Beach

I've been on Maui for a few days with two of my best friends. I think it's the fourth year we've taken this week together and it is so very relaxing. There's a four mile stretch of beach between Maalaea and Kihei on the South side of the island. It's county park, so there is no development on it, and most mornings you can have it all to yourself. The three of us set out to enjoy it after breakfast.

Maalaea Bay is shallow and wide. It's here that humpback whales are born in the winter months. The warm waters ease the newborns into the world. Some locals say that on still nights you can hear the calves take their first breaths. It is May now, and the whales have all returned home to the North Pacific where food is plentiful.

There is nothing so delightful as putting my bare feet into the gentle waves. Soft sand and cool water are excellent tonic.

I let my friends go ahead of me, preferring to lose myself in the sound of the wind and the waves. The shoreline changing as I walked along the edge of that refreshment, water ebbing and flowing around my feet, sand scurrying in and out. I stood for a moment, looking out toward Molokini, as my feet sank into the quickened sand mixing with ocean. Little silvery fish darted back and forth with the movement of the small surf.

I felt my mind begin shifting to that good place, that place so hard for me to get to. Where eternity feels unbroken, and I gear down into that slow passage of time. A sort of stillness.

I heard a familiar voice. "Small world," he said.

And there stood Michael just a few feet away from me. I knew him by his blue eyes and his soft manner. He looked older to me than he did last summer in Fairhaven, when we shared cupcakes and good conversation. There were lines in his face and gray in his hair I hadn't noticed then. It's the different light, I thought. It's so bright here and there is reflection from the sea water.

"What burden can I carry for you today?" he asked, with that familiar smile and easy affect.

I showed him my empty hands and smiled back at him. "How was Alaska? And how to you happen to be here on Maui?"

"I always enjoy Alaska.  All the way to Dutch Harbor and back down to Anchorage. I got here by hitching a ride on a cruise ship repositioning from Alaska. The executive officer and I had met in a tavern in Anchorage, and after a beer, he said he had a stateroom for me. So, why not?

 "How is it you are on Maui?" he asked me.

"I came with two friends. We do this once a year, and it's a good time. We've fallen into some routine, enough so that we are very comfortable with each other. I cook, Judy cleans, and Fran makes morning coffee. It's enough to do, some days, to sit on the lanai with good books at the ocean's edge. There's a monkey pod tree that rustles in the breeze. Tour boats filled with happy vacationers go in and out of the harbor."

"The sharing of beautiful things," said Michael, "Joy is enough purpose sometimes."

I nodded. "Joy is a big word. But maybe that's what it is. Never sleeping late because we want to see the sun come up over Haleakala the moment it lights up the sea bright blue. Talking about the events at home with calm detachment because home is so far away. "

"Not all joy comes with balloons and marching bands," said Michael.

"But I feel sad thinking about the flight home. The days here go by too fast." I bent down to look at a piece of sea urchin shell, purplish with a bright constellation of spines.

"What is the difficulty?" asked Michael.

"It's hard to explain," I said, "It's like I'm in two different places at the same time. Since I talked to you in Fairhaven, there's been a shift, and home seems an easier place to be. And that's just it, it seems to be. There is a heavy place in my chest that doesn't want to lift. It is not settled. It says, I'm missing something. I'm missing something very important."

"Explore it," said Michael, "Ask your heart what it wants."

"I'm afraid to do that. I have so much responsibility, so many obligations, pressures from family. For instance, what would my dad think if I threw any of those things off?"

"I know your father," said Michael. And I thought, did I mention him in Fairhaven? We talked about so many things, and I might have told him about the love of my dad and how I've never found it's equal.

"Think of this. You have children yourself. Are any of them perfect?"

I shook my head, no.

"What if one of them quit his job and ran off to join the circus? Would you love him any less? Would you try to force your will on him to change his direction?"

"Of course not. I might be alarmed, but I'd still love him as much as ever. And he's got to find his own way or he won't learn anything."

"That is the way the father loves you. He knows he gave you a compass, but it's your choice how you use it. Consider this: All human beings are connected through the Spirit. We love and take care of each other through relationships. Some people understand this connection and some do not. What one does not understand, one cannot access.

"You might consider that your highest purpose is to love. When you love, you are closest to the Spirit, and your direction is made clearer. If there is an obstruction, like heaviness in your heart, that connection suffers and you feel confusion.

