Hairline Fracture by Bill Tope
Foggy-headed elder Michael Lessup, having not been intimate with a woman for years, dares to dip his toes into a new relationship.
Present Day
Michael sat on the green-painted bench at the edge of the small city park fronting the grade school. He was dressed warmly, despite the late spring warmth of the sunny May afternoon. He watched as youngsters played kickball and skipped rope and tossed a rubber ball against the wall of the elementary school. Their presence barely registered with him. His life had become an unchanging cycle of sameness that was stultifying.
The playground monitor took notice of Michael and, after a moment's hesitation, made her way in his direction. As Michael watched her approach, he gave nothing away; this, he thought, should at least be interesting, perhaps even entertaining.
"Sir?" she said, standing beside him.
Michael closed and then opened lugubrious eyes. He could barely stay awake. Over the last half year, his inattentiveness had led to his meds going all awry.
"Sir?" she said again, leaning over and into his personal space.
Michael lifted his head, heavy on his shoulders, and focused on her middle-aged face. She was late-30s, the same age as his daughter.
"Um?" he replied.
"Sir, can I help you?" she asked. What she meant, Michael thought, was, would you please go away and stop menacing the children?
"What," asked Michael, "did you have in mind?" He watched her blink in perplexity and try to make some sense of his remark.
"Sir, do you know where you are?" she asked next.
"Um?" he repeated.
"Sir," said the monitor, "this is a grade school."
Michael turned away, determined now to ignore her. After she'd gone, he slipped under and only regained awareness when a baritone voice addressed him.
"Hey, Pops," the voice said, "what're you doin' here?"
Sensing the authority contained in the voice, Michael's attention level ratcheted up a notch.
"What do you want?" Michael asked abruptly, frowning at the 40-something uniformed police officer who loomed over him. He watched as the short, blond man's pupils dilated.
"I asked why you're here," repeated the cop. Aggressive little shit, thought Michael.
"I heard you," said Michael in a peevish tone. "What business is it of yours? Am I breaking a law, contravening an ordinance?" he asked.
This gave the policeman pause. He had expected to roust this likely homeless figure without any problem, but here was the old gent getting back in his face.
"Do you have ID?" he asked next.
"Why do I need to show you my ID?" demanded Michael, trying to shake the lethargy from his mind. "I've committed no crime."
"Well," said the cop, "maybe you have and maybe you ain't."
"You have no reasonable suspicion," said Michael, "much less probable cause. I'm sitting on a public bench in a public park, not molesting anyone. My tax dollars purchased this bench, and go to pay your salary."
"But," said the cop, "why are you here?"
"I am an old man," explained Michael. "I felt tired, so I took advantage of a public resource - this bench - and sat down. What more do you need to know?"
"Well, we received some complaints," said the policeman.
"From whom?" asked Michael.
"That's... confidential," explained the cop.
"Is that what you're going to say in court?" asked Michael.
"In court?" said the cop with a gulp.
"When I sue the city for wrongful prosecution and harassment and elder-abuse," said Michael.
'Listen, Mr., go ahead and sit here. You're not hurting anyone. Take it easy. And have a nice day." The policeman beat a hasty retreat.
The brief exchange had fully awakened Michael and he felt newly more alive and motivated to move along. Climbing to his feet with the aid of a ponderous wooden cane. he staggered off, cloaked in a surfeit of loneliness.
Four Years Ago
Michael stood at the pushcart, slopping mustard and catsup and relish and sauerkraut and onions and whatnot over the wiener he'd just purchased from the hotdog vender. Satisfied with his creation, he repaired to another green-painted bench - the city was loaded with them - and took a seat. In a few moments he had virtually inhaled the dog and then wiped his face of any trace of the meal. He looked up suddenly into the eyes of a young brown-haired girl of perhaps 11 years.
"Hello," he said to his visitor. She was a pretty little thing, he thought, like Karen when she was her age.
"You missed a spot," she said, pointing a pink finger at a yellow stain on Michael's white shirt, where the mustard had taken root.
"Oh, thank you," said Michael agreeably. He wiped fruitlessly at the stain.
"What's your name?" she inquired.
"Michael," he replied. "What's yours?"
"Ah," she said, taking a step backwards, "that would be telling."
Michael blinked at the remarkable little girl and watched her skip away. After she'd left, he arched his back and tried to work the stiffness out of his joints, his shoulders, his spine. Life was becoming more difficult by the day, he reflected. He glanced at his wristwatch, saw it was time for his meds. Taking out a tiny plastic cylinder, he shook a half dozen pills, capsules and caplets into his hand and popped them into his mouth. Next, taking up his Pepsi, he drank deeply, draining the can. Climbing once more to his feet, he set off for home. Another day wasted.
"Mr. Lessup," said the foot specialist, "you've got to get your diabetes under control or else you're going to lose more than just a few toes."
Michael stared at him.
"You're going to lose your foot. Or maybe your entire leg. And, if it's above the knee, then you'll wind up in a wheelchair rather than just on a cane."
Michael frowned.
"I'm deadly serious," the doctor went on. "What was your blood sugar this morning?"
Michael hesitated and the doctor continued, "Don't make the mistake of lying to your doctor. That's like cutting off your nose to spite your face."
"270," answered Michael.
"That's way too high," said the doctor. "Your blood sugar should be at a minimum a hundred points lower. I'm going to give you a referral to see Dr. Lindy, our endocrinologist. She's very good," he told his patient. "Listen to her, and she'll get you turned around, alright?"
Michael nodded.
"Alright. My office will contact Dr. Lindy and arrange an appointment. Expect to hear from her this week. We can lick this," he said.
Taking the paratransit bus, for he no longer drove, Michael arrived at his second medical appointment of the day, this one with Dr. Nemani, his neurologist. After being led into the sterile white consultation room, Michael waited for his doctor. After ten minutes, Nemani arrived.
"Hello, Mr. Lessup, good morning," said Nemani in his light Indian accent. "How are you doing today?"
"You're the doctor, you ought to know," muttered Michael.
Nemani laughed. "Good one. How is the carbidopa levodopa I prescribed working for you?" he asked, referencing the medication that Michael now took four times daily for Parkinson's.
"It seems to be working alright," allowed the patient with a sigh.
"Any more hallucinations?" asked Nemani.
"Well, some," admitted Michael.
The doctor nodded. "And I see the bradykinesia - the slowing of movements - is more pronounced today than when I saw you last."
"Yeah," admitted Michael. "I feel like I'm moving in slow motion or like I'm walking on the bottom of the ocean."
"How is your mental state?" inquired the doctor.
