Honey, bee, be, honeybee

She stepped out of the darkness to
find that the light had changed, not
exactly brighter or darker or even a
different color, just changed. In fact
her concept of light had changed
because the darkness had provided
her comfort for an eternity of
yesterdays. Now, or at least the
now when she stepped into the
light, she saw things that had no
definition in her head but that
everyone else seemed to know.

One B.C. *

I climb down into the darkness while the water seeping from the cracks between bricks drips around me into the rushing wastewater below. Each step, every rung, I take, I grasp, leads, no, carries me away from Their realities. The snake I see in the mirror slithers deeper into the sewer where a feast of rats waits to be eaten.

The bricks sweat under the strain of a torrential downpour.

Roaches, unsure of my intent, scatter into the shadows.

I reach the bottom of the manhole and peer into the upstream pipe to see your ego flooding toward me. I should have known the clouds of doubt hanging over my head earlier in the day formed not from my doubts but from yours of me.

My place of meditation, my Mecca, my manhole, takes a sepulchral form instead and the universe of realities that is you-and-me is no more as your ego washes over me and floods the chamber.

Moral: Friendships and eternity only last as long as someone remembers.

* One year after knowing Brenda Craig.

Meditation on a Dress

Between two points, a line,

Between two friends, a love

(A line of love? A love of lyin’?);

Love bends in compensation,

The line becomes a curve

And the curve becomes a dress,

A soft, not subtle, red —

Like a drunkard’s nose

Or a fragrant rose —

“Cotton knit piqué,” you say,

In your suave, cosmopolitan voice.

Aggressive, or should I say assertive,

Attitudes that greet your dates and boyfriends

Do not sway your friends

For we know your throwing back your hair,

Winking in confidence and coming back with snappy answers

Are but your daily masks and

Have nothing to do with us.

-19 June 1992

Brenda-Craig-07

= == === ==== === == =

Do Bookies Bet On The Weather?

I walked through the woods yesterday

And saw footprints in the snow

Left by many animals including deer, dogs and birds.

Some of the dog-size prints

May have been possum or raccoon since they, too,

Occupy the woods behind my house.

Several cedar trees and limbs had fallen

Or broken off due to snow.

Officially (so to speak),

I measured the snow in our yard on Saturday;

I measured six inches on the driveway

And thirteen and a half inches on the back deck

(An actual snow drift in Huntsville!).

Mount Mitchell in North Carolina recorded 50 inches

While Asheville had around two feet of snow.

Several cities from Alabama to Pennsylvania

Recorded new 24-hour snowfall records.

Therefore, news agencies labeled this storm,

“The storm of the century.”

Also, I’ll mention several cities up the East Coast

Recorded new barometric pressure lows.

New low of 12°F on Saturday night.

Janeil and I will try to drive over the mountain

To work this morning.

– 15 March 1993

= == === ==== === == =

Merrily, Merrily, Merrily…

Collecting my thoughts for another ride

Through the valley of no evil, paychecks or worries.

Not a lot to worry about anyway,

Just cruising along the highway — literally.

I and the passengers of this car

Plan to spend the day

At the Starwood Amphitheater in Nashville.

I look forward to spending the day with friends

But I don’t relish the thought

Of sweating in the hot sun all day.

What the hell —

There’s always pain in pleasure.

Sometimes you just have to look

A little harder for the pleasure.

While aging on this planet,

I notice I allow myself

To let the thinking process slide by

Without recording the words on paper.

That’s okay.

I’ve been living a life

That doesn’t need to be on paper.

I live the eternal dance of BORNMARRYDIE,

which is a short version of

BORNMARRYHAVEKIDSDIE,

The ultimate dance of life.

Some people have argued recently

That MARRY should be replaced with MATE.

I respond to those

That in my world

MARRY is the word for MATE.

– 6 July 1993

= == === ==== === == =

Fortes Fortuna Juvat

To be

[Empty of all but the desire

To survive in a middle-class lifestyle]

Or not to be?

I already solved the puzzle of “to be or not to be” —

I know I want to live,

But living in which environment?

Today I am full of questions to which

I do not want answers.

Too many opinions of others

Wait in my head to give me answers.

I do not want to choose their answers.

I want my own

But do not have the strength

To provide my own answers.

Therefore, I lay in squalor.

Instead, I will concentrate

On providing input to my company

Since I already feel I am making

No other contribution to life.

That says something right there, doesn’t it?

– 12 August 1993

= == === ==== === == =

I strode past your office

I strode past your office as I was going to the bathroom and as I did so I glanced your way. Yes, our eyes met but that didn’t matter. No, you weren’t making contact with me. Instead, I saw the forlorn look of a strange, injured bird in a shoebox with a hole in the side, held by a curious child above the ground where Cat the Hunter lay. I turned away and the bird, its heart racing in fear and exhaustion, looked down and saw the floor of the box fly by while the bird slid into a corner.

I strode past your office as I was going to the bathroom and as I did so I glanced your way. No, our eyes didn’t meet but that didn’t matter. Yes, you were making contact with me. You said, “I’m tired of being pestered but I won’t refuse interruption,” and I responded, “Hey, that’s okay by me cause I’m just going to the bathroom anyway.”

I strode past your office as I was going to the bathroom and as I did so I looked down at the flat gray carpet sliding by underneath me. Yes, you were in your office and it mattered. No, I wasn’t making contact with you. Instead, I was wondering why I had to walk this way just to eliminate waste products. You wondered why I was looking down and skipping my habit of looking inside.

I strode past your office as I was going to the bathroom and as I did so I glanced your way. No, you weren’t in the office and it mattered. Yes, I was trying to make contact with you. I wondered if the closed door meant you didn’t want company or if you were gone for the day.

I no longer go past your office to go to the bathroom but as I do so I glance at the other office occupants. Yes, our eyes meet but they turn quickly away with a smile or a nod. No, I wasn’t making contact with them. Instead, I was breaking a hole in the shell that separates me from all of You.

-20 October 1994

= == === ==== === == =

In a dream the other night, Brenda left me. I still don’t know why but…well, that’s history now. At least she told me, “I love you,” as I walked away from her.

I’m still freaked out. I mean, here we are leaving each other and she tells me those dreaded three words after the fact, like on a dare or something (as if I didn’t know it already but ours was a relationship where it went unsaid).

We met about five years ago while I was on TDY in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Adam, my business partner, and I shared a hotel room in the seedy part of uptown to save money. We were in town to set up wastewater flow monitors in the sewer overflow pipes along the Susquehanna River to give the city a model of how much raw sewage dumps into the river during heavy rainfall. We worked from dawn to dusk along the river. Almost every day Adam would talk about his girlfriend and how she was really cool but she really wasn’t his girlfriend so I wasn’t supposed to talk about her because she worked in the corporate office and didn’t want people to know she was dating him.

Naturally, I questioned what was really going on because he never seemed to talk to her on the phone or kept in any constant communication with her. Every once in a while he got a letter from her. I read one and she seemed to go on in the he-said, she-said, mode about work. For all I knew, he simply had a crush on her and she didn’t know it.

Late winter in Harrisburg is weird. One day it’s cold as hell, with menacing charcoal clouds threatening to hurl snow at you and the next day the sun is shining and people are jogging the Riverwalk in shorts. I never knew whether to have spring fever, cabin fever or hay fever.

Adam, about five-foot, six, with a near-perfect triangular upper body, suffered from spring fever. He knew he had an attractive body and wore tight T-shirts to show off his chest. Therefore, when the weather was warm, the female joggers tended to look our way when Adam popped out of a manhole, his red hair sending up a spark and his slightly sweaty shirt setting off the flare. He would look around with a sheepish grin. Then he quickly assessed the nearby females as high maintenance, low maintenance, or no maintenance.

If the woman wore designer togs, a perfect hairdo set off by expensive jewelry and jogged provocatively to get our attention, she was high maintenance – a guy would have to spend a lot of money and time to keep the relationship going. If she wore basic shorts and a 10-k run for charity shirt, looking straight ahead as she jogged in Olympic form, she was low maintenance – she just wanted a guy around for the companionship stuff and could handle the rest on her own. If she looked like a whale out of water, she was no maintenance – he didn’t want to have anything to do with her.

Adam prided himself on having a low maintenance girlfriend. I wondered if she would agree.

