A Three Day Lifetime, Part one 

 Before

We’d been conversing with each other through an author’s web site, via the internet for six months and, after a month of poet, author, friendly enough but fairly formal back and forth mostly positive criticism of each other’s work, the tone of our Emails changed from, what one might refer to as, well, friendly/formal to what one might refer to as, minimally, flirtatious and soon went beyond “minimally” as in some of our written conversations, I know that I did, and I think she had also skirted the word “honey.” Then, in a short time, more than a few times the word “love” slipped into our conversations, which could have been deleted, but wasn’t.

Two months ago, when “writersplace.net”, our authors web site began looking for the three most popular, most widely followed commercially unpublished poets, Barbara’s name came up and the three were invited to a poetry competition in Chicago to each read, depending on length, two or three of their favorite poems, the prize being the hard back publishing of the winners first book of poetry along with a guaranteed placement in at least one major book marketing chain.”

I am an older, seventy-four old man and Barbara is... Twenty-four years my junior, to me, Barbara is young woman.

Due to a care-giving obligation on her part that does not allow us... my sixty-four year old girl friend and myself to live together or to marry. Being in a ongoing, long, long-term committed relationship, finding myself cooling because “long term” had stretched into, seemingly, forever, this young woman that I met through “Writers Place”, this, to me, young woman that – as one who never cared for or even attempted to try to understand poetry – Barbara opened a new world of beauty to me and, to be honest, I, irrationally, fell in love with her through her writing and our – as she lives in Long Island, New York and I about forty-five miles outside of Los Angeles – I fell in love with Barbara due to her poetry and our long distance computer generated conversations, and, so I gathered from Barbara’s words and the slant of some of her poems that I know were written for and to me, I was rather sure and, irrationally, hoped her feelings were mutual.

Always knowing, thinking, hoping that there would be some way for us to finally meet, for us to finally “break bread” together, for us to sit across a table, finally able to look into the eyes of the other and then...?

Okay, I know, seeing as Barbara is married and lives 3,000 miles from me and has a Down's Syndrome sister and mother that she takes care of to say nothing of our twenty-four year difference, I know that whatever happened on this weekend would, most probably, end when we say goodbye on Sunday afternoon. Still...

“Congratulations, Barb!” I had written. Crossing my fingers, I asked, “Is your husband going to Chicago with you?”

“No,” she wrote.  “He has absolutely no interest in my writing,” adding rather sourly, “or anything I do.”

Letting my breath out, “Tell you what, as your greatest rooter, would you mind if I joined you in Chicago?”

From the other end of the country there came an immediate answer, “Mitchell, I would love to have you join me in Chicago!” 

“Great! Thank you! Where are you staying?”

Emails going quickly back and forth:

“They’ve reserved rooms for us for the nineteenth and twentieth at the Allerton on Michigan Avenue.”

Looking at my appointment book, The nineteenth and twentieth of June,” I repeated.

“The competition starts at 9:00 am Saturday so yes," she wrote, "I’ll be there sometime Friday afternoon.”

“Have you made plane reservations yet?”

“No. I figured I have a whole month, so thought I’d wait a while.”

Not quite sure what I was going to tell my girlfriend, “I think I’ll call as soon as we’re through talking, then for hotel reservations, too.”

“Okay, why don’t you make them, then maybe... Write back and I’ll see if I can land at about the same time so we can go to the hotel together.”

“Good idea. I’ll talk to you later, Barb.”

“Yes, Mitchie, I’m looking forward to meeting you.... Bye.”

Helen, my girlfriend and myself have been together... Well, we’ve been very limitedly together for almost eight years and I’ve patiently... I’ve very patiently waited for her life to change so our lives can change. But it hasn’t happened and this man that she lives with, this man that had been her boyfriend, this man that had changed from a viable human being to a fall-down drunk that, due to his alcohol induced incapability’s had begun to demand more and more of Helen’s time, and she had, on many occasions – out of guilt for the years that I’ve waited and for keeping me home – Helen had told me on a number of occasions that, if I wanted, I should get away for a few days. So...

Emails going and coming...

“Barbara, I’m set at the Allerton and I’ve made a reservation with “United” for the nineteenth  leaving LAX at 8:45 AM that’ll get me into O’Hare at 2:10 Chicago time. See if we can coordinate.”

“Thanks, Mitch. I’ll call right now.”

Twenty minutes later, “You have mail!” my computer told me.

“I have a “United flight out of Kennedy landing at O’Hare at 1:40 so I’ll wait for you, and if for some reason I’m not there, you wait for me, okay?”

“Yeah, Barb, but I don’t know what you look like.”

“It’s okay, Mitchie, I know what you look like.”

True, I had forwarded three pictures of myself, one taken when I was twenty-two and two taken within the last four years.

Barbara, on the other hand, sent me two old pictures: one very small, over exposed picture and one out of focus, both of which she said were taken years ago.

For a fifty year old woman, what does “taken years ago” mean?

So what does she look like now?

Strange, isn’t it? Falling in love with a lady that I’ve never actually seen.

Falling in love with a lady knowing that, at the most, this weekend will be all we’ll ever have. And, possibly misreading her, not even knowing if this weekend will go as I hoped.

Today’s date: April 21, I thought, gives me two months.

So I went on an immediate crash diet.

And, okay, the weekend might be all wishful thinking, but I’m an old guy and need ‘em, so I called Kaiser and ordered a fresh supply of both, “Cialis” – so, I’m ready, God willing, at any time – and “Viagra” as a back up.

Liking my hair a bit on the long side, but not wanting to appear shabby, thinking, so it won’t look too fresh, I got a haircut in the first week of June.

                                       ****

“Baby,” on one of our evening walks, “I’m going kind of stir crazy.”

Knowing what I meant, Helen looked at me.

“I’d love it if we could get away together...”

Said sadly, yet sternly, “You know I can’t now, Mitchell!”

“Yeah, I know...” Haltingly, hating to lie, “You mind if I take a weekend?”

“No, of course not! I’ve told you, I want you to... You thinking of driving to your brother’s?”

“No. I don’t want to drive to San Francisco and back. Actually, I just feel like laying around and doing nothing, so I’m thinking of Mexico.”

“A three day cruise?”

Knowing I’m triply safe here because, first of all she wouldn’t leave the drunk for a three day weekend, secondly, she does not like cruising and being born in Southern California and, having been there many times, Mexico is no big deal.

“Yeah, But I thought I’d to talk to you before I make a reservation.”

“It’s a good idea, Mitch.” Said sincerely,  “I’m glad you’re going”

Feeling bad deceiving her, “It’s okay with you, you’re sure?” I asked.

“Yes, of course! You know I want you to.”

©May 16, 2010 / Mark M Lichterman