"And I can't tell you what that heaviness is about. It's conflict, certainly, but you must trust that it is there for good reason. You must be free to let it speak without worrying about consequences, or you cannot hear it.

"Your father loves you. That is constant. You cannot earn that love, and you cannot be penalized by it. So, knowing that, first take care of your self, and when self is in order your other relationships will fall into place. To know how to love others you must understand how you are loved."

A gust of salt air, tradewinds from the Northwest, blew sand around my face, and I coughed.

"Must be getting close to the noontime," said Michael. "The still of the morning only lasts until about now."

And that is true. Maalaea Bay is at the bottom of the isthmus between Halaeakala and the West Maui Mountains. A natural funnel carries wind at gusts of 20 to 35 miles per hour as the day heats up until about sunset most days. It is time to wave to my friends for catch up and leave the beach.

"It was a nice surprise finding you here, Michael. I hope you enjoy the islands as much as I do."

"Oh, I will. This is one of my favorite places, too. I have many favorite places, so I always keep moving. It's heaven on earth, if you can see it that way."

And I saw him walk to the shower at the trail head where he rinsed his feet and put sandals on, looking toward the community garden and the residents working there.

Sexy Eyes

Back in the 1980s I was married to a musician. Steve led a band of four members, they played Top 10 and oldies, some country, and were one of the more well-known combos in the county.

Sidekick played at the Casino Tavern in Everett for a number of years. It was a fairly large venue situated where two main throughways intersected and got lots of business. The customers were a good cross-section of the small city, you'd see people in business suits seated at tables next to people in biker gear. It was a great place to observe humanity, as an island in the middle of a lifestream. For some it provided a sort of privacy. Like the saying "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."

One afternoon I came along with Steve as he met with the band to practice new material. That was fun to watch because they'd choose one or two that they'd been hearing on the radio and work them up in about an hour and a half, flawlessly. I think there's some kind of mind-reading in that process. No sheet music (all played by ear), no copy of a recording, just keep trying it until it sounded true.

I sat at the bar where I had a good view of the stage, and chatted with the bartender, a guy in his 50s named Bill, while the band plugged in and tuned. To the right of me sat a wine and beer vendor, who was taking advantage of the quiet of the afternoon lull to tidy up her orders. We introduced each other, her name was Julie, and she'd been working outside sales for a few months.

We noticed two people walk in the side door. A good-looking man in a business suit, maybe early 30s, and a pretty blonde in a red and white sun dress that showed off a tiny waist and slender legs. She wore red strappy sandals with high heels, and somehow looked sexy but sweet. They sat opposite each other at a cafe table next to the dance floor. Bill walked over to get their order, then returned a minute later with a couple of schooners, leaving them alone.

"They look a little out of place here," remarked Julie.

"Nobody's out of place here," said Bill. "I see all kinds."

We watched the two, obviously making small talk in the semi-darkness. They were undistracted by the starts and stops as the band practiced a Dr. Hook song. Maybe fifteen minutes went by. The man reached over and touched the woman's hand. She let it stay there a moment, then slowly took hers away, brushing some hair away from her face. He raised his hand up to her face and also touched her hair, gently tucking a strand of it behind her ear. Then he let a finger trail down her neck and drew back.

Her eyes widened, and she took a sip of beer.

He took her hand away from the glass, and kissed her fingertips, slowly and one by one. She did not pull away. She laid her hand on his cheek, then traced his ear with her index finger. All the while they held each other's eyes.

Julie looked at Bill with amazement. Bill shrugged his shoulders. Julie put her pen down and closed her order book, then turned her bar stool around for a better view.

Now there was hand holding and caressing over the table top. The two of them were speaking softly to each other, faces moving closer to the center of the table. They could have been the only people in the room.

Steve's drummer counted off the start of the new song. I was always amazed how closely he could mimic voices. He sounded quite a bit like Dr. Hook, close enough anyway. And although there was no flute player, the keyboard strings did a decent job.

The man and the woman rose from the table and stepped over to the dance floor. Hesitating just a moment, the woman allowed the man to put his arm around her back, careful not to draw her too close, as they moved slowly in small circles. She let go a deep sigh, as he squeezed her hand and drew her just a bit closer to him.