"You know what pisses me off about this, Doc? It's that people think I can't think any faster than I speak. Like I'm a dipshit and can't put two thoughts together. I move slow, but I think as fast as I ever did, you know?"
Nemani nodded in sympathy. "We've come a long way with the disease, but we've yet got so much further to go. With the public's perceptions, as well. How's your love life?" asked the doctor out of nowhere.
Michael sighed. "I'm 74 years old; 20 years with diabetes; about like you'd figure, Doc."
"They make wonderful pills nowadays, Mr. Lessup," said Nemani.
"If I meet someone, Doc," said Michael, "then I'll let you know."
Michael sat nodding off to the strains of Mozart as performed by the muni band, when he looked up suddenly into the face of the same little girl he'd seen the week before. Her blue eyes were electric as she fixed him with a stare.
"Boo!" he said and she started, then immediately scampered off. A few minutes later, the little girl was back, this time with a senior citizen in tow - a pretty, 60-something lady.
"That's him, Nana," said the little one, pointing at Michael.
The handsome woman regarded Michael curiously. The little girl stood behind her.
"Can I help you ladies?" asked Michael in his most suave, courtroom manner.
"Angel said that some man frightened her," replied the woman, speaking right out.
"I apologize if I frightened the child," said Michael. "It was certainly not my intention."
The woman visibly relaxed. "I'm Sela O'Mally," she said.
"Michael Lessup," answered Michael, making an effort to stand.
"Don't get up," said Sela, noting his cane. "I can see that Angel made her usual mountain out of a molehill. No harm, no foul," she declared.
"I'm happy to make your acquaintance, ma'am," said Michael. "And the little girl too. She and I met last week, but when I asked her name, she shot off."
"She's shy," explained Sela.
"Could I interest you ladies in some lunch?" asked Michael, feeling suddenly magnanimous. It wasn't often he made a new friend.
"Thank you no, Mr. Lessup," said Sela. "We've eaten already."
"Michael," he corrected her. "Then how about dessert?" He indicated the ice cream truck trundling through the park. Angel was instantly sold, and in a matter of a moments, the three found themselves at the truck, ordering frozen confections.
The seniors made small talk while Angel stared earnestly at Michael's thick wooden cane and licked her ice cream.
"Angel is an unusual name for a little girl," Michael remarked. "She's your granddaughter?" he asked.
"Great granddaughter," corrected Sela. "When my granddaughter, Angel's mom, was in labor, she had them play Sarah McLachlan's albums in the delivery room and I heard Angel over the speakers and I just fell in love with the song."
Michael, who didn't know Sarah McLachlan from Sarah Vaughn, only nodded. Sela revealed that Angel's mother had died in childbirth and that Sela had assumed custody of the little girl.
"What do you do, Michael - for a living, I mean?" asked Sela.
"I'm retired," he replied. "Back in the day, I was an attorney," he said. "How about you?"
"I taught fourth grade for over 40 years," she said. "I retired a few years ago and since then I've worked at Macy's, in the fragrance department. That's my second act. That and taking care of Angel."
"That explains the wonderful scent I detected when you arrived," said Michael with a little smile.
"You're a smooth one," observed Sela, but with a smile of her own.
After almost an hour, Sela said, "I must be getting home. My daughter and her husband are coming over tonight. Thank you for the ice cream."
Sensing his opportunity, Michael sprang. "I'd like to see you again, Sela, if you wouldn't mind." She stared speculatively at him. "Maybe we could have lunch... you could bring Angel if you like." He waited.
"Do you have a cell phone, Michael?" Sela asked.
He pulled one out.
She recited her telephone number and he in turn gave her his.
"I'll call you," he promised, and they went their separate ways.
Michael lay on the sofa in his living room, his eyes tightly closed. He was dreaming again.
"Come on, Mickey, get it up for Mama," coaxed Adele, the woman he'd been intent on seducing for several weeks. He'd taken to hanging out in the local tavern and consuming far more alcohol that he was comfortable with, as part of the effort. Michael sat on his knees before her in bed, trying and failing to get an erection. He wondered if prayer were in order. It didn't help. "S'matter, tough guy, can't cut the mustard?" she teased. Then she did the worst thing she might've done: she laughed at him.
The first thing that Michael thought to do was to hurriedly slap on his clothes and bolt from the boudoir, but then he remembered that this was his bedroom.
Finally, Adele took pity on him and said, "We've both had too much to drink, Mickey. Come on, let's go to sleep. Maybe in the morning things will look different." Without another word, the erstwhile lovers climbed under the comforter and, in spite of Michael's acute embarrassment, he was soon asleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, Adele woke Michael up and began doing unspeakable things to him. With considerable relief, he responded appropriately. With the dawning of the morning, Michael's head was clearer and his perspective had changed. As he watched Adele sleep, he wondered what could have sparked his carnal interest in her in the first place. She looked far older than the 52 years she had claimed to be. Makeup clotted the lines in her face and her hair seemed stringy and unkempt and she looked far heavier than she had the night before. Maybe Michael's older brother had been right when he said that every woman was queen of the night under the dim lights of a tavern. He arose and made coffee, then began preparing breakfast.
A couple of days after they'd met, Michael called Sela. The number he reached her at was not her home, but rather the fragrance counter at Macy's at the mall. Judicious decision on her part, he felt. After just a brief introduction, she really had no idea who or what Michael was.
She picked up and after a moment's hesitation, said, "Hello, Michael. How are you?"
He said he was alright and inquired if she was busy the following Saturday afternoon.
She told him she had the weekend off.
"Good," he said. "How about we have lunch? We could go to Rounder's in the park, maybe check out the zoo." He had thought this might prove of interest to Angel, should Sela bring her along.
Perhaps understanding his reasoning, Sela said, "Angel won't be coming along this time. Not that I would mind seeing the zoo again, if that's what you're into, Michael."
"No," he said. "Frankly, all that walking isn't good for my feet. We can just meet for lunch, if you..."
"Why don't you come to my place," Sela said. "For dinner."
"You want me to pick up a pizza or Chinese or something?" asked Michael.
"I love to cook," she revealed. "How does spaghetti sound?"
Michael liked the sound of that, and said so.
"Come by at, say, six," said Sela.
"Can I bring anything? Bottle of wine?"
"Just yourself," she replied.
After giving Michael her address, Sela said she had to get back to work, and they disconnected.
When Michael arrived at Sela's medium-sized home in the burbs, she invited him in. He handed her a coloring book with markers.
"Thank you, Michael, though I admit that my coloring days are mostly behind me."
"It's for Angel," he said, a little embarrassed. "I expected she'd be here. You mentioned that she lives with you."
"She's with my daughter," replied Sela, grinning. "I didn't think we needed a chaperone," she said with a twinkle.
