter. Oh, yes, she could have lied, and hid what she had done, but first, she wasn’t the kind to tell lies—at least that was what I thought she was like—and second, there was the off chance that she couldn’t lie succes—

Wouldn’t have worked. Not when you’re indecisive or unsure about lying about something. Successful lying requires skill and decisiveness... and creativity.

I knew that. I should know it. After all, the successful telling of a lie is mostly accomplished by using part of the truth and a sense of conviction. I stopped my musings. I guess I was shaken! I knew that if I was giving into musings then I must have been more shaken than I wanted to admit. To tell the truth, discovering how alike we were had been a shock, because I would have done the same thing when facing a situation I didn’t want to face, and yet, I knew I had to or felt obliged to face. There comes a time when you know you have to do something for one reason or another. Yet, you don’t want to, and feel you might chicken out at the last moment, or suspect that your resolve might waver when the moment arrives. So what I did, when I found myself in such situations, was to cut off my safety lines, burn my bridges, buy a one-way ticket... leaving me only one course of action... to continue on the path I had started on—and face the music, of course! (Nope, I’m not chuckling, as it ain’t funny!) When tenacity, resolve, decisiveness, or strong headedness hadn’t been enough, when I thought I might have given in to temptation or a moment of weakness, that had been my solution, my savior—

And at times, my failure too. Regrettably!

I said before—and I still do sometimes—that I’m all for options. The more, the better. In general that’s something I strive for, but not every single time. There are also times when having limited options are—were—a welcome change, and something of a relief—as in the situation I’ve just described.

It was also a part of me that I saw as a character weakness, and I hated it! It’s one thing to do something despite being aware of its dire consequences, and still go ahead and do it. It’s another thing to force yourself to do something, because you don’t have any alternatives... because you’ve set in motion certain things that leave you no other alternatives but to follow through on the road you’ve started—a self-inflicted duress, if you will. The point is, it doesn’t make your actions honorable, especially when you know that what you should do is morally the right thing to do. In fact, it lessens the value of what you did when you finally did what you should have done—but under duress of your own creation!

And she just admitted to chickening—

And I’ve never admitted to myself... not even when I knew what I was doing!

I didn’t know what came over me, but suddenly I found myself pulling Dana into a tight embrace, as if to make her a part of me.

Then, I started kissing her hard, hungrily, before I managed to get a hold of myself, and softened my attentions to her. She managed to break free for a short moment, and blurted out a “what are you doing?” but I quieted her question with another kiss. If she had more questions in her mind, or wanted to pursue an answer to what I was doing to her, and why, she didn’t express them. Instead, she gave in to my kisses, and for several minutes we kept kissing. Afterwards, when we settled down, she didn’t say anything, and was content to sit in my lap, resting against my chest with my arms around her—almost like a cat, but she didn’t purr... although I must say I imagined she was purring, quietly!

Eventually, I indicated we should return to the motel. Without a word, she stood up, and pulled me to my feet. I dusted off the sand from my pants, and we walked back to the motel.

* * * * *

When we walked in, we saw the owner’s wife behind the reception desk. Dana stopped and asked for two glasses and a bottle of water to take to our room.

“I’ll bring it to your room,” she said.

“No need to go to the trouble. Is there anybody at the restaurant? I can pick them up,” I said.

“That’s all right,” she replied, but when she saw me waiting expectantly, she left her station.

As we walked into the restaurant, I said, “I try to be an easy customer. I don’t want to trouble anyone when I can do it myself.”

She responded with a small smile. Pointing at one of the tables, she said, “The glasses are there. Let me get you a bottle of water from the fridge,” and she headed to the kitchen.

She returned with a cold bottle of water, and we went back to the reception. Dana inquired about breakfast time and we learned it was from seven to nine. Wishing her a goodnight, Dana and I climbed the stairs.

“Why don’t you serve us some brandy? It will warm us,” Dana said.

While I filled our glasses, she took the cover off the bed, folded it neatly, and placed it on an empty chair. Then, she pulled back the blanket and the sheets to air the bed, before she went to the heater and put it on a higher setting. As before, she took off her shoes, and sat on the bed with a pillow at her back. I gave her one of the glasses, and she waited for me to take my seat next to the bed. Then we both raised our glasses before taking a sip of the brandy. I saw her close her eyes, and savor the taste. Although it was relatively cheap brandy, it was surprisingly smooth tasting.

We sat quietly for a few minutes, warming up with the brandy and settling in comfortably. Eventually, Dana broke the silence.

“I guess it’s my turn, now, right?”

“If you feel like it, love.”

“Mmmm... this is good. Hit the spot,” she said, and took another sip from her glass. She closed her eyes, seemingly savoring the brandy.

I suspected she was collecting her thoughts. A momentary feeling of deja vu permeated, and made me wonder how she was feeling. For a while, I was busy with my glass, swirling the amber liquid with deft little movements, watching the patterns and thinking about how my life took on a different turn, not so long ago; another hotel room, another late night, another talk. Before I could follow the thoughts further Dana broke the silence.

