chapter five

Too many lives to lead, and not enough time.

-The Guess Who, Undun

P: So . . . question.
I’m curious. Where exactly do you live?
Like, what’s the closest airport?

S: Why? You planning a trip?

There are things that happen in life where, when she would think back, she could remember exactly where she was or what she was doing. Where she could remember every detail about that moment. She’ll never forget the clingy, low cut tee shirt she wore the night she met her husband, the song she heard on a far off radio as she looked down at him on bended knee handing her a ring, the breeze through the open windows moving the curtains when she stood in her living room and told him she was pregnant.

For her, this was one of those times.

That morning, list of errands in hand, she was getting things together for a road trip, taking the kids to her parent’s house at the beach for a long Halloween weekend. P was in tow, nestled in her Blackberry, keeping her company as she stopped at the grocery store for snacks and walked through Target to pick up some last minute costume items. And as she sat in the lobby at the oil change place, she saw his morning message – please call my mobile – meaning he had gotten things up and running at work and could talk for a few minutes.

She was the one who brought it up. An upcoming trip. Just her. No kids, no husband. And she dangled it in front of him like a carrot, waiting to see if he’d bite.

P: You’re bad.

S: No, just making conversation. Just putting it out there.

P: You’re ba-ad.

S. Okay. So maybe I’m a little bad.

The reality of him no longer scared her. No more was she worried that he was really some homewrecker who was going to make problems for her. No longer did she dream that some slipup would expose them. Her confidence was growing at the same rate as her feelings. He was no longer the game she played to pass the time in her real life, he was her real life. She needed him.

S: Are we really talking about it? Meeting?

P: So it would seem. I like it.

S: You do?

P: I do.

S: I’d be there for work. I mean, I would have things

I had to do.

P: And I’d be the man behind the woman?

S: I like the way that sounds.

Once they began talking about it in that half wishful-thinking, half completely serious way, it was like he swallowed what was left of her ability to focus on anything else. Already she was absentminded, bumping in to walls, forgetting to eat, fumbling through her tasks on autopilot. But even autopilot was becoming a challenge.

S: Well, if we did this. If we met there, and
you saw me in real life, uh, if there wasn’t any
chemistry, or something, you know, there’d be
no hard feelings. I mean, you don’t have to
feel obligated to like me in real life if you see
me and, um, don’t.

P: As if. No matter what,
bodily fluids will be exchanged. Even if we don’t like
each other, we’d be obligated to do it at least once.

S: You’re funny.

That morning, gassing up the car and picking up a prescription and closing up the suitcase and waiting for her husband to stop home to kiss them all goodbye, all of it was a fight. Like walking in deep water or trying to move your arm after it’s fallen asleep. Because P was all she could think about. Meeting him, smelling him, touching him. Having his undivided attention. Giving him her body, taking his. Making it hers, for just a night or two. Making him hers.

S: I sure wish I was taking you to the beach with me today.

P: Me too

I need to be inside you baby

S: Well, looks like you may be in luck.

P: ?

S: If we are talking about meeting I mean.
That would lead to being inside

Me

Having a weekend to pretend that she wasn’t otherwise committed was, to her, like a tiny slice of heaven. Every communication didn’t have to be planned and hidden. Phone calls could be spontaneous and not carefully orchestrated. She could bring him to bed with her for three nights in her mind and her thoughts and her phone.

S: I loved how you just called me.

Do it again.

She emailed him pictures of the whole trip down. The highway once they finally got on the road. Her driving. The kids sleeping. Funny things she saw here and there.

And he kept tabs on her progress, asked if she was using her Bluetooth while she talked on the phone, made sure her car doors stayed locked. He paid attention to her details.

She felt like a real girlfriend.

P: You there yet?

S: You checking up on your girl?

P: Yes

S: Well, I made it.

P: Good. Now I can stop worrying

S: I’ll find you in the morning when

I’m looking at the ocean.

P. Good girl.

S: Night, baby.

She stepped in to the loving arms of her parents, who were used to hosting her little escapes. The trips she’d take without her husband. If they knew the reasons she had to get away every now and then, they never said so. The understanding remained unspoken. The bags came in, the kids scurried off to lay in bed and fall asleep watching television, a very rare treat. The Manhattans were poured, and they all took their familiar places around the living room. And it was as if the whole house let out a long, slow exhale.

And for the first time in almost a month, S fell asleep quickly. And she stayed asleep the whole night through.

She got up the next morning and began her ritual. The first day at her folks place was her time to sneak away without the kids or anyone else, and spend an hour or so walking along the ocean. To take in breaths so deep and pure and cleansing that whatever it was she was running away from on that particular visit, it would be gone by the time her walk was over.

She sent him a good morning message, fully expecting to receive his please call my mobile soon after. Thinking all along that their regular morning conversation would happen while he was driving in to work and she was walking along the ocean, she was excited to bring him to her favorite place.

But he didn’t answer. He wasn’t there.

S: Driving down to the beach. Windows down. Radio on.
Already warm.

. . .

S: Where are you? Why are you not on the beach with me?

. . .

S: I'm beginning to think it strange that I haven't heard
anything from you yet this morning. I'm about 10 minutes
or so from the end of my morning walk on the beach.
And I'm missing my boyfriend.

. . .

S: Um. Baby?

. . .

. . .

P: Sorry took the day off
Crowded here

S: And you just neglected to let me know? I was getting worried.

P: Sorry game time call
Decided this am

S: I know this sounds silly now, but I was really getting concerned.
I always hear from you first thing. And totally expected to hear
from you this morning.

Everything okay?

P: Yeah sorry

She was a little deflated, but swallowed it away, and sent him pictures of all of it. Through the gate at the entrance of the subdivision. Over the drawbridge crossing the inland waterway. Approaching the boardwalk. First glimpse of the ocean. Toes in the water. Sunrise. Her favorite beach house, which was now the place she wanted to run away to. With P.

But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as having him there hearing the waves crash and the gulls squawk. She wanted him to hear what her voice sounded like when she was there.

P: Hey

S: Hi

P: Only have a minute

Missing you

Loved the pics

S: I miss you too.

P: Gotta run

She tried not to let her feelings get hurt. He was up to his neck in real life, and she was on vacation by herself. She knew it wasn’t fair to expect that he would be easily accessible. But she still wished. She still hoped for that moment when he’d excuse himself from his real life and be present for her for a little while. Like she’d done so many times for him.

For just a thought, she let a doubt creep in. A moment of the old insecurity he talked her out of in the beginning. For a split second it crossed her mind that, while she was breezing through another rule, perhaps he wasn’t right there with her. For just a minute she considered that maybe he had stopped breezing.

P: Sorry

S: For what?

. . .

P: Making you miss me
today

She was up early the second morning, too. The dutiful daughter, doing all of the chores around the house that she didn’t want her parents attempting anymore, which they would no doubt do had she not insisted that they let her help, most of which had her carrying heavy things, teetering on ladders, and working up an early morning sweat.

It was hot and muggy, and she was sticky pretty miserable and so ready to head down to the beach, but there was one chore left to do. The palm tree by their front door needed pruning. Most of the branches came down easily, but she saved the tallest, hardest to reach branches for last. She was gripping the tree with one hand while looking up at the tangle of leaves, and her son came around the house calling for her. Just as she stepped up a rung of the ladder, her mom let go of it to turn to the boy. The ladder tipped, and she fell, her ribs hitting the ground first, then her shoulder jammed up under her ear, and her head came down on the concrete walkway.

Things became a jumble of darkness and light and voices she couldn’t quite make out, all blurry and far away sounding. She was trying to talk but couldn’t make anyone understand what she was saying, so maybe she wasn’t talking at all or maybe she was and it was just coming out babble. And then she heard the siren and saw the flashing lights pull up, and she slowly realized that they were here for her. Because something bad had just happened.