Michael gulped. He wondered wildly if he would be expected to perform for his supper. He hadn't had a regular sex life for years, hadn't even attempted intimacy but for that one nearly aborted effort with Adele some time ago.
As if reading his mind, Sela remarked, "don't worry, Michael, I'll be gentle." Then she burst out laughing.
Michael turned crimson. She was laughing at him already. What had he gotten himself into? he wondered.
"Glass of wine?" asked Sela, pushing into his personal space. He could smell alcohol on her breath. "Or would you prefer a beer?"
"Beer," he replied, and Sela disappeared back into the kitchen and returned moments later with a bottle of Coors. "Thank you," he said, accepting the brew.
Sela seated him on a buttery leather sofa and plunked down next to him, a glass of red wine in her hand.
"Sell a lot of perfume this week?" he asked, thinking of nothing better to say.
"Of course. We sell scads of fragrances at the store," she said breezily, taking a sip of wine. "The sauce is simmering, the noodles are on the boil. You can help me make the salad."
"I'm not much of a cook," Michael apologized.
"You're able to tear pieces of lettuce into two, aren't you?"
Michael agreed he could do that.
"Come on, then, bring your beer," she said, popping off the sofa and leading him into the kitchen.
After washing his hands, Michael successfully mutilated some lettuce and sliced some other veggies, while Sela drained the noodles and took up the sauce. The aroma of the marinara and the roasting garlic bread had Michael salivating. "Smells great," he said.
"It is," she said with confidence. "But, you'll have to earn it," she added, looking down her prominent nose at him.
Michael reddened again and Sela said, "Michael, are you well?"
He shrugged. "Sure."
"Am I making you feel uncomfortable?" she asked with dismay.
He shook his head no.
"Yes, I am," she said unhappily. "I'm sorry, Michael. This is my first real date since... since my husband passed away."
She had told him when they met that she was a widow. "How long has it been?" he asked gently.
"Nearly four years," she replied, wretchedly. "How long since your wife..."
"About the same," he said. "You haven't dated since he passed?" Michael asked.
Sela shook her head. "At first I was grief-stricken. Then I thought it would be disloyal. I was asked out several times, by men at the counter, but mostly they were men buying scents for their wives, and I didn't want any part of that."
Michael nodded.
"And over the past year, friends have tried to set me up, and with the best of intentions, but it was always with old, old men; relics, dinosaurs who had one foot in the grave. You're the first man who asked me out that seemed to have anything on the ball," she said.
Michael blinked. Did he have something on the ball? he wondered.
"And, I thought you might expect..." and she left the sentence dangling.
Finally, Michael found his voice. "Sela, you don't have to do anything... I came expecting only a meal, and some companionship, alright?"
"But," she said, "are you act..."
"Not since Roberta passed," he admitted, skirting the issue of Adele.
There was a look of genuine relief on Sela's face, as if a huge burden had been lifted off her shoulders.
"Let's eat," she invited, and they were soon enjoying the best spaghetti that Michael would remember ever eating.
Over the next several months, Michael and Sela saw a great deal of one another - in the non-biblical sense. They talked about everything, found in one another a compatible companion. Interestingly, they had almost nothing in common: Sela liked plays and foreign films; Michael liked baseball. Sela was conservative, whereas Michael was a bleeding-heart liberal. And Sela drank perhaps a little too much wine, whereas Michael could nurse a single beer for most of the evening. They each had one child, a daughter, although Sela had a granddaughter and a great grandchild as well, whereas Michael hadn't been so fortunate.
"Karen never married?" asked Sela one night, referencing Michael's only child.
"She's been married for years," replied Michael.
"But she never had children?" she asked.
"She's considering it even as we speak," said Michael.
"Isn't she rather old to give birth, safely, I mean?"
"IVF," replied Michael. "She had her eggs frozen years ago. Her career always came first." Karen, like her father, had become an attorney.
"She has a very understanding husband," remarked Sela.
Michael permitted himself a smile. "Karen is married to another woman," he disclosed. "They've been together since college. They're a very happy couple."
Sela didn't say anything, but she was only fiscally conservative, not socially.
Michael and Sela and Angel sat on the sofa in Sela's living room, enjoying one of the few things that they all three liked - football. It was halftime and Sela clutched her third glass of wine, while Michael continued to nurse his solitary beer.
During a commercial, Angel ran to the bathroom and Sela turned to him. "Michael, can I ask you something?"
"Sure," he said, turning her way.
"How much do you like me?"
He paused, then replied, "I like you a great deal, Sela. Why would you ask me that?"
"Well," she said, "we've been dating for three months now."
He nodded.
"You kissed me on our first date. And many times since."
He nodded again at the sweet memory.
"But you never once tried to take me to bed. Don't you want to take me to bed, Michael?" she asked. After a moment, she blurted, "Oh, I've embarrassed you, haven't I? I'm sorry, I..."
"No, no. No, Sela," Michael said, looking her in the eyes. "I don't want to just take you to bed; I want to make love with you. But, seeing as how you still seemed to be holding on a little to your late husband, I didn't want to rush you. I didn't want to freak you out or anything."
"Michael," said Sela calmly, but with a glitter in her eyes.
"Yes, dear?"
"Let's fuck."
"Now?" he asked, checking to see if Angel were coming back.
Sela shook her head no. "Tomorrow," she said. "Angel will be in school. Come over, say, around nine, and we can..."
Michael leaned in closer to hear.
"...knock off a piece," said Sela, then tittered.
Just then Angel bounced back into the room. "What did I miss?" she asked. "Did we score?"
"Not yet," replied Sela with a straight face.
"Michael, what sort of attorney were you? Real estate, tort, trial lawyer?" asked Sela one afternoon.
He shook his head. "I dabbled a bit at first, but when my partners and I established our own firm, I became the managing partner. Sort of a glorified administrative functionary," he admitted. "It suited me."
"I can well imagine," remarked Sela.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Michael, you wear your heart on your sleeve. I can hardly fathom you plotting legal skulduggery before a jury panel."
"Touché," he said with a comfortable smile. She really was getting to know the true Michael Lessup and he was glad for that.
"Let's take a lovers' quiz," suggested Sela one evening in her living room.
"A lovers' quiz?" said Michael.
"Yes," she said. "After all, we are lovers, are we not?" She stared at him over the copy of Ms.
"Indeed we are," he agreed. "Go ahead."
"What," she read, "is the single most important thing in a relationship?"
Musing for a moment, Michael said, "Love? Respect?"
Sela checked a box in the magazine. "I say that the only essential thing is trust," she said.
"But," said Michael, "all those things are closely related. One leads naturally to the other."
