Him

‘That lady is out of her mind. Besides, it isn’t your responsibility to change her lightbulbs.’

‘She’s older than I am. I feel sorry for her.’

‘Maybe she’s after you.’

We both laughed. The tenant in 203 was too old and too frail to have any romantic thoughts towards him or anyone.

‘Do you ever consider remarrying?’ I asked him.

‘Well, obviously I’m not gonna marry the lady in 203. But no, I don’t think about getting married again. I liked being married to the Mrs. But when she died, I never once thought about it. It would be hard to go through all the motions of sharing my life with someone again.’

‘I felt like I was married to Jake,’ I said.

‘I know. You were married in your own fashion. What about your new guy?’

‘New guy?’ I played innocent.

‘Oh, c’mon. I saw him get out of his car a couple nights ago,’ Sam said.

‘Well, it’s way too soon to call,’ I said. ‘Needless to say he claims his ex-wife is evil.’

‘That’s too bad,’ said Sam. ‘Usually if there are unresolved feelings from the divorce, they get carried over into the next relationship.’

‘God, I hope not.’

‘Just be cautious.’

‘Yes, Dad.’

‘Well, how about you just enjoy the ride for now? Just enjoy yourself.’

‘Thanks.’

Sam and I spent several hours at the apartment complex. I kept my phone on, hoping for a text from HIM. But I did not hear back from HIM that day.

* * *

Time passed. He never got in touch.

It was hard to concentrate and I was useless at work. I closed my eyes during breaks from my classes, sitting at my desk recalling each moment with HIM. It was strange having erotic thoughts while waiting for my students. The bungalow where I taught my classes at the college was so utterly depressing. The buildings had been installed there in the 60s. They were supposed to be temporary, but somehow they’d remained. They looked like army barracks. There was a row of windows looking out at yet another bungalow. The students’ desks were old and covered with graffiti. I despised my job and hated it even more because all I really wanted to do was to be with HIM again. It was the only thing that now made sense. The only thing.

I had fifteen minutes between Creative Writing and Russian Lit classes. I closed my eyes. I swayed back and forth, just a little, recalling the rhythm of our two bodies. I shivered with sexual anticipation, fantasising to the point of orgasm, my body was so aroused.

THE BOY walked in shortly after I climaxed. He looked at me and chuckled.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘What’ve you been up to?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You look like you’ve just had a really, really good time, but no one is here. Did you hide some guy in the closet?’

‘Ha.’

Luckily the students arrived en masse for the class. I switched gears toTolstoy and Dostoyevsky. After class THE BOY smirked as he was leaving.

* * *

I fantasised and waited for HIM to call. A week had passed since our second liaison.

I had gone about it all wrong and sold myself short. Why had I allowed this stranger into my bed? This was the man who had laid claim to my body. This was the man who knew exactly what I needed. But that was no guarantee of another visit. I’d been foolish to think I’d see HIM again.

On the following Friday evening, I took to my bed and drank a bottle of wine.

The phone did ring but it was Sam. He wanted to know if I was OK. I told him I had a cold and even faked a cough. Then I dialled my lover’s number.

His phone went directly to voice messaging.

‘Please, please,’ I said, nearly incoherent. ‘I need you. Come back to me. I can’t stand another moment without you. I will do whatever you want to do with me. I want you so much.’ I began fingering myself while still on the phone, moaning into it. I wanted HIM to hear my desire. I came in a burst of absolute surrender, then clicked off the phone.

Later I fell asleep in a drunken stupor.

He didn’t call me back.

* * *

I was invited to Rebecca’s baby shower on Sunday afternoon. I was sitting in the middle of a dozen or so women and was the only one who was still single. The women were showing each other photos of their babies taken on their cellphones. I was bored out of my mind. ‘Oh, yes. The babies are so pretty,’ I said, feebly pretending to be interested. The women were happy they had landed their husbands and had babies. I suspect they also enjoyed the slight thrill of feeling one up over me. They were living the American dream. I was hardly even trying.

‘Whatever happened to the last guy you were dating?’ one of the young married women asked me. Or was she just being cruel? It was hard to tell.

‘We decided it wasn’t going to work out,’ I said. But I had no idea what guy she was referring to. It didn’t matter. It was a generic ‘It didn’t work out’. Obviously if a relationship had prospered I’d be showing my photos of Junior myself.

I saw the pitying look on several of the other women’s faces, but there was a glint of smugness too. There was a chorus of women wanting to tell me it was my fault. I made bad choices. I was not like them. They went home to a MAN: the ultimate female prize. They’d won. I was the odd duck.

‘Have you considered the Internet?’ someone else asked.

‘It seems so exhausting,’ I replied. ‘Sure, I tried it, but it just wasn’t for me.’

‘My cousin met her husband on match.com,’ another woman interjected.

‘Well,’ I murmured.

‘What do you have to lose?’

I looked at her and thought she had a lot to lose if she continued in this vein – a couple of her front teeth for starters, and I wasn’t the violent type at all. I really didn’t want to have to justify to anyone anything about my ‘single’ life. Who did these women think they were, anyway? When married women made condescending comments to me about being single, it made me feel as if the women’s movement had never happened in our country. My mother taught me long ago that it wasn’t necessary to have a man in my life to be complete. She’d raised me on her own. She did a damn good job, too.

Then Rebecca came to my rescue. She brought out the cake.