“I want to tell you something I haven’t told you before,” she said softly, and I turned my attention to her. When our eyes met, she gave a strained smile. “I didn’t want to, before, because I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. I was concerned... I’m still concerned that it would put undue pressure on you. On the other hand, after what we discussed, I believe you may understand...”

“What kind of pressure?”

“I didn’t—don’t—want you to think that I have certain expectations... like a promise or commitment... I don’t want you to misunderstand it for what it is not. But I want you to understand what it is. It’s about need and sharing,” she replied softly, trailing off.

“OK. I’m warned, and I’ll keep that in mind. Please, tell me.”

“When we met each other, you remember we had talked about a lot of things, and you asked me why I approached you at the airport. I told you some things, but that wasn’t all of it. Well, it wasn’t the complete story. I told you what happened: seeing Rei and you in the plane, seeing her red-eyed in the lounge, the cancellation of my flight, then the chance encounter with you when I was leaving the airport. They all happened as I told you. I put two and two together, but that had been rather easy, once I saw you standing there. That chance encounter was... well, it was a trigger, and I took a chance... although it wasn’t planned. But...”

When she paused, trying to assess how I was taking what she said, I asked, “If it wasn’t planned, then what was it?”

“It wasn’t planned at all. I might have passed by where you were standing, earlier or later, missing you entirely, or my flight might not have been cancelled. It was pure chance. But at the time, I thought it was fate or something.” Her eyes locked with mine. “You see I wanted to meet you. When the opportunity presented itself, so unexpectedly, I took advantage of it. There you were, standing so lost, and I knew something bad happened; it wasn’t difficult to connect the dots. I watched you for a while debating if I should or shouldn’t, and minutes passed... I knew I had to make a decision. I decided to meet you.”

She tilted her head, giving me a questioning look—and perhaps trying to assess how I was taking her revelation—but I wanted to hear more, so I indicated her to continue.

“I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the very beginning. I don’t know if you remember, but I was in the galley, right across the stairs as you boarded the plane. You were a sight. Then you took off your sunglasses, and it got worse. I mean I haven’t seen anybody look so bad. It was obvious you were tired and hadn’t slept, or rested for a long time: bloodshot, sunken eyes, lines of worry and weariness. They were easy to see, but you also carried yourself with... I don’t know... a sense of purpose? You looked weary, and tired, but your eyes were alive; you were calm, but tense at the same time. We see people overworked, stressed, and tired, but you looked... different. My first impression was ‘from what kind of hell did he emerge?’ because you reminded me of some of the military personnel or police I’ve seen. As you turned into the passenger cabin and stood there, I realized you were looking for someone, a passenger. But then... imagine my surprise when it turned out who you were looking for!”

“I think I’m getting the picture,” I said. “Weren’t you concerned if I might be a criminal or something? I remember the way I looked...”

“No, not really. It might have crossed my mind and perhaps that was one reason I kept watching you, but you didn’t fit into a neat profile. I didn’t get the impression of someone on the run or with a harmful intent. As I said, I came across military personnel before on that route, and some of them had a weary, haunted look in their eyes mixed with relief, as if... as if they were glad to be away. You had something similar, but also different. It’s difficult to explain. We see a lot of things, you know? Besides, the security is very tight in the airport.”

“Yes, it’s very secure. After all, it’s a military airport,” I said. “You know something, this is very disconcerting! I mean what you’re telling me. I wouldn’t want to look like a soldier or law enforcement, especially there. That could make me a target.”

“I don’t know, Mitch. I don’t think so. I know I’m contradicting myself, but you don’t come across as military or police. I think it was an unusual situation. Now, I know that you were tired from work, and Reina must have put you off balance.” She gave me a curious look. “By the way, how did you know she was on the flight?”

“I didn’t.”

That earned me a very puzzled look. “Then, how... why were you looking for her?”

“I wasn’t,” I replied remembering the episode, seeing it all happen again, like a filmstrip fast forwarding. I let out a tired sigh, and tried to shake off the uneasiness the memory brought. “Well, I was and I wasn’t. It’s... it’s hard to explain. I... I felt she might be on the flight. I don’t know how, considering the odds, but I had a sense of... maybe in my subconscious I was hoping to come across her... maybe I had that expectation each time I boarded a plane... who knows? I knew she was a flight attendant, but the strange thing is, I hadn’t thought about her for a very long time. I mean over the last few years, I kind of buried myself in my work, and kept the thoughts of her at bay. So, I don’t know how I can explain it. That’s why I was agitated at the time. I was wondering if she really was on the flight...”

“Maybe you had a premonition?”

I laughed at her suggestion, but it was a strained laugh, and quickly I said, “Sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you. I... I don’t want to dismiss it, but I don’t believe in that kind of thing. At least, I don’t believe I have that kind of ability. Maybe other people have that. I’ve heard stories, but I’m a skeptic when it comes to things like that. On the other hand...” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t think I have that—”

“But you have good instincts,” Dana objected quickly.

“Maybe... sometimes...” I replied. “Sometimes, I can sense danger, or when something is out of tune. In that respect, my instincts are good. I guess it comes from my training in the Arts. But then again, I was caught unaware at the parking lot with the three assailants. Hard to say really... what is, and what is not.” Giving her an apologetic smile, I reminded her we were moving away from the subject of our talk. “Shall we...”

