Coming 'Round the Mountain

Writing isn’t easy for me, especially beginnings. Once I get rolling, it usually just flows out and takes me places I had no idea I was heading. When I have a plan or preconceived idea of what I want to write about, the piece usually sucks, with forced humor and words that just don’t sound like I wrote them. But starting a journey without any idea of where you are heading can be a scary thing. Life is like that. We should be frightened all the time because just over that next hill could be a truck on the wrong side of the road, or your wife leaving, or your dog dying. It seems like the only way we are able to function under the weight of so much uncertainty, is that we fill our lives with expectations, and little plans, and everyday stuff so that we can delude ourselves with the notion that we are in control. The irony is that the real meat of life, the stuff that startles us to the core and lights us up is also unexpected. And very often, the good and the bad get so tangled that we have no way of making sense of it all.

When I was first divorced, it was all new and all bad. I had never lived alone and wasn’t prepared for the quiet. I think that’s why so many people just leave their TV’s on, to fill the space around them with sound, because the quiet is just too empty. For me, I couldn’t go to sleep without classical music playing on the radio. I can still recall pacing and going from one room in my apartment to another without any reason (I do that now, except that I have a good reason to go into the room, but just forget what it was when I get there. Then I put my glasses down and leave, and later can’t find my glasses. I’ll have to write about that later . . . if I remember.)

So to fill my time, I spent many hours on the internet, and as it happened, I started an email liaison with a younger woman from Texas. Except for our common love of motorcycles, we could not have been more different. Me: middle-aged, Jewish, balding, urban. She: thirties, protestant, blond/cute, redneck. But there we were, both lonely and needing something good to happen, and finding it in the unexpected – an improbable, long distance romance. At some point, of course, we would have to meet and consummate our improbability. We did that one long weekend, at a Bed and Breakfast somewhere in the Lone Star State. (If there is any place better to have an affair than a type of hotel named after the sum of what you would be doing there, I don’t know what it is.) I got there first, and I remember how incredible it was to feel that awesome energy that only incipient romance can deliver. I did the room up with flowers, champagne, chocolates, Cokes (champagne before, Coca-Cola after). She was going to arrive that evening, and she intended to surprise me with something. The hours, delicious with anticipation though they were, dragged on and on. I think I showered four times. Just after dark, she arrived at the place driving her truck, and I remember I was surprised that she didn’t ride her bike. She came up to the room, accompanied by the grinning innkeeper and his wife, who knew the whole story. (When I wasn’t showering I was downstairs babbling on and on about why I was there and what was going to happen later.)

When Texas came into the room I noticed she was wearing a long coat, not unusual because it was cold outside. We kissed lightly and hugged for a very long time, like old friends who just happened to be breathing a little heavy. I turned to get the champagne and when I turned back she had removed her coat and was standing there in her motorcycle gear – boots, leather vest, and chaps. No shirt, no pants, and no underwear. She did a little spin so I could get the whole view. I think I may have blacked out. I do know for sure that after what seemed like an hour of staring at this vision of beauty and salvation, standing there wearing little more than a wicked little grin, I became aware that my jaw was wide open, and I was uttering unintelligible syllables. Trust me here, this was one of those coming 'round the mountain moments that sear themselves into your memory forever. Life, all of a sudden, was looking up.

We spent the weekend together, and she more than lived up to her coming attractions. But if that first meeting wasn’t enough to start me up, both at the time and for many a night of fond remembrance, (Forget finding my glasses. When I can’t remember something like that, shoot me.) something happened the next morning, that to this day I still recall as the sexiest moment in my entire life. I was standing at the mirror in the bathroom, shaving, wearing nothing more than a silly grin, when Texas came up behind me, snuggled into my neck and without warning, put a finger in a most sensitive place. Frankly, I do not know how I kept from cutting my throat. And best of all, I then did the coolest thing I’ve ever done. Without a word between us, I kept shaving. Forty five minutes later, I had the closest shave in the history of mankind.

Out of the blue, Texas called me today. It’s been ten years and I could tell from her words and the sound of her voice, that they had been hard years. She needs a favor from me and it seemed that she was very sad, drunk or stoned, and much older than the years that had passed. I told her I would help her if I could, but I wanted to do something nice for her right then, to take away the sadness and weariness in her voice, so I told her how fondly I remembered our time together, and specifically how I seemed to recall that one morning I was shaving and . . . It was good to hear her laugh as she told me that she too remembers that particular shave quite often.

I doubt if we’ll see each other again. I don’t think either of us wants to spoil the memory of what was with how the years have warped what is, but it is good for me, as I hope it is for her, to relive a brief time when unexpected followed unexpected. and jump started two hearts that had run low on love.