"Perhaps," said Sela, "but once you've broken trust, all is lost. I feel that friendship, a relationship, love, is like a fine china teacup."
Michael looked at her.
"Cause a crack, and it's ruined."
"But, a cup can be repaired," Michael said.
"Yes, you can glue the cup back together, but the hairline fracture will always be there."
Michael was retracing his steps through the little park, at loose ends because Sela, his almost constant companion, was on a weekend sojourn with her daughter and son-in-law and with Angel. He didn't often find himself alone nowadays and that was just the way he liked it. Although his Parkinson's was progressing apace, as his neurologist had told him it would, he remained emotionally buoyant. Suddenly, his ringer tone sounded and he pulled out his cell phone, checked the caller ID.
"Karen?" he said. "Is everything all right?" She was so busy that it was unusual for her to call him during business hours, which for Karen entailed nearly every waking moment.
"Congratulations, Dad," said Karen warmly.
"What is it?" he asked. He didn't like surprises. "Congratulations for what?"
"You're gonna be a granddad," she said happily.
Michael was momentarily speechless. "What's it going to be, a boy or a girl?"
"Yes!" she said.
On Monday, Michael told Sela the good news. She congratulated him with what he took to be genuine pleasure. She had his back, he thought, and she was happy when he was. Angel took the news well, too.
What's her name going to be, Michael?' she asked when told that Karen was expecting a girl.
"Allison," replied Michael.
"Does that mean I'll have a little sister now?" she asked.
Michael looked with love at the almost 13-year-old. "You bet!" he said.
"Sela," said Michael one afternoon as they redressed in her bedroom, "could you take off work in a couple of weeks and go out of town with me? My law school is having its 50th class reunion and I can think of nothing I'd so like as to show off to those so-and-sos my beautiful, sexy lady friend."
"You're just this year having your 50th college reunion?" she asked. "I had mine five years ago."
"What year did you graduate?" he asked.
"I got my MA in 1968," she replied. "You?"
"1973," he said.
They both stood impassively, absorbing what until that moment had been an unasked question: their respective ages. Sela was several years older than Michael. Did it even make a difference? they both wondered. Surely not, thought Sela, but she knew how men could be sensitive about such things. Part of the alpha male thing. She put the question to Michael.
"Michael, does this make a difference?"
"What?" he asked, tucking in his shirt. But, he knew what.
"The fact that I'm five years older than you," she said.
"Well, actually," he said, "I graduated high school a year early."
Sela rolled her eyes. "Great. Then, does the fact that I'm six years your elder make a difference about the way you feel?"
"Certainly not."
Sela said nothing, and Michael was left with his own thoughts.
Sela was hosting a sleepover for Angel and her five BFFs, and Michael, not up to the furor inherent in such an event, made himself scarce. At loose ends, he gravitated to the corner tavern, which he had not frequented since his encounter with Adele in the now distant past. Since it was within walking distance, he resolved to have a couple of beers and then return home for an early evening. Walking through the door, he beheld a festive air: the place was decorated for the holidays; Christmas was but four days away.
Past the tinsel-strewn backbar and the sad little balsam fir and the thousand glittering bottles of rum and schnapps and whiskey, he found a solitary vacant barstool. An hour later, he grabbed a handful of bar nuts and washed them down with his third cold beer, and was startled to find a hand intimately draped on his shoulder. He looked up to find Adele - a blonde now - clad in tight jeans and a red flannel shirt. She looked damn good, he thought. And so young.
"Hi, Mickey," she said breathlessly, and kissed him hard on the lips, practically sitting on his lap.
"Hi, Adele," he said thickly. Apparently she still occupied her old haunts.
"Buy me a drink, stud?' she asked, coyly biting her lower lip. He did so. And many more.
Michael and Sela celebrated their two-year anniversary just days later. Angel was spending the evening with her grandmother. As usual, Sela cooked Michael's favorite - spaghetti. She found her man to be somewhat more taciturn than usual, but thought little of it. She felt very sure in a relationship she'd had misgivings about at first. She knew that Michael Lessup, the man she had given her heart to, was a good and kind soul, who would do nothing to hurt her or Angel, who had begun to regard Michael as a stand-in grandfather figure. They had discussed the future. Would they live together? If so, she and Angel would move in with Michael, for he had a much larger home, as befitted a once prosperous attorney. They had even discussed marriage. It gave her a warm feeling inside. Understanding his medical needs, Sela had learned to cook for a diabetic diet, though in fact Michael wasn't very mindful of his health. Things looked good.
Michael, on the other hand, was miserable. With his heart cloaked in guilt, he could barely dress himself. He had betrayed the woman he loved, the sweet creature he'd pledged his heart to. How could he have done something so unspeakable? he asked himself. Which reminded him of something else his older brother had told him: don't think with your dick, Mike. Through the course of the always delicious meal that Sela had prepared, Michael didn't taste a thing.
"What did you do the other night when the girls and I were partying?" asked Sela playfully.
Michael glanced sharply at her. What did she know? "Went to the tavern," he replied. "Had a couple of beers."
"Meet anyone?" she asked innocently.
He glanced sharply at her again, but her face was impassive.
It was not until they were in bed that night, when Sela tried to coax Michael into some lovemaking, that he gave himself away. He confessed to a night of debauchery with the notorious Adele, of whose identity Michael had made Sela aware, more than two years ago, when they both made a clean breast of the past. When he had told her, she grew quiet, and Michael uneasy.
"Is this because of what I told you about our ages?" she asked.
Michael hadn't the heart to lie. "Yes," he said.
"You told me it didn't matter," she reminded him.
"It didn't. It doesn't. I don't know, I guess I had some doubts... I'm sorry, Sela."
"Me, too," she said.
"I'll do anything to make it up to you."
"Once you lose trust, how can you get it back?" she asked. "I told you once that love is like a fine china teacup, that once it's broken, there is no going back." She stared up into his eyes.
"Sela," he said again, earnestly, "I'll do anything. You name it."
"Alright," she said. "Here's what I want you to do: get out of bed, get dressed and go home. Or go back to Adele or whoever you want. Only don't come back here, ever again."
"Sela, no," he began, but she cut him off.
"I loved you, Michael. Let me hold onto what respect I still have for you. Just go. Please."
Present Day
Michael sat on the inevitable green-painted bench in the familiar little park, his mind numb. The weather was past chilly; it was downright cold. Christmas was just days away. He had not seen Sela in almost two years. She had spurned his almost constant entreaties, pleas, phone calls and outreach. To only add to his misery, Karen's child had died during childbirth more than a year before. There would be no Allison. He had stopped shaving and now sported a gray and white beard that did little for his appearance, but he didn't care. He had stopped testing his blood sugar each morning, at first afraid of what it might be and then indifferent to the results. He drank more now than he should. He sighed.