After a pretty quick battery of scans and x-rays, it was decided not to be any more serious than a bunch of bumps and bruises. She was advised as to how to handle her broken ribs, how her folks should monitor the bump on her head. Her mom shuffled through all of the papers they handed her to sign, argued with the nurse who refused to wrap her rib cage, and chased down the doctor who kept forgetting to write out the prescription for pain medication.

They were finally in the car driving back to the house, and S asked if they could go to the beach. And her mother completely understood. She knew that S would rather lay on a beach chair watching all the cousins play than on the couch in her living room. She knew that S would feel better breathing in the ocean air than the air conditioning. So they stopped by the house and carefully got cleaned up and changed, and as they were making their way back out to the car S spotted her phone on the charger and grabbed it. Because P didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know that his girl was hurt. She was sure that would be something he’d want to know. That he’d want to give her some attention since he couldn’t be there to kiss the pain away. And she needed his attention. She needed him to tell her everything was going to be okay.

Her expectations were high. Too high. She needed more from him that day than he was able to give.

P: Hey

S: Hi. Slight change of plans today. I've just left the er.
I fell off a ladder this morning

P: You!

You ok?

S: Only my pride is hurt. Good thing my head is so hard.

I have a bump and some bruised ribs

Gonna go lay on a beach chair

P: Dude

Sorry

Pain meds?

S: Dude? You called me dude?

P: Yes

S: How romantic

Dude

Anyway yes pain mess

Meds

P: Good girl

S: But I don't want to take them

P: Rest up

Feel better

Missing your clumsy ass

S: Mom and dad don't think I should leave

Yet

You are? Missing me?

. . .

Oh. Guess you are off again

God I hate weekends

P: Me too

And yes I miss you

But yes have to go

S: Not even bruised ribs and a trip to the er get me weekend

attention, huh? Well, have fun. Happy halloween. Later.

P: Shitty comment

Later

S: Hey. Don't be mad. I apologize. I just went through

something really major. I hurt. I just wanted some time.

P: Sorry you are hurt. And sorry I can't give you more time
Busy day

S: Yeah. It’s okay. Have fun.

She was stung by the tone of his words, and surprised that he wasn’t more affected by her news. Trapped in her head, she tried to ignore the chill in her chest and the twisting just below her heart that was her anxiety rising.

He was just busy, she told her self. He was busy and I am not. That’s all.

And her stomach started to churn like it did when something bad was happening, but she couldn’t tell if it was the fall or if it was something else. She couldn’t tell if it was just a crazy afternoon, or if something bigger was going on. She could swear there was something simmering just underneath his words, but her brain felt too fuzzy to be sure of anything.

Her eyelids were heavy, and she realized how tired she was. After a month of sleeping in preoccupied catnaps, finally having a full, uninterrupted night’s sleep the night before made her feel more exhausted instead of more rested. And her neck was starting to stiffen and her shoulder was getting sore. It was getting harder to breathe without feeling the pain in her ribs. She looked over at her dad, and he handed her a Vicodin and a bottle of water. She swallowed the pill, laid back in the chair, and within seconds, fell asleep.

P: Back home yet?

. . .

S: No. Spent the night back in the hospital

P: !

S: Just got on the road an hour ago

P: Why back at hospital?

S: Observation. I fell asleep yesterday afternoon and
they couldn't wake me up

P: Holy shit!
Should you be driving?!

S: I'm not
Husband came down
Really I knew I was ok
Just tired from not sleeping for a month

P: Good good
I'm glad he's there

S: Yeah

P: Ok
Well safe
Trip

S: Kind of a crazy night
And today I feel like I was hit by a bus
Nobody would let me sleep last night
It’s very surreal
Right. No time
Forgot what day it was

P: I figured you were busy

S: No. I'm not. Nothing to do but sit and think

P: He isn't reading over your shoulder

S: No. He's driving. I'm laying as flat as I can.
Texting a lot with my very worried bff
Kids are sleeping
But you need to be present with your fam
Not talking with me
Its Sunday. Its fine

P: I am worried about you

S: Yeah?
I'm ok
Just hurting

P: You sure
Where

S: My ribs. Neck. Shoulder.
Was a stupid fall
Baby? I'm not sure I can do this

P: What were you doing on the ladder

S: I was pruning a palm tree
My mom was holding it
I don't really remember what happened
I came to when the ambulance pulled in
I guess I was awake before that
But I don't remember it
I just remember being mortified that the
ambulance was there

P: Crazy
Do what baby?

S: Yeah. It was crazy. When I was done in the er we went to
catch up with everyone at the beach. Stopped at the house to
change and get my phone. After all that all I wanted to do was
curl up in the sun watch the kids play, and tell you all about it.
After our brief chat I went ahead and took some Vicodin
Eventually fell asleep
Next thing I know I am seeing all of these worried faces
And my son is crying
Because I wouldn't wake up
I was trying to tell them that I was just so tired
But fine
My cousin scooped me up into his car
And back to the hospital we went
I didn't have my phone

P: Yuck
And scary

S: Couldn't remember if I left any messages in there from you
Or even if I had locked it
And I got scared that somebody would find you in there

P: Yikes

S: My dad followed along to the hospital and had it in his pocket
the whole time
Gave it back when it rang at some point
I cried
So relieved

P: Why

S: To have it back
Then cried again

P: Why

S: To see nothing from you checking on me
Overall very tired and lots of drugs
made me all weepy I guess
My husband got there around 6
I sent him to go be with the kids
Trick or treating
and they were freaked
I stayed in the er all night
Woke me up every hour
To do vitals
Let me go around 5

P: Wow
So rough night all around

S: Yes

P: Sorry baby

S: For what?

P: For your fall and your horrible night

S: Yeah

P: Soo
You are having second thoughts?
About us
This

S: I don't know how to do this
How to love somebody when
we never get to be the priority.

P: I understand
And I

Have second thoughts too

And there it was, the source of that nagging feeling. The something bad that was about to happen. It wasn’t the fall or the injury or the night in the hospital or the worry. It wasn’t all the meds making her mouth dry and her brain fuzzy. It wasn’t guilt or doubt or worry. It was him. Mere hours after beginning to plan the meeting with the one man who knew the real her, the one she hid under her clothes, and loved her, now she understood that the clock was running out. And she was losing. Game over.

chapter four

It’s exactly like I thought it would be.

-Teddy Pendergrass, Close the Door

P: Good morning

S: back at ya.

P: That pic of you on your post the other day?

Hot.

S: Thanks.

P: Just sayin

She loved writing for him. Bending and shaping and molding the words, trying to fit them together so that they would look like the way he made her feel. They did it together, like kids lying on their bellies side by side, amidst a scattering of crayons and coloring books. Together they painted intricate, detailed, sensual pictures.

P: I want to taste you

S: Wow

P: Do you taste good?

S: Of course I do.

P: Tell me

S: How I taste? I don't even know how to begin to describe that.
Womanly.Sexy.
Decadent, like a really great secret that nobody else knows.
Something like that.

P: Like a deep dark secret. Exposed with great effort

S: Then finally told in bits and pieces. And once you get it all

you realize it was totally worth the wait.

P: Yes yes exactly

It was the most creative she’d felt in years. It had been a long time since she had an outlet. The solitude of her new life gave her plenty of time to write, and she often went through the exercise, but true inspiration came back once she began making stories with P. He brought her out and dusted her off, played muse to her writer, and together they created their own adventures.

P: Okay. Tell me a secret fantasy.

S: Aside from a rendezvous with my

pretend internet boyfriend, you mean?

P: Tell me. What would happen?