“Sorry, honey. It just came as a surprise. Maybe we could talk about it later?”

Automatically, I made a little face.

“All right,” she said, giving me an indulging smile, acquiescing to my wish. “Where was I? Oh, yes, Reina. I realized you knew each other, especially when she gave you the preferential treatment. I’m not usually a nosy person, but my curiosity was getting the better of me, so I continued to watch you two. For one thing, I knew Reina and I’ve seen some of her friends. You didn’t fit in to any of those. Your interaction was also puzzling. It was very intimate, but there was an underlying feeling of reservation, distance; I suspected you were a former friend. That was surprising, because Reina never showed preferential treatment to former friends, strictly staying professional, unless some situations dictated she be a bit more diplomatic, a bit friendlier. But she always remained within bounds of professionalism, and she was never intimate with them at all. Yet, here you were, and she was acting the way she did. As we were getting ready for the take off, I made sure I was situated close to you to observe.”

She stopped, mulling something in her mind, and I waited patiently until she resumed. “When Rei left your side, I saw how you looked at her. Wistful, longing... mixed with hurt, or pain... and yet. I don’t know what it was, but I thought it was,” she paused again, gave me a soft look, and with a very tender tone she said, “I thought it was a look of love. How a man should look at a woman. That was what my mind conjured up, first. I remember thinking, ‘what a lucky woman Rei is!’”

Her voice cracked at that last bit, her emotions getting the better of her.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I don’t—”

“Please, don’t... it’s all right... it’s all right, Mitch. It really is. Please let me finish, then you’ll understand. OK?”

Leaving my seat, I went to Dana. Kneeling in front of her, I took her hand in mine, and she didn’t resist. I kissed her palm, and then we embraced, sharing a long kiss, and ending it with several small kisses. When I felt she was feeling all right—well, as good as she could feel under the circumstances—I returned to my seat.

She took a long sip from her glass and cleared her throat, before she resumed her tale. “Then Rei’s response to you... the interaction. It was a strange dance. Nothing I had witnessed before, especially from Rei, and I didn’t know anything about you except how awful you looked. All my speculations were shot to hell, and I didn’t know what to make of you two, or your interaction. And that look you gave her... I hadn’t had much luck with men, as you know. It reminded me... well, it reminded me what I was missing. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but I wanted to get to know you. Just to confirm that I was dreaming things up... that the reality would hardly hold up to the dream. You understand? And I was curious. It’s like... you see a person that catches your attention, arouses your curiosity, and then you begin to wonder who they are, what they are like, and... you know?”

“Yes,” I said slowly. “I do know. We all do that at one time or another. When we have difficult times, and see people, couples around us, or a complete stranger...”

“Precisely. So you see, I was wondering. But of course, I knew I didn’t have a chance to make contact with you. We don’t do things like that. It was just a thought. We wonder, but put it aside...” she said.

I concluded what she left unsaid. “Unless... unless an opportunity presents itself... but even then we put it aside, walk away...”

She nodded with a small smile. “Yes. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. Later, when I saw Reina in the lounge, and knew she had cried, I thought that you hurt her, like her other men did. But I didn’t want to believe that, and I kept telling myself there should be more to it than that. Oh, yes, with the way you looked, I was inclined to assign all the blame to you, but I just couldn’t reconcile your look of love to her and you hurting her on purpose. I also knew Reina had broken up with many men, but she hardly gave a thought to any one of them. So why did she take whatever happened so hard? Then she left for her flight, and sometime later I learned my flight was cancelled. I was on my way out to get a taxi when I saw you. At first, I thought I was mistaken, and was going to leave, but something—maybe curiosity—stopped me. I just wanted to make sure.” She flashed a quick and rueful smile. “You know how it is. If I had left without making sure, it would have kept me awake the whole night...”

“I know the feeling,” I responded.

“When I got closer I realized it was really you... and suddenly pieces started to fall into place. The way you were standing there... something touched me. I realized you really cared for her and something bad happened that hurt both of you... and I felt drawn to you. Partly, I recognized the hurt and pain. I also wanted to know what happened. So it was a mixture of a lot of things...” she trailed off. “You know the rest.”

“And you didn’t tell me then, because?”

“I didn’t want you to draw the wrong conclusions, especially after we got involved. I didn’t want to get in between the two of you. I still don’t. You need some kind of closure. Whether we continue or break up.”

“Yes, but...” I sighed in frustration. “What I’m getting at is Rei is between us. You’re looking at it as you being between Rei and I, but that’s not the only way to look at it.”

“I know. Maybe neither of us is correct,” she suggested. “Maybe I’m trying to protect you, and you’re trying to protect me.”

“Are we? Because I’m not sure what I feel for Rei. She’s changed in some ways, and I don’t know what she became. Sure, I was in love with that girl, but I don’t know if I’m in love with this girl, because I don’t know her. May—”

“But you love her,” Dana interjected.

“Correction, if you please. I loved her.” I cleared my throat, feeling tense. “Look, Dana, I love you, and this is really difficult for me, because... because I thought Rei was in the past. I wanted to leave her in the past, and I really don’t want to think about Rei or talk about—”

“But, Mitch, you still feel something for her,” she interjected.

