PIT 2/15: Barbara?
Points in Time
Westlake Village, California
May 4, 2009
Barbara!
Having no idea if our seventy-two hours together was going to be pleasure or torture, Barbara Longford did not physically come into my life until …
PIT: Friday, June 18, 2009
Chicago, Illinois
Hearing my name called.
As I’d never seen Barbara before this day, as she would never reveal what she looked like, now there was a woman calling my name and rushing towards me. Barbara?
When one just doesn’t know because the other refuses to show?
Imagining the worst and now here is this woman rushing towards me calling my name.
Barbara?
Writers Notation: Still reconsidering the five loves in the life of Mitchell Lipensky, after the remembrances of Susan Friedman, Marsha (his wife) Lipensky, Elizabeth Herzon and Lita Warner, we now have Barbara Longford.
My question is still, ‘Who’?
As most of what I write concerning the character and motivations of people is a bit — or sometimes more than a ‘bit’ complicated, when I begin a new episode in the ongoing Mitchell Lipensky saga, although in my mind I ‘do’ know where I— as the writer ‘think’ I know at what point to begin the episode... hesitating a moment to take sip of coffee, often my thoughts will scatter as buckshot in grass opening options that had not entered my mind but moments earlier.
Amazing how much information can go through one’s mind while hesitating long enough to take a sip of coffee.
In this ‘Barbara’ episode, other than a few needed past references to place this episodes current ‘point in time’ we will stay strictly with Barbara and Mitchell...
A Point In Time
Westlake Village, California
June 17, 1986
7:4o AM
Lita in the driver seat. Mitchell outside. The window open. Their hands held tightly as though not wanting to let go.
Fighting to hold tears back. My finger twining a tight curl that had fallen upon her forehead.“Probably for this best, I guess.”
Lita’s eyes watering. “Maybe in ten, fifteen years things will be different.”
“I love you, Lita.”
Lita’s eyes no longer watering as tears came. “I love you, too, Mitchie.”
Moving the lever to ‘D’ , the car moving from the curb…
“Goodbye.”
PIT: January 1987
Lonely and still missing Lita, I began to have the inkling of a story and the more I thought of it, the more characters and incidents filled and flooded my mind, until…
Digging through old stuff I should have, but never donated to ‘Good will’, I came across my father’s old Royal Typewriter and so began…
I write of this period in my life because without ‘Elysium Fields’ there would be no novels and without the novels Barbara Longford and myself would have no way or reason to ever meet.
It was ‘February, 1987’ when I began to write a ‘fictional’ story about a group of eight ‘fictional’ people meeting in— of all places, a nudest park, and of a ‘fictional’ middle aged white man by the name of…? ‘Murphy’ (Murf) and a ‘fictional’ middle aged black woman by the name of…?
‘Penny’ and ‘Murf’ fell in love and, within the park —because nudists by their very nature are accepting, broad-minded people, and because many of these nudists were ‘sixties, throw backs, the light complected black woman and ‘Murf’, the white man were accepted.
But the two could not spend their entire lives living in the nudist park, but outside the park,? Because of prejudice and the times Penny and Murf were forced to part…
In 1990, after finishing the rewriting and self-editing, I began the task of finding an agent or a publisher for ‘My Naked Friend’.
After hundreds upon hundreds of queries, each including a ‘SASE’, a self-addressed, stamped envelope, and after receiving hundreds upon hundreds of rejections… In this time, however, I discovered that writing had become a very enjoyable and important part of my life. So as I continued to look for an agent or a publisher for ‘My Naked Friend’ I began writing my. second novel, then…
Lo and behold, after nine years of trying, ‘My Naked Friend’ was published in early 1996.
PIT: November, 2008
Never thinking I would… Never expecting to, I found that I did enjoy certain types of poetry…
Though I had never tried writing poetry myself…
Yet...
We’d been conversing with each other through our author’s web site, via the internet, for three months and, after the first month of proper 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 a hard time skirting the word ‘honey’.
At my age, seventy-five, possibly a bit lonely or possibly… More than a bit possibly wanting to feel a sense of connection to a woman again, even if I did not physically know the woman… Or, for that matter even what she looked like.
PIT: March 2009
Two months earlier, when ‘writersplace.net’, our authors web site began looking for three of our most popular, most widely followed commercially unpublished poets, Barbara’s name came up and the three ‘Writers Place’ poets 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.
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...?
Not knowing what Barbara looked like and knowing myself to be somewhat of a shallow male, I really had no idea where our meeting might lead, but if our meeting led to nothing more than a thoroughly platonic friendship — though I truly was hoping for more— I would settle then for a platonic friendship.