S: Hmm. Well, since this is fantasy, then let’s say I’m on my book tour. I’m doing a signing somewhere in the city, and you come. Get in line. You see me first. And as you get closer to me you send me a text. You’ll have to decide what it says, but certainly it’s something provocative. And when you watch me read it you finally get to see what I look likewhen I read something from you that makes me all blushy. So I scan the crowd and there you are. For real in person. We lock eyes and I instantly feel excited. Tingle. Fidget. And when I sign your book I write down my hotel and room number. Good start?

P: Yummy. It might say I wonder what you taste like right now.

S: That would do it.

So, I get done working. Go back to the hotel. Shower. Try to choose something to wear. Change clothes a couple of times. Wonder if I should wear my glasses or go without. Take a long look at myself in the mirror, wonder what you’ll think when you actually get to see me up close and for real.
Put on a little of my favorite perfume. Decide on a dress. Consider no panties for a minute, but decide to wear them anyway because it will be so much fun to have you take them off of me later. And I am completely nervous, butterflies like crazy, terrified of you looking at the real me and deciding that fantasy was better. And I’m really hoping you’re serious about wanting to buy me a martini,
because my hands are actually shaking a little bit. I keep waiting to hear you knock, but you call up instead. Giving me one last chance to talkmyself out of this. But I don’t. I come downstairs and we are finally face to face. I finally get to put my arms around you and feel what you feel like. I finally get to smell what you smell like. I get to reach over and touch your hair. You suggest cocktails or dinner or whatever you would suggest we do first. And you do all of the goofy chivalrous stuff that I am such a sucker for. Hand on the small of my back to lead me through the door. Offer me your arm.
So, where do we go? Where do you take me?

P: I love reading you. Makes me hard. Call if you want to hear me cum.
We go to a small blues bar.

S: Small blues bar is perfect. So perfect. Dark table somewhere out of the way of anyone who might notice if you happened to slide your hand up my skirt. And I can’t decide if I’d rather sit across from
you so I can stare and drink in the very sight of you, or if I want to sit next to you, right up close.

P: Still waiting for the phone to ring.

S: I can't. Not tonight. So just tell me what we're drinking in the small blues bar. And tell me if we chose to sit across from each other or side by side.

P: You would hold me to the martini. Grey goose 3 olives.

S: You are so in my head. Great choice. I am so relieved that Martini doesn’t mean gin to you. So, we start off across from each other so we can just stare. You notice my hands shaking and you cover mine with yours. Mine are like ice, but yours are warm. And calm. If you’re nervous too, you’re doing a much better job of hiding it.

Are you? Nervous?

P: No. Only because I've reached the point that not tasting you is worst thing that can possibly happen. Everything else is easy in comparison.

With their foundation established, made strong with lots of trust and affection and a healthy dose of lust, she became ready to play. He made her feel mischievous, like a cat with a ball of string, batting around her desire and waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. Words were pretty easy for her to produce, even though she still blushed and fidgeted her way through many conversations, so he pushed. He was good at planting seeds, wanting something just one step further than where she was comfortable going. He was good at making it seem like it was her need for more that drove them forward, but it was all at his suggestion. He needed her just as much as she needed him.

P: Send me a picture.

S: A picture? Is there something wrong with the images

I'm creating with the words?

P: Nothing at all. I'm just very visual. I need to see.

S: I'm very squeamish about pictures.

P: I want to see what you hide with clothes.

S: I cannot imagine showing myself to somebody new.

The last time somebody saw what I hide under my clothes

for the very first time, it was long before stress and age

and babies and I was also very very drunk.

This is so much harder than writing.

P: It's ok. It will get easier.

Let me see your eyes.

Sending pictures didn’t come easy. She couldn’t stop being critical. They were never good enough, never looked like she felt on the inside. So she made a rule that when he asked for a photo she would only take one. Because she just couldn’t spend all that effort agonizing.

And his appreciation of what she sent made her a little more willing the next time. While he was never one to say “don’t be insecure, you look great” he did understand that she would respond differently to the words hot or pretty, sweet or sexy, thank you or good girl. He understood that foreplay for her was more about her mind than her body, and that playing with words could make her both adventurous and compliant, and anxious to try things she never would have considered otherwise.

She was starved for the attention.

P: I like knowing my words can affect you that way.

She had grown accustomed to the change in her husband’s eyes. Where he used to be turned on by her quirks and insecurities, he now reacted to them as if they were symptoms needing some kind of treatment. His patience was replaced with irritation, his admiration with mere tolerance. They still got along, they were still friendly, but she was withering, and her husband didn’t seem to notice.

P was supposed to be a fantasy, something to arouse and attract her so that she could put the spark back into sex with her husband. She knew that this was supposed to be a game, with P giving her the attention and words that she needed to feel special, and her giving P the secrets and the pictures that he needed to feel connected to someone.

But it quickly became more than a game.

P: Take another picture. Let me see your eyes and smile

S: I only take one. It's my rule.

P: Break it

For me

S: well, I guess it's the least I can do for someone willing to

exert all of that NON sexy chat effort just to get to this point.

P: Thanks and umm I like both types one isn't for the other

S: Sure it isn't.
She was never one of those overly affectionate people. She did well with hello and goodbye hugs and kisses, and she liked having people near her, but she really had to make a conscious effort to give the motherly snuggles and the wifely caresses as freely and as often as her family required. But P made her want to be touched. She found it became easier and much more enjoyable to sit close to her kids to read stories, to cuddle at bedtime, to kiss away the hurts or squeeze away the nerves for them.

Her husband’s touch was familiar and deeply rooted in his own likes and preferences, and she realized that she really had no idea anymore what hers were. So in the quiet moments in the dark early hours of the morning when she was unable to sleep, she would reach down and slide her fingers under her pajamas and let herself feel what P did to her. Trying to be still enough as not to wake her husband, but still able to explore and learn the ways to make her own body respond, taking her time, taking forever if she wanted, not feeling pressured to produce an orgasm so that they could move on to the next step. Rediscovering all of the places, how hard or gentle, how fast or slow, what made her wet, what made her quiver, what takes her over the edge, finally releasing the desire that thinking of P created inside of her.

And in shower, eyes closed, feeling the hot water fall onto her neck and shoulders, she’d wish it was the heat from his hands that was relaxing her. And in those few private, hot, steamy minutes with the door locked and no fear of being discovered or interrupted, he become real to her. The water became his fingers pouring over her, massaging her body into such intense orgasms that she’d feel dizzy for seconds after. She’d have to close her eyes and take a few slow, deep breaths before she could dry off and go on about her day. Because she felt him there, inside of her, all the time. Every minute.

That feeling is what made her take the pictures. That feeling is what made her unable to tell him no.

P: So hot.

And it's the look in your eyes
Naughty like you know you are
breaking rules but like it. Can't help it

P was playful, leading her with subtlety and finesse, knowing exactly the way to break through her nerves and get her to follow along. They had a pattern. The first mention was merely to plant the seed. He knew she would balk and pretend to say no, but really she was just buying herself a little time to savor the idea, thinking over how she might actually make it happen.

S: Well. You've done it again. Completely
flustered.

P: Made you wet?

S: I am not sending you a picture of it.

P: Lol

Tragic

The second time he’d turn the tables on her, manipulating, daring her to say no. He made her consider that whatever it was they were dancing around was not so much something he wanted as it was something she needed. Something she needed to do for herself, even if just to prove to herself she could.

P: Question

S: Yes.

P: When you send me a picture of your pussy

I'm not talking about

When you decide in your head that

"if he asks again, I'll do it"

I mean when you want need me to see how wet I

make you

And I finally agree

Would it be rude to remind you of this

conversation?

S: What are you saying?

It's almost like you're daring me to send you a

picture. Like I'm a kid

who can't back down from a dare.

P: Incorrect

S: Correct me.

