Three Loves (Chapter Ten)

I'd reassured my DEMOCRAT LAWYER that there were no strings attached to our friendship--that he didn't have to love me back in a romantic way for me to want to continue to remain close to him.


And I told him that I'd been hurt back in 1977 in a similar manner to how he'd been hurt.


"Well-meaning friends wanted me to throw the guy in the garbage can and get on with my life--but I wasn't ready to do that. I needed to talk about him--and to remember the good times. If you ever need somebody to share memories of the good times you had with ****, I'm here for you. I know there surely must have been some good times."


"There were," he told me. "**** was quite a woman. It's funny how you can know somebody for years and then find out that you don't really know them."


"I hope you know that I'd never hurt you--not intentionally, anyway. If I ever hurt you in any way, please let me know, because I don't EVER want to hurt you."


He told me that he knew that about me.


I wondered at the time if there was something about me that made him so sure--in spite of being hurt by someone he'd been lovers with for 7 ot 8 years and had known even longer than that.


Or was he just one of those trusting kind of individuals who still wasn't afraid to risk being hurt again, even after being hurt-beyond-belief by someone he'd pledged his unconditional love to, right or wrong?


I gave him his copy of the pictures, and he was favorably impressed, and we talked a little more before parting ways.


He wished me well in the grant program, and I told him that I already knew that I wouldn't be getting one, but it was still fun to go there and hob-nob with other writers.


He seemed disappointed that I wouldn't be getting a grant, but he thought I had a good attitude about the outcome.


He walked ahead of me out of his office, and--as he wasn't wearing his jacket--I noticed how adorable his buns were. His behind reminded me of an upside-down heart, and, in my mind, I caressed its softness.


Before we parted ways, I threw my arms around him and hugged him. He responded by hugging and kissing me very quickly, and I had the feeling that he both wanted to hug and kiss me (in a platonic way, that is) but was also concerned about what people observing us might think.


The next time Paul and I talked, I told him that he'd misread the body language in those pictures.


"WHAT!?!"


I told him that my DEMOCRAT LAWYER had told me, himself, that he didn't feel that way about me.


"NO WAY!!!"


I replied that, whether we liked it or not, it was true.


"It's NOT true, dammit!!! I don't know why he's lying to you like that, but the pictures don't lie! That man has a fire in his belly for you!"


I suggested to Paul that, perhaps, he was just seeing what he wanted to in the pictures, but he told me that this wasn't true at all.


He told me that, when I told him that I'd taken some pictures of this guy, he was expecting him to look pleasant-enough but in a more public-relations sort of way--"You know, like a politician-type smile or something."


But he couldn't believe what he was looking at when he looked at the pictures.


I told him that it didn't matter, anyway, when it came to what the pictures looked like, because, for whatever reason, the guy was choosing not to seem interested.


We speculated about a lot of things and finally came to the conclusion that his divorce hearing was coming up and he didn't want me to be dragged into it as "the other woman" when I wasn't.


"Either that, or else he's changed his mind about getting a divorce," I suggested, "and, if that's so, I don't want to stand in the way of their being able to build a truly happy marriage together."


There was no convincing Paul that those photos showed a man wishing he could take the photographer in his arms and cover her from head to toe with kisses--and it WAS a nice thought.


A few days later, I composed a letter to my DEMOCRAT LAWYER that began with the salutation "Dear Baby-Eyes," and then went on to say something mushy like, "That's what I love to call you, because your eyes remind me of the eyes of a cute, little baby."


It wouldn't come as any shock to him that I liked--make that LOVED--his eyes, because I'd told him that often enough.


I'd also started writing for a by-mail writers' club where we had a chance each month to send copies of a small newsletter and have them distributed among members.


Although I didn't mention his name in it--referred to him as


(NAME DELETED)


--he was one of the main characters in one of the articles.


The following week, I took an afternoon nap and had a nightmare.


In the nightmare, I was coming from the kitchen with something to eat in front of the TV when the news came on, and the top story was that my friend had been found dead in his apartment.