"Hello, Michael." A familiar voice.
He looked up to find Angel standing before him, still pretty and now impossibly taller than when he'd first met her more than four years before. He extended his hand and she enclosed it with her own.
"Angel," he said warmly. "How's your Nana?" he asked at once.
"You hurt her," the girl said.
Michael nodded. "I know."
"She's better," allowed Angel, "but she's still hurting."
Michael said nothing.
"She's so terribly lonely," she added.
"She's not dating?" asked Michael.
Angel shook her head no. "She has a hard time trusting," she said. "But then, you know that." When Michael only sighed, Angel continued, "I think you were good for her, Michael. You know, Pops," she said referencing her great grandfather, "wasn't all that great a guy."
Michael looked up at the 15-year-old with surprise. "Sela almost never talked about Trevor," he said. "I took it she put him on a pedestal and compared everyone else to him. What was he like?" he asked.
"He died when I was about seven," said Angel. "But, he wasn't always so nice."
Michael looked at her questioningly and finally Angel blew out a breath and admitted, "Sometimes he hit Nana."
A sudden fire blazed in Michael's eyes. "Sela wouldn't put up with that."
"Nana said, once you choose someone, it's for life, good and bad, ups and downs. He was upset because my mom got pregnant by some lowlife, and saddled him with a little bastard. He called her a slut and said it was Nana's fault because she raised her children stupidly."
"How did you get along with Trevor?" asked Michael, dreading the answer.
"I don't remember a lot, I was so young," replied Angel. "But I don't remember him ever touching me, like you do. You know, hugs, holding hands, like that."
Michael was stunned. He just sat there on the bench, trying to get his mind around all this. He looked up, surprised at the little girl who was fast becoming a young woman, wise beyond her years.
"So, I think you were really good for Nana. But," she said, "you know how she is."
Michael nodded again. "She was right about me, Angel," he began, but she cut him off.
"I think the two of you should just get over yourselves," she said emphatically.
"Hm? What do you..."
"Nana's BS about fractured teacups and all the rest," she went on as if he hadn't spoken. "I want you to come home with me, Michael. Today is Nana's birthday and I asked her what she wanted and she said, 'surprise me.' So I am. I'm dating now, and I know that everyone deserves a second chance. You don't have to come back for good, but come back at least for today. The metro bus leaves in ten minutes; it'll let us out a block from our house. Please?"
As Angel led Michael through the front door of her and Sela's medium-sized house in the burbs, she called into the kitchen as she closed the door. Michael stood behind her, feeling a little lost, but with a growing excitement. "I got your present, Nana," she called.
"What did you get?" asked Sela's warm, familiar voice. She walked into the living room and saw Michael.
"A new teacup," said Angel.
Sela stopped in her tracks, looked in surprise at Michael. "Where did you come from?" she asked.
"I found him sitting in the park," volunteered Angel.
Sela wiped her hands on the towel she carried. "In the park? In this weather? How long have you been sitting out in the cold?" she asked.
"For two years," he replied.
Sela flushed.
"Would you like for me to go?" asked Michael.
Sela shook her head. "No. Please stay for supper. We're having your favorite."
"I smelled it from outside," said Michael with a little smile.
During dinner the three caught up. Angel explained she was serious about a boy named Mark, which left Sela with a frown. Michael disclosed the tragic fate of his granddaughter and he said, "I almost called you."
"I wish you had," said Sela. Michael went on to say that Karen had made partner at her firm and was more determined than ever to have a child. Angel excused herself to use the telephone and Michael and Sela sat regarding each other. Finally, Michael could take it no longer and said, "Let's play 'Truth.'"
"You mean 'Truth or Dare'?" asked Sela cagily.
"No. One person tells the other person something they never told them before. It's got to be the truth. You game?"
"I'll go first," she said. "Michael, it's nice to see you, but you look like five miles of bad road."
Michael blinked, said, "Fair enough. My turn."
She braced herself.
He said, "Sela, I'm still in love with you."
She dropped her wine glass, which shattered spectacularly against her dinner plate.
Angel popped out of her bedroom, alarmed by the sound of the breaking dishes.
Michael continued as if nothing had happened. "I've grown two years older, but I've gained the wisdom of 20. I love you, Sela, and I want a second chance."
When she hesitated, he added, "You won't regret it. I've evolved," he said with a little smile.
"Alright, Michael," she whispered. "I've evolved a little myself, I guess. It'll take a while to recapture the trust."
"I understand."
"Maybe years," she added.
"I know," said Angel with a grin, "in three years we can have a double wedding."
 |
| Image generated with OpenAI |
Michael sat on the green-painted bench at the edge of the small city park fronting the grade school. He was dressed warmly, despite the late spring warmth of the sunny May afternoon. He watched as youngsters played kickball and skipped rope and tossed a rubber ball against the wall of the elementary school. Their presence barely registered with him. His life had become an unchanging cycle of sameness that was stultifying.
The playground monitor took notice of Michael and, after a moment's hesitation, made her way in his direction. As Michael watched her approach, he gave nothing away; this, he thought, should at least be interesting, perhaps even entertaining.
"Sir?" she said, standing beside him.
Michael closed and then opened lugubrious eyes. He could barely stay awake. Over the last half year, his inattentiveness had led to his meds going all awry.
"Sir?" she said again, leaning over and into his personal space.
Michael lifted his head, heavy on his shoulders, and focused on her middle-aged face. She was late-30s, the same age as his daughter.
"Um?" he replied.
"Sir, can I help you?" she asked. What she meant, Michael thought, was, would you please go away and stop menacing the children?
"What," asked Michael, "did you have in mind?" He watched her blink in perplexity and try to make some sense of his remark.
"Sir, do you know where you are?" she asked next.
"Um?" he repeated.
"Sir," said the monitor, "this is a grade school."
Michael turned away, determined now to ignore her. After she'd gone, he slipped under and only regained awareness when a baritone voice addressed him.
"Hey, Pops," the voice said, "what're you doin' here?"
Sensing the authority contained in the voice, Michael's attention level ratcheted up a notch.
"What do you want?" Michael asked abruptly, frowning at the 40-something uniformed police officer who loomed over him. He watched as the short, blond man's pupils dilated.
"I asked why you're here," repeated the cop. Aggressive little shit, thought Michael.
"I heard you," said Michael in a peevish tone. "What business is it of yours? Am I breaking a law, contravening an ordinance?" he asked.
This gave the policeman pause. He had expected to roust this likely homeless figure without any problem, but here was the old gent getting back in his face.