P: I no longer require a photo

S: So you're doing that trick they teach you in sales
training. Taking it off the table.

P: Lol if it's on the table I would say yes take it off

and find the spray cleaner please

S: What are you, 13?
Wait a minute. You're not really 13 are you?

P: Lol my mom says you are too old

S: I am so going to end up on To Catch a Predator,

aren't I?

P: Lol permaybe

If he had to ask a third time, she gave no argument, but often, there was no third time. By then he was right, she did need to do it. She did need him to see.

P: I love seeing you

Knowing you needed me to see

And she began to understand what it was that P needed. She began to anticipate his requests, and before long he didn't even have to ask.

chapter three

Where do I begin?

-Shirley Bassey, Love Story Remix

P: Hey baby.

S: Good morning.

Miss me?

P: Yes like a kidney

S: A kidney? Wait a minute. You can live your
Whole life with only one kidney.
So, do you mean like kidneyS?

P: My last functioning kidney?

S: That’s better.

In a heartbeat P became her constant companion. She’d send him an early morning email so he’d have something waiting from her as soon as he woke up. They’d swap messages as he was in and out of meetings. She upgraded her Blackberry, and happily carried him in her pocket as she ran her errands.

But her favorite was always the morning, having his complete attention on his way into work. She fell in love with him in the mornings.

S: What are you doing right now? Set the scene.

P: On a platform waiting for train doors to open.

Right by the engine so it’s loud. Listening to
run dmc louder

S: Run DMC? Man, you make my heart go pitter pat.

P: lol king of rock

S: You just threw me back to eighth grade.
Big hair and too much eyeshadow. Nice.

P: Hot

S: Oh yes. Had the whole rebellious attitude to boot.
Quite the package.

P: Lol ready to make bad decisions? Daddy issues.
Scrumptious

S: It’s like you were there

It was easy to draw him out in the morning. Riding the train, he’d be thoughtful and wordy and attentive. They could meander through their conversation and just be. Together.

P: The doors are on now

People are strange

S: Oh yes. Smoked lots of dope listening
to The Doors. It was my post-black eyeliner
turned fake retro-hippie phase. It eventually evolved
into not shaving my legs, wearing lots of bracelets that
jingled, and spending a summer touring with the Dead.

P: Nice.

S: I did all these ridiculous things like selling peanut butter
and jelly sandwiches for whippit money and saying things
like Peace, Brother. All the while I had daddy’s Platinum
AMEX in my wallet for hotel rooms, gas, and fancy restaurants.
I was really not a very good deadhead.

P: Too funny
I can’t wait until my kids pull shit like that

S: It will be fun watching them

P: and I have to bite my tongue and pretend

S: think they invented it.

P: it’s original

S: We were saying the same thing at the same time.

It was the time they got to make all those discoveries one makes about somebody when a relationship is new. The ones that seem superficial at first, but really you’re finding out about who they are on the inside. How you might fit together.

P: Elvis now

S: What?

P: Every day I write the book

S: When I was recovering from a boy I almost married, but didn’t

I met a pilot
We had a 21 day love affair in when he was in
town training on a new aircraft
The way he wooed me was with his Elvis impression
It was very good
The bar we hung out in had a karaoke night
and he sang an Elvis song to me
It worked
He got lucky
Very lucky

P: Lol not presley!

S: Started typing the story before I read the song.
But, it’s my only Elvis story so I went with it

P: And slut!

S: Not slut! I was just getting back in the game
Though he just thought I was a slut probably

P: lol I’m sure he still thinks about you

S: Oh. I doubt that. But it was a fun 21 days

P: You don’t understand how deep you burrow

She didn’t understand that, as deeply affected as her days now were, she was in P’s head, too. He told her from the start he’d never love her, so she just ignored the feeling. Left it unnamed. She ignored the flutters in her stomach that jumped around when she’d hear his chime on her phone, signaling a message from him. When her distraction became so great that she’d bump into things, or try to leave to go somewhere but have to keep running back into the house for a myriad of forgotten items, or read the same sentence of her book five or six times and still not know what it said, she wouldn’t admit even to herself what was happening.

P: Moving right through your sex past.

S: Yup.

Lots of stories from back when I was young and fearless.

P: And now?
Fearful?

S: No. Fearful isn’t quite right. Just older.
Not as spontaneous.
More guarded.
Don’t bounce back quite the way I used to.

P: I know what you mean

S: Of course you do.

She believed him when he spelled out his rules, so when they’d bump up against one with some wistful comment or double entendre, she was quick to say so, not so much because she was opposed to breaking it, but to communicate to him that she remembered they were there. Trying to prove that she wasn’t a novice who was going to turn this into a big mess. That she could play the game, too.

P: Dude, love the Blue Note

S: I do, too. Spent many formative evenings there

Trying to grow up too fast.
Love to go there as an adult

P: Wow
Come out
I will buy the drinks
And the hotel

S: That’s nice to think about.
But I believe that would be a boundary.

But she was already thinking it. Because, for her, it had always been impossible to have a sexual connection without an emotional one. She was never one of those people who could have friends with benefits, even though she tried, because she was always mixing up the sex with the love. She thought it would be different with P, because of their circumstance, because they were supposed to be just pretend. But it wasn’t different. It was becoming impossible for her not to fall in love with him, too.

S: How do you do that?

P: Do what exactly?

S: Make me so nuts. Make me chase my tail. Forget to eat.

Bump into things. Hang on your every word. Smile inside out.
Be constantly aroused. Forget my troubles. All those things.

She was never the girl that got the guy. She’d become entangled, she had a lot of sex, and she’d certainly fallen hard many times. But she only had two real, long-term relationships in her whole life. She almost married the first one, which would have been a mistake of the grandest proportions. She did marry the second one, and she would sometimes wonder if they were a bad match, or if even the most perfect couples eventually arrive at a place of boredom and complacency.

So getting to have a boyfriend again as an adult woman with adult experience was exciting. It’s like being married for a few years and then registering for gifts and having the big party, after you’d been together awhile and knew what you needed. When you could better understand the magnitude of it all.

S: When's your birthday?

P: April 21st

S: Oh. Good. Plenty of time to make you a mix tape.

P: Lol

S: I do that, you know. Think of a song to put on your mix tape.

File it away in my brain for later. See something here or there
and wonder if you'd like it.

P: Hot

And as quickly as everything else happened between them, so came the feeling that they weren’t playing around anymore. It felt less and less like make-believe, and more and more like something she wouldn’t want to live without.

P: I get butterflies waiting for your responses

You have me grinning
Like an idiot
On my train

S: Me too baby.
I'm so glad you told me that.

P: Why
And good

S: How else would I know?
I don't get to see you smile on the train.
I only know what you share.

She grew to dread the weekends, because their day long chats turned into brief email swaps while they were each living out their real lives. All of the things she used to love – her husband being home, being pulled out of bed early by the kids, sipping coffee looking out the window, cheering at the football games, socializing with her friends – felt different now, not because she didn’t still enjoy that part of her life, but because the things she didn’t like, that didn’t fit, that made her feel suffocated or invisible, they became harder to overlook.

And she began walking this fine line between hoping he was happy when he was away from her, and hoping he was just a little bit miserable.

P: I am in love with you

She and her husband were supposed to be just a one-night stand. After that night, the first time he called her she didn’t answer the phone. The first time he asked her to go to dinner with him she declined. The first time he told her he loved her she didn’t say it back. When he asked her to marry him, her first answer was no. She just wasn’t very good at being loved. She never felt worthy of it, because she never felt like the person trying to give it to her actually knew the real her. She didn’t let her real self be seen.

S: You are in love with the idea of me.

But hearing the words from P was different. Because she thought love was never to be an option, she didn’t actively seek it. Because he was more of am imaginary friend than a real one, she could just be herself. Because she never had to look him in the eye, she could be truthful.