After several weeks of listening to him go on about her, I asked him why he hadn’t asked Brenda to come to Pennsylvania. He hemmed and hawed with excuses like, “We don’t waste our money on frivolous trips.” Finally, after his having had to go back to corporate headquarters to pick up some more flow monitors, he asked her to come up and she told him she’d fly up to see him in mid-March.

The day Brenda arrived, about six inches of snow lay on the ground. I continued to set up the flow monitors along the river with a worker from a local temp agency. Adam took the morning off to go to the airport. After picking up Brenda, Adam dropped her off at the hotel. He and I finished up early for the day.

I can’t say I remember the exact moment I met her. All I recall was this sudden ball of energy lighting up the hotel in the waning dusk hours. From the moment she showed up, Brenda stole the show, as it were. Everyone in her presence rotated around her like planets around the sun (the unlucky ones ended up like moths in a flame…crash and burn). The funny thing is she’s not the kind to grab attention. She just comes by it naturally.

That night we went out to a Chinese restaurant. During the meal, I found that she and I shared the same taste in music, one common thread in the fabric of our lives. Adam and Brenda weren’t exactly lovebirds throughout the evening but I sensed a physical attraction between them that simmered like a cup of coffee ready to be consumed – once the caffeine rush set in, look out. I politely ended the evening early, knowing she had not flown to Harrisburg to see me.

The three of us took off the next day and headed over to Valley Forge, winter headquarters of the Revolutionary Army. Fun was had by all. We joked and laughed our way over the ol’ campgrounds. Thinking back, I don’t remember any exact conversations, just having fun jumping up and down on monuments, making crazy poses for the camera and truly enjoying the camaraderie – a pleasant platonic afternoon.

We decided to spend the evening in Philadelphia. We did a little shopping and eating before heading over to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. You might remember the museum steps from the movie, “Rocky,” when Rocky jogs up the steps and does his triumph dance. Of course, we did the same thing, followed by climbing on the lawn sculptures. Adam and I stripped our shirts off and posed next to the Greek gods (thank goodness the pictures didn’t turn out). For our nightcap, we headed over to the club area where we hit a nice jazz nightclub.

“Hey,” I said to the waitress, “we’re from out of town. What’s there to do around here?”

“Oh, there’s this great forum tomorrow. The children of all the great civil rights leaders will discuss where we are today.”

We all agreed that sounded real neat.

“So where are you guys from?” the waitress asked us.

“Alabama,” we chorused.

The waitress turned and walked away from us. We never saw her again. Welcome to Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love.

We gave up on the club and caught the French movie (complete with English subtitles) of Gerard Depardieu’s performance as Cyrano de Bergerac. I cried at the end – a great performance.

The next morning, we gave Brenda a big breakfast sendoff (I remember the paper placemats for some strange reason, mainly because of the corny pictures of tourist stops in southern Pennsylvania). Afterward we had a snowball fight to remember, slipping and sliding down the hotel hallways, dodging snowballs while throwing them back as we fell on our behinds in the snowdrifts.

Adam didn’t talk about her as much after she left. It was as if her recent presence was a recharge for his silence battery. He wasn’t exactly whistling while he worked but he was definitely more fun to work with. We finished the project in a couple of weeks and parted our ways. He headed to Indianapolis and I headed to our corporate office in Huntsville, Alabama.

Although I worked with Brenda in Huntsville for the next year, we never really saw each other. We were just two more young people working for a young company, keeping busy (too busy). She traveled a lot while I settled down.

Oddly enough, we didn’t hit it off until I left Huntsville. Not exactly “absence makes the heart grow fonder,” but something like this: I once had a school girlfriend – we never saw each other after school but we couldn’t do without each other at school. In the opposite vein, when I was sent to Knoxville for six months, I always had my mind on what I could do to impress Brenda but I didn’t want to be with her, necessarily. I don’t know, this whole thing’s been odd. After all, I have a wife I love dearly so I certainly have no intention to pursue a like relationship with Brenda. At the same time, I savor my friendship with Brenda like a good bottle of wine or an out-of-the-way antique store.

While in Knoxville, I wrote her and her friends several stories. She always seemed encouraged by my letters and my tales of Knoxville life. She even inspired me to make a book of my writings. Of course, I knew that part of her enthusiasm and inspiration was just the warmth of her persona shining across the miles. She’s just that way. At the same time, I was willing to accept that energy as my own. You know what I mean…faith is another word for it. I trust that she accepts me the way I am and she reciprocates that trust.

I had another dream about her last night (well, it’s all been a dream, in a way, but this was a real dream). I had told my wife I was going for a walk. A little way from my house, I met Brenda. We talked for a bit while walking further away from the house. Just as naturally as ever, Brenda slipped her arm through mine (the guilty part of me made me mentally look back at the house to see if my wife was looking). I continued to talk while she looked up to me with trusting eyes – an odd sensation, to be sure, because I felt like we were meant to be in that situation forever – Platonism personified. But then, whenever we’re really together it feels that way. Brenda is everyone’s best friend.

Do you ever think about how your past has an iron-grip on your future? I mean, no matter how hard you avoid it, in fact, especially the more you resist doing it, you repeat something you’ve done before. You see your mom lecturing a girl for using foul language in the playground and you tell yourself you’d never embarrass someone like that in public. Years later you catch yourself telling a little boy to quit calling his sister dirty names in the grocery store checkout line.

I should have seen all the signs this time. I’d been there only fifteen years – a lifetime – before. There was one big difference this time – I’m married. Actually, marriage isn’t always a big difference, but in my mind it’s night and day. After all, I only make that promise once in a lifetime – you know, till death do we part and all that. Of course, marriage doesn’t stop you from making new friends and saying the same thing over and over. Sure, I’ll keep telling my new friends, “I’ll love you until the end of time,” like another annoying Greek chorus popping up at the end of each scene, so I know love…well, actually something between agape and eros, is the sort of thing I’ll keep sharing in the future. It’ll always be there for me to pass out like wooden nickels (more like the old wooden round tuits my aunt and uncle used to give me that said, “I’ll love you when I get a round tuit.”). A couple of new friends of mine from work, Brenda and Adam, brought out a lot of the old emotions I thought I had put away for good a long time ago.

Brenda told her ex-boyfriend to keep his motorcycle stored next to his workout equipment in the garage. [Now that I look back at this, I should have kept the bike there myself because now it just sits in my backyard rusting and rotting away, but hey, I’m getting ahead of myself.] Although Brenda and Adam had broken up months before…well, they didn’t actually break up cause they were never actually together but…well, let’s just say they quit going out together and he kept his stuff at her house and slept in a bedroom behind the kitchen until he could find a place of his own. Anyway, Adam asked me if I knew anything about motorbikes and I, in my Super-dude-knows-everything disguise, said yes. So off I went on a few quiet Sundays to help, like the blind leading the blind.

By chance the first Sunday, Adam and I figured out how to change the oil. By luck, I also got to see Brenda’s pad for the first time. She had bought this really neat three-bedroom clapboard cottage in the (dare I say chic?) medical district. In her spare time, she had remodeled the postage-stamp kitchen by opening up the ceiling with a skylight which added a natural highlight to the ivory tiles she had mortared over the old counter. Like a good writer, I should take you on a tour of the rest of her house but suffice it to say the house looked like the perfect single gal’s hangout – warm and cozy without feeling too much like home.

Brenda opened the back door. “So, Lee, do you think he’ll ever get his motorcycle fixed?” Brenda asked as she handed me a fresh glass of tea while I sat in the shade on the steps outside and Adam cleaned up the garage.

“He’d rather sell it to me but my wife won’t let me buy it before I sell the old computer.” I took a sip of the iced tea, thankful for the cool liquid running down my throat on such a hot day.

“She won’t let you?” I inhaled half the tea. “You don’t really let her make the decisions for you, do you?”

“Well, we have this agreement. If it costs over fifty bucks, we have to both agree to buying it.” I gulped down the rest of the tea. “I’ve always wanted my own bike but…well, this one needs some work. If I buy it, do you mind if I keep it here for a while?”

“Mind? No, I don’t mind,” she said with a knowing grin.

Over the next few weeks, Adam and I struggled to get his bike working. We figured out, after he had ridden it two miles away from the house and couldn’t get back, that something went wrong when the engine got warm, probably from the rubber pads over the carbs. In any case, it was more than we wanted to tackle. The next Monday, Adam got a job that required daily transportation – pizza delivery – so I bought the bike for $150 and he bought an old pickup truck. He delivered pizzas for two days and then disappeared the next night, taking his clothes and most of his workout equipment with him.