Okay, maybe it’s my writers mind, but what I do know is that Barbara is unhappily married to a self-serving, uncaring guy and lives 3,000 miles from me in a small city in Long Island, New York and has a Down's syndrome sister, along with her mother that she helps to take care of…
To say nothing of our twenty year age difference, that I know ‘whatever’ might happen on this weekend would — platonic or not— most probably end when we say goodbye on Sunday afternoon.
“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 in bold font, “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!” I wrote, “Thank you! Where are you staying?”
Emails going quickly back and forth:
“They’ve reserved rooms for us for the eighteenth and nineteenth at the Allerton on Michigan Avenue. 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?” I asked.
“No. Not yet.”
“Why don’t you make flight reservations and let me
know when you’re scheduled to land, and I’ll try to coordinate so we can go to the hotel together.
PIT: Friday, June 18, 2009
Thoughts swirling through my mind as the plane headed easterly.
Stuck in a crack, my life was fluttering away and all I’ve done was to sit on my ass.
I need Barbara in my life now... if only for a weekend... If only to know that I am still a man that can act spontaneously. That can, ‘God willing’, still make love spontaneously... Spontaneously, that is, with a little help from ‘Pfizer’.
As for Barbara? Bringing feelings and thoughts back to me that I hadn't felt or thought for years.
Being in love with a woman that I’ve never actually met?
Being in love with a woman and not even knowing what she looks like?
‘Ridicules’!
Yet...
Feeling excitement!
Feeling love!
Feeling wanted by a new woman!
Also...
Feeling anxiety because if – God willing – if Barbara
and I should be naked together… from my neck up, for my age I’m okay; I’m good in fact, although the flesh beneath my chin could use some tightening.
And, actually, I’m okay from my waist down, although– even after loosing ten pounds – two or three inches less around my waist would be nice.
And, with the help of my little blue pills – this truly a ‘man’ thing – I should have no problem with the sight of, or, God willing, the use of my dick.
From my neck down and my waist up however, really, Arnold Schwarzenegger I’m not. But in the immortal words of ‘Popeye the Sailor Man’: ‘I yam what I yam’.
However... Thoughts swirling, swirling:
Did I possibly misread all the signals I thought she sent?
Did Barbara misread the all the signals I was sending?
When Barbara sees me in person will she be disappointed?
When Barbara sees me for the first time is she going to think this is a mistake?
When Barbara sees me for the first time is she going to
think, ‘He’s an old man’?
Emails aside, does Barbara truly, really think of us as platonic?
When people see us together are they going to think I’m her father?
Do I tell her I love her?
Do I pretend to be platonic?
What do I do when I meet Barbara?
Do I take her hand?
Do I kiss her?
Do I even touch her?
ding...ding...ding
Looking up, I see the ‘Fasten seat belt’ sign had gone on.
Wanting to appear a bit more youthful, but not wanting to appear as though I was trying to appear youthful— wearing pressed jeans, a designer label chambray shirt and a dark blue, lightweight cashmere sport jacket, my one overloaded suitcase, that I’d been able to shove in the overhead compartment in hand…
Not knowing what to expect, and in either case having not the ‘slightest’ idea how to react, walking down the slight ramp into the crowded ‘Arrivals’ area...
Standing a few moments, looking about a few moments…
Looking in my direction, our eyes touching...
Wearing light blue slacks and a dark blue jacket, maybe 5’ 4” or 5’ 5”, approaching me, the moderately heavy-set woman has short cut, dark brown hair and, coming closer, I see the woman has a somewhat attractive face that appears to be too young to be my Barbara. But she’s smiling at me and before I can look over my shoulder to see if the smile is really for me or someone else, for someone behind me...
Without hesitation, the woman’s arms are about my neck and her mouth is on my mouth and the kiss I am receiving is ‘not’ the kiss of platonic friends.
The suitcase dropped, my arms now about the juncture of her well defined waist, feeling the press of ample breasts upon my chest, tasting the fresh taste of her mouth, my tongue touching her tongue, standing in the midst of the crowded ‘United Airlines Arrival Terminal’ kissing this woman held tightly in my arms...
Fuck ‘em if they think I’m her father!
Standing back now, looking at me, “Mitchie...”
Standing back now, looking at her, “Mitchie?” I asked quizzically, “Who’s Mitchie?”
Her mouth opening in surprise, her hand going to cover it…
But seeing my smile Barbara smiled back...
Not pretty. Not what one would consider as ‘cute’.
Not ugly. Not what one would consider as ‘homely’.
Barbara has a ‘kind’ face. Barbara has the kind of face that within a crowd would be passed without a second glance
Holding her. For the ninety seconds my arms were about Barbara, looking into her dark brown eyes I sense an aura of…?. An aura of Goodness. An aura of gentleness. An aura of kindness.
Next PIT2/16: Three Days