"Do you have ID?" he asked next.
"Why do I need to show you my ID?" demanded Michael, trying to shake the lethargy from his mind. "I've committed no crime."
"Well," said the cop, "maybe you have and maybe you ain't."
"You have no reasonable suspicion," said Michael, "much less probable cause. I'm sitting on a public bench in a public park, not molesting anyone. My tax dollars purchased this bench, and go to pay your salary."
"But," said the cop, "why are you here?"
"I am an old man," explained Michael. "I felt tired, so I took advantage of a public resource - this bench - and sat down. What more do you need to know?"
"Well, we received some complaints," said the policeman.
"From whom?" asked Michael.
"That's... confidential," explained the cop.
"Is that what you're going to say in court?" asked Michael.
"In court?" said the cop with a gulp.
"When I sue the city for wrongful prosecution and harassment and elder-abuse," said Michael.
'Listen, Mr., go ahead and sit here. You're not hurting anyone. Take it easy. And have a nice day." The policeman beat a hasty retreat.
The brief exchange had fully awakened Michael and he felt newly more alive and motivated to move along. Climbing to his feet with the aid of a ponderous wooden cane. he staggered off, cloaked in a surfeit of loneliness.
Four Years Ago
Michael stood at the pushcart, slopping mustard and catsup and relish and sauerkraut and onions and whatnot over the wiener he'd just purchased from the hotdog vender. Satisfied with his creation, he repaired to another green-painted bench - the city was loaded with them - and took a seat. In a few moments he had virtually inhaled the dog and then wiped his face of any trace of the meal. He looked up suddenly into the eyes of a young brown-haired girl of perhaps 11 years.
"Hello," he said to his visitor. She was a pretty little thing, he thought, like Karen when she was her age.
"You missed a spot," she said, pointing a pink finger at a yellow stain on Michael's white shirt, where the mustard had taken root.
"Oh, thank you," said Michael agreeably. He wiped fruitlessly at the stain.
"What's your name?" she inquired.
"Michael," he replied. "What's yours?"
"Ah," she said, taking a step backwards, "that would be telling."
Michael blinked at the remarkable little girl and watched her skip away. After she'd left, he arched his back and tried to work the stiffness out of his joints, his shoulders, his spine. Life was becoming more difficult by the day, he reflected. He glanced at his wristwatch, saw it was time for his meds. Taking out a tiny plastic cylinder, he shook a half dozen pills, capsules and caplets into his hand and popped them into his mouth. Next, taking up his Pepsi, he drank deeply, draining the can. Climbing once more to his feet, he set off for home. Another day wasted.
"Mr. Lessup," said the foot specialist, "you've got to get your diabetes under control or else you're going to lose more than just a few toes."
Michael stared at him.
"You're going to lose your foot. Or maybe your entire leg. And, if it's above the knee, then you'll wind up in a wheelchair rather than just on a cane."
Michael frowned.
"I'm deadly serious," the doctor went on. "What was your blood sugar this morning?"
Michael hesitated and the doctor continued, "Don't make the mistake of lying to your doctor. That's like cutting off your nose to spite your face."
"270," answered Michael.
"That's way too high," said the doctor. "Your blood sugar should be at a minimum a hundred points lower. I'm going to give you a referral to see Dr. Lindy, our endocrinologist. She's very good," he told his patient. "Listen to her, and she'll get you turned around, alright?"
Michael nodded.
"Alright. My office will contact Dr. Lindy and arrange an appointment. Expect to hear from her this week. We can lick this," he said.
Taking the paratransit bus, for he no longer drove, Michael arrived at his second medical appointment of the day, this one with Dr. Nemani, his neurologist. After being led into the sterile white consultation room, Michael waited for his doctor. After ten minutes, Nemani arrived.
"Hello, Mr. Lessup, good morning," said Nemani in his light Indian accent. "How are you doing today?"
"You're the doctor, you ought to know," muttered Michael.
Nemani laughed. "Good one. How is the carbidopa levodopa I prescribed working for you?" he asked, referencing the medication that Michael now took four times daily for Parkinson's.
"It seems to be working alright," allowed the patient with a sigh.
"Any more hallucinations?" asked Nemani.
"Well, some," admitted Michael.
The doctor nodded. "And I see the bradykinesia - the slowing of movements - is more pronounced today than when I saw you last."
"Yeah," admitted Michael. "I feel like I'm moving in slow motion or like I'm walking on the bottom of the ocean."
"How is your mental state?" inquired the doctor.
"You know what pisses me off about this, Doc? It's that people think I can't think any faster than I speak. Like I'm a dipshit and can't put two thoughts together. I move slow, but I think as fast as I ever did, you know?"
Nemani nodded in sympathy. "We've come a long way with the disease, but we've yet got so much further to go. With the public's perceptions, as well. How's your love life?" asked the doctor out of nowhere.
Michael sighed. "I'm 74 years old; 20 years with diabetes; about like you'd figure, Doc."
"They make wonderful pills nowadays, Mr. Lessup," said Nemani.
"If I meet someone, Doc," said Michael, "then I'll let you know."
Michael sat nodding off to the strains of Mozart as performed by the muni band, when he looked up suddenly into the face of the same little girl he'd seen the week before. Her blue eyes were electric as she fixed him with a stare.
"Boo!" he said and she started, then immediately scampered off. A few minutes later, the little girl was back, this time with a senior citizen in tow - a pretty, 60-something lady.
"That's him, Nana," said the little one, pointing at Michael.
The handsome woman regarded Michael curiously. The little girl stood behind her.
"Can I help you ladies?" asked Michael in his most suave, courtroom manner.
"Angel said that some man frightened her," replied the woman, speaking right out.
"I apologize if I frightened the child," said Michael. "It was certainly not my intention."
The woman visibly relaxed. "I'm Sela O'Mally," she said.
"Michael Lessup," answered Michael, making an effort to stand.
"Don't get up," said Sela, noting his cane. "I can see that Angel made her usual mountain out of a molehill. No harm, no foul," she declared.
"I'm happy to make your acquaintance, ma'am," said Michael. "And the little girl too. She and I met last week, but when I asked her name, she shot off."
"She's shy," explained Sela.
"Could I interest you ladies in some lunch?" asked Michael, feeling suddenly magnanimous. It wasn't often he made a new friend.
"Thank you no, Mr. Lessup," said Sela. "We've eaten already."
"Michael," he corrected her. "Then how about dessert?" He indicated the ice cream truck trundling through the park. Angel was instantly sold, and in a matter of a moments, the three found themselves at the truck, ordering frozen confections.
The seniors made small talk while Angel stared earnestly at Michael's thick wooden cane and licked her ice cream.