I spent the following Sunday at Brenda’s house trying to get the bike working. She wasn’t home so I had the garage to myself. Big deal. I didn’t have anyone to talk with and had no knowledge of things mechanical so I just sat on the workout bench, staring at the handlebars, wishing for a miracle but knowing the angels didn’t help Harley wannabes. Needless to say, I left in frustration.

A few weeks later I found myself at home alone, with my wife gone on a business trip and my cats just wanting to be left alone sunning in the dining room. Bored, I drove over to Brenda’s house so I could once again heave open the ancient garage door and face the daunting task of solving the mystery of Japanese rice burners. I knew Brenda wasn’t home so I could work on the bike in meditative peace, sort of like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, only I haven’t read the book so I know about as much about it as I did fixing the bike.

Sitting on the concrete floor in the suffocating heat of that day was bad enough but here I was trying to be a backyard mechanic, skillfully whacking at a stubborn bolt with a broken pair of pliers. After two hours of banging and cursing, I leaned backed, letting my neck rest on the cool vinyl of the weight bench. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, but only momentarily.

In my half-awake state, I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle whose engine noise reminded me of an old Volvo. Didn’t Brenda own a Volvo, I wondered. The engine stopped and a door opened. With my eyes closed, I couldn’t see the person coming but I imagined someone getting closer.

“Lee, are you all right?” a concerned voice said into my left ear. I looked up to see Brenda leaning down over me. Caught as I was half-asleep, my mind raced through a multitude of personalities like a cat in a room full of catnip. In the same moment, panic swept through my mind, then relief when I realized I was not under attack by an invisible voice. At first, my platonic self looked at her sisterly eyes but then my caveman self took over and I glanced down at her shirt hanging open, exposing her white bra which, of course, led down to her hips shrink-wrapped in a pair of tight shorts. My eyes continued to slide down her thin white thighs until my self-conscience self took over (pretty well stereotyped by the psychiatrist-obsessed Woody Allen) and I found myself looking down at my hands stained with grease and engine oil.

“Uh, yeah, I just can’t seem to get the engine case open,” I managed to say out of my dried-out throat.

“Why don’t you come inside for a minute and cool off? I can turn the air conditioner on for a little while.”

“Okay,” I mumbled.

“I’ve got some juice leftover in the fridge, if you want some,” Brenda yelled from her bedroom as she unpacked her suitcase. “There may be a beer or two in there, too.”

“No thanks,” I managed to say, sprawled out on the couch.

“Are you sure?”

I lay there in the cool silence.

“I’ll get it for you, for a price,” she said as she walked up to the couch from behind.

I leaned forward, craning my neck and cocking my eyebrows. “Like what?”

“Well, considering that I’ve let you keep your bike here for over a month and…well, you can see that the air conditioner doesn’t do that good a job.”

“It feels fine to me.”

“Lee-e-e-e,” she said in a nasally, whining voice, “I mean it. When you stop sweating like a pig on my couch, you’ll see what I mean. You won’t feel cold anymore.”

“So, uh, you want me to fix your air conditioner.”

“No, I had something else in mind,” she said in a quiet voice, while beckoning me to the bedroom hallway with her finger.

I sat up on the couch. “So what do you have to drink?” I said as I got up and walked toward the kitchen.

“Lee, come here for a minute, will you? I have something to show you.”

I stopped at the kitchen doorway. What exactly was going on here? Either I was misreading the signals or Brenda didn’t know when to stop teasing me. I shrugged my shoulders and turned back toward the living room. “What do you want?”

“Come on into the bedroom,” her voice called out.

I stepped into the small hallway and stuck my head in her bedroom. Seeing her unmade bed with the covers piled up made me smile. Miss Architectural Digest didn’t make her bed.

“No, over here,” she said behind my back. I turned around to see Brenda standing in the bedroom at the other end of the hallway.

I walked up behind her.

“Give me your honest opinion of what you think,” she said, putting her hands on her hips with pride.

“Of what,” I asked timidly.

“Of the room,” she said in an equally quiet voice. “What do you think?”

“Uh, it’s okay,” I said as I walked up to the door.

“Okay?” she asked, dissatisfied with my opinion.

“Well, it’s definitely…green.”

“Is that all you can say?”

I responded in a fake cockney accent, “A lovely shade of hunter green, milady, but your orange and white pool light’s what’s exquisite.”

“Oh, I’m taking that light down. What do you think about the trim?”

“Hmm…a green room with red trim. Is this going to be the Christmas Room?”

She hit me on the arm. “What do you want to drink, silly?” she asked as she bounded out of the room.

A few weeks passed while the world kept spinning and I kept going to work, eating lunch with my wife and contemplating what my next step would be. After all, in a way I was entering new territory. Brenda presented a predicament – she was younger than I and single. Just because she was a woman and I was a man in this new friendship didn’t necessarily mean anything, though. I had had female friends before. But this time, I’m the one who’s married and it had been so long ago that I last had a close female friend that I had no idea if the rules had changed.

Brenda peeked her head into my office. “Lee, how long do you plan to keep your bike at my house?”

“Why?”

“Well, you can keep it there a little while longer if you want, but I’d like a little something in return.”

“Do you have another room you want me to criticize?” I asked, laughing.

“No-o-o. You know that old light fixture you saw at my house that you liked? Well, I’ll give it to you if you’ll put a ceiling fan in my house.”

“Uh, you’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not tall enough and since you’re a guy I figured you could do it,” she added with a smirk.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Even from me?” Brenda asked with her puppy dog look.

“Okay, okay, I’ll do it. Karen and I are busy this weekend so I’ll come by two Sundays from now.”

Brenda spun around in the doorway. “Great, I’ll throw in lunch and you can invite Karen, if you want to,” she emphasized as she turned her head, tossing her hair, and disappeared past the doorway.

I waited a week to tell Karen that Brenda wanted the two of us to go over to her house so I could put in a ceiling fan. As I expected, Karen gave me a neutral reply. She always says I can find any excuse to get out of working in the yard, like a modern-day Rip Van Winkle. When Sunday rolled around, she feigned feverishness and told me not to stay gone too long. I went through the routine of trying to get her to go but she gave me her best “I know when I’m not invited” look, the same look I got whenever I invited her to go bike riding with my college buddy, Vincent.

“Oh, there you are,” Brenda said in surprise when I knocked on the door. She lay down the book she had been reading and stood up from the couch. “Come on in, it’s unlocked.”

I opened the screen door and stood in front of her in my best handyman clothes – a blue plaid, half cotton, half polyester long-sleeved shirt, a faded-red baseball cap with the insignia of an old resort called Little Switzerland, and blue jeans that covered the top of some old workboots I found in my garage earlier that day. I had dreamed the night before that I had to climb up into the attic to put the fan in and didn’t want to coat any exposed sweaty body parts with fiberglass so I spent that morning looking around the house for used but reliable clothing.

“Well, here it is,” Brenda said, pointing to a box on the floor. “But before you start, I want you to look at my ‘Christmas Room.’ I finally finished the paint job and put in a new light fixture.”

We walked over to the new bedroom. I was immediately impressed. “You know, the way this looks now, it could be used as a den or something. It’s looks too good to be a bedroom.”

“Yeah, I thought of that, too. By the way, there’s your light.” Brenda pointed to a fake pool table light sitting on a couple of newspaper pages. “I didn’t dust it off but I did put the screws in with it.”

“Thanks.” I walked back to the living room and looked at her ceiling where two wires hung from a hole in the middle of the room. “So that’s where you want me to put it.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, I may have to go in the attic to secure the fan to the roof beams.”

Brenda scrunched her eyebrows in a puzzled look as she leaned over the coffee table to pick up a leaflet. “I read the instructions and saw nothing in here about securing the fan.”

I pulled the instructions from her honey-colored hand. “Let me see. I tell you what – if you’ll go ahead and start lunch, I’ll put the ceiling fan in.”

“Okay, but I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.” She walked out of the room while I pulled the ceiling fan parts out of the box. Brenda returned to the room a few minutes later and started some idle conversation about current movies and such while she sat in the rattan easy chair next to the couch and watched me like…well, I don’t what I looked like to her but she gave her undivided attention to my work, making suggestions when I struggled to fit a fan blade in backward or obviously used the wrong decorative screw.

