PIT 2/19: Aftermath
Points In Time
Chicago, Illinois
6/19/09
4:18 PM
Those about now looking... Those in the audience looking from Barbara to me…
Sensing our love.
“Shhh, not a word”, he said,
and took a cool sip
then plunged
the depths of the well
until –
all thirst was quenched.”
Our eyes locked. Unashamed, her tears, my tears, our tears ran.
Silence!
Silence...The room silent.
Not wanting Barbara to stand alone, to stand alone in silence. Rising, crossing the room and going onto the stage and bringing her hand to my lips I kissed it, then...
The matronly, middle-aged woman and the elderly man kissed the kiss of lovers.
No longer silent...
Applause!
Filling the room with applause, the room no longer silent.
5:44 PM
Walking southward on Michigan Avenue looking in windows, entering a few stores then, finding a restaurant, they had dinner.
Hand in hand they walked to the north on the west side of Michigan Avenue, their interest only to be together, to be alone together.
7:20 PM
They lay closely together feeling the soft warmth of closely confirming nude bodies.
They lay closely together, lips touching, barely. Each breathing the breath of the other.
They lay closely together, having no need to speak.
Sex completely out of question.
Physical passion replaced by deeply felt emotion.
Here, now, here is what there is.
Here now, here is what there will ever be.
For Barbara and Mitchell ‘here’, ‘now’, is what they have, what they will ever have and in these sacred minuets only thoughts of being...
Being close... being together...
Being.
Precious seconds, minutes… time passing with out notice.
9:24 PM
The veil of sleep coming to Mitchell.
Barely a whisper, “I love you.”
The veil of sleep coming to Barbara, words but a slumbering though: ‘I love you’.
1:38
Turning in her sleep, Barbara nestled her buttocks closely into the forming contour of Mitchell’s stomach and thighs.
In the well of their sleep, subconsciously aware of each the other. Subconsciously aware of the closeness. Of the absolute comfort of their closeness.
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 is going to do it. “You’ve got to, honey.”
“I know.”
A gentle kiss...
“I know, Baby.”
Quiet now...
Quiet...
Passion spent
now just tenderness.
The light touch of your hand on my chest
My hand, draped over your hip touching
the soft flesh of your cheek
Now only sleepy, gentle love
Passion spent
I sense the heat of your body
and the soft touch of your flesh
and the sweet scent of your hair
and the last whisper I whisper
Goodnight, my love
and the last whisper I hear
Goodnight, my love
Goodnight.
Sunday, June 20, 2009
7:15 AM
Having the same waitress they’d had the morning before...
“Orange juice...” Barbara said “...eggs over easy, sausage 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.”
“Yes, Sir. Be right back with the juice and coffee.”
“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, “I just wish there was something we could do.”
“I love you, Barb.” Her eyes and mine holding. “I think you are an absolutely beautiful woman 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 cup of coffee before Mitchell.
“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 weight,.“Yeah, sure, you’re a ‘chubby chaser’.”
Bringing the cup to my lips, finding it too hot, I took a small sip. “Call me what you want...” forcing a thin smile “...but you know I do. I do love your body!”
Thinking a moment, taking another sip of coffee. “If you ‘didn’t’ have your mother and sister to care for. If our ages were only... say, ten years apart, I’d say to you, ‘Barbara, if you want to leave your husband. If you want to move to California. 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 a logical answer to a pressing or life-changing subject, forging forward…
Forging forward even knowing any argument is and would be futile. However feeling a need to fight for what she so desperately wanted. “Mitchie, why, then?” Grasping at straws. “ Why can’t we...” hesitating “...why can’t we do ‘something’?”
“What? Do ‘what’? You willing to leave your mother and sister now?”
“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?”
“Eighty-four.”
“Your mother is only nine years older than me and you, you’re ‘twenty’ years younger than me so in ten years you’ll be sixty-five and I’ll be eighty-five.
You’re taking care of your mother and your a ‘care giver’ for your sister 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... you’re just entering your prime.”
“Mitchie...”
“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 I will. 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.”
“But I’m willing...”
“Willing to ‘what’?” I asked. “Wait till your mother dies and your sister is institutionalized?”
Looking downward, having no answer, sighing, she shook her head from side to side.
Turning the sweating glass of juice onto the Formica table, making small, overlapping circles, “So...” she said angrily “...we’re just supposed to live the rest of our lives apart knowing you love me and I love you and knowing that, maybe, ‘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, eighty-five? Honey, I don’t have that many ‘somedays’ left.”
Stopping, we waited until the waitress set the plates before us.
Swiping her palms across her eyes, “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 sawed a sausage in half with the edge of her fork.
Allerton Hotel
8:32 AM
“Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen,” the moderator said, “we have seven remaining poets that have not yet presented their writing. Then, when finished, the panel,” motioning to the two and tapping himself on the chest, “will confer and announce the winner.”
O’Hare Airfield
Sunday, June 20, 2009
1:47 PM
The woman and man sit quietly in the ‘United Departure Terminal’.
The woman’s plane departing prior to his, the man and woman sit as closely together as the rigid seats allow.
His hand, held on her lap within her two hands.
Sensing the fragrance of the man’s flesh, committing all to memory, the woman’s head rested upon the shoulder of the man.
His cheek resting upon the head of the woman. Sensing the fragrance of the hair of the woman, committing all to memory.
For fear of one word bursting the barely held dam of their emotion, neither 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, walking to the hatchway, hands still held...
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.
Goodbye.
Having a thirty minute departure time from ‘American Airlines’ Mitchell stood at the window watching as the plane carrying Barbara roared to life… taxied to a longer runway, hesitated a moment then, picking up speed lifted from the ground.
Mitchell watched as the plane reached the higher altitude and grew smaller…
Feeling sad, feeling depressed, Mitchell watched as the plane became but a dot in the sky, then disappeared.
But yet feeling?
He did not know what he was feeling, but deep down there was something.
2:30 PM
Usually excited and feeling a pang of fear each time he had flown. Now, sitting back, watching as the plane, lifting from the ground became airborne.
His mind attempting to focus on that deeply hidden emotion that could not emerge from beneath the fog of sadness within Mitchell’s mind…
Realizing, a sense of relief came to him
There was ‘nothing’ he could do about life with Barbara. Knowing there was not a thing he could do, surprisingly a sense of relief came to Mitchell.
If somehow Barbara was able to mover her mother and sister to California, was his love strong enough to become a partial caregiver to women he does not know.
How long would love– ‘either’ love last under these conditions?
Mitchell Lipensky was free now.
To this day, Marsha had been out of his life since 1986… For twenty-three years Mitchell Lipensky did not have to answer to anyone for anything.
If a past customer contacted him – as he had maintained his real estate license, he would either ‘list’ their property, or help find them a new property.
Not having an excessive amount, he had enough so money was not a problem.
He’ d learned how to prepare simple meals and knew what restaurants to go to when he wanted something more elaborate.
Female company was not as difficult to come by to a still handsome, silver haired seventy-five year old man then it had in his younger years.
Hell, all he and his next door neighbor, Ralph had to do was to cruse to one of Westlake Lakes fancy restaurants and maneuver the boat into one of the thirty provided slips, secure it and have dinner and a martini or two and very often, if the evening was warm enough… and this is Southern California, after all, so there was abundance of warm evenings along with an abidance of attractive elderly women that were happy to be invited for an beautiful evening cruise, along with the coffee pot of martinis that Ralph always provided.
The thought of leaving Southern California and his lakefront home in beautiful Westlake Village to move back to a far eastern frigid climate absolutely incomprehensible.
Do I really love Barbara?
Next PIT 2/20: Contemplation
