Never at the crossroads, simultaneously

Never at the crossroads, simultaneously

We were talking on the phone once, during one of our annual calls, when she asked me a very odd question; “If I had asked you, would you have married me?”

In a fraction of a second, which was all I had, I reviewed all the times we were together, the break up and all of the subsequent times our paths crossed, either on purpose or accidental and gave her my honest answer.

“Yes.”

“I was just wondering.” Was all she said.

You were just wondering? Like, ‘I was just wondering if I should have another glass of water’? I do wonder what was going through her mind at the time. Was she looking back on her choices in life, the choice that led her away, the choices that kept leading her to reach out to me, reconnect and sort of try again? Until we lost touch with each other, and then, by the time our paths crossed again, it was too late for you?

Because, when I look back, it was always you who came back to me, if only for the weekend.

Perhaps I look at things differently. Once it’s over, it’s over. We tried, in our own fumbling teenage ways. Sometime after you went off to college, you decided that the long distance thing was just not working, so you decided to end it.

So, it was over and I moved on.

And you kept finding me.

I know that when circumstances end something, it never truly ends.

So I wonder if, at that point in your life, you were looking at ‘might have beens’? Were you wondering if you did the right thing? Maybe, if you tried harder, asked me the question, things might have turned out differently? So you reached out to once again, to touch the maybe, feel the warmth, and reassure yourself that the 'maybe' was still real.

I hope that it was just because you were curious, not that you were having troubles. Because there is nothing I can do for your troubles…except be your friend.

And I never want to think that you might have made an error in your selection. For I know that I didn’t.

And I don’t want to think of you, lying in your bed at night, wondering if your life would have turned out better, if only it was me lying beside you.

Interstate 5 daydreams

It’s always boring, driving down highway five. Okay, it’s not a ‘highway’, it’s an Interstate. And yes, I know the difference.

There it sits, hundreds of miles of straight, flat road, in the middle of California. Nothing much to see but flat fields, an occasional oasis of service stations and fast food places. Oh, and the stockyards you smell before you see.

Regardless of the boredom, it is the fastest route to L.A. from the Bay Area.

But once you set the cruise control to 80mph (125kph), 70 when the price of gas was $4 a gallon, it’s a struggle to fill the hours.  Wonder-Girl reads a book, since the farmers don’t post signs on their crops.

I glance at the road sign, “Speed limit enforced by aircraft’ Enforced? I wonder how. The mind drifts and I can visualize a World War One biplane cruising through the skies, monitoring traffic.  It’s a two-seater and the pilot and gunner both have handlebar mustaches and goggles.

The gunner sees a sports car weaving through traffic at a high rate of speed.  He taps the pilot on the shoulder and gestures down. The pilot gives him a thumbs up and banks over into a dive.

As the plane levels out, the gunner swings his twin Browning .30 caliber machine guns over and aims just in front of the nose of the sports car.

With a crazed look in his eyes, he squeezes off a burst of tracer rounds. The sports car slams on its brakes and slides into the slow lane.

The pilot laughs, along with the gunner, as he pulls back on the stick and climbs.  Four crazed bloodshot eyes scanning the road for another victim

Sure, I have seen the real helicopter spotters overhead, but they are boring.

--

I always wonder, what sick mind names the prisons around here?  Not far from the Grapevine you see the sign. ‘Happy Valley State Prison’ Oh, you know the prisoners just love it there, in the happy valley.

And in this flat area, there are no little valleys, so why did they name it that?

--

You see, on the Interstate, there is no cross traffic. On the highway, you always see signs warning about cross traffic ahead. I always wonder how they know the traffic is angry?

--

I am glad I don’t bruise easily. Last time we drove down 5, it was summer. Wonder-Girl asked what all the white stuff was, stuck in the shrubs. “Oh it’s cotton.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s caught’n all the bushes.”

Yeah, she hit me.

Looking at it another way

I have this friend back east that I have known since the 90’s. One of the reasons we remain friends, probably, is that we think in similar ways, have a similar sense of humor and enjoy each other’s company.

Skinner, as I call her, and I became friends through phone calls and emails at work. It wasn’t until a few years later that she met me in person. (I had already met her, but she had forgotten the meeting. I suppose that indicates the first impression I had on her, or lack thereof, sigh.)

Anyway, the friendship worked, partly (I think) because we kept it as a friendship. (though if I had been single at the time…I probably would have made a nuisance of myself.)

There were a few curious things over the years that, if I take them out of context, squint and tilt my head just the right way; might indicate some other ideas she may have had.

The first thing was sometime in the mid nineties, before the internet. I had mentioned reading certain stories on a bbs. She asked, if she wrote such a story, would I post it for her?

Now I have been writing stories for quite a while, regular fiction, and had shared some with her. So I figured that it would be regular fiction.

So she sends me a little three page sex story and I posted it. (It is still archived at several internet sites and if you knew my original email address at my last company, you could find the story.)

The story had what I thought as a good sex scene between the two characters. Not the quiet, slow lovemaking; but a rough, pull her dress off, throw her on the bed, mount her from behind and fuck her hard, fast and deep. (With a nice touch of her wanting/having her nipples pinched hard at just the right moment.)