After wading through the instructions, I managed to get the fan together in about 45 minutes and finally got to the part where I needed an extra pair of hands. I pulled an old wooden chair from next to the fireplace and placed it under the hole in the ceiling. For several seconds, I mentally wrangled over what I should do next because I knew Brenda would have to be close to me, perhaps even standing on the same chair with me, to help hold the fan in position. Because I valued my personal space, I did not look forward to giving up that space to anyone but my wife. At the same time, I knew I’d look silly trying to put the fan up by myself, especially if I dropped it. I also knew that Brenda would get a sadistic pleasure making me uneasy by invading my personal space and that at the same time, I would enjoy her sadistic playfulness. Oh, what complex humans we are.

“If you don’t mind getting your fat butt out of that chair…” I quipped.

Brenda jumped out of the chair, put one hand on her hip, turned and cocked her behind toward me as she looked down. “Is my butt really big?”

“No,” I abruptly replied, angry that she had gotten the best of me already. “If you don’t mind, come over here and hold the fan for me while I put the wires together.”

Brenda hopped onto the chair with me and looked at my eyes just eight inches away. “What do you want me to do?” The chair creaked in protest. “Do you think this thing will hold the both of us?” she asked nervously. I quickly shook my head and she nodded in reply. “I think I’ll get another chair,” she yelped as she jumped down to the floor.

Phew! The moment of my personal space invasion solved itself. Sometimes, I can’t believe how I value the security of my personal space over the spontaneity of bumping into someone else, no matter what the circumstances.

At that same moment, someone knocked on the door. “Hey Fred, are you home?” a winded voice called from the front door.

“Ed!” Brenda exclaimed as she sprang for the door. “What have you been doing?”

Ed stepped into the house, gave Brenda a hug and looked up at me with curiosity. “I just finished a twenty-five mile bike ride with Chuck. He’s taking a cool-down lap around the block. I ran out of water a while back. I hope you don’t mind if I fill up my bottle.”

Brenda noticed Ed staring at me. “Lee, this is my old boyfriend from college, Edward McLane. Ed, Lee is a friend of mine from work who’s helping me with the remodeling.”

“Nice to meet you, Ed. I apologize for not shaking your hand but I can’t lay this fan down right now,” I said to a perfect specimen of college-age athlete with walnut-colored hair.

“That’s all right,” Ed replied, nodding in my direction. He turned to Brenda. “I guess I’ll catch up with Chuck. I can see you’ve got company.”

“No, stay if you want. Lee and I are almost finished.”

“I’d better catch up with Chuck before he decides to go twenty-five more miles.”

“Come back when you’ve finished.”

“I’ll see what I feel like,” Ed said as he headed into the kitchen.

Brenda looked at me, shrugged her shoulders in a “What can I say?” pose and followed Ed into the kitchen while I stood on the chair holding the fan.

After Ed left, Brenda and I finished putting the fan together. We didn’t know it then but the agape/eros balance had permanently shifted. Plato looked at us from beyond the grave with interest – he had a new experiment to observe.

Brenda stopped by my office a few days later. “You know, you did such a wonderful job the last time, I wonder if you would mind putting another ceiling fan in my house.”

“Where could I possibly put it? Every room in your house has a new fan or light fixture.”

Brenda gave me a perky look before she responded, “My bedroom, of course. And please tell Karen she’s more than welcome to come over.” Oh god, I thought, here we go again, in one moment exhilarated and frightened.

“Okay,” I said, “I think I can come over on Saturday this weekend.”

“Great, I’ll have lunch ready for you two when you come over.”

Once again, on the designated day, Karen found a reason for not going to Brenda’s house. I tried to persuade her to go, if not for herself, then for our marriage, but she rolled her eyes and told me to get out of the house.

When I arrived at her house, Brenda was pulling weeds out of the liriope lining the walkway that ran from the street to the front porch.

“Hey, Lee, you want to help me?” she asked. I shook my head. “I hate this stuff. You remember my last housemate, David? He used to do all this for fun. Can you believe it?”

“No.”

“Where’s Karen? You did invite her, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, she’s not feeling well today and sends her apologies.”

“Well, I fixed enough stew for an army. I hope you’re hungry. I’m starving after being out here for so long.”

Brenda decided to go ahead and serve the meal at the antique oak table in her dining room, even though it made the meal seem more formal with just the two of us eating there. Between bites, Brenda talked about the years she’d spent with her ex-boyfriend, Ed. I stared at the dried flower arrangement in the middle of the table while slowly eating the stew and stewing over the day’s possibilities. What bad outcome, if any, would result from my spending time in her bedroom, standing on her bed, especially when I would need her to stand on the bed with me to hold the fan while I attached the wires?

“Do you mind if I get another bowl?” I asked as I stood up.

“I’ll get it, you just sit down. Besides, you’ll be doing all the hard work today, so you might as well rest now.” Brenda grabbed my bowl and walked into the kitchen while picking back up on the good times she’d had with Ed at Ole Miss.

“Brenda,” I interrupted. “if you enjoyed being with him so much, why didn’t the two of you get married?”

“Well, Lee, he…I don’t know. He’s not the same guy I first met.”

“So? Neither is my wife. We all change. Besides, he seems like a great guy with his head on his shoulders.” Unlike your recent boyfriends, I told myself. I tried to remember if there was something about him I missed when I met him. The more I thought about it, he seemed to treat her like he took her for granted the other day. In the middle of all my thinking, I realized I missed what Brenda had said. “What did you say?”

“Oh, forget it, I don’t want to talk about him anymore. Finish your stew so we can get the fan done.” Brenda shoved the bowl in front of me and walked away. “I’ll take the parts out of the box for you. This fan’s a little different than the last one so you might want to read the instructions all the way through before you start. They’re on the coffee table. And hurry up and finish, will you, I don’t have all day,” she called out behind me.

I wolfed down the stew as quick as I could and grabbed the instructions on the way to Brenda’s bedroom. When I got there, I found she had moved the junk she’d had piled up at the end of the bed and replaced it with the same chair I had used to put the ceiling fan up in her living room.

“Uh-h,” I stammered, “I thought I could use your bed to stand on.”

“Well, you thought wrong. I don’t want your dirty shoes on the bed unless you plan to take them off.”

“If you insist,” I said grinning, making a motion to remove a shoe.

“Ha, ha, not funny. Just use the chair.”

“Okay but I still think your bed’s gonna get dirty just from the stuff falling out of the hole in the ceiling.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll get the bathmat to cover the end of the bed.” While Brenda went to the bathroom, I looked around her room. Against the wall next to the doorway sat her vanity with the usual female props – a hairbrush and old facial makeup items – strewn across the counter. Taped to the vanity mirror were postcards and pictures from around the world. Through a half-open door on the wardrobe against the adjoining wall, I could see a few suits hanging up. I could also see where she had moved the junk – magazines like Good Housekeeping and Interior Design as well as some dress shoes – she had shoved them into the bottom of the wardrobe.

I was removing my last shoe by the time Brenda got back. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Well, if you look at the hole in the ceiling, you’ll notice it hangs over your bed, not the chair.”

“Oh, okay, but you still have to stand on the bathmat. While you’re putting the fan together, I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make. If you need my help, just holler.”

I watched Brenda walk back to the living room. So that’s how we solve this situation, I thought. We spend a minimum amount of time together in the bedroom. Smart thinking on her part.

Although this fan was more complex than the last one, I had already figured out the theory of how fans worked so I finished the assembly process in less than 30 minutes. During that time, I listened to Brenda’s conversation with her sister. I couldn’t hear every word but I could tell she was upset about something. I assumed Ed’s visit a few days earlier and her discussing him with me had made her upset. Whatever she was talking about, I knew that the phone call with her sister was good therapy for Brenda. She brightened up in a matter of minutes.

“Well, are you done?” Brenda asked, practically skipping into the bedroom.

I stood up from the bed with the fan in my arms. “Yeah, I was just sitting here waiting for you to get off the phone.”

“So you waited for me? That’s nice. You know, I ought to give you a neck rub for all the work you’ve done.”

I mentally blushed. “Thanks for the offer but we’re not done yet. I still need your help holding the fan.”

Brenda stepped onto the bed and started jumping up and down. “Okay, where do you want me to stand?” she asked in midjump.

“How about on the chair? I need to connect the wires from the bed.”

“Oh yeah,” she nodded in agreement as she stepped down to the chair. “Give me the fan.”

While we were putting up the fan, I looked out the front bedroom window and noticed an old woman looking back at me from the sidewalk.

“You have curious neighbors,” I whispered.