And a bit closer still, as her head bent and rested against his shoulder. And she put both of her arms around him. The dancing became just a swaying, as his hands moved to her neck and his fingers into her hair.

We at the bar all looked at each other.

"Did you see where she just had her hands?" said Julie, shocked.

"Look where his are," said Bill, polishing a glass.

The song ended, and the couple remained tightly enmeshed for just a moment. As they drew apart, there was a kiss that started soft and slowly became intense. The man spoke into the woman's ear. She nodded and they returned to the table, where the man put down some dollars and the woman picked up her purse.  They left the way they came in.

"Whew!" said Julie, picking up her order book. "I need some air!"

Bill smiled at her and said, "Cigarette?" He offered his pack to her.

"At least!" replied Julie. And she left the bar.

Dr Hook - SEXY EYES

Overheard at the Colophon Cafe

"Today is his birthday," said one old woman to another. "I always remember."

The two women sat together at a cafe table under an umbrella in Old Fairhaven. It was a nice day. They sat in shade but bright blue sky lit the canopy above them, making the silver in their hair shine softly.

"Whose birthday?" asked the companion to the first.

"Someone I knew a long time ago. A very long time ago. Happens once in a lifetime you know someone like that." She dropped her eyes, and stirred her tea with a spoon. The second woman put her hands in her lap and gave her full attention to her friend as she spoke.

"I saw him a couple of weeks ago. I was at Larrabee Park walking the dogs. He was sitting on a bench, and I thought, that's him. I'm pretty sure that's him, but I hadn't seen him in fifteen years or more. So I walked closer to have a better look, and he said, Cynthia, is that you? And I said yes, it's me. Sit down he said, and I did, and I settled the little dogs at my feet. I didn't know quite how to talk to him, but once he began to speak to me there were suddenly lots of things to say. And trying to recall it now, I'm not sure I remember what we talked about, but there we were and it was wonderful.

"I'm sure we talked about our families and our children, and how they'd all grown. And the books we'd read and the places we'd been. The people we knew and how they'd changed or moved on.  And that peace came over me, I wish I could describe it. It's that feeling that's always been there when I'd see him. I could see he still felt it, too. So familiar and welcome it was. I could smell his cologne mixed with the tobacco of his pipe, as it always was.  His blue eyes were the same though they shone through a lined face. His smile still slow and wry. Timeless, I thought, the word here is timeless.

"I don't know how long we sat. A woman approached and sat down at the other side of him. He said, Cynthia, this is Angela, my wife. We've been married ten years now. And I said, it's good to meet you, Angela. I'm just an old friend, I said, I knew your husband when he was a young man. She said my husband has known many women, I could not keep track of the stories he's told me. She took his hand and squeezed it, watching my face.

"She's a nice looking woman, that Angela. She looks foreign, maybe Latin, and I could tell she was very pretty when she was a girl. I'd like to say she doesn't match with him, but how can I say that? How would I know who suits him? And she smiled at me, and he turned silent. It was awkward. I stood up and said I had an appointment, so I had to get going. Polite goodbyes were exchanged.

"I looked over my shoulder, just once, as I walked away. I could see that she was talking rapidly to him, and he was nodding at her words as he looked over the lawns toward trees and ridges. I felt just a whisper of that peaceful feeling as it rose upward and out of me, leaving a chill behind.

"I received a note from him shortly after that day. He said it was good to see me after so many years and that we should meet sometime, soon. I tucked into a shoebox, afraid my husband would see it. I should throw it away. I have not answered the note. I wouldn't know what to say.

"And just now when I see those Latin women, there, over by the fountain with their grandchildren, I feel like getting up and walking away. It's silly, I know, and I'll stay right here.

"It feels cold, suddenly. Could you hand me my sweater?"

"The heart has it's reasons whereof reason knows nothing." Pascal

Beautiful Things

I finished my riding lesson and changed my clothes to reduce the "horsey" smell so I could merge with the public. As much as I enjoyed the horse ride, and as much as I'd like a nap afterward, I just wasn't ready to go home. It's a beautiful house on lush acreage with a pond. Big rooms paneled in oak, sumptuous furnishings. But there is tension there, along with all of the chores I've felt too paralyzed to complete. Home is a place of things caught up in the air, unsettled spirits.

