There it is, finally. I remember trying to find it the last time I was here. I remember why I gave up. And yet, it’s right in front of me now. It’s like it finally found a way to get me here. His handwriting is so imperfect. He had no idea what he was doing when he did that. He had no idea what it would mean to us.
Susan breaks the silence. “Okay, get settled in, do whatever you wanna do. Masseuse comes in about two hours. I figure we can order Chinese food shortly after that. I’m going to go watch trashy crap television,” she says. “And my only rule is that you forget about the real world while you are here and just cry anytime you want to. Get it out, you know? That’s my only rule.”
“Sounds good,” I say, and she takes off. I find myself slightly uncomfortable here, which takes me by surprise because I have been so comfortable around her recently. She has brought me such comfort. But I am now in her house, in her world. I am also in the house that Ben grew up in, and it feels fitting to cry. Yet, I’m not on the verge of tears. In fact, I feel okay. I can’t help but think that maybe because it’s okay to cry, I can’t.
MAY
Marry me,” he said.
“Marry you?” I was in the driver’s seat of his car. I had just picked him up from the doctor’s office again. He had bent down to pet a dog that morning and his back had respasmed. Apparently, this can happen when you don’t take the pain medication the doctor prescribes. Ben got a lecture on how he needed to take the pain medication so he would move normally again and work out the muscles. I had told him that earlier in the week, but he didn’t listen to me. So there I was, driving him home from the doctor once again. Only this time, I was being proposed to while he was drugged out on painkillers in the passenger seat.
“Yes! Just marry me. You are perfect,” he said. “It’s hot in here.”
“Okay, okay. I’m taking you home.”
“But you will marry me?” he asked, smiling over at me, watching me drive.
“I think that’s the painkillers talking,” I said.
“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he said, and then he fell asleep.
OCTOBER
I sit out by Susan’s pool, reading magazines and getting a tan. Susan and I play gin rummy and drink a lot of iced tea. The days come and go, and I have nothing to show for them. I walk through her herb garden, and sometimes I pick lemons from her fruit trees and then put them in my drinks. I’m finally gaining weight. I haven’t stepped on a scale, but I can see the roundness back in my cheeks.
When the days start to cool down and the Santa Ana winds take over the nights, I sometimes sit by the outdoor chimney. I think I’m the first one to light it. But after the first couple of times, it starts to smell like a warm, toasty campfire, and if I close my eyes long enough, I can convince myself I’m on a traditional vacation.