“Oh yeah, Mrs. Duquette,” Brenda said in a loud voice. “She has nothing better to do but nose into other people’s business.”

Mrs. Duquette walked on while Brenda and I finished putting the fan together.

“Well, Lee, I thank you once again for your help,” Brenda said as she held the door open for me. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Oh, you’d find someone else to help.”

“Yeah, but no one as fun as you.”

“Thanks. Hey, do you mind if I come over tomorrow to get the motorcycle?”

“No, just call me before you come over.”

“Be careful,” Karen said, as I left the house on Sunday. “I wish you’d get someone to help you lift the motorcycle.”

“Oh, I’ll manage. Besides, your brother said he might meet me there after church lets out. If it’ll make you feel better, maybe you can give me a back rub when I get back.”

“Only if you hurry home.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I responded with a kiss as I stepped into the truck.

When I got to Brenda’s house, I could hear the shower through the screen door. I knocked as loud as I could but got no response. “Anybody home?” I yelled.

“Lee, is that you?” Brenda yelled back.

“Yeah.”

“Come on in. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

I walked in and sat on the couch. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Brenda standing over me. She was wearing a terry cloth wrap and had a towel wrapped around her head. “Turn around and I’ll give you that neck rub I promised.”

“That’s okay,” I said, embarrassed by my automatic lustful thoughts, “Karen’s already promised to give me a back rub when I get home. I can wait till then. Besides, if you’re going to help, I don’t think you want to load the motorcycle in those clothes.”

“Oh quit being such a fuddy-duddy and turn around. It’s not like I’m going to attack you or something.”

I turned back around to face the fireplace. Brenda placed her hands on my neck with an iron grip and began to massage my neck like an eagle grabs its prey.

“Ouch, that hurts,” I said.

“This is a Singaporan massage. It’s supposed to hurt,” she responded as someone knocked on the door. Brenda walked over to the door. “Yes, may I help you?”

“Uh…I was supposed to help my sister’s husband move a motorcycle.”

“Oh, you must be Junior. Come on in. Lee’s here waiting for me on the couch. I was just getting changed,” she said as she walked back to the bedroom. I cringed, imagining what was going through Junior’s mind.

Junior sat on the couch beside me. “Hey, Lee, what’s going on? I thought you’d be ready to move the motorcycle. Karen said you called Brenda ahead of time to tell her you were coming over.”

“I, uh…I don’t know. I just got here and found her in the shower.”

“You found her where?”

“No, I mean I could hear the shower from the front door.”

“And you walked on in?”

“No, she told me to come in.”

“While she was still in the shower?”

“Well, we’re good friends.” Junior gave me a questionable stare. “I mean, she’s like a sister to me.”

“What was it I heard her say when I came to the door – something about hurting you?”

“She was giving me a neck rub.”

“Like a sister?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, I won’t say anything to Karen about this. I don’t think she’ll understand.”

“Oh, she knows all about this. Uh, I mean, she already knows what Brenda is like.”

“So that’s why she called me to remind me to come over here?”

“No, she’s concerned about my back. I hurt it the last time I was here.”

“You what?”

“I pulled my back in Brenda’s bed.”

“I don’t think I want to know about this.”

“Oh…oh, it’s not what you think. Brenda asked me to put a ceiling fan in her bedroom…”

“And you ended up on her bed?”

“Well, sort of. I guess I shouldn’t have taken my shoes off.”

“Lee, I don’t need to hear anymore. We all make mistakes. I’ll pray to God for forgiveness, if you’d like, and you do the same.”

“Why? I had to take my shoes off to stand on her bed to put the ceiling fan in. That’s all.”

“Then how did you hurt your back?”

“Well, my socks were slippery and after I finished putting in the fan, I slipped off the bed and pulled my back. I didn’t tell Brenda at the time because I didn’t want her to give me a hard time about being old and out of shape. Besides, it was bad enough that a neighbor saw us together in her bedroom.”

“I still don’t think you should tell Karen.”

“Oh, she already knows.”

“No, I mean about the neck rub.”

“Well, if you say so.”

“Hey guys,” Brenda said as she stepped out of the bedroom, “why don’t you get the motorcycle out of the garage and I’ll fix you some lunch.”

“Sounds like a great idea,” I said, as Junior and I stood up to leave the house.

Lee leaned back on the couch and counted under his breath while he cradled the phone receiver against his ear. “She’s got to pick up by the fourth ring, or her answering machine will turn on,” he thought.

“Heh-looo,” a familiar voice cheerfully intoned through the earpiece.

“Hey, Brenda. It’s Lee.”

“Lee! How great to hear from you. I was just thinking I could use a little cheering up right now.”

“Is something the matter?”

“Oh no, I just…well, it’s been a long week. I’m glad Friday’s finally here.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. So do you have any big plans for the weekend?”

“Well, I was thinking about meeting Phillip buck naked at the front door.”

“What?” Lee asked, his thoughts momentarily interrupted.

“Haha. I mean, don’t you think that would be cool?”

“Well…”

“Oh come on.”

“Of course, any guy would be stupid not to like his girlfriend meet him at the door with no clothes on.”

“I might not do it but I still think it would be fun.”

“If you want to give him a heart attack.”

“You’re so funny sometimes, Lee. I’ve got to go right now but will you give me a call in a couple of days if I don’t call you first?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks. Well, I’ll see you later.”

“Good luck with Phillip. I hope he doesn’t attack you at the door.”

“Why? That’s the whole purpose,” she emphasized. “Seeya.”

“Bye.”

Lee paused a moment to see if he could imagine Brenda meeting him at the door buck naked. Yes, he’d be a bit embarrassed and would do his best to turn his head. Now, if his wife met him at the door, that’d be another matter. She wouldn’t do it anyway. Why encourage Lee’s already strong sexual drive, she would say, he gets excited just by waking up in the morning.

Lee called Brenda at work on Monday. “She’s gone for a few minutes,” the receptionist replied, “would you like to leave her a message?”

“Yeah, just tell her that Lee called,” he said, hanging up the phone and diving back into the report that had to be finalized that day.

“ADS. This is Lee. May I help you?”

“You called?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Business, I’m afraid.”

“Awww.”

“Sorry. Hey, I don’t have the address of the guy who’s supposed to get this report,” Lee said in a serious tone of voice. He knew that Brenda kept up with the names and addresses of all the Southeast clients. Although her sales territory only covered Georgia, she still kept in contact with clients in other states as well.

“Oh yeah, you’re supposed to send that report to Phillip.”

“Your boyfriend?”

“Yes, yes. As that hair replacement commercial goes, he’s not just my boyfriend, he’s also a client.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Not really. Now do you want the address or don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Just send it to the treatment plant in Charleston.”

“But the project name is St. Charles…”

“I know, but our client is really Charleston.” Lee just started to let a word out of his mouth. “Don’t ask any questions or make any smart remarks. Just send it.”

“Okay. Hey, did I tell you I’m being sent to Birmingham for a few weeks?”

“No, when did you find out about that?”

“On Thursday. I leave tomorrow.”

“Really? That’s awfully sudden.”

“You know our company. At least they let me know I was going.”

“Yeah. Oh, hey, have you gotten anything in the mail from me lately?”

“No, was I supposed to be expecting something?”

“Uh, no. I just wondered.”

“What should I be looking for?”

“Oh, you’ll know when you see it. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Lee replied, knowing something special must be coming for Brenda to try to downplay it. “By the way, speaking of Birmingham, did I tell you that Pam and Carl are leaving the company?”

“No!”

“Yeah, they should be leaving in a couple of weeks.”

“I’ll have to call them before they go. Well, I better go. Have a safe trip to Birmingham. If you get a chance, you ought to stop at the Celestial Coffee Shop in the little Five Points area. There’s also a neat restaurant there called Bottega’s. Let me know if you try them out.”

“Sure.”

“If you would just transfer me to voicemail.”

“No problem.” Lee pressed a few buttons and lay down the phone. He began wondering what Brenda could possibly be sending him in the mail without telling him what it was. A surprise from her recent trip to Ireland, perhaps?

A few weeks later, Lee called Brenda from Birmingham. “It’s me again.”

“Hey, Lee, you sound so glum. Don’t let work get you down. It’s not worth it. It’s just a job.”

“I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“What’s up?”

“I was just checking to make sure everything was going well with the Dekalb client.”

“They must be doing well. We just signed a new contract for eleven more flow monitors in the Dekalb County basin.”

