October 2011
Rebecca had sent a note to Christopher, thanking him for the
date the other day. She was thankful in particular that he had paid for their
meal and that their reconnection had provided an element of adult
conversation, which she found was lacking in her ordinary life. She also thanked him for giving her some
details of their very first encounter some years ago. It would appear that he had held some
memories back, but what he did share was more than she had remembered. She had
been on this soul search journey, trying to figure who she really was, and what
those missing memories contained. She recently discovered that that there was a
patch of memories missing, from the early 90s to mid 2000s, there was a large
blank canvas that needed to be filled. She
was subconsciously or consciously trying to find those missing pieces.
Christopher was part of the missing link.
She asked if Christopher was interested in going to a
museum. There was a new exhibit, she
suggested. She always thought of Christopher a perfect date material to a museum.
He seemed to be the sophisticated type. Someone who appreciated finer things in
life, someone whom she could hang with platonically - like your best gay
friend. At some point, she thought Christopher
was gay, he and his best friend were really a gay couple in disguise, she used
to think that way, until a few years ago, when Christopher told her that his
best friend had married a girl he met abroad, and moved permanently to Europe
to start a life with that girl.
She had some vague memories that some twelve or thirteen years
ago, he had taken her to a German restaurant one morning, and then later on
they browsed stores in Hays Valley, and he had paid particular interest in some
unusual clothes in a boutique store run by a very odd woman. It must had been
one of the last dates she had with him, because she seemed to not have any
memories of them together after that trip.
She also couldn’t remember if they fucked the night before, it almost seemed
like an isolated event, one required no fucking to accomplish, it could really
just be a simple breakfast date, one could have with any of their friends,
without any romantic undertone. In her vague memory, it was the only thread she
had of Christopher: they went to breakfast, they browsed the hip independent
boutique stores in Hayes Valley, and they parted ways afterwards, and it marked
an end of their non-relationship. It would seemed to her that was the full extent of
her known memories of him, even though she instinctively knew that there were
more, she couldn’t recall what they actually were.
What stroke Rebecca funny about the way she felt about
Christopher was how little she remembered about him. He was not someone who she dwelled on. He was
someone who had come and gone from her life, and there was no sorrow, there was
mild infatuation at best, at the beginning, and it just fizzled all away, but
there were no heart wrenching tears shed for him. He was a non-entity, that seemed to occupy
her mind for a little while, and then he just disappeared, yet stayed in contact
with her in a trivial, non-intrusive way over the years, and he would pop back
up once in a while. He was one of those people that she liked, but no in a way
that would result in any major heartbreak. She never quite understood him. And
sometimes those are the kind of people that end up in your life the longest.
The sense of mystery, the sense of non-emotional attachment would make that
person to be a non-threat to her. She liked that aspect of relationship. One
required little maintenance. Yet, there was something distinctively different about
this last meeting, the meeting at the wine bar and the restaurant after.
Rebecca thought about it some more. At the time, she was in
the final stage of saying goodbye to her last relationship: the relationship
that did result in some major heartache, tears and worst of all, guilt. The
guilt was the worst kind, worsened yet by the fact that he made a big deal out
it, by scolding her for telling the affair to their mutual friend, whom he
respected a lot, he later accused of her. “Why would you tell her? The only
friend we share together?” But it was not the real reason.
He had assumed, through talking to one of his other
liaisons, that she had slept with a man whom she’s friends with, during the
course of her marriage. He had assumed, based on her own words, that he was the
first one she had stepped out of her marriage for. He was angry, because he
said that she was a habitual liar. She was heartbroken, because she had never
slept with this man, whom she’s been friends with for a number of years. She
knew that he was wrong but she couldn’t convince him. He was angry, this man whom she barely knew
but decided to venture out of her marriage to be with.
He was a strange person, someone whom she grew very fond of
over a period of two months, someone whom she thought that she had developed
emotional attachment for, someone whom she knew so little of. He had that pull
on her; in part because he had invested tremendous amount of time with her.
She had chosen to leave him the last time around, after a
short, non-memorable fling that required very little attention on her end,
apparently not to him. He had saved all of their communications, emails and
instant messages, and shared them with her; she was amazed by his collection and
a little worried about his intensity.
He often accused of her lying about not remembering
anything. He thought that she was faking the forgetfulness. Part of their
communication consisted of him trying to figure out what she did remember, and she
tried to convince him that she didn’t lie, she simply had no memory of these events. To
declare that she was indeed trying, she manufactured memories of them being
together, mostly through her dreams, where she saw some of the events that took
place back in 1999, it played in her brain as flashbacks. She recalled those
days where she ran his doorbell, and she recalled how they fucked. But the
memories were so vague, she couldn’t remember how much of it was her dreams, and how
much of it was real. She told him so, but she knew it was problematic to him, this
man named Alex. Alex didn’t like to be forgotten. He didn’t believe her.
