“I’ll meet you anywhere in the world,” a true love of mine recently wrote in an email.
“On your dime, of course,” I wrote back.
“Sure, where?” he replied.
“London’s good,” I said. In his very next email were the details of our perspective flights and hotel accommodations. As usual, he rushed forward in booking everything without first discussing the emotional end of things. I laid it out in one sentence, “I’d love to see you but I want the option of staying with a girlfriend.” His reply came full tilt, “I’m done with you b*****. Go f*** yourself!” I got it. He didn’t like my proposal, so again without talking to me he went ahead and cancelled the whole affair. The undoing of which cost him a grand. Our fitful romance of nearly 40 years ended on that tart note until I opened a colorfully printed invitation to a class reunion.
I arrived at the reunion dressed to kill, figuring I’d probably be the one killed by him. He turned up likewise—looking splendid and fearing for his life around me. But the minute we laid eyes on each other, we fell into a warm, familiar embrace. We laughed at ourselves, and then started to kiss. We kissed and kissed and couldn’t stop kissing.
“Take it outside,” insisted one of our classmates. Since high school, these public displays of lust between the two of us were highly annoying to our friends. They watched as we reunited, high and low, throughout three marriages (never to each other) and two divorces. This time, I was the one still married.
“Where are you staying?” he cut to the chase as we exited into the night air. “I don’t know, yet,” I meowed coquettishly thinking what the hell’s come over me? I’m going to be 59 this year! Besides, I knew damn well where I was staying; with my sister and her nasty cats, her tendency to drink too much and her endless complaints about not having a man.
His Zip-Car was waiting right outside the reunion hall. I didn’t hesitate to strap myself in. We sped past my sister’s house and all the available hotels and motels in the area. Just as I wondered where we might be going, he told me to look in his wallet. Tucked inside were two airline tickets that would take us 3,000 miles away from our current lives. F***! What was I doing? Running away forever and falling madly in love again? It was the perfect reunion and it was all happening so fast I could hardly breathe.
Folding the scarlet invitation, I ruefully shoved it back into its envelope before tearing it in half and then in half again. I ripped it until it was so small it hurt my fingertips to rip it any further. After tossing the paper fragments on top of my backyard burn pile, I touched a match to the jumble and watched it all go up in flames. When the smoke cleared, I carefully raked the ash until I was sure that every last spark had gone out of that smoldering day dream. Back in my kitchen, a faint longing, like an incessant melody, softly lingered.