It was rare weather for Western Washington, sunny and hot. Where to go? I thought of Fairhaven and it's tree shaded downtown, which is tucked between the south side of Bellingham and the Bellingham Bay. There's lots of charm in this place. Always interesting. It's close to Western Washington University, so it has that eclecticism college towns are known for.

Fairhaven is a very old town (although now it is part of Bellingham), and it's history is preserved through renovation of old buildings and covenants that require any new construction fit the 19th century style of the architectural treasures, such as Sycamore Square. This particular building is one of my all-time favorites. It was originally built to be the Puget Sound terminus of the Great Northern Railroad, but has had many lives and uses since those days. I love the big atrium that is the center. I walk up the stairs and marvel at the woodwork and the views from each floor. There are old photos in frames that tell of Fairhaven's days as a transportation hub. Besides the railroad, there were and still are a bus depot and the southern end of the Alaska Marine Highway. You can start here and go all the way by ferry to Dutch Harbor at the end of the Aleutian Island Chain. Cruise ships come and go, too.

My usual course is to park in front of Sycamore Square, and walk down to the harbor, feel the cool breezes from the bay as I watch the activity and the boats, then walk up the opposite side of the street and return to my car. It's a an hour or two of good diversion, and I get lunch some where on the journey... so many interesting choices.

On my way down the street, I peeked into shops. There is fine art on the first corner, and I imagined a big acrylic painting of sailboats at rest in dry dock hanging in my living room. And small brass sculpture of wood ducks on the fireplace mantel. Beautiful things of water and air. But such things are hard to place in a restless atmosphere.

I looked in a consignment shop filled with festive gowns and colorful ensembles "pre-loved" and marked at bargain prices. I imagined where they'd been. High school proms, wedding receptions, cruise ship dining salons. In and out of suitcases, in and out of the closets of people unknown to me. And I thought, these beautiful things are mementos of other peoples' lives.

In the window of a jewelry store I saw a gold and amethyst pendant. A beautiful thing I could picture around the neck of a younger woman of high spirits and hopeful future. A gift from a lover, perhaps.

Inside an antique shop I found two nicely seasoned cast iron skillets. Beautiful things I could take home and put to good use. The clerk put them in a reusable cloth shopping bag with the company logo printed on it for just a dollar extra. So "green" they are in Bellingham. Through the door and on the sidewalk I thought about how I used to enjoy cooking, but haven't found much joy in that or anything around the house, and why in the world am I now carrying heavy skillets around with me?

I continued my walk to Squalicum Harbor where I gazed at the choppy water and the sea gulls dipping from the blue of the sky to the blue of the bay. And I said a prayer for the beautiful things and my loss of connection with them. Then back to the sidewalk and the uphill walk returning to my car and the freeway and home.

Just past the Persian carpet seller I sat down on a bench and rested for a moment. The bag of skillets was heavy and I had several blocks left to go, and uphill, too. I rose to start the trudge. Just then a young man appeared and said, "That bag looks heavy, why don't you let me carry it for you?" Surprised I turned to him and saw the bluest eyes, blue as the summer sky above us. And he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, "Here, you can hold this if you think I'm going to run off with your bag." Amazed at the stranger's friendliness, I took the wallet in dumb reaction. He took my bag. We introduced each other, he said his name was Michael.

He looked inside the bag, "Perfectly seasoned skillets, beautiful things. No telling how old they are.  Do you like to cook?"

"Oh, I used to," I answered him, "Not as much these days. I don't know why I bought them. Right now they're just heavy."

Michael said, "If you think hard, you might remember something about them."

"My grandma used pans just like these," I said, softly. "She showed me how to fry chicken, make the perfect grilled cheese sandwich, and how to keep the skillet seasoned. She made it look so easy."

As we walked, I studied the young man. I saw a very kind face with just a few lines. Hard to guess his age, maybe 25, maybe 35. Average height, slight of build, but I remember his eyes best, the bluest eyes, the color of calm seas.

"Where are you going?" I asked Michael. And he said,"Anywhere, everywhere. I travel light, and don't stay in any place very long. The world is big and my needs are small. I find good company where ever I am. I'm thinking of boarding the ferry and exploring the stops along Alaska Marine Highway."

"All the way to Dutch?" I asked him.