“That’s great. Hey, I’ve never received anything from you unless you put that job posting for Hong Kong in my mailbox.”

“No, that went out to everybody.” Brenda’s voice trailed off. “It figures someone must have done something with it.”

“What?” Lee asked, not sure whether Brenda was talking about the unknown package or something she was looking at in her office.

“Never mind. Hey, have you been by the Celestial Coffee Shop yet?”

“No, but I did look it up in the phone book. It’s called the Celestial Realm Coffee House.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Well, you’ve got to go there. I know you’ll like it. It tends to get a little crowded on the weekends but it should be all right during the week.”

“I want to get to it but I’ve been spending time getting this corporate apartment cleaned up. It was a pig sty when I got here.”

“That doesn’t sound like you, Lee. You usually get out at least one night a week.”

“I know. I do my best.”

“Well, call me when you make it by there.”

Although they only saw each other on the weekends, Lee and his wife, Karen, still quarreled occasionally. Lee and Karen had just finished having a big fight so Lee was thinking, “Oh, how I’d like to call this whole thing quits right now.” They drove into town to cool off and do some errands. Lee dropped Karen off at her office and stopped by ADS to check his mail. Lo and behold (to the satisfaction of his long-running curiosity that started when Brenda asked if Lee had received something from her in the mail), there lay a card containing the words, “L- Isn’t it funny how we always gravitate back towards one another? Thanks for being such a good friend who understands where I am coming from… F”

Lee spent the next day and a half waiting for his return to Birmingham so he could call Brenda. He left her a voicemail right away thanking her for a wonderful card.

“Thanks again for the card,” Lee said, when Brenda answered the phone.

“Oh, you’re welcome.”

“You know, I don’t always know how to interpret our friendship but I know better than to dissect it – after all, the whole is lovelier than the parts much like a cardinal in a tree is much lovelier than one dissected in a laboratory.”

“You sure are poetic today.”

“Well, when I found the card in my mailbox, I…well, I was pleasantly pleased, to begin with. Here was a card from…I’m having trouble with descriptions today…my confidant, my playmate, my friend, or as the French would say, mon ami.”

“Thanks. I guess that was supposed to be a compliment.”

“Yeah,” Lee said, wondering how much more he should say. “I’m in a strange mood today. As always, my mind is filled with a myriad of sensations, expressions, and vague notions, some of which I would like to share with you, some of which I should never say to you and some I don’t know what to do with.

“Okay,” Brenda said, with reserve.

“Can I be honest with you?”

Brenda paused. “Of course you can. Why wouldn’t you be?”

“You know what I mean. Do you mind if I share some stuff with you I wouldn’t normally say otherwise?”

“It sounds like you’re going to anyway. You know you can’t embarrass me, so don’t even try.”

“Well, first of all, I wasn’t even sure if the card was meant for me. This card contained words that I appreciate greatly.”

“Is that all you can say?”

“Well, that’s one way to put it, anyway. I never expected to see something like that from you. Needless to say, the card caught me at a vulnerable point because Karen and I had just had a fight. The I-want-to-escape-this-trap-called-marriage part of me focused on the first sentence and immediately interpreted that you were signalling me to gravitate closer to you but then I remembered that you once said you would never marry a divorced man. The I-want-a-playmate-for-life-not-a-wife part of me read the last sentence and sighed, ‘Ah, someone to have a good time in the city with.’ At once I cherished the card and feared the repercussions should my wife find it.”

“Why should you worry about her seeing it? I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your friendship.”

“Well, maybe I should apologize for making so much out of a two-sentence postcard but I only get a few personal cards and letters a year and practically celebrate the arrival of every one. Of course, getting one from you is extra special, I must admit.”

“Yes, you are in a strange mood. Are you going to see Karen this weekend?”

“Probably.”

“Hmm…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should sit down and talk sometime.”

“We can talk now.”

“No, I’d rather see your face so I can see what you’re thinking.”

“I’m glad that we are still friends.”

“I am too. We just accept each other…”

“As we are. Yeah, I know. I haven’t had a lot of true friends like you. Since you and I have been together as good friends from about 1992 on, we have seen ADS go through a number of changes. We are still here to talk about the changes, which says something about us.”

“That’s true.”

“The only thing is, I don’t whether it’s perseverance or perversity. What about the way we change? Have we changed or stayed the same?”

Brenda, lost in thought, took a few seconds to answer. “I guess it depends. What are you doing this Thursday?”

“Well, I’ll work all day, go home, cook dinner, and relax, I suppose. Why?”

“I was just thinking, I could leave work early that day and meet you at the Celestial Coffee House around 6 p.m. What do you think about that?”

“Uh…”

“What?”

“That would be cool.”

“Good, I’ll see you then. I’ve got to go right now. Seeya.”

“Bye.”

That night, Lee went home and wrote in his journal, “Although we’ve known each about five years, I feel like I’ve known you for a lifetime. I know the you who is woman (the caretaker, the flirtatious one, the sympathetic person), and the you who is man (cut to the chase, tell it like it is, no nonsense). You see the corresponding traits in me. This recognition builds the foundation for a lasting friendship because our personalities flow throughout the yin and yang of the swirling patterns of persona. Yes, my favorite broom-straw headed Southern woman, I, too, thank you for letting me be myself with you, without having to worry about whether you’ll respect me in the morning or any of that other nonsense that so many male-female relationships get bogged down in.”

Lee left work right at five ‘o clock Thursday afternoon to drive to the Celestial Realm. He wanted to check the place out before Brenda got there. Following the directions he had gotten earlier, Lee passed by the UAB campus and turned into what looked like a slightly upscale off-campus student housing area. The old Victorian houses looked well-maintained. Although the apartment buildings were obviously of pre-Depression construction, they, too, were good-looking for their age. Ivy-covered lawns lined the small, winding, two-lane streets. Lee knew he was in the right neighborhood. He could see Brenda living in a place like this. In fact, he could see himself living there. It reminded him of his college days in the student slums of Knoxville.

The Celestial Realm Coffee House looked like the old bottom floor or lobby of an apartment building. A yellow neon sign in the window advertised the name of the store along with a bright, smiling sun. Looking inside the windows, Lee noticed a typical 90s-style college clientele. Everyone wore loose, baggy clothes, long hair, and rings piercing various parts of the body. Lee walked inside and looked around. In the low light, Lee could see that the furnishings looked like the leftovers of an old antique shop — chairs that sagged, old blue and red glass plates lying around, and pieces of art that could have been created anytime in the last century. Light jazz played in the background while the sounds of a cappucino machine emanated from the brightly-lit kitchen and barstand in the back.

“This is the first time I’ve been here,” Lee said to a guy with a two-day old stubble of growth on his head, “Do I sit down somewhere or do I order at the bar?”

“Well,” the guy said, obviously amused, “you can sit down somewhere and order or you can sit at the bar and order.”

“Thanks.” Lee noticed a couple of old wingback chairs that faced each other near the front. He picked out the one with the garish red upholstery and sat in it so he would be facing the door.

Brenda walked in a few minutes later. Lee waved at her and they both smiled at each other in recognition.

“It’s cold out there,” Brenda said, as she sat in the chair Lee pointed out to her.

“It’s been cold and rainy for the past couple of days.”

“So what do you think of this place? Isn’t it great?”

“It’s actually better than I expected. I’ve been so used to those designed-for-engineers coffee houses in Huntsville that I forgot what a truly cool hangout these places can be.”

“I thought you’d like it.”

“So, what brings you all the way to Birmingham that you couldn’t discuss on the phone?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Nothing?”

“I just thought it would be neat to do something crazy on a weekday. I can’t stay too long.” Brenda picked up a menu. “Have you ordered yet?”

“No, I just got here. What would you suggest?”

“Just whatever you like. You do like coffee, by the way, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Brenda laughed.

“What’s funny?” Lee asked, smiling back.

“Oh, I just thought it would be funny to meet you at a coffee house and find out that you don’t really like coffee. I didn’t think you were drinking coffee.”

“Well, no, that’s true. I had cut back to help me lose weight.”

“How’s it going?”

“Well, I’ve dropped two belt sizes since I’ve been here.”

“That’s wonderful. Hey, let’s order before it gets too late.”

“Sure.”

“Do you know what you want?”

“I’ll figure it out by the time the guy gets here.”

Brenda waved to get the attention of the waiter sipping coffee at the bar. “Actually, I think I’ll just have water and a little dessert,” she said to Lee.