Because she didn’t pretend to be somebody else, it felt like she was hearing those words for the very first time.

S: I'd drive you crazy in a weekend.

Maybe it wouldn't even take that long.

P: Lol sounds like you are trying to
Convince
Yourself that we are doomed

S: Baby. We are doomed.
I mean, this doesn't end with you and me riding
off into the sunset.
Best case scenario is only us being hurt when
this ends.

P: I think you spend too much time inside your head

She didn’t know how to be the girl that actually got the guy. In the past, she was always the filler. The non-girlfriend girlfriend, who could hang with the boys, who was a great date for work functions or other parties where it was important to show up with somebody respectable, who could fill the role of the female companion until the hot chick came along. So, to be in a position where the man she wanted actually chose her? She just didn’t have the experience to know how to handle that. She didn’t know what to do.

S: So you think you really love me. ME.

You really think that you know enough about
me
to know that you love me?

P: I think I know a truer you than others.
I feel like we've connected on a deeper level.
Bullshit thrown out the window and raw. Yes

Once P said it, her instinct was to talk him out of it. To convince him that there were other women that would do this more easily, be more adventurous, have fewer hang-ups. To give him every chance to go before he discovered the depths of her clinginess and insecurity. To tell him to leave before he decided to all on his own.

S: I never quite say the right thing do I?

P: You noticed that too?

S: I'm sorry I didn't say the right thing.

P: Sok

S: You know what? Even though I love my husband and

have absolutely zero interest in messing up our marriage?
When I sleep with him, I feel like I'm cheating on you.

His love for her wasn’t the only thing she learned about P that day. She also began to understand that all of his open, vulnerable, honest conversation took effort. It didn’t come naturally for him to share himself with such intimacy. If she didn’t receive it with patience or tenderness or love in return, she could hurt him. She did hurt him. Her insecurities weren’t the only ones being overcome by their being together; he was conquering some of his own.

And just as he didn’t share himself easily, nor did he forgive her easily when she’d stumble.

S: What do you want to do? I mean, is this what we do?

Chat and email and sneak conversations on the phone?
Do you want to meet me someday? Do we plan secret
rendezvous here and there, telling our spouses we are away
on business? I mean, what do we do? I trusted you when you
said you wouldn't love me. And now? I love you too.

P: The IDEA of me

S: All of that. All that I said. And you're still focused
on the word idea.

P: You seem to link the word to an action
A meetup
A life shift

S: Yes. You're right.
I worry that after blowing through several of our
initial rules,
we'll just keep on.

P: I'll slow down

S: Because I never get enough of you.

P: I overshared
I'm sorry

S: And I'm always thinking a few steps ahead.

P: Lesson learned

S: STOP IT.
Fuck Baby.
You didn't do anything wrong
I'm trying to share, too and you won’t let me

P: Share

S: Being told I am loved means everything to me.
I want to be worthy of it. I take it seriously.
I take you seriously. I love you, too.

P: The idea of me
You mean

S: Am I ever going to get to say it to you without you
inserting the word 'idea' in to it?

P: Doubtful
You fucked it up

It exhausted her, this dance between real and pretend, confidence and fear, trust and anger. The excitement of being with somebody new came with the downside of not knowing how to make it through the intensity of the first fight. Each cross word felt like the beginning of the end rather than a simple growing pain. And regardless of the language they were using, she knew she did not want this to end. That was the one thing she knew for sure.

S: You could have picked an easier girl, but you didn't.

You picked me.
I don't want to fight with you.
That's not what I want.

P: Me neither because you see
I love you

S: I love you too.

P: I wish you wouldn't say that

S: Are you kidding? I thought you were giving me the moment
to do all over again. So that my memory of our first I love you
wouldn't be when I got scared and fucked it all up.

P: Ok
Baby

S: ?

P: I love you

S: I love you too.

P: Good girl

Somehow they salvaged a pretty spectacular moment through all the mess, and though she didn’t know it then, they were establishing a pattern for all of their spectacular moments. They wouldn’t come easily; they would all have to be extracted from his fear and her anxiety. But what she did know was that something in her world just shifted. She knew that knowing P meant she would never be quite the same.

S: I don't like fighting with you.

I prefer to be the one you don't have to fight with.

P: Me either

S: You feel very far away.

P: I'm right here
Close
And with a box of tissues

S: That's a nice thought. But you're not. You're a
Million miles away, and I'm here with the runny nose.

P: And my full attention
And my heart

S: It would be nice to have your full attention.
I can't even imagine what that would be like.
No co workers or traffic or ringing phones.

P: Lol
Intense

S: Yes. Intense.

P: I miss you today

S: Oh God me too.

The day ended with her listening to the music and P telling the stories. She cooked dinner, the kids played outside, and their chat during his evening commute kept her company. They were once again back at that comfortable place, meandering through their conversation. Where they could just be. Together.

S: Van Morrison

P: Into the Mystic?

S: Tupelo Honey. My favorite song.

P: If we were together right now we would be dancing

very, very slowly. Like a song long hug.

Just like two people in love.

chapter two

Try to have fun no matter what you do.

-Prince, Nothing Compares 2 U

One of the biggest changes in her over the years is that her world became very black and white. It mostly came from having children, she supposed, and all of the boundary setting and rule teaching you do when you bring them up. A toddler isn’t capable of discerning gray area; you simply teach them that yes, they are allowed to do this or no, they are not allowed to do that.

It’s not how she used to be.

She didn’t used to have sharp edges or defined corners or a whole lot of rules. Even in high school, she was one of those people whose friends came from all of the different cliques; spending time with geeks and cheerleaders, burnouts and holy rollers, she wasn’t obsessed with her looks or her image or what other kids thought about her. She didn’t have a strong desire to attach to any particular boy or activity or way of thinking. There were boys and there was typical teenage drama, but she just never got bogged down in it. She just happened to be good at most things she was interested in, and she was interested in a lot of things. And she kind of breezed along.

As she got older and moved on, that breeziness was increasingly interpreted by others as inexperience and immaturity. She began to be challenged or sometimes coerced into defining opinions and forming alliances. She began to learn something about the messiness of life, and she began to define a personal set of rules to live by, something to help tidy that mess. And as she continued to grow older, and her environments and experiences evolved, those rules became clearer, more rigid, more difficult to challenge. They became the way she made sense of her life. The way she kept things neat and in order. Rules took the fear out of marriage and career and parenthood. Spontaneity became scary. Rules never surprised her. They were constant. She could count on them.

S: I guess I have a question, if I might.

It's something that I've been wondering about for

a while.

P: Ask.

S: Well, we're both married, parents, committed.

Why are your boundaries so different than mine?

There hasn't been one time that you've said what

we do when we, um, talk, might be wrong. It's

always me. Why is that?

P: I don't think it's wrong

Cheating ish but not wrong for me

S: But why? Why is cheating-ish okay? Is it

something you have established with your wife?

Is it okay with her?

P: No

It isn’t

But it's ok with me

And I don't feel bad because it's my sexuality

Mine I own it

S: You share it.

P: Yes on my terms

S: What about her terms?

Why are hers less important?

P: Not mine to dictate

S: Not the point.

Don't you care about hers, too?

Or only insofar as they don't conflict with yours?

I don't understand why there seems to be no

conscience.

I just keep waiting to hear that you have one.

P: Lol I do

Occasionally a person in her life would challenge her rules. Occasionally somebody she loved or liked or spent time with would mess up her tidy and ordered existence by making a choice that she couldn’t justify in her own personal code of ethics. And even though it was their behavior and their choice and their consequence, somehow she felt she had to act. Say something. Make a choice.

P: You seemed judgmental

S: I didn't like your answers

P: Yes so I noticed

And often that choice was her rule instead of her person.

