Opening her eyes, Maura was immediately assaulted by the blinding sun. “Damn! I meant to close those blinds before I went to sleep.” Her first Saturday off in weeks, and after dropping Bill off at the airport last night, she was looking forward to sleeping in.
Wait…something was off. Her bedroom did not face directly East. The sun should not be that strong. How late had she slept? Looking at her watch, she saw it was 5:30…am or pm, it shouldn’t be this bright. Not in New Jersey in December.
Getting her bearings, Maura stepped out of bed onto a hardwood floor. Except…her bedroom was carpeted.
Okay. Something was wrong. Now that she had her eyes open, she could see she was not in her own room. The elaborate furnishings and exquisite bedding gave away the fact that wherever she was, it was upscale. Seeing a lush robe thrown over the one chair in the room, she put it on and walked to the window.
When she looked outside, she had to blink. Was she seeing things? The view was gorgeous. The view from her bedroom was decidedly NOT gorgeous.
Okay. She looked around. It didn’t appear that there was anyone else in the room, and she couldn’t find a camera. Was someone playing with her?
She turned back to the window and looked at the strange but beautiful surroundings. Colorful flowers she’d never seen before sent waves of delicious fragrance through the air, and the bright gold and red of some of the buildings were simply stunning.
She was not home. She was not in New Jersey. Hell, she’d bet she wasn’t even in the United States!
Where the heck was she, and how did she get here???
At 50 years old, I had never ridden a bicycle. I was able to get away with it as a kid because of a chaotic childhood, and as an adult, my social circle drove cars. “I rode my bike” meant someone had taken out the Harley.
But here I was at 55, about to learn to ride a bike. I’d managed to avoid it for 5 years. I’m still trying to figure out how I made friends with a bunch of beyond middle aged bicycle nuts. What the hell were they trying to prove with their spandex bike shorts and cute helmets and their discussions of resistance and chain rings and tubeless tires? All of a sudden, my fellow couch potatoes had become Lance Armstrong.
I’d avoided it for five years. As they went out on their “trail rides,” i stayed behind and made lunch…sandwiches and snacks and soft drinks for their return. They rushed home for my cornbread.
All that had changed a few months ago, when Sunny had brought her brother and his best friend. Joe’s friend Roy was funny, handsome, and best of all, single. But he loved to ride.
He kept trying to get me to join them, but I kept making excuses. Then yesterday he showed up with a brand new ten-speed bike, pads, and a helmet. “I’m going to teach you how to ride a bike.”
Sitting on the seat for the first time, I shook and sweated and almost cried. Roy held the back of the seat as if I was his six year old learning to ride without training wheels. But he was incredibly patient. All day, he led me around and around. Until he let go. “Noooo! Don’t let go!”
That was yesterday. This morning everything hurt. But I can’t wait to get back on that bike!
She was so tired. Walking up the stairs, she was dragging her legs. This day had been so stressful and overwhelming. She didn’t even know what it was. She just went nonstop from the minute she got out of bed. Breakfast for the kids, dressed, out the door, work all day. Today the kids went to their father overnight, so she went right from job one to job two, where she stood on her feet for four hours.
Now she was finally home, and she couldn’t barely get up the stairs. She needed to tell rob the whole four floor walk-up thing just didn’t work.
Knocking on the door, she leaned against the wall. She was so damn tired, and everything hurt. She really just wanted to climb into bed.
The door opened, and Rob folded her in embrace. The tears came suddenly, the frustration from her day falling on her like a rainstorm. He stroked her hair and took off her jacket. Without a word, he walked her into the bathroom.
She smelled the candle before she saw anything. The scent of lavender mixed with vanilla immediately started to relax her mind, and she walked in and saw the low light. The soft sound of a quiet cello came from the corner, and there was a nice cloud of steam rising from the tub. Rob gently pulled off her shirt and sat her on the closed toilet. He wrapped her in her favorite robe and took off her shoes and socks. She had already unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, and he eased them off her legs.
He removed the robe, and she stepped into the tub. Bliss. The water was bliss. The bubbles popped on her skin as she slid back and rested her head on the pillow he’s out there.
Rob walked to the other side of the room and wheeled over a small table. A glass of Chardonnay, an ashtray, and a beautifully rolled joint sat on the table, next to the novel she was reading and a clip on reading light.