"No particular destination." He smiled. "There are beautiful things all along any route, or any wandering. I always find them. Some might call me a drifter, but it seems to be my calling."

"Look!" he said, "Cupcakes!" We were alongside a small shop that sold cupcakes, only cupcakes, with good coffee and tea. Beautiful things as seen from the window, very inviting. I asked if he'd let me treat him to one and he said sure. We went inside the store, decorated as you might expect in pastel colors with whitewashed chairs and tables. He chose Black Forest and I chose Very Vanilla and we sat down to enjoy. Michael's blue eyes shone as he sipped his coffee, eyes as blue as royal velvet.

On the wall, hung high, were some badly done acrylic paintings of dark content. One was a very disturbing landscape with a chilly blue house on the far left. Dayglow footprints led from the house to what looked like a child in pajamas lying down before a long-toothed bear that might eat him. Two "Red Riding Hoods" stood smiling passively nearby, while a wolf hid behind a tree.

I pointed it out to Michael, and I said, "What on earth is that doing in this place? So parents can bring their children here for a goodie and a nightmare?"

"It is an interesting contrast," said Michael. "But notice that it's hung pretty high up on the wall. I doubt a child would notice anything but the clashing colors and harsh brushstrokes. A child's eye would rather consider the glass cases of cupcakes and the delight of eating them."

"A parent should notice, you'd think one would suggest that the owner take that horrible thing down," I said. At the next table sat a daddy and a beautiful little girl. He sipped coffee and chatted with her while she took apart her cupcake, eating the cake first and then the icing. Michael clearly enjoyed watching them. After the treat was all gone, the father and daughter stood up and started for the door. The daddy glanced up at the awful painting, then reached for his little girl's hand. She smiled at him and hugged his leg. They left, laughing.

I returned my attention to Michael and my cupcake and the good coffee. Beautiful things. His blue eyes, as blue as Ceylon sapphires, the aroma of the Columbian coffee, the softness and sweetness of the confection, the easy companionship.

"The most beautiful things are personal," said Michael, "And those things beheld and shared with another are the most beautiful of all. Even the ugly falls away when that beauty is present."

As we got up to leave the shop, I remembered Michael's wallet and gave it to him, smiling. I picked up my bag.

"Well, you go on with your travels, Michael. This bag isn't so heavy and I've only got another block to my car."

We gave each other goodbyes and best wishes. He went back down the street toward the waterfront, and I found my car where I left it.

And the bag wasn't heavy at all.

Cherry Almond

My legs! My legs!

Oh, my goodness, dry skin like I've never had before. Itchy and harsh to the touch. It may have come on gradually, but I noticed it all at once and began worrying. I've never had this condition before. What organ is failing? Where's the malignancy? How long do I have to live?

Out came the notebook computer, and I consulted Dr. Mirkin, Mayo Clinic, Web MD... this could be a thyroid condition maybe. What if my hair starts falling out? Or it could be allergies to my beloved dogs. What if I have to give up my dogs?

Better go talk to a flesh-and-blood physician. And Dr. Pringle takes all the fun out of it. "You're 54 years old. This happens. Buy some lotion. Any ordinary stuff will do. If you turn red, try one without perfume."

At least I get to go shopping. I like Rite Aid. It smells good in there. Candy, cosmetics, magazines make an interesting mix. Almost like Sprouse Ritz from the childhood days, except there is way more light. I found the lotion aisle, almost a city block of choices. Six different labels in the Jergens brand alone. I chose the Original Cherry Almond. An aunt used that one, I think, so it must be good.

After my bath the next morning, I applied as directed. And something happened. A memory.

I was 17 years old. I was dating a guy my parents didn't like very much. He was 20 years old and in the Navy. I met him through my friend, Pam, who was a bit on the loose side. She was finished with him and onto the next one. Tiny and vivacious, with huge brown eyes, Pam could get any guy she wanted, it seemed to me. I would ride along with her and watch her flirt and attract. I felt like I was invisible next to her.

But Troy liked me, and he took me out a few times. He came to my house for dinner and hung around. He was happy to be around my family, and he was one guest who didn't get intimidated by my mother's intoxicated tirades. He'd just shrug his shoulders and say let's go somewhere else now.

He came from Southern California, the San Gabriel Valley, to be specific. He thought of himself as a hippie, complained about the military order (even though he volunteered), and got written up for haircuts once in awhile. Best of all, he was nice-looking, could buy beer, and wanted to be with me. We fell in love, or something like it.