“So, now that you’ve sold your house, what are your plans?”

“I don’t know. I’m so excited. I’m not tied down to anything right now for the first time in a long time.”

“Not even to Phillip?”

“I’m never tied down to those guys. You know that,” Brenda said in a confiding voice.

“I thought you were in love with him.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Of course, I hope you don’t leave ADS just yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“Call me insecure if you want. I’m just worried that we’re only work friends.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know. How are you doing with Phillip? I hope that your personal relationship with him does not conflict with your business relationship with the former municipality of St. Charles.”

“Oh, pshaw. There’s nothing to worry about there.”

“I was actually happy to hear that you and Phillip are in love. I remember the last time I was in love. Everything else just faded away around me except for her. You know, I’ve been in love with Karen about three times.”

“Really?” Brenda asked, nodding her head.

“Well, I’m not one of those people who nurtures a constant staying in love with the person who’s near me. As the saying goes, familiarity breeds contempt. Too many times, I’ve seen the process of being in love ruined by seeing too many of the other person’s quirks. You like the athletic types so I’m sure that Phillip is right for you. I can’t say much else because I haven’t met the man.”

“He’s great. He treats me right. He doesn’t hang all over me nor does he ignore me. Hey, I’ve got a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Have you ever thought about what it means to be in love? I mean, other than a longing, a burning desire, or…a physical attraction, what, Lee, defines that intense state of mind, body and soul? Some nuns claim to be in love with Jesus. In a class in college, I remember some psychologists claimed that any one person can be in love, that the process is simply a surrendering of one’s desires to another. In part, I agree.” Lee nodded his head. “But I think the true state of in-loveness occurs between two people who simultaneously surrender their individual needs and desires to the whole. I suppose two people could be in love all their lives but if they were too deep in love, they would probably starve to death or go broke.”

“Hopefully, you and Phillip will not starve to death.” They both laughed.

The waiter showed up and took their order.

“While we’re waiting, I wonder if you could tell me something.”

“What?” Brenda asked, with a smirk on her face.

“If you can believe me, your voice told me the gist of the postcard a few weeks before I got it.”

“I kind of figured that.”

“Do you remember the conversation we had about Adam? You mentioned that in some ways you would rather not know what he is doing so you could go on pretending to think that he is doing well with the little coffee shop we last heard he was running. I know that speaks volumes about you and about life as well. After all, aren’t there a lot of things we’d be better off not knowing so we can go on pretending, wishing for what we want to happen? So, too, I don’t know if I want to know everything that you think about me but (there’s always a but) I don’t want to go on pretending to think something that’s not true. I hope you feel the same way.”

The waiter handed Lee his cappucino and put the water and baklava on the end table for Brenda.

Lee sipped his cappucino.

Brenda looked at Lee’s eyes for a moment. “What kind of mood are you in tonight?”

“Actually, I feel kind of daring right now.”

“Like you just want to get out of here and do something crazy?”

“Well, we could do that if you want.”

“No, not me, what do you want to do?”

“I want to really and truly talk to you.”

“You know, those guys over there look like they’d be a lot of fun to hang around with. Should I go over there and invite them over?”

“Only if you want a couple of moochers tagging along with us. They look like they’re fresh out of money and are trying to figure out where to get some.”

“What harm would it do to ask them over?”

“None, I suppose, if that’s what you want to do.”

“Seriously, should I or shouldn’t I?”

“Go for it.”

“But you said you wanted to talk to me.”

“What is this, some kind of test? If you really feel inclined to ask those guys over, go ahead. We can always talk later.”

Brenda grabbed Lee’s arm and walked over to the other table. “Hi there. I’m Brenda and this is Lee. We’re just here for tonight and are wondering if there’s anything to do tonight.”

“Well,” the guy with shoulder-length, chocolate-colored hair began, “I hadn’t really noticed. There’s probably some narly band playing down at Nick’s.”

“Yeah,” said the blond-haired guy. “I think it’s Wet Mattress Bed. They’re pretty wicked, if you like hardcore.”

Brenda looked at the brown-haired guy. “So what do you guys do on a Thursday night?”

“Well, I’m just taking a break before I finish studying for my finals.”

“Me, too. We’re roommates over at the Russell Hand Apartments.”

“Good luck, you two. We’ll pass on that kind of fun tonight.” Brenda grabbed Lee’s arm and dragged him back to the chair. “I forgot that spring break is almost here.”

“Some schools have already had spring break.”

“Well, do you want to see Wet Mattress Bed?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, come on. I didn’t come here to just sit around.”

“I thought you had to leave?”

“No, I just can’t stay too late.”

“Okay, so what do you want to do?”

“Well, if we drove around, you could talk and I could look for something for us to do.”

“Okay.”

“Great, let’s go.” Brenda stood up and grabbed Lee’s hand. “You don’t mind if I hold your hand, do you?” Lee shook his head. “I don’t mean anything by it. It just keeps the riffraff from asking me stupid questions.”

Lee paid the bill at the cashier’s stand while he looked at the jewelry in the old candy display. Beaded bracelets and other 60s-era items covered the shelves.

Lee walked Brenda to his car and opened the door for her. After they were both situated in the car, Lee drove out of the parking space.

“Head northwest. That’s where a lot of the action is.”

“Okay.”

“So, what’s on your mind? Apparently, you want to tell me something so spit it out.”

“I think you know that I love you…”

“In what way do you mean, exactly?”

“A part of me loves you like my sister, Elizabeth. Elizabeth and I grew up doing almost everything together until I reached the fifth grade, although she was a couple of grades behind me. Therefore, we have always been very close. I know that several guys, including me, say their first love was their mother and their second love, their sister. Elizabeth knows everything about me, and loves me unconditionally. I would do anything for her and would deal harshly with, more like kill, anyone who would dare to harm her.”

“Well, that’s sweet. I’ll have to meet her sometime.”

“The majority of me that is you, though, the part that constitutes our verbal and physical communication, considers you a mirror reflection of myself. I cannot look in the mirror without breaking into a smile. For this reason, I know we are lifelong friends. Our paths may diverge but we will always be able to pick back up whenever we run into each other.”

“That’s exactly how I feel. Only, we seem to keep running into each other.”

“Yeah, but that’s on purpose.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, somehow I do. That brings up another thing I wanted to say.”

“What’s that?”

“A part of me, not a major part nor an insignificant part, is in love with you. Oh, to be sure, there are parts of me that are in love with a lot of people, based on your theory of surrendering one’s desires.”

“Turn left here.”

“Okay,” Lee replied, turning the steering wheel. He continued, “Because this part of me exists, giving itself up unselfishly, I write stories about you. I don’t believe I am telling you something you don’t already know but I just wanted to say this while I have a captive audience. I hope I’m not scaring you off by this.”

“Not exactly.”

“Unfortunately, there have been others in my life who were not willing to admit they, too, have such feelings for many people at once, not just their loved ones. I am not declaring my love for you or anything like that. I am simply letting you know that a friendship is made of many different outfits and not all of what you and I are made of is Emmett Kelly or Bozo the Clown material.”

“Thanks, Lee, I really appreciate what you are saying. I hope you know that.”

“Well, at this point in my life, you are the person whom I can share everything with. If I am depressed and feel suicidal, I can tell you this without alarming you – you will know I am simply going through a phase. I don’t know that I am the person you share everything with but I believe I will always be around when you have no one else to turn to and will listen to you without judging what you do. What are friends for, after all?”

“That’s true.”

“Well, I hope I haven’t startled you too much by rambling on simply because you took the time to send me a postcard.”

“You’re saying all this simply because of that postcard?”

“I guess so.”

“Do you always react this way? I mean, I didn’t say a whole lot.”

“That’s not what I thought.”

“Well, maybe you’re right. What time is it?”

“It’s almost eight o’clock.”

“What? Well, we better go back and get my car. I’ve still got to drive back to Atlanta.”

“You could stay at the corporate apartment.”

“Is that where you’re staying?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, but it has three bedrooms.”

“That’s all right. I can make it back before it gets too late.”

“Are you sure? I promise I won’t bite. I’m not Dracula. I won’t enter your room and attack you at night while you’re sleeping.”

“Yeah, well, thanks just the same. I don’t have to be in work first thing in the morning, so if I leave now I can still get plenty of sleep at home.”

“Okay, but you’ll miss a great breakfast of shredded wheat, sliced bananas, half a grapefruit, toast with honey, and grapefruit juice with Barleygreen.”