This man…who had no idea what her day had been like, put the robe over a chair and dropped a warm, soft towel on top. Without saying a word, he smiled, kissed her on the forehead, and as she closed her eyes with a smile, she heard the bathroom door close.
He stood at the window watching the sunrise. The colors began to pinch through the horizon, and he sighed as he turned back toward the bed. Watching her sleep, his heart weighed heavy with what he was going to do. Bit he had no choice. He loved her. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. And that could only be possible if he told her who he was.
Everyone has secrets. Bad childhoods, drunken choices, the older people get, the more they have that, when they meet someone new, they don’t necessarily feel comfortable sharing. Most of the time, if they did come out, they wouldn’t have any real impact. At 50, getting caught shoplifting at 12 loses some relevance.
When your secret is that you have intellectual and physical ability beyond 99 percent of the population, money and resources to rival Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne combined, and you spend your spare time catching international war criminals, however…well that’s not an easy conversation to start.
You know. You know the minute you get home. In fact, if you really want to be honest about it, you know the minute they choose you.
And yet, here she was again, sitting in the car, for what might be the 10th or 12th time in her life. Looking over to her right, she sees the sad, droopy face of one of her best friends. Although he’s always given her a problem going to the doctor, today, it’s as if he knows. It’s as if he knows that this will be the last time he’ll walk through the store, and when she walks out, she will be broken.
She remembered the day she brought him home. She remembers the face that looked out at her from social media, and how she said to her husband, “we need this dog.” “Don’t be ridiculous. We already have a dog. We don’t need another dog.”
“We don’t need another dog. We need this dog.” No matter how much he tried to convince her, in her heart, she knew he had to come home with her. Last night, watching him wrapped up in daddy’s arms, she once again marveled at how much they had all fallen in love.
She didn’t know what it was. It’s certainly wasn’t the easiest process. Allergies, ear infections, just a myriad of health problems came along with this guy. But so did the cutest face on earth, and one of the sweetest dispositions that ever befell human’s best friend.
She loved how he stole her seat on the couch, and when she came over and told him to get off, he slid off and went and hung out by daddy. She loved how he stole her spot in bed, and when she told him to move, moved over just enough to let her squeeze in. She loved how he came over with his squeaky ball and dropped it in her lap, and if she didn’t throw it immediately, nudged it closer to her. In fact, she loved even more how he sometimes tried to throw it to himself. She loved how he and the cat played more like brothers then like animals from two different species, even to the point of having the same kind of markings..both looking like cows. She loved how he raised one eyebrow and looked at her with the sweetest, most loving face ever.
She loved how her husband would look at him and smile…so thankful he’d given in to her. She loved him so much that she knew when it was time to let go. And so here they were, and she was desperately trying to get the courage to walk through those glass doors. Because she knew that they would be walking in together, and she would be walking out alone.
Tears running down her face, smearing her makeup, she took him foe one last walk around the field near the parking lot. She threw the ball and shook as he hobbled after it and brought it back to her. She opened the bag she’d brought, and his nose smelled the chicken. He was horribly allergic to chicken, and she knew that any other day, she was guaranteeing a sick dog. As she fed it to him piece by piece, and he gobbled it up, she shook with sobs, knowing it didn’t matter.
This was definitely it, she thought. She just could not go threw this again. And she picked up the bag and started to walk him toward the door. Before she opened it, he looked at her…showing her in one look all the love they’d shared.
And with that look, she knew she would one day be ready again to let a pet choose her…because that is how we love best.
I should have listened. I always told him that eventually, the boy who cried wolf would see a wolf, but no one would believe him. After years of microchips and alien brainwaves and subversive government plots, no one listened to my brother anymore. And now, he was gone.
He had called me several times over the past few days, but work was overwhelming, and I just didn’t have time to listen to his insane ramblings. Now I was kicking myself. His messages sounded scared. Not “I smoked too much weed” scared. More like “I have been having an affair with a drug kingpins wife” scared.
Playing back his voicemails, she heard panic. “Someone is following me. I can feel it. I’m scared, Erin. I can’t see them, but no matter where I am, I can feel someone watching me. They’re playing a game. They know they’re getting to me.”
Now, I’ve been sitting in this restaurant for an hour, and no way does Jason miss dinner if I’m paying. And no one has seen him. He hadn’t been at work, his girlfriend hadn’t heard from him all day, and his phone went didn’t to voicemail.
Glancing out the window of the restaurant, I watch the leaves of a tree across the street ripple in the breeze.
Except there is no breeze.