“But I didn’t remember, I still don’t. How can I prove to
you? I have no memories of certain years. ” Rebecca would tell Alex.
Alex would then scoff and claim that she lied. This really bizarre
dynamic dominated their relationship, mostly through emails and instant messengers,
sometimes with phone calls. They
practically talked in one shape or form every day. Occasionally she felt that he loved her, in
an odd way he was nurturing, and involved in her life. He cared about her deeply
on some level, everything she said he hang on, and later would repeat it. He
said that he remembered everything they did together and said to each other. No
man had ever made her feel this way.
She in turn shared tremendous amount of information about
herself with Alex, she had never shared this amount of information with anyone,
not with her husband, not with her ex boyfriends, not ever. Alex lived in
Denver, for the lack of physical presence, he made up by offering his time,
patience and consult. No one ever spent
anytime like Alex did on her, not during the last twelve years of marriage, and
not before. But it came with a price. He
became so completely involved in her life, that he expected her to behave
certain way, not this wild card he discovered her to be.
For the two months that they communicated, he had asked her
to develop emotional attachment with him. In a twisted, manipulative way he was
successful in doing so, in a way that he failed to do to her twelve some odd
years ago, when they had briefly dated. He had finally convinced her that she
had feelings for him, yet, she felt guilty, it was the first time she stepped
out of her marriage, and she was worried that she had messed this up, royally.
She was becoming so emotionally obsessed with Alex, she thought that she’d
leave her family, her children, her husband for this man whom she had not seen
for the last twelve years.
Initially, all she ever wanted, was to get to know someone,
outside of her main married relationship, she was looking for a fling, a pure
physical thing, which Alex was not willing to give unless she was willing to
develop some sort of emotional attachment to him. Alex would test her all the
time. He called her on some evenings, he withdrew on others when she needed him.
Then he would apologize. He recounted his days with her, he told her that he
wished that she were there, he wrote to her and said he missed her. When he
travelled, which he did most of the time, he told her where he was, each time.
He was going to Boston, Seattle and Chicago a lot. He would write to her and
let her know what he did in each city. It would appear that Alex had invested a
large chunk of his time on her. He talked to her throughout the day, he
exchanged lengthy emails with her, and he said that he wanted to see her. They
arranged to meet up in the Bay Area. She had never felt this giddy in her life.
When they finally met up at a French restaurant in Rockridge, Oakland, a wealthy
part of the suburb of San Francisco, she was practically on cloud nine.
He was charming, gorgeous, and fit; he was affectionate; he
kissed her across the table and touched her knees under the table. They shared cheese courses, he knew what she
loved to order by then, and he ordered them in French, he spoke fluent French
and Spanish, and he was suave. He treated her like this fragile flower, and she
liked it. They made love, twice, that evening, and he dropped her back at her
house afterwards.
They saw each other physically only twice, once in the city,
once in the east bay. Like all fairy tales, it ended just as soon as she was feeling
comfortable around this strange man. He was becoming angry, over an alleged
affair she was carrying simultaneous with another man.
Later on, Rebecca would come to
realize that he had perhaps gotten so emotionally involved with her as well,
and the thought of her being with another man, not her husband, but some other
man was proven too much for Alex to handle. Alex wanted to be the only person
she was with. She felt strangely dissolved when he accused of her lying, again,
this time not for the lack of her memory with him twelve years ago, but for
lying to him about her alleged affair with this other man. The ending was a
train wreck, which sent her straight to a shrink. He later made concession. He realized that he
had made a mistake, a mistake that was driven by his wild imagination and false
information, but he refused to apologize, he invited her to see him in Denver,
instead, but she refused. She ended it,
she waned the relationship like she waned her son from nursing, suddenly,
violently, with much dissolve and discipline, she walked away just like she did
twelve years ago.
Enter Christopher. At first she couldn’t help but thinking
how similar these two individuals were, yet so different. One she purposely
disappeared from, another she kept in touch with, purposely, also. Both were of
the same age, gone to the same graduate school, shared similar same career
path, they both owned sail boats and sailed, both traveled a ton. But as she
also knew, they were quite different.
She liked Christopher; they were never really not friends, per se.
She liked Christopher; she did not avoid him as she did with Alex.
It would not be fair to compare the two individuals. Rebecca told herself.
On their second date, Christopher picked her up in front of
her office.