"No! NO!! NOoooooooooo!!!" I screamed--and woke myself up. I almost immediately burst into tears of joy when I realized that it had all been a nightmare.


Two times in my life, guys who had been very near and dear to me had died untimely and tragic deaths with my first hearing about it on the news.


Mike, a special friend I went to high school with, had drowned over Memorial Day Weekend, just two months and a few days past his sixteenth birthday. I heard the news on the radio when we were coming home from seeing Uncle Kermit who was then teaching at the University Of Kentucky in Lexington. Even before Daddy had turned on the radio, I had this sense that something was very wrong back home.


Roberto, whom I've written about at various times in articles and comments, had been murdered in 1978. I'd been working on crafts for our church bazaar and halfway watching--but, mostly, listening to--the evening news.


After a dream like that, I really needed to see my DEMOCRAT LAWYER, so I drove to Indianapolis. I wanted to give him a copy of what I'd written for THE BUNDLE, anyway.


Before I could go up to see him, he came down on the elevator and was on his way to a meeting-over-dinner with some people who were advising him about his situation.


But he stopped to chat for awhile, and I gave him a copy of the newsletter. He looked at it and flashed me a big grin as he exclaimed, "This story is about me!!!"


I asked him if he'd gotten my latest letter, and he told me that he hadn't.


When I told him that it would probably be waiting for him when he got home that night--or, at the latest, would arrive tomorrow--his grin got even bigger, and he told me that he was looking forward to reading it!


A couple of days later, it was Thursday, May 10, 1990.


The Mother/Daughter Salad Supper at church would be that evening, and the program in the sanctuary would have a theme of twins in honor of our minister's VERY pregnant wife who was expecting the same towards the end of the month.


So far, my activities had been limited to ones that didn't involve climbing stairs, but I was going to be testing out my stair-climbing abilities that evening in order to go to the supper in the basement (involving going down a two-step stairway with a handrailing); up to the second floor where the sanctuary was--and where I hadn't been since right before my July 1989 mishap--which involved two flights of steps with railings; and up on the stage of the sanctuary (which now has railings, but didn't then--but I could be helped up and down by somebody).


The reason that I was going to be up on the stage was that I'd been asked to write a few poems about twins and read them that evening.


Mid-morning, I was in the kitchen preparing some food for the evening when the phone rang, when I answered, I heard the sweet voice of my DEMOCRAT LAWYER.


He started how by asking me how I was doing, and I told him that I was doing great, sharing with him the exciting day that lay ahead.


He then told me that my last letter had "gotten into the hands of a friend."


He'd tried to explain how things were between us, but his friend "wasn't very understanding."


He said that this had caused some problems for him--though he left it up to my imagination just what kinds of problems it had caused.


Therefore, he no longer wanted me to contact him in any way: no mail, no phone calls, no visits.


This couldn't be happening!!!


How I wished that I could have gone back a few days and had not sent that letter!!!


I begged him not to let our friendship die--that I was willing to do whatever it took to fix things.


He then told me that, instead of never being in contact again, we would be out of contact for two months and see what happened.


We set July 10 as the date where we were to meet at the top of the Empire State Building, and, if one of us didn't show up, the other would go on with his/her life and not try to contact the other person to ask "Why?"


Just providing a little comic-relief!!!


In short, what really happened was that we decided to meet outside his office building on that day.


After we hung up, it hit me that it would be two long months before we were in contact again--and I wondered if those two months would really make a difference.


At the time, Cher had a song out called IF I COULD TURN BACK TIME--and the title, along with some of the lyrics, pretty much described what was going through my mind.


But I had to put on a happy face tonight. This was our Mother/Daughter Salad Supper--and this was Nikki's big evening.


I called Paul and poured out my heart to him. He couldn't believe what had happened. He told me that his wife and son were both out of town, so he had no reason to get home early in case I wanted to come over and talk.


I told him that I had a salad supper to attend that night, but that I hoped that I could still come over the following evening. He told me that I could and made arrangements to meet me in the parkling lot outside the university library.


The salad supper was a pleasant affair--yet, it was difficult, too.