“I don’t know what or how I feel about her, but I do know what or how I feel about you. That’s one thing I’m certain about, perhaps the only thing in this mess! Already, I have a full plate. And here’s something else. I hate to bring this up, but there’s Sarah, too. I love her too, but it’s different from what I feel for you.”

I stopped and took a deep, cleansing breath, but it didn’t help to calm my growing anxiety. “It’s... it’s an impossible situation. Sometimes... sometimes I wish she wasn’t on that plane... it would have been so much easier...” I trailed off.

After a long silence, Dana responded, “No, Mitch. You know that.” Then, her expression changed into one of mischief, and she added, “I would have reported you to the authorities, and you would have been taken into custody.”

I laughed at her quip, and she joined in. I guess we both needed it at that moment. It felt good to laugh again. When I managed to catch my breath, I retorted, “God, you’re impossible sometimes.”

“I know.”

I chuckled. Unsaid but ever present between us was the knowledge that we loved each other. I could see it in her eyes, hear it in her reply, and I knew she could see it on my face. As I made a move to stand up, she waved me back. Our eyes locked, and I knew she knew how I felt.

“This is sooo... confusing... maddening. Sometimes I don’t know what we’re going to do...” I shook my head as if that would help clear up my mind.

“We continue, Mitch,” she responded. “We’ll continue to discover and learn about each other, share our thoughts, feelings, and love. Be a friend, a lover, a companion. I know it’s complicated, and unconventional, but it’s also what we have, now, and answers our needs. I know I need your friendship, and Sarah’s.”

“Yeah, friendship,” I retorted without thinking how it came out.

“Hey, sweetheart. I didn’t mean it like that. Of course, I need your and Sarah’s friendship, but that’s not the only thing. I also need the company and love.”

“I do, too,” I said, my voice heavy with feeling conveying more than how I felt, and momentarily I felt self-conscious about the way I expressed myself, but it passed away quickly. After a pause, I added, almost with the same tone, “I never thought I would say this, but I do need you. It made me—makes me—very uncomfortable to admit it, beca—”

“Because it makes you feel vulnerable?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “That’s normal Mitch. You really surprised me when you said you needed me. I know it’s hard for men to admit their feelings, and especially to admit needing something... They feel as if they’re weakened or less than what they are. You don’t feel weak, do you?”

“I... to tell you the truth, I don’t know how I feel about it. I know I hate weakness, and need is...” I let out a resigned sigh. I didn’t feel comfortable about what I said, and I was surprised with myself and how I answered her question, a question I wouldn’t have answered under normal circumstances. “I—”

“Need doesn’t necessarily mean weakness, Mitch. The strength comes from inside, and you have that in abundance. From outside I can see it easily. Trust me on that. Sarah mentioned the same thing. In fact, she told me that it was something that hadn’t changed in you since she had known you as a teenager.”

I remembered Sarah’s words in her apartment, when she was admonishing me about being hard on myself. By and large, she had referred to it. I was surprised to discover how much they had talked about me, and wondered if I would ever get to know what they talked about.

Dream on, lover boy! That’s reserved only for women. You get to learn only what they choose to reveal to you. So you better get used to it!

Still, I was tempted to try, “What else did you girls talk about?”

“Current fashion, the latest colors... you know, the usual stuff,” Dana replied with a straight face.

“That wasn’t what I was asking,” I retorted.

“Well, I just told you, didn’t I? Oh, we also talked about you,” she said, and then, she added, “and your qualities.”

“I hope it’s not what I think it is,” I returned.

“Well, my dear, if you don’t want to hear some things, then you shouldn’t go looking for them,” she teased. It was offered as a joke, but I could also sense the playful warning, asking me to leave it alone. Then, as if to take the sting out of her quip, she added, “I think you shouldn’t worry about it. After all, I already told you how magical it has been.”

I knew when I was licked, so I nodded.

“Now, let me get back to what I was saying. You really shouldn’t be so concerned about what you’re feeling, Mitch. You’ve built those walls around you, to protect you, but you know you need to break them down to participate again. To love, to fall in love, again. Those walls are coming down now, and you may be feeling a loss of control. From outside, I can see that. What you’re feeling is perfectly normal. And perhaps, you also feel that you’re being a burden on me, in that process of breaking down those walls.” She flashed me a questioning but knowing look.

I had already admitted to it, so I answered with a short nod, not trusting myself with even a short verbal “yes.”

“And I told you, you shouldn’t, because these things take time. I know because I experienced it myself... I’m still struggling. I told you I hadn’t had much luck with men. Even though I wanted to find love and friendship, I had my own walls to break down—No, let me finish. Please?—I worked on it, I’m still working on it. You said it yourself when we were talking in the hotel that night, even if you didn’t use the exact same words. I withheld a large part of myself from my... from my boyfriend... I can see that now. I’m not sure why I did. The important thing is I’ve come to realize that with you, I can be myself, and not hide behind my walls. I cherish that very much, Mitch. You now know why I approached you in the airport. How I felt about you. First, it was just curiosity, then surprise, and later it turned out to be something else. I took a chance, and things happened that I couldn’t have imagined. So, you see, now I know sometimes friendship, love, or happiness come from the most unexpected corners, however brief or long they might be. Such is life. You have to take it as it comes, enjoy the moment, and hope for the best. Because, as you said it yourself, life throws curve balls.”