They drove to the museum. It would have been a very brisk
walk but he picked her up instead, which was quite nice and unexpected. The
exhibit was unusual; and he had carried his camera, and took photos of the
displays. On Thursdays, the museum opened late. There were not a lot of visitors
that evening. They walked the near vacant halls, sometimes together, other
times he would wander off on his own, or she would. But then he would always
find her. She was wearing this pair of 6-inch spiky heels that made incredibly
loud noise on the wooden floor, she felt embarrassed. She caught him stealing
glances at her shoes, and she apologized, but Christopher said that he liked
them. “They looked good on you,” he’d say. He was fascinated, a bit turned on,
she felt. The way he looked at her shoes was a little perverse, she had that
strange suspicion that he was mentally undressing her, down to nothingness but
her necklace and shoes. She was aroused
by the thought of him doing that. She had strange thoughts of him as well. It
was a familiar yet distant memory, one she couldn’t clearly recall. Yet part of
her suspected that something in the past did happen, something outside of the
box, she combed her scattered memory, and it came up empty.
She had a suspicion that no matter what she was going to do
with Christopher, it was not the usual garden-variety type of things; she had
dark thoughts of what she was capable of, yet she had no memories of her past.
The last fifteen years or so consistent of blank canvas, it was as if someone
had done a lobotomy on her. Her last known memory of the 1990s ended in 1994 or
so, and all she could remember clearly was the moment when her first daughter
was born, in 2004. The memories between 2004 and 2011 were somewhat filtered as
well. For instance, she had forgotten the babymoon she took with her husband to
Mauritius, or the trip she took with him again to Oregon, where they spent time
wine tasting, after her first child was born. She did remember her trips to
Paris and London, and the family vacations they took in Hawaii and Baja Mexico.
Something awakened, at that moment when she caught
Christopher glancing at her shoes. Quite different from the first time when she
stepped outside of her marriage to be with that Alex who demanded emotional
connection. This was more instinctual, physical, a feeling that she had not felt
for sometime, but she had a sense that she was going to rediscover that
feeling, and through which, she would discover who she really was, for the
first time in the last fifteen or so years, she had felt that she was about to be
awoken. From what she couldn’t tell. But she welcomed this journey. She later
confined to her shrink that she did not feel the guilt with Christopher. She
was quite resolved with her extra marital relationship with Christopher. It was not forced upon her as Alex did. She
glided into this one with ease, with tenacity, with a sense of relief that she was
meant to be with Christopher. At a deep level she had sensed that he was never
really far removed from her life, and they’ve done some extraordinary things,
what, she would not know at the time.
They would later on go to dinner. He had used his Android
phone to find a restaurant to go to near the museum, it was a bit of a dive, he
felt strangely comfortable, and she did not.
And she caught herself talking too much. Later on, as Rebecca discovered
her journal from years back, she would recall that she did repeat herself a
bit. She was telling Christopher too much the first time they were together. He
was the silent type and she was the chatty type. He complimented her excessively, just like the
first time they went out over many years ago. She took it all in, and pretended
that it did not have any effect on her.
“Those dynamics we develop with people do not change.”
Rebecca would tell herself later on as she sat on the couch, talking to her
shrink about Christopher, and Alex “We, don’t change.”
The restaurant served southern food. At some point, she knew
the dinner portion of the date was ending, because he stopped listening to her
and started looking for the waitress.
“We should get the check.” He told her.
She was disappointed; she had wanted to spend more time with
him.
“I should take you home.”
He said.
“OK.” Rebecca acknowledged.
The BART was near the restaurant, she said, “You can drop me
off there, at the nearest BART station.”
“I can also just drive you home,” was his reply.
Rebecca was shocked by the generosity. She knew how far he had to go to drive her
back. She thanked Christopher and was led to his car. When the door was shut, he leaned over and
kissed her unexpectedly. She responded
by kissing him back. No electricity. No
shivering sensation. Just a gentle touch that solidified the intention of the
night. He liked her. He kissed her. He
wanted her.
As they drove through the Bay Bridge, he played Jamaican
music in his car, it had evoked memories of her, memories of her going to
Jamaica, in the early 90s, and how she had a conversation with Christopher
about it, at the time, in the mid to late 90s, few had gone to Jamaica from San
Francisco. She had asked Christopher to see if he remembered the conversation,
about Jamaica, about Hedonism II, which was a resort that he went, shortly
after she had gone, a clothes optional resort, where she had witnessed some
major S&M action going on there, where she had thought that it aroused her,
in an way that she didn’t think it would.
Christopher said that he couldn’t remember that particular conversation.
Rebecca was pleased that she had at least one piece of memory to offer, to
share with Christopher, that he had himself forgotten.
As they turned onto another freeway now heading south on
880, Christopher asked Rebecca to see if she was interested in seeing his boat,
the boat that was docked in Marina. She said “Why Not?”
She could swear that she saw a flicker of light through
Christopher’s eyes. There was an air of intensity, unexplainable, this was
going to be a turning event, she thought to herself.
No comments:
Post a Comment