Gon #15: Day 3; Together 1
Getting Old Now
Chicago, Illinois
Sunday, October 21, 1998
1:38 AM
Lying still. Lying still and tightly together, the fluid of their love blending.
Lying together, his cheek upon her cheek, “Barbara, I love you.”
Knowing he’d retracted. Reluctant to move. Reluctant to have him leave, wanting the feel of him, there. “Don’t go, honey. Stay, don’t go.”
“I won’t, baby. I won’t.”
Holding Barbara, her back tight against his chest...
Quietly...
Feeling the sobs. His throat tightening, barely able to speak, “Honey...”
“I know, baby. I just don’t know how I’m going to do it.”
Having no idea how he’s going to do it, “We’ve got to,
honey.”
“I know.” Turning...
A gentle kiss, and...
Unable to hold back...
“I know, Baby.” Holding Barbara, her face upon my chest, feeling the sobs, hearing her cry, feeling her tears... feeling my tears, “I know, baby. I know.”
Day Three: Grasping At Straws
7:15 AM
The day dawning as the last two: Drizzly and gray.
Having the same waitress they’d had the morning before...
“Orange juice...” Barbara said, “...eggs over easy, bacon and whole wheat toast.”
“Yes, Ma’am..."
The older man, and the woman sitting closely together, hand in hand, possibly catching the somber mood, “And you...” the waitress said, attempting to lighten the atmosphere a bit “...eggs over medium, not hard or runny...
“That’s very good!” I said.
“And...” the waitress added “...sausage, hash-browns, crispy, a toasted bagel and coffee.”
“I’m impressed.”
Smiling, ”Yes, Sir. Be right back with the juice and coffee.”
Gazing out the window on the far side of the room, “Life will never be the same for me, Mitchie.”
“I know, honey,” kissing her hand, then opening it and holding it onto my cheek, “for me, too.”
“I feel so helpless!” She said, looking at me, “I just wish there was way…” sighing “...something we could do.”
“I love you, Barb.” Our eyes holding, “I think you’re an absolutely beautiful woman and person, and a wonderful writer.” Thinking, trying to form my words. “Barbara, the words you write are as music. You speak from your heart in a way that people...” chuckling “...that even I understand and your words are... well, to me, as music.”
Waiting as the waitress put a glass of juice in front of Barbara and a cups of coffee before both of us.
“Barb, I’m so confused myself now. I don’t know if I ever really loved my wife and now I’m not too sure about Lita. And, really, I think you’re the woman I’ve always looked for. I love you! I love your mind and...” forcing a thin smile “...I love your body, too...”
Ashamed of her – over exaggerated, imagined weight. “Yeah, sure, you’re a ‘chubby chaser’.” Barbara blushed.
Bringing the cup to my lips and finding it too hot, blowing into it, I took a small sip. “Call me what you want...” forcing a thin smile “… but you know I do, I do love your body!” Adding with a chuckle, “Your tummy, I love your tummy also.”
Thinking a moment, taking another sip of coffee. “And if you didn’t have your mother and stepfather to care for, if our ages were only...if our ages were, say ten years apart, I’d say to you, ‘Barbara, if you want to leave your husband, if you want to move to California – and I know you’d love it there, if, when we can, if you want to marry me, I’d like nothing better than to spend the rest of my life with you.’”
Possibly a ‘female thing’: when beyond all odds or any logical answer to a pressing or life-changing subject: forging forward; forging forward even knowing any argument is and will be futile, however, feeling a need to fight for what she so desperately wanted, for what she so desperately needed. “Mitchie, why then? Why can’t we...” hesitating, thinking, frowning “...why can’t we do ‘something’?”
“What? Do ‘what’? You willing to leave your mother and stepfather ‘now’?” Somberly asked, “To say nothing of Charles?”
“No.” Said sadly, though emphatically. “Of ‘course’ not! I could ‘never’ do that!”
“I know you couldn’t, and I’d never expect you to or want you to! And also... Let me ask, how old is your mother?”
“Seventy-nine.” Barbara answered.
“Your mother is only fifteen ears older than me and you, you’re twenty years younger than me so in twenty years you’ll be sixty-four and I’ll be eighty-four. You’re taking care of your mother and your stepfather now and ‘no-body’ takes care of you and, ‘damn it’...” I said angrily, “...you deserve a life, too! I’m an old man now and you’re just entering your prime.”
“Mitchie…” holding her coffee cup, but not drinking “...you’re ‘not’ an old man!”
“No, let me talk! You’re the smartest, most creative, most passionate woman I’ve ever known and I ‘don’t’ want to kill this in you, and if we’re together eventually I would. I wouldn’t want to and I wouldn’t do it on purpose, but I don’t know what the future holds for me, health-wise, and I do ‘not’ want to be a burden to you.”