“But you don’t have walls, Dana.”

“Thank you, darling. Maybe I don’t have too many walls, but I’m reserved and caref—”

“So? That’s normal, especially after what you’ve experienced,” I interjected.

She smiled an indulgent smile. “I suppose so, but that’s not the point, Mitch. As I said, sometimes happiness, wherever it comes from, for however long, is better than nothing. Otherwise, it’s a very empty life. Don’t you agree?”

“To some degree,” I replied hesitantly, despite knowing she was right. But I still had some reservations.

She raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, Mitch. What’s your favorite song?” she asked, suddenly changing the subject.

“Huh? Well...” I was caught unprepared. I thought about it, recalling a good number of songs that I liked—loved—and the list grew long, pretty quickly. But which one was my favorite? “I can’t really say I have one or two that is my favorite. I like a lot of songs...”

“Please, try, Mitch. Which one, among those songs, would you consider your favorite?”

Instead of choosing, I asked, “Where are you going with this?”

“Please, bear with me. I don’t want you to be confused, or influenced. As soon as you answer, I’ll explain, OK?”

It was still difficult to make a choice, even among the songs that I have been listening in the last several months (some were old and some were contemporary). Then I stumbled on to something else, triggered subconsciously by what she said, influence! Of all the songs I liked or loved, I thought I loved Leonard Cohen’s song, Dance Me to the End of Love. It stood as the best candidate, even though I haven’t listened to it frequently or for a very long time. It was also the only song that came to my mind more easily than all other songs, a few nights ago, when Sarah had asked me what she could sing for Dana and me. There were also other songs: a few from Queen, and some from Chris Rea, but...

“I don’t know. I think Leonard Cohen,” I replied.

“The one we danced to?” Dana asked. When I nodded, she continued, “O-K! Do you have any other favorites, a second, or a third?”

“A lot. I think Queen—Freddie Mercury—will always be a favorite... and I like some from Chris Rea. Where are you going with this, Dana?”

“Please bear with me, Mitch. You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Well... Queen... I think you know which song from Queen.”

“Yes, I think I do. Now, I have a dilemma, and need to ask you another question. Are these songs really your favorites, were they your favorites, before you met me? The reason I ask is we shared special occasions in accompaniment to those two.”

“Well, there is that of course... but...” I thought carefully, reconsidering, but I knew these two had been favorites for a long time. “Nope! Those two had been my favorites long before I met you.”

“Hmm... All right. I know you’re curious, and it’s time for some explanations, but I want you to keep an open mind, and take what I’m going to tell you with more than a grain of salt.”

I nodded, feeling a bit impatient. She must have sensed it, because she gave me a sympathetic smile.

“Why do we like certain songs, Mitch? Or movies? Or books? Or... a certain painting?” she asked, pointedly.

She didn’t have to explain further, since it was obvious where she was going. Movies, songs, books, pictures... they evoked certain feelings, while they made us think. And the reason we each had favorites was because something in them touched us more than the others.

“I get the point. Songs, movies, books, they are symbols. What’s that got to do with what we were talking about?”

“You’ve got only half of it, Mitch. I’m sorry, but don’t you see it? I explained my thoughts about an empty life, and you seemed to agree with it with some reservations. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But it kind of makes me wonder, because I knew you liked Freddie’s song very much. What was its name again?”

“One Year of Love.”

“One Year of Love. How appropriate! It’s a beautiful song; I like it. I have to admit, it also offered me an insight to you, later, after I got to know a bit about you. Now, I don’t want you to take it the wrong way, but I’ve also come to realize that the lyrics helped me understand what or how I felt about love, life, and such. At least, I could organize them into something that resembled a structure. Do you know that we think in terms of symbols, and make associations?”

“Well, I haven’t really given it a thought, because it’s a subconscious thing we do, but it’s obvious, now that you mention it. Otherwise why would we have preferences, or favorites?”

“Exactly. It’s also because they are reflections of human condition... human condition in the sense that they draw from various aspects of human existence and experience; our feelings, experiences, knowledge. They present life or parts of life, and we identify with some of those presentations and with some we don’t, but the choices we make, our preferences—our favorites, in other words—are very telling in themselves. Symbolically they are a reflection of our feelings, our thoughts; they are shaped by our own experiences and psyche.” She paused and directed me a questioning gaze.

I thought about what she said, not that there was any need, since it was obvious and made a lot of sense. But, I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything or misunderstand her.

“I understand what you’re saying. What I don’t understand is, why you said I should take what you’re telling me with a grain of salt. After all, it is obvious, and I know that art created by us is a reflection of us or a part of us, chosen by the artist to make a statement, or to make us think, feel... experience and share in it. Nothing sounds false there. So?”