S: You're mad at me?

P: Not mad

S: ?

P: Just ran into one of your rules

S: Oh. Was that a zinger? Was it supposed to sting?

P: No

You seem angry

S: So do you

P: No not angry

S: what then

P: Better informed

Than before

Looking back on those instances she knows now that while she may have been acting judgmental, she was really jealous. Jealous of anybody with the guts to step outside of the rules and do something just because it felt good. Jealous of anybody with the courage to admit they needed something that they weren’t getting, finding that thing, and taking it, right or wrong or good or bad. She was jealous.

She kept telling herself that by remaining rigid and focused on doing what was ‘right’ she might be unfulfilled right this second, but it would pay off later. Someday. Somewhere there was a reward for living in an ordered, correct way.

P: Feel like you have chastised me

Let me know that you think I'm wrong

I feel exposed and vulnerable

S: Hey, that's my line.

P: Lol

Yeah sok. I get it. And I'm glad you were honest

with me

Not mad or anything

S: I'm sorry you feel chastised.

P: Not a problem

But it feels funny now that it seems that you are

looking down your nose at me

Then her ordered, correct life bottomed out. And she realized all of those times she clung to her rules instead of her people left her with fewer people to cling to when her ordered and correct life went to shit.

That is what she was doing when she met P; taking a leave from her ordered and correct life. Questioning her belief system and analyzing her rules. Being honest about her shortcomings, of which she had many. Finally taking the time to acknowledge problems in her marriage, jealousy in her heart, and the hard feelings and insecurities that she had been ignoring as she navigated through the challenges of their years together.

Mostly she had been dealing with these things on her own. But once she connected with him, without even knowing it, he became her partner. Her backup. Her sounding board. And occasionally the person she pounded with questions because she thought he had something she wanted; the ability to seek out what he needed, even if that thing wasn’t what was popular or accepted or correct.

And when he’d say something she didn’t understand, she’d first react by lashing out. Judging. But already he was carving out his place in her brain. His words would stay with her all night, somersaulting through her rigid thoughts until she finally relented, allowing her long-forgotten flexibility a chance to come back.

S: I'm sorry.

I started asking the questions about boundaries

because you just seem so okay about it all, and

I'm always feeling like I'm doing something

wrong.

I'm not judging you. I am trying to understand

you

I feel like you're my friend. And it’s silly and

weird and all cyber-virtual-fantasy-something or

other.

But I really like knowing you're out there rooting

for me. And I'm out here rooting for you

But there's something about the way you

communicate about sex that I just don't get. And

sometimes it makes me uncomfortable, other

times it makes me feel like I should challenge

you on it.

I guess because I'd want somebody chatting with

my husband all sexy like to remind him he has a

me.

P: So it would seem. And I am your friend

S: Have we kissed and made up?

P: Yes

S: Good. Because my fantasy P finds it

impossible to stay angry with me.

With P, she tried choosing her person over her rule, and while it was a much scarier choice, he had a way of making her feel safe. He took away a lot of her loneliness. And she learned it didn’t make her feel guilty to allow somebody to help her figure out what it was she was missing.

TO: Pavlov

FROM: Sudan

I look for pieces of me in your posts; I wait to see if you'll leave me a comment. I hang on every one. Because I don't get you in person. I don't get to know what you sound like or smell like. I don't get to reach out and touch your arm when you say something that makes me laugh. I don't get to bat my eyes at you over a martini glass. I don't get to agonize over what to wear before I meet you somewhere for dinner.

I get your words.

And I cannot explain how I can feel so connected to some random man I've been chatting with for a few days, but I do.

She found it difficult not to compare him to her husband.

She and her husband had a lot about them that was in opposition. He lets life just happen, unfolding before him like a path he is supposed to follow. She prefers to plan, to choose her route, and impact her outcome. He accepts things, where she analyzes them to death. He can walk away from conflict, where she needs to stand up and sometimes fight and always try to resolve. He decided one time that he was going to love her. She decided every day that she was going to love him. She recommits every single day.

Those differences were so attractive to her eleven years ago.

Eleven years ago she craved uncomplicated. She wanted a man who could be taken at face value. She didn’t want to have to dig around and extract who he was, then find out later that she had uncovered a monster. She just wanted to find a man who was nice. Honest. Kind. Simple.

And when she found just that, she planned to keep him. Amidst warnings from friends who thought they’d never last, who thought she’d be bored, who figured he was just her rebound, she agreed to marry him. And she was happy. It was easy to be happy with somebody like him; somebody who was constant and stable and free of baggage and skeletons and darkness. They laughed hard and fucked a lot and enjoyed just being together.

And for a long time she felt really content.

TO: Sudan

FROM: Pavlov

I'm not sure how random it is. I think we seek out things we want. I think when we sense similar needs in others we draw close. I am drawn to you. I can't get you out of my head. You invade.

As far as me pushing you I think you need that too. An excuse to go farther than you want to take total responsibility for. That's why I am no longer pushing. You will ask for more soon enough.

And feel special because this isn't something I make a habit of despite what you might think. I want to know all your secrets. All your desires and even stupid stuff like what side of the bed you sleep on or the color of your toothbrush or if you have one of those fuzzy toilet seat covers or if you just go bareback.

I also like knowing that you think of me when you touch yourself. And wonder how long it will take to see me in your minds eye whenever he's inside of you.

Good morning by the way...

His simplicity made her feel safe. They weren’t in competition with each other. He was just proud to have her on his arm, and she was pretty thrilled to be there. He was always where he said he’d be. He always called when he said he’d call. He was always willing to try whatever restaurant she suggested. Always willing to wear whatever clothing she chose. The sex was very polite and loving. They rarely argued. It was just easy to be around each other. It was important to both of them to keep the other happy.

P: Tell me how I'm in your head

S: If I tell you how you're in my head, you have

to promise to take a moment before

you tell me I'm off my rocker.

P: Ok

Pinkie swear

S: Alright. So, I do think about you. Because I am

really attracted to who you are in my

head - I think I've said this - I get to relive all the

fun parts of meeting someone I’m

attracted to. The getting to know you, the talky

talky that we chicks just love. You're

interested in things that are old news to my

husband. And you make me feel very sexy.

In a new way, not in the way that is predictable

when you've been with someone a long

long time.

So,

I make jokes about your other girlies because

if there were some,

I'd be jealous.

There was no jealousy between them. Even early on, when they were still living in different cities and in totally different worlds – him in the frat house, still being a student, and her in her own place, wearing a suit to work every day – there was no reason for distrust. The weekends she went to visit him were fun because she could relax from the pressures of her job and just be free for a couple of days, and the weekends he came to visit her were fun because she had a date to bring to dinner parties or events and she could enjoy learning how to sleep next to somebody without feeling suffocated.

She never had a reason to be concerned that he wasn’t exactly who he seemed to be, and he never had a reason to be concerned that she was anything but crazy about him. And despite their differences, their connection evolved into a bond, and their bond evolved into an engagement. Much to the surprise of the friends surrounding them.

S: Should we have a "safe word"? In case one of us

Thinks it’s going too far?

P: Lol

Ok

S: ok

kumkwat. our safe word. kumquat.

P: Ok

There were times when she was feared he was falling in love with her under false pretenses. Because she was pretending. Pretending to be somebody else. Pretending to be someone who was confident and calm and strong, not this twist of anxiety and doubt. She was allowing him to think that her demons were under control, locked away for good, only to be discussed in the past tense like an old boyfriend or a childhood pet. In fact, she’s not even sure he would have called them demons at all. She’s not sure he ever gave her secrets that much thought.