"Angel is an unusual name for a little girl," Michael remarked. "She's your granddaughter?" he asked.
"Great granddaughter," corrected Sela. "When my granddaughter, Angel's mom, was in labor, she had them play Sarah McLachlan's albums in the delivery room and I heard Angel over the speakers and I just fell in love with the song."
Michael, who didn't know Sarah McLachlan from Sarah Vaughn, only nodded. Sela revealed that Angel's mother had died in childbirth and that Sela had assumed custody of the little girl.
"What do you do, Michael - for a living, I mean?" asked Sela.
"I'm retired," he replied. "Back in the day, I was an attorney," he said. "How about you?"
"I taught fourth grade for over 40 years," she said. "I retired a few years ago and since then I've worked at Macy's, in the fragrance department. That's my second act. That and taking care of Angel."
"That explains the wonderful scent I detected when you arrived," said Michael with a little smile.
"You're a smooth one," observed Sela, but with a smile of her own.
After almost an hour, Sela said, "I must be getting home. My daughter and her husband are coming over tonight. Thank you for the ice cream."
Sensing his opportunity, Michael sprang. "I'd like to see you again, Sela, if you wouldn't mind." She stared speculatively at him. "Maybe we could have lunch... you could bring Angel if you like." He waited.
"Do you have a cell phone, Michael?" Sela asked.
He pulled one out.
She recited her telephone number and he in turn gave her his.
"I'll call you," he promised, and they went their separate ways.
Michael lay on the sofa in his living room, his eyes tightly closed. He was dreaming again.
"Come on, Mickey, get it up for Mama," coaxed Adele, the woman he'd been intent on seducing for several weeks. He'd taken to hanging out in the local tavern and consuming far more alcohol that he was comfortable with, as part of the effort. Michael sat on his knees before her in bed, trying and failing to get an erection. He wondered if prayer were in order. It didn't help. "S'matter, tough guy, can't cut the mustard?" she teased. Then she did the worst thing she might've done: she laughed at him.
The first thing that Michael thought to do was to hurriedly slap on his clothes and bolt from the boudoir, but then he remembered that this was his bedroom.
Finally, Adele took pity on him and said, "We've both had too much to drink, Mickey. Come on, let's go to sleep. Maybe in the morning things will look different." Without another word, the erstwhile lovers climbed under the comforter and, in spite of Michael's acute embarrassment, he was soon asleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, Adele woke Michael up and began doing unspeakable things to him. With considerable relief, he responded appropriately. With the dawning of the morning, Michael's head was clearer and his perspective had changed. As he watched Adele sleep, he wondered what could have sparked his carnal interest in her in the first place. She looked far older than the 52 years she had claimed to be. Makeup clotted the lines in her face and her hair seemed stringy and unkempt and she looked far heavier than she had the night before. Maybe Michael's older brother had been right when he said that every woman was queen of the night under the dim lights of a tavern. He arose and made coffee, then began preparing breakfast.
A couple of days after they'd met, Michael called Sela. The number he reached her at was not her home, but rather the fragrance counter at Macy's at the mall. Judicious decision on her part, he felt. After just a brief introduction, she really had no idea who or what Michael was.
She picked up and after a moment's hesitation, said, "Hello, Michael. How are you?"
He said he was alright and inquired if she was busy the following Saturday afternoon.
She told him she had the weekend off.
"Good," he said. "How about we have lunch? We could go to Rounder's in the park, maybe check out the zoo." He had thought this might prove of interest to Angel, should Sela bring her along.
Perhaps understanding his reasoning, Sela said, "Angel won't be coming along this time. Not that I would mind seeing the zoo again, if that's what you're into, Michael."
"No," he said. "Frankly, all that walking isn't good for my feet. We can just meet for lunch, if you..."
"Why don't you come to my place," Sela said. "For dinner."
"You want me to pick up a pizza or Chinese or something?" asked Michael.
"I love to cook," she revealed. "How does spaghetti sound?"
Michael liked the sound of that, and said so.
"Come by at, say, six," said Sela.
"Can I bring anything? Bottle of wine?"
"Just yourself," she replied.
After giving Michael her address, Sela said she had to get back to work, and they disconnected.
When Michael arrived at Sela's medium-sized home in the burbs, she invited him in. He handed her a coloring book with markers.
"Thank you, Michael, though I admit that my coloring days are mostly behind me."
"It's for Angel," he said, a little embarrassed. "I expected she'd be here. You mentioned that she lives with you."
"She's with my daughter," replied Sela, grinning. "I didn't think we needed a chaperone," she said with a twinkle.
Michael gulped. He wondered wildly if he would be expected to perform for his supper. He hadn't had a regular sex life for years, hadn't even attempted intimacy but for that one nearly aborted effort with Adele some time ago.
As if reading his mind, Sela remarked, "don't worry, Michael, I'll be gentle." Then she burst out laughing.
Michael turned crimson. She was laughing at him already. What had he gotten himself into? he wondered.
"Glass of wine?" asked Sela, pushing into his personal space. He could smell alcohol on her breath. "Or would you prefer a beer?"
"Beer," he replied, and Sela disappeared back into the kitchen and returned moments later with a bottle of Coors. "Thank you," he said, accepting the brew.
Sela seated him on a buttery leather sofa and plunked down next to him, a glass of red wine in her hand.
"Sell a lot of perfume this week?" he asked, thinking of nothing better to say.
"Of course. We sell scads of fragrances at the store," she said breezily, taking a sip of wine. "The sauce is simmering, the noodles are on the boil. You can help me make the salad."
"I'm not much of a cook," Michael apologized.
"You're able to tear pieces of lettuce into two, aren't you?"
Michael agreed he could do that.
"Come on, then, bring your beer," she said, popping off the sofa and leading him into the kitchen.
After washing his hands, Michael successfully mutilated some lettuce and sliced some other veggies, while Sela drained the noodles and took up the sauce. The aroma of the marinara and the roasting garlic bread had Michael salivating. "Smells great," he said.
"It is," she said with confidence. "But, you'll have to earn it," she added, looking down her prominent nose at him.
Michael reddened again and Sela said, "Michael, are you well?"
He shrugged. "Sure."
"Am I making you feel uncomfortable?" she asked with dismay.
He shook his head no.
"Yes, I am," she said unhappily. "I'm sorry, Michael. This is my first real date since... since my husband passed away."
She had told him when they met that she was a widow. "How long has it been?" he asked gently.
"Nearly four years," she replied, wretchedly. "How long since your wife..."
"About the same," he said. "You haven't dated since he passed?" Michael asked.