“You’re right, but here is where it gets complicated. The experience is very personal, Mitch. Some of us identify more strongly than others with a particular piece, be it a novel, or painting or... I’m not talking about different people having different tastes or favorites. That goes without saying. What I mean is this. The depth of feeling or identification with a personal favorite differs from person to person. It’s not the piece, but the depth of feeling. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“In other words, you think I’m identifying with those songs much more than someone else would with their favorite song?”

“Something like that. Mind you, this is not bad or good, it just is. That’s why we have artists who are passionate, sensitive, and create all those things they do, and the rest of us enjoy what they give us and also make choices based on our likes, dislikes, life experience, and so on. Now, I’m coming to the tricky part, and I’m not sure if I’m correct, because I have very little experience with this kind of thing. So, I need you to file this away to think about it, and don’t worry about it too much. As I said before, life is empty if you live isolated, cut off from other people, feelings and such, but we sometimes live like that to varying degrees, when we have difficulties. On the other hand, the drive to connect is strong; it’s part of our make up. I think—and this is just an opinion and I’m not sure how correct I am—that perhaps some of the people who are isolated, keep their connection with outside by identifying with something else, like a song, or a book, or a painting. Think of it as a fragile thread; a thread of communication to the outside world or a line to tap into the outside world, while taking a shelter behind the safety of walls, in isolation. And consequently, I think that their choices reflect their psyche, the driving force behind their choices, which change depending on the interaction and the level of interaction they have with outside world. That is, of course, assuming that they are sensitive enough, their emotions, and senses aren’t damaged or blunted too much by their experiences that forced them into that isolation in the first place; so, they have the ability to feel something but more important than that, they manage to find the expressions of those feelings within the symbolisms of creative works...”

I nodded. “Well... I...”

“Mitch, this is just a hypothesis and an amateurish one at best. The reason I mentioned it to you is because I know how I felt when I heard that song, and what I discovered, later, about myself. I think it was some sort of a trigger, because I could sense and understand why you would like that song. But, please... don’t take this as a verdict, OK? I might be wrong about quite many things. It just seemed plausible to me.”

I nodded, and kept on thinking about what she told me. Despite her warnings, I suspected she had hit on something. She was very intuitive after all. It also reminded me of something else. I have always enjoyed a good movie or a book, and got immersed in them deeply. Both Kathy and Mom joked and teased me all the time—

Maybe you’re right, Dana. Some things haven’t changed much.

It was a kind of magic and I could let go and lose myself in a different world. That magic hasn’t changed, and in time, I continued to discover more of that magic, like poems, or lyrics. And those things made me feel odd or different from other boys when I was young. Now, thinking about those days, I could also see why I preferred the company of a book or a movie; they had been a better alternative to the uncertainties of fragile friendships.

No wonder I felt uncomfortable and out of sorts among my peers. It’s as good an explanation for why I felt like an outsider at times.

Could be, Mitchell, but some things have changed! You’ve grown more distant from people!

That reminded me what happened right after I arrived at home this time, when Mom left Kathy and me alone in the kitchen. Kathy didn’t mince her words then. She told me that I had changed, that I had grown distant. “You used to joke and laugh, Mitch, but not anymore,” she had said. “Now, you take vacations by yourself,” her accusing voice rang in my ears.

I knew I had changed, and not for the better, even though I denied it when Kathy confronted me. And she was right about me growing distant. It was also true that I didn’t laugh or joke as I used to, because I felt uncomfortable. I was always on my guard, expecting an argument, wanting to avoid certain subjects, and the only way I could avoid them was by keeping my distance; not that it worked, but it helped some. At least, they finally learned not to insist or keep after me. I also knew that keeping my visits to home short and spending my time traveling was a form of escape or avoidance. Of course, there had been times when I had a more pleasant time with my family, when all of us made allowances for each other and observed the unspoken limits.

Dana broke into my thoughts with, “Let me get back to the point I was making. Since you like Freddie’s song, there must be something that you identify with. Yet, when I tell you about making a choice between an empty life and love, you seem to reject the idea.”

Perhaps? I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m scared that song may prove to be prophetic.

I remembered having the same thought while listening to that song with her in my lap, right after our first fight. We had made sweet love afterwards. And just a few nights ago, at her place, we had heard the same song while watching the Christopher Lambert movie on TV, and we had made love again right after the movie, and yet...

If I have to be truthful, I love the lyrics. It’s a beautiful, touching song, but it also reminds me—

I didn’t want to think about that. A lot of things reminded me of many things; some good, and some not so good.

My Goddamn memory!

Dammit! I thought I was pragmatic, a realist. Now, when I look at myself, it looks as if I’m a sentimental fool who lives in the past!

Perhaps, you are, Mitchell!

NO! I look at the past to understand what happened, and where I’m going! To put things into perspective!

If you say so.

What’s that supposed to mean?

I tried to calm down before I got myself worked up, because I didn’t have the answers to those questions. I didn’t think I was living in the past. On the other hand, I couldn’t deny that my past shaped me, and continued to exert an influence.

I can’t just turn off my feelings and not feel what I feel! It doesn’t work like that; not with the kind of recall I have. Yeah, sometimes, I wish I could just switch off my feelings and the memories, but—

“Mitch? Honey?” Dana broke into my thought.