 I have read the story several times and based on how we act when we are together, I am sure it was not meant to be about us.

And there is something else. That is that both of us respect marriage. If she had other ideas about me, she would keep them to herself. If I had other ideas about her, I would keep them to myself. Some things are just not done.

Some years after that, she told me she had written a similar story for her boyfriend and his reaction was pretty lukewarm.

The second thing was at one time, she sent me a book to read. It was called ‘Mercy’. It was a psychological murder mystery about a man who liked to dress up in women’s clothing, a series of murders; and a woman who like to dress up as a man. The ‘Mercy’ title comes from the safe word that was used by these two people, because they were also both into BDSM

I did like the book and told her so; but it always struck me as strange that she would send it out to me. Especially since I read mostly science fiction and fantasy.

So I suppose I could take these two items together and weave it into a supposed fantasy that she has about me, or a fantasy she had and I would be suitable. But that idea is so farfetched, based on what I know about her, that it is hardly worth considering.

Maybe flattered

The other day, Wonder-Girl came back from a women’s get together and told me a strange thing. She said, “Do you know what Chemical-Girl said to me tonight? She said, ‘All the women want your husband.’”

“What?” I said incredulously.

“She said that.”

Now I am totally perplexed. You’ve met me and you know that I’m a pretty average looking guy. So that can’t be it. Now I do have a lot of female friends, in fact most of my friends are female. I suppose that means that I’m a pretty nice guy and fun to be with. (And probably because I am not trying to get into their pants, they feel safe and comfortable around me?)

I think it also might be because Wonder-Girl doesn’t constantly grouse about me? (I am only guessing this because we all know that when a spouse is on their own, they may say things.)

Maybe it’s because most of the women are divorced, or married to their second husband; and this is my first?

I don’t know. I just can’t figure that one out.

Crossing the line

(years ago) So we were sitting at the party, spinning yarns and shooting the breeze. Someone brought up different mixed drinks and Prickly's dad asked what was in a 'Long Island Iced Tea'. It has four or five types of booze mixed together. "I don't know," I answered. "But it is strong enough to knock the skirt off a college coed!." Suddenly there was silence, so I quickly added, 'Or so I've heard." Nice save, GW, but no one believed me. Deep Throat thought it was pretty good. I am just glad the kids were in the house, out of earshot. Twelve-year-old boys should not be learning the tricks of the trade, yet. Us older guys will bide our time. For such knowledge should be passed on. It’s not as if women wear tee shirts that say, I'm not that kind of girl, but if you buy me another drink...

Black Years

It was last September, a month after our mom died, and I was talking to my twin sister. She said, "You know, next year is going to be another black year." "Yes, I know." For she and I are faced with the same things, almost. Our step-sister had metastatic breast cancer at the time and was getting worse. She had been fighting a heroic battle for years and was slowly losing. Our stepmom is fighting a different type of metastatic cancer, but for now, is holding her own. We share that and the sorrows to come. But I have another darkness flowing my way. Our beloved Tommy dog is now almost eighteen. A Border-collie-beagle, he has been a smart and loyal companion. But I know his days are numbered. I recently stopped taking him on his short morning walk, the walks we have done every morning for sixteen years. His back legs are weak, his front legs are arthritic and he has trouble walking without panting in pain. His mind, ears, and eyes are not as good. So I know that at some point, probably this year, his legs will give out, or something will break down. And then it will be time. Time for us to take the last ride to the vet, as I have done twice before with our other dogs. And it will be a blacker year for me, because I'll be the one to nod to the vet that it's time. Time to say goodbye. And I will cry for Tommy more than I'll cry for anyone else.

A lot has happened.

And not so much. After being laid off from my job of twenty-seven years, and searching for a new one for a year, I became gainfully employed again. It has been interesting, learning a new job, meeting new people and trying to understand the mindset of people who have not spent their lives in a manufacturing environment. One thing I learned very quickly was to keep my mouth shut about my situation. We were about halfway through my period of unemployment when Wonder-Girl looked up at me one afternoon and said, “I am so glad you convinced me to pay off our house.” What happened was, as she was determining what to do with her inheritance, I offered this idea. (Now understand that her inheritance is hers. Whatever she wanted to do was fine by me. I fully trust her judgment and offered only one suggestion.) “I think it would be a good idea to pay off the house. This way, if you want to work, you can. If you don’t want to work, you can do that also.) So as we sat there, watching the weeks of my severance pay diminish, we knew we didn’t have to worry about the house. This became more important as we watched the housing market implode from everyone’s bad decisions and circumstances beyond their control. We knew several friends who had a divorce, loss of job, or sickness suddenly change their situation. Suddenly, the house they could afford was no longer affordable. Many lost their homes. Sure, a few did stupid things when they bought their houses near the peak of the market; some got terrible advice also. Wonder-Girl always said that she never wanted to take out another loan and use the house as collateral. Do nothing to endanger our home. And now I sit and talk to friends and coworkers who are suck where they are because they owe more on their house than it is worth. I find it best to commiserate with them on the market, the job opportunities, etc. I don’t tell them that I have not had to worry about a mortgage payment. No sense in gloating over the fact that we were both careful and lucky.