Then there were times when she’d sit up in bed alone at night and allow herself to feel the chill under her skin, the butterflies in her stomach, the tightening in her chest just under her heart. Because no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise, it was there, as much a part of her as the color of her hair or her birth mark or the way she always stood with her legs crossed and her arms all wrapped around herself. Her whole life, in quiet moments of silence, she could feel the anxiety twisting around inside. It’s a family trait; her dad has it, her grandma, her aunt. Her son. While sometimes it can be crippling, other times she felt almost proud to own it, because it makes her resemble the people she’s related to. It’s where she came from.

S: Are you beginning to wish you had a more calm

internet fantasy girl?

P: I want you

All your warts and hangups I can match with my

own

Stop apologizing and

Let me be with you

His reliability and predictability made her begin to think she might be able to trust him. With her. Letting him know just how trapped she could be in her own head, by her own thoughts, by the anxiety that lived in her chest all the time. So every now and then she’d give him a little test. Show him a few pages of a story she wrote, suggest some obscure topic of conversation, or even offer to answer one question, any question, whatever it was that he wanted to know about her. With complete honesty.

He struggled to pass her tests, not because he was a bad guy, but simply because it was hard for him to come up with any meaningful answer or feedback or input; he just wasn’t all that curious about her. What he saw on the surface was enough. It was all he needed to know in order to love her, and to dig any deeper just wasn’t his nature. He’d try to do it because he knew she wanted him to, but it was difficult for him to come up with a question. When he would make an attempt it generally left them both feeling a little weird and unsatisfied. He just wanted simplicity. That’s all he needed in order to feel loved. Simplicity.

P: It's real

It's a connection

You feel it

I feel it

Don't hide

It's ok

Let's just stay honest and open

S: It's not real. My husband is real. He's the

one that knew I had a crazy morning, so he set

the coffee pot last night. He doesn't drink coffee.

He did it for me. That is real.

This is something else.

This is a game.

Because if it isn't, then it's wrong. No matter what

it feels like.

Instead of being hurt, she decided it was actually a good thing. It was how ‘normal’ people behaved. He didn’t need to know all of her secrets to know he loved her and would stand by her and take care of her forever. He didn’t need to know all of her preferences in order to make her happy, because even if he didn’t get all of the specifics exactly right, the fact that he made an effort at all showed his devotion.

And that’s when it began to happen that they started disappearing. Her preferences. Not all at once - she didn’t just wake up one morning and decide that she no longer had a favorite flower or color or wine. But it happened in bits and pieces. Like always letting him choose what to pick up at the party store when they planned to have cocktails, because he didn’t like whiskey like she did, but she could tolerate the rum that he preferred to drink. And she loved him, so it didn’t matter that he always brought home his favorite, and never hers.

And when they’d make love they’d do it his way, when he initiated it, all within his boundaries and comfort zones. He was always gentle and reassuring, and she’d let him think she had an orgasm every time. Because she wanted him to feel loved.

S: Did she ever want to meet you?

P: Yes

I declined

S: Because that's a boundary or because of another

reason?

P: My boundary

One of them

S: Okay. We found one.

What's another one?

P: I will not love you

S: Have you ever pushed that boundary?

P: Never

But I fear it with you. Seems like we are new

frnds with old history

S: You're saying that because you think it's what I

want to hear.

Because you're good at this.

P: Rude

S: No. I didn't mean it like that.

I meant that you always say things to put me at

ease.

And it doesn't make me uneasy to have you say

you'll never love me. This is our circumstance.

P: Agreed

And in those moments when her anxiety would overwhelm her, he was there to hold her hand or stroke her hair or call her parents or do whatever he needed to do until it passed. Or during those times when her doubts would make everything dark, and she’d struggle to even lift her head off of the pillow, he’d be there running a bath and telling her everything would be okay. And when he’d run to the store to get a bottle of wine, he’d also bring home flowers, because he wanted so badly for her to feel better. He wanted her to be better. He wanted her fixed. Back to normal.

And in those times when they would disagree or argue, he could do it without yelling or throwing things or hurting her. He never threatened to leave. He never tried to embarrass or humiliate her. He was kind, even in anger, and it all just seemed so healthy. Normal.

That’s what she wanted to be for him. Normal. Worthy of his kindness and affection and focus. She wanted them to work.

P: Tell me

S: What?

P: What you want

S: Exclusivity. No other pretend internet girlfriends

while you're with me

I'm old fashioned that way. One

rendezvous at a time. What do you think?

P: I think you are old fashioned. And one at a time

seems like a good idea.

So S, do you take me

P

To be your one and only fakity

Fuckchatting pretend

Beau?

S: I do.

And do you P, take me

to be your one and only

rule mongering, nervous, old fashioned pretend

internet girl?

P: You bet your sweet ass I do

And as they went from engaged to married, it really felt like it was working. Being in love with a completely trustworthy, solid man who wanted a traditional, simple life. She was happy. She chose to be happy. It didn’t matter that she was flawed and complex and far from perfect on the inside, because with him, what was on the surface was enough. The laughter and smiling and the look of it all. It was enough for him. She was enough.

S: Thank you.

P: For?

S: All of it. The funny and the sweet and the pushy

and the sexy. You make me feel pretty

great.

P: You are pretty great

And I'm happy we are getting closer

S: Me too.

While she thought she was choosing their happiness, she was slowly realizing that really she was choosing his happiness. She wanted to be a good wife, to make their home the place he wanted to return to every night, her dinners to be his favorite thing to eat, to blow his mind in bed, and for his kids to adore him. Focusing on his feelings, his needs before her own, was what she once thought to be the secret of a happy marriage. But as she disappeared, as she watched different parts of her fade and wear away, she began to suspect that what she had really discovered was the secret to a typical marriage. Ordinary. One that will reach that point where somebody, someday will wonder whatever brought those two people together in the first place.

chapter one

You’ve got me, and baby, I’ve got you

-Sonny and Cher, I Got You, Babe

The move was supposed to be a new beginning for her family. One of many new beginnings they had been offered over the years. That’s what life had turned into for them, a series of fresh starts, of bouncing back from hardship, of being the example of how to land on your feet. Everything from where they came from was gone; their home, their money, most of their dignity. The only choice that really worked for them was going somewhere new and starting completely over, out of sight of the people who had watched this happen to them over and over again. After a few years of coping with unemployment, illness, death - even among their inner circle they were beginning to feel like the boy who cried wolf. Always yelling out for help, then having some eleventh hour miracle save them from near disaster.

She began to believe that the relationship she had with her husband was charmed. Lots of couples don’t make it through all they experienced together. Or, if they stay together, they do it if only to punish each other for their own misery. But not them. They were old school. Kept their problems to themselves, prayed them out in church, defined the roles they’d fill in their marriage and family, and carried them out to the best of their ability. Together. Solidly together. Because that was the only way.

From the start of their relationship, they were The Fun Couple. If somebody was having a party, they were top on the guest list because they were lively and funny and low maintenance. If somebody needed a favor, they were the ones to call because they were always able to help a friend in need. If somebody had a problem or needed an opinion, their honest and direct counsel was sought. Their group was tight knit, often described as being a tough nut to crack, and she and her husband were kind of the leaders. The idea people. The ones who made sure the right guests were invited, that everyone felt included, that all of the details were handled. The ones who remembered the birthdays and anniversaries. The ones who made sure everyone had a fresh cocktail. The ones who made sure everyone had a good time.

Later, when they were in need, their friends did not let them down. As they went from loaded to broke, from expecting to grieving, from employed with disposable income to jobless with few prospects, their friends had their back. Holding their hands, pulling them out of bed, making them stay connected, picking up tabs, surprising them with gifts or even occasionally slipping grocery store gift cards in their wallets. There was always somebody who loved them enough to make sure they put one foot in front of the other.

Their life together changed over the years. It changed dramatically.