I returned an inquiring look to her.

“Where are you, honey?” she asked.

“I’m here and listening,” I temporized.

“And?” she prompted tilting her head to the side.

“Welll... Freddie might be correct, and I like that song, but it’s just a song. And I have you know my favorite is what Sarah sang for us,” I said. “I really love that Leonard Cohen song—”

I noticed how her expression changed, and suddenly her eyes were moist. Without even realizing it, I was out of my chair, rushing to take her in my arms.

“Damn!” she said, sniffling. “Look what you did.”

I gathered her in my arms and rocked her. I ran my fingers in her hair, giving her little kisses. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I know. It’s just... I was trying to keep my emotions under control and then you said... and I couldn’t...” she said in between sniffles. She looked up with those brilliant blue eyes, and asked, “Did you really mean that?”

“Of course, I meant it,” I replied.

Yes, I did, my love... I do, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to meet your expectations... or anyone else’s for that matter. I have too much excess baggage.

“But?”

“But? What do you mean ‘but’?” I asked her.

“There’s a ‘but’ somewhere there, or am I mistaken?” she asked.

For a moment I panicked; I wondered if I had given voice to my thoughts when I told her I meant what I said. I knew I hadn’t and now I was deathly scared of answering her, of hurting her. I just didn’t know how to respond to her.

She pulled back slightly, and her fingertips brushed my cheek. “Do you see, now?” she asked.

I felt completely lost by her question.

“Huh... see what?”

She gave me a quick peck on my lips before answering me. “Mitch, the reason I made that remark about ‘but’ was because there are ‘buts’. There always is a ‘but’ most of the time. That’s the way life is. I want you to see it for yourself that some things are beyond our control. I know you meant what you said. But I also couldn’t help but wonder if it was the heat of the moment. And then there’s the possibility that things may not work out. Yes, I understand the sentiment, and I accept it in that spirit, even if you had offered it as something more than that. Shush! Let me finish! I’m not trying to put too small a price on what you offered me, OK? I understand that you want or wish for a never-ending dance of love... for us! But what we have, what we may have, could well easily be a shorter dance. Does it really matter how long it is? Do you see what I’m getting at?” After a dramatic pause, she added, “Is it really worth worrying about how long something is, or will be?”

When she put it that way, the answer was easy to see. I knew it, I had known it, but I was reluctant to agree. I didn’t like it. At that thought, I felt like a petulant, spoiled kid. Regardless of my feelings in the matter, the truth was truth and always had its own way.

“You make me happy, Mitch,” she said with a very emotional tone. “I think I make you happy, too—”

“Oh God! You do! More than you can imagine,” I responded immediately. “I can’t think of—”

She shushed me with a finger on my lips. “Good! I really appreciate it, but you have to understand that I can’t hold you to something that is beyond your, beyond our means. I don’t want any promises. I’m not looking for promises. I—”

“Why?” I interjected.

“Because... because promises are like golden chains. They don’t set people free, but enslave them. Love should be free; expressed and given freely without any strings attached.”

“I... I agree, but—”

“No buts, Mitch. You know it yourself, don’t you? And if you don’t know it, I believe you can understand it. You do understand it?” She waited expectantly for my response.

Grudgingly I nodded, unable to bring myself to give a verbal response. A part of me was rebelling; that stubborn, petulant child part of me was unwilling to surrender! As if sensing my feelings on the matter, she pulled me down for a gentle kiss. I felt that defiant, spoiled kid melt and surrender himself to the soothing comfort of that loving kiss. It was minutes or hours later—might have even been a lifetime, who knows—when our lips parted.

“Let’s fill the tub, and take a bath,” she said.

“You can’t escape so easily,” I retorted, making a last minute attempt... last attempt for what, I didn’t know, and I realized it right after the words left my mouth. I guess I was still feeling the effects of what she told me, and her sound argument. Maybe I felt like I wanted to argue the point and perhaps win one or two. I kind of felt like—

She gave me a long look, immediately getting my attention. As she held my eyes, I felt myself starting to fluster. Then a small teasing smile appeared on her lips, and she asked, “Who’s escaping? Aren’t you going to join me in the tub?”

First, I nodded, feeling grateful that she stopped me from making a fool of myself. Then I said, “Well, if you put it that way...” grabbing onto the out she was offering.

“Put what? In where?” she asked with an innocent tone, but the expression on her face was far from it.

Finally collecting myself, I said, “Please don’t do that, Dana. It’s... look, don’t take me as being ungrateful, because I do appreciate when you try to interject some humor, but this teasing... sometimes it feels like...” I stopped suddenly, because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell her. She could have easily taken it wrong.

Perhaps she saw something on my face, or sensed something wasn’t right, because she was immediately serious, and arched an eyebrow, prompting me. When I didn’t pick up from where I left off, she said, “Please, tell me, Mitch. Sometimes it feels like what?”