There were so many women there with babies and small children, and I couldn't help but think that, if things had been different, I could have ended up making beautiful babies with him.


I started telling funny jokes inside of my head in order to keep from breaking down and crying.


Nikki arrived on the scene--and, from a distance, I didn't think that it was really Nikki. I thought that part of the entertainment might be someone dressed up to look like Nikki with an exaggerated pregnancy look.


But I could see, as she neared the dining area, that it was, indeed, Nikki.


I don't think that I'd ever SEEN anyone that pregnant before!!!


Just a couple of months before when she first discovered that her pregnancy would be a twin one, I'd made a little present for her and Dennis: a copy of Loretta Lynn's ONE'S ON THE WAY that I'd transferred onto a cassette tape from one of my Loretta Lynn LPs.


I recalled the bouncy way that I'd kept time to the music as I made the tape. There had been stars in my eyes and dreams in my heart. I'd stuffed a pillow under the front of my top and had wandered over to my full-length mirror with a loopy grin on my face.


If I didn't start thinking of something funny in a hurry, I was going to lose it--and I didn't want to spoil the party.


Thankfully, I was able to hold in my sad emotions for the rest of the evening--and I was genuinely happy when I got up to read the poems while watching Nikki out of the corner of my eye while she sat on her special "throne" just to the left of me on the stage.


The next evening, I went over to see Paul.


He'd checked a book out of the library that he thought I'd enjoy looking at. It was called FOOD, GAS, AND LODGING, and it had a lot of pictures and stories of Americana in it, including Wigwam Village.


We parked in a near-empty lot just north of the library, and Paul encouraged me to talk about my pain and held me while I cried.


It wasn't long before a campus policeman was shining his light into the car, thinking that we were lovers doing who-knows-what-all right there in the parking lot.


Paul introduced himself as the map librarian, and I explained that I'd had a falling out with my boyfriend, and he was trying to cheer me up.


The policeman apologized for bothering us and told me that he hoped things worked out.


Paul and I sat there for a long time. During times when I was feeling a little more cheerful, we read through the book and discussed the pictures. At times, when my grief would suddenly overwhelm me, he put his arms around me and gave me his shoulder to cry on.


After awhile, we began to drive around Muncie. I was driving with my left hand and holding Paul's hand with my right one. We filled out time discussing the different historical buildings and landmarks as we drove by them.


Too soon, Paul had to return home, as he needed to be up early the next day in order to pick Jackie and David up from the airport.


I drove him back to the school so he could get on his bicycle and head home.


At some point, I broke down and tearfully asked him when it would stop hurting--and he told me that it would when I was ready for it to.


I asked him what he thought of those pictures now, and he told me that he still thought the same thing--but, maybe, my DEMOCRAT LAWYER had, for some reason, changed his mind.


But he didn't really think that this was the case, though he could only speculate on why he had said the things he had to me.


I didn't tell everything that happened to my folks, because I didn't want them thinking that he was a jerk and not good enough for me. He and I were two adults, and we could work out our problems between us.


I simply told them that he needed a little space at this time, so I wouldn't be in contact with him until July 10.


This would actually be good, as it would give both of us a chance to play catch-up, as we both had a lot of lost time to make up for.


Megan & Marta were born on May 24, but I wasn't in Indiana when it happened, being on a father/daughter trip to Kentucky and Tennessee.


Daddy and I stopped to eat at McDonald's along I-69 near Castleton, and he offered me some of his French fries. As I began to eat them, tears began to roll down my cheeks as I remembered sharing French fries with my DEMOCRAT LAWYER not quite three months before that.


We drove on through to Tennessee and stayed at Knights Inn there. Instead of going to Shoney's like we usually did, we had a pizza in our room with Mark, Barbara, and their daughter, Karen.


The next day, we left the Nashville area to head back towards Cave City, and we had WSM tuned in.


Garth Brooks was singing, "Sometimes, life is better left to chance. I could have missed the pain, but I'd have had to miss the dance."

TO BE CONTINUED. . . "Three Loves (Chapter Eleven)"