Troy and I were both broken. My family life was hellish with my mother in a sauced borderline personality mode and my father working late. His mother was a barfly and living with her 9th mate (married or unmarried, Troy wasn't sure). She tended to take in the alcoholic and the violent. The boy grew up knowing how many wine bottles could be on the porch before it was necessary to stay at a friend's house, and which neighbor would give him a bowl of cereal on the way to school.

Oh, the sweetness of teenage kisses and cuddling in uncomfortable places. In his 1958 Chevy, in my parents' living room. No real privacy for exploring each other the way young people are so compelled. But what joyful moments we had. I was his and he was mine and we were wrapped in each other. So simple.

But Mom raged on and Dad steered clear and I had graduated high school. Troy got orders for China Lake, California. Leaving me alone with Mom, and no idea of what independence was. That kind of upbringing does not produce a college student or even a convenience store cashier.

Troy had given me his news over the phone. I cried and cried. He said he'd come get me in two hours and we'd spend some time together. I waited by the window as the day became dark, quietly so Mom would forget about monitoring me. Troy pulled up to the curb and motioned for me to come out and get in the car. And we drove away, somewhere. I didn't care, really. I cried, I lamented, and worried, while he drove the car outside of town and past Heart Lake. There he took a trail into the woods and parked.

"Come with me," he said, holding a big flashlight. We were alone. It was quiet and safe here. I stopped crying.

I remember the month was June, and it was a warm night. I remember the big canvas tent, and Troy lighting the Coleman lantern. The canvas was musty and the sleeping bags a bit moldy smelling. And something else.

"When I got this stuff from Ron's house I noticed it was kinda smelly, so I stopped by the head shop and got some essential oil. I sprinkled it around some so you wouldn't notice as much."

Cherry almond.

Unforgettable.

Yellow and White

Jake and I arrived at the garden wedding just five minutes late, so we sat down quickly in a couple of the plastic chairs at the back of the lawn. It was a beautiful spring day, just after a rain, everything fresh and bright for the new couple to begin their lives together.

There were about a hundred people there. I knew some of them, and waved my hand at the few who looked our way. I knew Jake and I looked good together. He was so gorgeous in his new suit (and looked even better out of it). I put my arm through his, and squeezed his bicep. He kissed me on the top of my head.

The ceremony began and I aimed my eyes forward.

Yellow and white were the colors the bride chose, the groom and his men wore medium gray. Daisy bouquets with just a dash of emerald green fern and gray-green eucalyptus. Perfect for a such a day in Sonoma, I was thinking. I was half-way listening to the words the pastor said to the young couple and half-way remembering the ceremony Jake and I enjoyed just three years earlier. Almost to the day.

The couple was pronounced man and wife and the guests began to stand up to applaud the union.

A round-ish boy about seven years old suddenly appeared and pushed me over backward. My chair tipped up and my purse flew out of my lap as I fell hard on the lawn. The kid grabbed the bag before it hit the ground and he ran fast behind the lattice fence and hedge, tripping over an azalea bush.

"Stop!" I yelled, as Jake rose to his feet and looked toward the boy with puzzled expression.

I rubbed my elbow and noticed I was bleeding a little bit. There were grass stains on my new dress. I pulled myself up while people stared at us.

"Get him!" I yelled to my husband, who had one foot in the aisle. He took a hesitant step. "Come on!" I said, "He's getting back up!" The boy arose and began to run again. Chubby legs not moving him as fast as they might have on a lighter frame.

Why can't he catch that kid, I wondered. I watched the two of them round the corner of the block, Jake still not even with the boy.

I ran to the car, which was parked at the curb, and started it up. I found Jake and the boy talking to each other not far from where I lost sight of them, with the boy still holding my purse. He was gazing up at my husband, face all red and eyes all teary.

I got out of the car and stood with my hands on my hips between the two of them.

"Who do you belong to?" I demanded of the boy, my face showing anger and disbelief. The boy looked down and did not answer. His fists were clenched and his face was red with rage. I wrenched my purse away from him, glancing inside to see if anything was missing. He tried to kick me. I asked the boy again where he lived. Still no answer.