Suddenly, I didn’t know how to answer her. “Well... don’t take it the wrong way, but sometimes,” I started with an uncertain tone. I tried to gather myself before I continued. “But sometimes, it feels like I’m being treated as if one of those guys who follow their dick. I play along when you tease me, because I enjoy it, but I don’t like it when you interject sexual teasing in the middle of something serious to change the subject. You haven’t done it before, but today this is the—”

“Oh, sweetheart! I didn’t mean anything. I mean, I wasn’t implying anything of the sort,” she cut me off. “I’m sorry, darling. I wasn’t—”

“That’s all right. I know you probably didn’t mean to use it as a tool or a means of—”

This time she cut me off. “No, I wouldn’t. I— Ah! I’m sorry, Mitch. Please do continue. We seem to cut off each other.”

I smiled at her last comment, since we did cut off each other in our haste to assure each other. Then I started to laugh at our situation, and managed to blurt out, “What a pair we are!”

She chuckled at my comment, and then joined in for a good laugh as well.

“Anyway. I didn’t mean to accuse you of something. It just didn’t feel right,” I said.

She got thoughtful for a short while. “You know, you might have a point there, Mitch. Now that you mentioned it. Sex is a powerful tool. How you use it makes all the difference. Sexually, we communicate very well. I might have been falling back on it subconsciously as a means to further the communication. I don’t know. And like a good laugh, it’s relaxing or it could be used to give a different spin to an existing tension.” She locked her eyes to mine, and with a very sincere tone she added, “Today, with all that happened, I wanted us to relax, and good make-up sex is what we need. Well, that’s what I had in mind. It’s something I saw my parents do. Whenever they had a serious discussion or an argument, they would eventually settle it before going to bed, and then I would hear them for better part of the night.”

I had to chuckle at her last comment, as my mind conjured up an image of a teenage Dana trying to fall asleep, covering her head with her pillow, while her parents were otherwise engaged next door to her bedroom. Hell, I remembered my own parents. They hadn’t been so different, now that my mind was following that particular train of thought. Although I knew what was taking place in their bedroom at times, I just couldn’t bring myself to think about what they were doing. After all, we kids invented sex, and since they were parents, what parent had sex, let alone had steamy-sex, or something like make-up sex?—especially the kind of make-up sex as depicted or implied in the movies and serials? I chuckled at myself, but more so at the turn of my thoughts.

“What? What?” she asked.

“Huh? Oh... nothing...”

“Come on. What are you chuckling at?”

“I... well, at first, I was trying to imagine you as you listened to your parents, and—”

“I never listened to my parents or tried to spy on them,” she retorted with a huff. “I heard them,” she added as an afterthought, but with a gentler tone than before.

I let it pass, since we both knew the truth. Her words about her parents had been more than telling. “Well, OK. Anyway, then I remembered my own parents, and,” I took a pause and with a purposeful tone I continued. “I guess they were like your parents. Like you, I also heard them when I was young.”

Our eyes locked for a short moment, and we broke into laughter. This time it was Dana who said, “What a pair we are!”

When I managed to collect myself, I said, “Don’t mind my words. I think I might have felt self-conscious. Our parents sure seemed to have the best idea. They are older and more experienced than we are. They must have known something.”

“Amen to that,” Dana responded. “So, shall we?”

Without further delay, I stood up and helped her to her feet. She collected a quick kiss, before she steered us to the bathroom.

* * * * *

I turned on the hot water tap to fill the tub. She was busy looking for something in her toiletry bag. Just when she looked like she was going to throw the bag out the window in frustration, she gave a happy squeal, and held out a small bottle.

“Scented bath gel with mineral oil,” she announced before handing me the bottle. “Add a little bit to the water. It’s a concentrate.” She turned back to her bag again. “Now, where did I put my... Ahh! Here it is!”

This time she had a small nylon bag in her hand containing what looked like a sponge. Taking the sponge out, she put it on the side of the tub, and then pulled me to my feet. “Time to get undressed.”

While the tub was filling up, the aroma of the bath gel percolated—helped by the hot water and steam—and we undressed each other, taking our time to touch, caress and kiss the exposed skin. At first, I was reluctant to let her kiss my skin, feeling dirty, and conscious of the possibility that I might be smelling of sweat, but she thwarted all my attempts, and I had to give in. When we were naked, she took our clothes and dumped them in the bedroom, before returning to the bathroom. The tub was less than half-filled, but she motioned me to get in. I sat reclined with my back resting against the tub, and she motioned me to make some space on my side. Then she stepped in, and carefully crawled along my body, finally stretching half draped on my chest, and half on her side, snuggling to my side. “It’s a bit narrow for comfort, but cozy,” she said. We exchanged a soft kiss, and with a sigh, she put her head on my shoulder.

We sat like that for a while, until the tub was filled. To turn off the taps, I had to disturb her, and she made complaining noises, but when I resumed my position and pulled her in my arms, she quickly settled down. The way she acted, she reminded me of a cat—except cats don’t like water—and for a moment I wondered if I would hear her purr one of these days.

The hot water was very soothing, and the aroma wafting from the tub was simply wonderful, filling the bathroom with its heady scent. I closed my eyes and inhaled it deeply. I felt myself slowly drifting into a very relaxed, sleepy stupor.

My love is here with me, and everything is all right. Could it ever get better than this?

* * * * *

To be continued...