And it changed a little ahead of the curve. Now you turn on the television and even the Real Housewives are talking about the tough financial times they face, but for S and her husband, it happened before it was chic. It was for all the same reasons: struggling economy, crumbling industry, dead-end town. They were trendsetters. It is happening everywhere now, but it happened to them first.

They agreed that they would not be that couple destroyed because of money. They even got a bit arrogant about it. We’ve weathered storms about things so much more important than money, they’d say. Money is not going to be the thing that breaks us.

And it wasn’t. They still managed. They laughed and spent time together and worked hard to focus on the simple things. They leaned on their faith to help keep their priorities in what they thought was a proper order. They were in church every Sunday, hands folded, hearts open, recognizing that even though things were hard, there were others suffering even more. They worked to remember that even though they were struggling, they were still blessed.

Even sitting in the office applying for public assistance, they managed to laugh at the absurdity of it all. At just how crazy it was that two capable and educated young people who once held the whole world in the palm of their hands, who once had financial security and fit bodies and sparkly jewelry and all kinds of potential for greatness were sitting in a dank and musty basement office, watching a very old woman with wrinkly fingers hunt and peck her way through typing up their application for food stamps. It was funny. It was fucking hilarious.

She swallowed a lot of anger and resentment, but she didn’t mind because she assumed her husband was doing it too. Together, they were both choosing to focus on moving forward. It couldn’t have been easy for him to not be able to provide for his family, especially when his in-laws lived three blocks away and kept a close eye on their only daughter. So, she remained his cheerleader and his problem solver and his lover and his biggest fan. And she didn’t stay down long. Even when she wanted to.

They kept surviving. One thing after another, it seemed, but they did it. And they remained committed. They remained loving and friendly. They chose to be that couple that defied the odds.

And her girls would ask her every now and then how they were doing. How the marriage was doing. Because they, too, recognized how she was living a life with her husband that other people might choose to leave. But she would never be anything but positive. Anything she could possibly have said about the potential cracks in their foundation he was already beating himself up over, she was certain. Already disappointed and humiliated and angry and embarrassed and worried. His confidence was already shaken. His pride was already disappearing. So why did she need to go talk to her friends, to their friends, about anything other than his most admirable and honorable traits? Why did anyone need to know about her fears or worries? He didn’t need anything other than the support of a wife who loved him, even if he occasionally deserved her anger, or disappointment, or doubt.

She simply decided that sharing all that would only make it harder for him to dig them out of the hole. He needed her to believe in him because he’d stopped believing in himself.

The days and months stretched on, their need grew, and her anxiety deepened, and she spent a lot of time fighting off panic in all of these subtle, secret ways. Lots of long walks and hot baths and cheap liquor, constantly praying that it wouldn’t eventually overtake her. He never knew how to handle it when she panicked. He took it personally and always assumed it was something she could control. So she tried to control it for him.

Finally the day came that he was given an opportunity for their family. An opportunity that was not really in his career path or his pay range; an opportunity that was miles and miles and miles away from everyone they knew and loved.

He was thrilled to have it.

And all of those friends who had lifted them up and helped them out and supported them when others wanted to gossip, those friends who have been part of their lives for so long that they could no longer be divided between his and hers, they rallied. When he left to get started, leaving her on her own to take care of their baby and their preschooler, to pack the house and tie up all of the humiliating loose ends in order to go stake a claim on their new life, those friends were there helping and hugging, rocking the baby and bringing them dinner. Fixing and tuning up and entertaining and sucking every drop of fun from their last few days together. Loving her so fiercely that she spent every moment of those last two months on the verge of tears, swallowing such a huge lump in her throat that at times it choked her. And they were there to load their life onto a truck. And they cried and waved when the truck pulled out and drove away.

They had her back.

And when those closest to her questioned whether this was the right choice, to follow along, she knew that concern came from a place of love. She knew they only wanted the best for her. That they didn’t want her to be hundreds of miles away from her people, find herself in need once again, and be alone. So she assured them that their marriage was rock solid. That she was happy being at home, running the house and caring for the kids. That she invested in the right guy. That their luck was changing. That they would be okay.

She was pretty sure that they would. Be okay. She was.

So that day when she pulled up to her new house, sight unseen, she had hope in her heart. It was her birthday, and her present was her new life, and she planned to see everything that was good about it. Instead of comparing its size or its lawn or its neighbors to where they were coming from, she decided to be happy to finally be living in a house made of brick. To be relieved that they didn’t have lots of stairs to keep the baby away from. To love the fact that it wasn’t full of big old trees that would drop a ton of leaves she’d have to rake. To enjoy the fact that the kid’s rooms were on the opposite side of the house from her own. To be happy that her washer and dryer were on the main floor and she no longer had to run from the upstairs to the basement with baskets full of clothes.

She decided, again, pulling in that afternoon, that she would make this work.

And over the course of their first year, she did. Starting with unpacking and arranging and making things pretty, to planning a few activities for them to do as a family and finding the best beach for them to visit the minute it got warm enough, she dedicated herself to making this new place their home.

She did a decent job, too. She made the teeny little house comfortable and pretty. She learned her way around town. She investigated the best doctors. She took banana bread and apple butter to their new neighbors. She joined the PTA.

She helped make them a new life.

And as her birthday again approached, marking the first anniversary of their arrival in this new place, she felt the old anxiety rising again. Because she wanted that day to be the day that they could lean back, reflect on the year, and see improvement. To see that, in one short year, they were landing on their feet. Hitting the ground running. Rebuilding their finances and their egos and their lives.

But instead of being able to see how far they’d come, she spent that day thinking that they hadn’t come far enough. She felt sorry for herself. Quietly complaining that she wasn’t getting enough attention or praise for all she’d accomplished for them that year. Sad that there was no big birthday present to open. Whining because they were still pretty broke. That her friends were far away.

She just didn’t feel special. Actually, she felt kind of replaceable. Like life was something that was happening all around her, and she didn’t have any impact on it.

Every time she tried to explain her disappointment and annoyance and boredom that this anniversary was stirring up, she was met with some kind of effort to make her feel better, but nobody was getting it right. She didn’t need pep talks and greeting cards, she just needed someone to relate.

She swallowed it all and chose, again, to try to see all that was wonderful about her life instead of all the things she wished she could change, because she didn’t want to become that person who complained. She wanted to be grateful. And because it seemed that everyone around her just wanted her ‘fixed’, she pretended. It would at least make everyone else feel good.

Her birthday arrived without all the fanfare that normally accompanied the day. Most women wouldn’t have allowed the day to go on without it, but she felt powerless and stuck. She felt invisible.

When she sat down at her computer that morning to do the day’s blog post, she heard the chime that signaled that P wanted to chat.

P: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

S: Wow! Thanks. First wish of the day.

She ended up spending most of that day with him. He was the only person who could see through her act, and when he asked her about her sadness, her dissatisfaction with this new life was the first secret she shared. The first real one. He became the only one who knew exactly what was going on inside her heart and head that day. He didn’t try to fix it, he only tried to understand. And he was the person who made her feel special on her birthday.

P: I'm sorry your feelings got hurt.

S: don't worry about it.

No biggie.

P: Tell me what happened
Tell me your feelings

S: Are you being smartassy?

P: No serious I want to talk it out

S: No you don't. I'll ask you this one more time, are
you really a girl?

P: Guys like to hear how you are feeling too
And it's ok to want my attention
Especially after your confession
So I get it

S: Thanks.

P: No need to thank me
I want you to feel safe sharing

S: I never feel safe sharing.
But, my feelings are no longer hurt.

P: Good girl

That evening as she got ready for bed, she stopped in front of the bathroom mirror because something caught her eye. She was smiling. Without even knowing it, she was smiling. And as she looked at that smile she wondered if P was smiling, too.