“Mmm, it sounds yummy but I think I’ll pass. Hey, are you working on another story?”

“Yeah, it’s about you, me and Adam in Harrisburg, only I’m kind of the Sam Spade of the sewers.”

“Well, send me a copy when you finish.”

Sea of Grass

The beautiful part about this poem is

That my use of the English language sucks…no,

It’s that no one will probably ever read this

And that is one of my attention-getting problems.

Some would say that life sucks.

I don’t know what that means exactly

But that we are not getting out of our daily lives

What we expected when we woke up in the morning.

My brain operates in such a way

That I will never be a grossly popular author.

Today I am depressed.

In other words, those S thoughts loom close

To the periphery of my daily thought patterns.

When S becomes prominent, nothing else matters.

S is a drug of the mind,

Especially for someone who feels there must be control in his life.

S is the ultimate control factor.

“I know the time of my death,” S says.

Will S take over?

Tune in tomorrow to find out because

Procrastination,

the sister of Laziness,

Is my master today.

Remember,

I spent many years of my life on Lazy Lane.

Besides, I’m never serious about anything.

I know I will bide my time until my natural death.

Should I dare say it?

Yes, I am one of the walking dead.

– 3 October 1997

= == === ==== === == =

Memory Clear

Where do I go from here?

It doesn’t seem to matter what I do

Because I always come back to this.

Some would seek solace or escape.

I am at the point where I do not want to seek anymore.

I want to cease to be.

Happiness is a state of mind,

Not a physical condition

Or else I should be happy

Because I have everything I need

And yet I am here doing nothing

Except counting the days until I have no days to count.

I have no countdown.

Let’s take a moment to laugh — hahaha —

Because we must give homage to the fact that life is not serious.

Life simply is.

We do with it what we may.

Is it because I am tired?

What makes me take moments between these moments

To not think about these moments?

If only I was not here I would not be here

To think these thoughts in these moments.

I would not exist.

Nothing else would matter.

That is the fact, or as I was about to say, that’s the beauty of it.

So what if I have the ability to combine words and phrases?

In the end, that’s all they are.

Humans are born with that natural ability.

EXCUSES, EXCUSES, EXCUSES!!!

WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!?!?!

– 24 October 1997

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<|[WARNING: CREATIVITY BREAK AHEAD]|>

Fredirique(a/k/a Brenda) Quo Vadis,

You have always been polite enough

to put up with my creative output,

despite the puerile nature of the stuff I do.

I appreciate your Southern manners —

a compliment to your parents, no doubt.

That I am here at all is strange, for I never

asked to be, but being, so the thinking, I do.

You never lack for friends and that, too, is

Your nature, natural, nearly nocturnal, normal

path to nidification. I’ve enjoyed spinning through

your gravitational pull of which is broom-straw bright,

shimmering light yet not moth-killing blindness —

your sunlike qualities have spun me past other satellites

named Kate and Adam — or are we comets, instead,

spinning past each other? Who knows. What is

on second base. Abbott and Costello are dead

but this joke called life still goes on and tonight

we’re going to party like it’s 1999. Can I say that or

must I give homage to the artist formerly known as?

Of these questions, I do not have nor want the answers

for the painful reminder of life is enough for today.

Tonight, I go to bed committed to contemplating —

inaction is a better word than laziness. Enough said.

Ars longa, vita brevis, Hic Jacet Lee.

– 20 November 1997

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Sanctum, Sanatorium

If we are our friends then are you eclectic?

No. Instead, you take after Saint Brendan —

The Irish monk from county Kerry —

Who through his travels saw

That small towns in which you are born

Bear little resemblance to who you are.

The struggle to free ourselves from forced labor,

And face the pile of words we have become,

Has driven me to wonder how you’ll read

When your last breath drops petals on the floor.

For now, you sit in Charles’ saintly town,

And peer through family-tinted, bridal eyes;

You wonder when you’ll venture off the porch

And wander into your verbal sentence.

Apostles, martyrs, matrons, widows, all,

Have widened paths for nothing more than

Wanting peace for ever more. Your path —

Peat moss, bluets, partridge berry, and

Soothing streams of sun’s delight —

Rolls out before the one and only,

The only one who’s never lonely.

When we are old (we’ll never say),

Will we look back and ask ourselves,

“On which page did I look my best?”

Will we recall angelic faces

From the sanctuary of paragraphs

Written in the city of brotherly love?

Heaven only knows.

– 5 December 1997

= == === ==== === == =

The Bee (For Brenda)

The bee, the meek from which we get our strength,

The bee, whose energy from nectar is drawn,

The bee, in pollen sneezes not but gets its protein;

Some say you buzz, I say you freely fly,

Some say you sting, I say you defend naturally.

Your beauty depends not on human eyes,

If beauty were a concern to you at all;

You’d rather rub your legs on flowers,

Whose seeds will feed your offspring,

Than worry about your sisters’ looks.

How do bees meditate?

Is there a desire to drop the flesh

And become a seat of knowledge pure?

I see not why.

Your pureness is, it need not think “I am.”

If thoughts you had, would you see

The thought of an eternity?

Would then you’d find a way to sit and cross your legs

To climb the ladder of knowledge?

“Okay class, repeat after me,

Yama, niyama, asana, pranayama,

Pratyahara, dharana, dhyana, samadhi.”

Or are you, instead, absent of self-thought

And congenitally devoted to the All?

You need not say —

Your inner illumination burns a silver image in my mind

Of a bee from Dellrose who wants it all.

She is, she be, this she-bee.

– 8 January 1998

= == === ==== === == =

Classmates

We met…

We met
in the number-crunching class called Business Statistics.

We met
because you sat next to me.

We met
because we’re both pursuing degrees in Administrative Science.

You have chosen Accounting.
I have chosen MIS.

I cannot predict the future but
I bet we could be friends.

I will not guess what you want from life.
I…imagine children factor into the picture.

I will give you these words during test time.

— 7 June 1998

Struggling

I saw that you were having difficulty
and I gave you a start for the first problem.

Then I spent time taking notes and chatting with
the girl next to me.

I am sorry that you did not get your work done.

I could have been more attentive.

– 10 June 1998

The Big Picture

How old are you? I do not know.
The girl beside me just turned 19.
Her mother is 39 (and her grandfather 60).
By comparison, I am 36.

What are years? I do not know.
I have seen 36 of them and still cannot determine what they mean.

Meanwhile, experiences pile up at my feet.
I pick them up and see patterns,
Patterns that tell me I have lived half my life (on average (or is that the mean?)),
So I feel comfortable telling you what you may expect as you grow older.

Surely you’ve enjoyed the thrills of dating
And you have a pretty good idea of the kind of guy you like.
The question, from what I can tell, is
Do you want to marry the kind of guy you like,
The guy who likes you,
Or the guy who likes what you like?
Think about it
And realize people get most of their happiness from the partner they choose.

I wish I could sort through the population
And help you find the one element that fits into the subset
Of which you are the only other member.
Instead, I can only smile and nod at you
When you walk into class,
Talk about current problems and impending tests,
And then head out the door at the end of class.

I am not God and cannot see the future
But what I’ve seen of your personality
Tells me your future is
Kind,
Nice,
Considerate,
Helpful,
Warm,
And cheerful,
Much like you.

I hope you find a partner
Who’ll appreciate you for what you are,
Not expect you to be something else,
Listen to you,
Share with you,
Laugh and cry with you.
You deserve no less.

– 12 June 1998

÷ ÷ ÷ ÷ ÷ ÷ ÷ ÷ ÷ ÷

Did You?

I sit with others who’ve paid to sit here;

You sit here to learn e-commerce.

We all walk away with changes to ourselves

But are your changes like mine?

Society tells me you naturally think differently,

My natural instincts tell me we think alike,

That we all want to live.

How does e-commerce help me want to live?

How does e-commerce help you want to live?

Maybe we will never know but that doesn’t stop me from wondering.

I wonder…

…where you get your red hair

…what puts a smile on your face

…what you think of me (if indeed, you think of me at all)

I’ll always wonder and never know but that is the joy and mystery of who you are,

A human like me

Full of lost opportunities, present uncertainties, and future possibilities.

The smile on your face puts a smile in my heart

And if I get nothing more from e-commerce class

Than the memory of your smile, the profile of your face

And the reflection of your hair,

Then I’ve gotten more than the university class I attended.

— 14 Sept 2000
= == === ==== === == =