"Ah, Jenny, he's just a kid. Don't be the heavy. You got your purse back, let's let him go."

"The 'just a kid' assaulted me and took my purse. Get in the car, Jake, and put him in with you. We'll go to the police station and get this sorted out. He can't get away with this. Why shoud he?" Jake took the kid by the arm and steered him into the back seat. As I drove the half mile or so to the station, I glanced into the mirror and saw that Jake was letting the boy play a video game on his i phone. Huh? No time to ask, we'd arrived and I told Jake to hold onto the kid's hand while we entered the building. The boy made a sudden break and ran down the sidewalk and through a hedge.

"Just let him go, Jenny. It's not worth chasing him." He saw the expression on my face and said, "OK, I'll go find him." How's he going to do that? I wondered, but Jake was well-underway in the direction the kid fled, so I went back to the officer to make my statement.

A half-hour went by, and Jake appeared with the boy, who now had the name Danny to identify him. I saw Jake's suit coat open and noticed he wasn't wearing a belt. "You got dressed without a belt this morning?" Jake looked down and smiled, shrugged his shoulders and yawned. "I hate getting dressed up. You know that."

"Do we really need to go through all this, Jenny? Danny is ready to apologize for what he did and I think he's too little to be so tough on." Jake gave me his most charming smile, and yawned again.

He's looking pretty relaxed, I thought to myself.

Jake sat down on a bench. The boy, Danny, sat next to him and glared at me. "How did you find the little criminal?" I asked Jake. Jake told me the kid told him where he lived when they were in the car. So he simply went to the house and got him. "Where is his mother?" I asked. Apparently, she was still at the house. "Well, dontcha think we should involve her?" I was feeling a little incredulous.

"Oh, Jenny. She's a nice woman. She works two jobs and she's all alone with Danny. I told her I'd sort this out for her."

Now this was getting bizzarre.

"Give me her name and address and I'll go deal with her myself." So, I took a slip of paper from the officer with Loralee Shultz's address on it, got in the car and drove the five blocks to her address. Yellow house with white shutters. A short, pretty brunette opened the door the moment I knocked. Her smile faded quickly when she saw me standing there.

In her hand was Jake's belt.

(fiction)

Last Tango in Toledo

Finally quiet. Go to sleep, you bastard. I'm numb from all your complaining, your fussbudget crap.

The dishes you left from this morning are washed, dried and put away. Your underwear and socks are folded as you wish and stacked in the drawers like firewood.

I vacuumed and swept and had the carpets steam cleaned. The surfaces have been scrubbed with Lysol, removing every trace of what was us, so all that will remain when I'm gone is YOU.

I was placing my suitcases in the entry hall when you came home. You walked past me and inspected the great room and kitchen. Then you actually smiled at me and said one thing you'd miss about me is maid service. I could smell Chanel No. 5 on your coat when you dropped it on the floor for me to hang up.

You "tapped" me when I bent down to pick up the coat so I would stumble. And you laughed. You said I never did have a sense of humor.

I kept my eyes downward so you wouldn't see my thoughts. You brute, you liar, you cheat.

I smiled back at you and said that since this is what we both want, why can't we just be pleasant for the last few hours. I hope when some time has passed we can stop being angry. I won't take anything away from you that isn't mine.

You narrowed your eyes at me and said fat chance, looking at my hips and thighs. I'm not going to react to that, I thought to myself. I know what lawyers are for, and I can continue the fight for whatever shit belongs to me from my mother's house. A few hundred miles between us and I'm much stronger for the contest.

I dressed for bed in the bathroom with the door closed. How is this going to go? I entered the bedroom, and there you were already in bed with the light off. I told you I'd sleep on the couch in the living room and took a pillow and blanket from the closet.

One last power play from you. No you won't, you said. You won't leave this room. Sleep on the floor like a dog, you bitch.

Why? The game is over. David will pick me up first thing in the morning, and I'll leave your sorry ass far behind.

I can do this. I get as far away from you as you'll allow. Just inside the closet I put my head down on the pillow and pull the blanket over myself.

I am exhausted. I listen for your breathing to become slow and regular, then I allow myself to drift off.


"It is wrong to think that love comes from long companionship and persevering courtship. Love is the offspring of spiritual affinity and unless that affinity is created in a moment, it will not be created for years or even generations." Kahlil Gibran