Grasping, “But I’m willing...”
“Willing to ‘what’?” I asked angrily. “Wait till your mother dies and your stepfather dies and you divorce your husband?”
Looking downward, having no answer. Sighing, she shook her head from side to side, and taking a sip of coffee, put the cup down.
“No, baby, I can’t!” I said with finality. “This weekend together is like a dream... It ‘is’ dream and I’ve loved being with you and making love to you... Making love ‘with’ you! But the only way ‘things’ worked as they did is because I’ve taken medication, quite a bit of medication to get that ‘thing’ working and, as I get older, that may stop, too, then you’ll be comparatively young and you’ll be stuck with an impotent old man and you deserve better than that! And I ‘couldn’t’ live with that! And I simply won’t let you do it!”
Turning the sweating glass of juice onto the Formica table, making small, overlapping circles. “So...” she said angrily “...‘we’re’ supposed to live the rest of our lives knowing you love me and I love you and knowing that, ‘maybe’, in some way, we could have been together?”
“Honey, ‘some way’ means ‘some day’ and what are we talking about here? Ten years? Twelve years? Till I’m eighty-four? ‘Maybe’ I don’t have that many ‘someday’s left.”
Stopping, we waited until the waitress set the plates before us.
Realizing. Admitting, “I know there’s no way, Mitchell.” Barbara said sadly, then, turning her gaze from me, repeated, “I know there is no way.” As thought to finalize her words, she forcefully sawed a strip of bacon in half with the edge of her fork.
Surprisingly, apparently being of far lesser importance, neither of us mentioned the reason we, supposedly were here in Chicago.
8:32 a.m.
“Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen...” the moderator said “...we have seven remaining poets that have not yet read their writing. Then, when finished, the panel...” motioning to the two and tapping himself on the chest “...will confer and announce the winner.” Adding, “And remember, the winner ‘must’ be present!”
Chicago, Illinois
O’Hare Airfield, United Airlines Terminal
Sunday, October 21, 1998
11:50 AM
The woman and man sit quietly in the United Departure Terminal.
The woman’s plane departing thirty minutes prior to his, the man and woman sit as closely together as the rigid seats would allow.
His hand, held on her lap within her two hands as… sensing the fragrance of this man’s flesh, committing all to memory, the woman’s head rests upon the shoulder of the man.
His cheek resting upon the head of the woman, sensing the fragrance of this woman, committing all to memory...
For fear of one word bursting the barely held dam of their emotion, neither Barbara or Mitchell to speak.
“United flight 233 to New York City...” the woman behind the flight counter announced “...will now be boarding.”
A double line of people queued between the movable barrier and the wall.
Sitting, waiting until the line was all but through the hatchway leading to the runway of the plane...
Sighing now. Standing now the two, walking to the hatchway with hands still held…
Nothing more to say...
All words said...
Opening her hand, Barbara released Mitchell’s hand and, without a further glance, walked through the hatchway, onto the ramp leading to the plane.
Goodbye, Thinking ‘Goodbye’, Barbara disappeared within the the open hatch.
Goodbye. Thinking ‘goodbye’ , Mitchell watched until Barbara disappeared within the open hatch.
Westlake Village California
Sunday, October 21, 1998
5:35 PM, PST
beachbaby.global.com
8:35 PM, EST
My dearest Mitchie. Today, when I let go your hand and walked away from you, it was the hardest thing I had ever done in my life and I cannot bear the thought of you and me being but fingers touch away from each other without hope of ever being together. Without the hope of being able to touch you, to hold you. To love you.
I am so saddened at this, that I simply cannot allow myself to remain in this depressed mental condition, so believe it, honey… I truly believe it for the best to stop all contact between us.
I have already quit ‘writersplace’ and as soon as this last contact between you and me is posted, I am changing my Email address as I find it too hard… to hurtful for us to remain in any type of contact.
Goodbye, Mitchie,. I will always love you.
(immediately) beachbaby.global.com
No, honey, please! I’ve got to at least know if you are well. If you are happy. Please don’t do this! I Love you, Barbara.
(posted)
….And within seconds there came:
(posted to) Lippy1.fatboy.net
(MAILER-DAEMON.aol.com)To:you Details
Sorry, we were unable to deliver your
message to the following address:
beachbaby.global.com
I tried: beachbaby.global.comg again,
but...
(posted to) Lippy1.fatboy.net
(MAILER-DAEMON.aol.com)To:you Details
Sorry, we were unable to deliver your
message to the following address:
beachbaby.global.com
Next GON #16: Aftermath