Sela shook her head. "At first I was grief-stricken. Then I thought it would be disloyal. I was asked out several times, by men at the counter, but mostly they were men buying scents for their wives, and I didn't want any part of that."
Michael nodded.
"And over the past year, friends have tried to set me up, and with the best of intentions, but it was always with old, old men; relics, dinosaurs who had one foot in the grave. You're the first man who asked me out that seemed to have anything on the ball," she said.
Michael blinked. Did he have something on the ball? he wondered.
"And, I thought you might expect..." and she left the sentence dangling.
Finally, Michael found his voice. "Sela, you don't have to do anything... I came expecting only a meal, and some companionship, alright?"
"But," she said, "are you act..."
"Not since Roberta passed," he admitted, skirting the issue of Adele.
There was a look of genuine relief on Sela's face, as if a huge burden had been lifted off her shoulders.
"Let's eat," she invited, and they were soon enjoying the best spaghetti that Michael would remember ever eating.
Over the next several months, Michael and Sela saw a great deal of one another - in the non-biblical sense. They talked about everything, found in one another a compatible companion. Interestingly, they had almost nothing in common: Sela liked plays and foreign films; Michael liked baseball. Sela was conservative, whereas Michael was a bleeding-heart liberal. And Sela drank perhaps a little too much wine, whereas Michael could nurse a single beer for most of the evening. They each had one child, a daughter, although Sela had a granddaughter and a great grandchild as well, whereas Michael hadn't been so fortunate.
"Karen never married?" asked Sela one night, referencing Michael's only child.
"She's been married for years," replied Michael.
"But she never had children?" she asked.
"She's considering it even as we speak," said Michael.
"Isn't she rather old to give birth, safely, I mean?"
"IVF," replied Michael. "She had her eggs frozen years ago. Her career always came first." Karen, like her father, had become an attorney.
"She has a very understanding husband," remarked Sela.
Michael permitted himself a smile. "Karen is married to another woman," he disclosed. "They've been together since college. They're a very happy couple."
Sela didn't say anything, but she was only fiscally conservative, not socially.
Michael and Sela and Angel sat on the sofa in Sela's living room, enjoying one of the few things that they all three liked - football. It was halftime and Sela clutched her third glass of wine, while Michael continued to nurse his solitary beer.
During a commercial, Angel ran to the bathroom and Sela turned to him. "Michael, can I ask you something?"
"Sure," he said, turning her way.
"How much do you like me?"
He paused, then replied, "I like you a great deal, Sela. Why would you ask me that?"
"Well," she said, "we've been dating for three months now."
He nodded.
"You kissed me on our first date. And many times since."
He nodded again at the sweet memory.
"But you never once tried to take me to bed. Don't you want to take me to bed, Michael?" she asked. After a moment, she blurted, "Oh, I've embarrassed you, haven't I? I'm sorry, I..."
"No, no. No, Sela," Michael said, looking her in the eyes. "I don't want to just take you to bed; I want to make love with you. But, seeing as how you still seemed to be holding on a little to your late husband, I didn't want to rush you. I didn't want to freak you out or anything."
"Michael," said Sela calmly, but with a glitter in her eyes.
"Yes, dear?"
"Let's fuck."
"Now?" he asked, checking to see if Angel were coming back.
Sela shook her head no. "Tomorrow," she said. "Angel will be in school. Come over, say, around nine, and we can..."
Michael leaned in closer to hear.
"...knock off a piece," said Sela, then tittered.
Just then Angel bounced back into the room. "What did I miss?" she asked. "Did we score?"
"Not yet," replied Sela with a straight face.
"Michael, what sort of attorney were you? Real estate, tort, trial lawyer?" asked Sela one afternoon.
He shook his head. "I dabbled a bit at first, but when my partners and I established our own firm, I became the managing partner. Sort of a glorified administrative functionary," he admitted. "It suited me."
"I can well imagine," remarked Sela.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Michael, you wear your heart on your sleeve. I can hardly fathom you plotting legal skulduggery before a jury panel."
"Touché," he said with a comfortable smile. She really was getting to know the true Michael Lessup and he was glad for that.
"Let's take a lovers' quiz," suggested Sela one evening in her living room.
"A lovers' quiz?" said Michael.
"Yes," she said. "After all, we are lovers, are we not?" She stared at him over the copy of Ms.
"Indeed we are," he agreed. "Go ahead."
"What," she read, "is the single most important thing in a relationship?"
Musing for a moment, Michael said, "Love? Respect?"
Sela checked a box in the magazine. "I say that the only essential thing is trust," she said.
"But," said Michael, "all those things are closely related. One leads naturally to the other."
"Perhaps," said Sela, "but once you've broken trust, all is lost. I feel that friendship, a relationship, love, is like a fine china teacup."
Michael looked at her.
"Cause a crack, and it's ruined."
"But, a cup can be repaired," Michael said.
"Yes, you can glue the cup back together, but the hairline fracture will always be there."
Michael was retracing his steps through the little park, at loose ends because Sela, his almost constant companion, was on a weekend sojourn with her daughter and son-in-law and with Angel. He didn't often find himself alone nowadays and that was just the way he liked it. Although his Parkinson's was progressing apace, as his neurologist had told him it would, he remained emotionally buoyant. Suddenly, his ringer tone sounded and he pulled out his cell phone, checked the caller ID.
"Karen?" he said. "Is everything all right?" She was so busy that it was unusual for her to call him during business hours, which for Karen entailed nearly every waking moment.
"Congratulations, Dad," said Karen warmly.
"What is it?" he asked. He didn't like surprises. "Congratulations for what?"
"You're gonna be a granddad," she said happily.
Michael was momentarily speechless. "What's it going to be, a boy or a girl?"
"Yes!" she said.
On Monday, Michael told Sela the good news. She congratulated him with what he took to be genuine pleasure. She had his back, he thought, and she was happy when he was. Angel took the news well, too.
What's her name going to be, Michael?' she asked when told that Karen was expecting a girl.
"Allison," replied Michael.
"Does that mean I'll have a little sister now?" she asked.
Michael looked with love at the almost 13-year-old. "You bet!" he said.
"Sela," said Michael one afternoon as they redressed in her bedroom, "could you take off work in a couple of weeks and go out of town with me? My law school is having its 50th class reunion and I can think of nothing I'd so like as to show off to those so-and-sos my beautiful, sexy lady friend."
"You're just this year having your 50th college reunion?" she asked. "I had mine five years ago."
"What year did you graduate?" he asked.
"I got my MA in 1968," she replied. "You?"
"1973," he said.
They both stood impassively, absorbing what until that moment had been an unasked question: their respective ages. Sela was several years older than Michael. Did it even make a difference? they both wondered. Surely not, thought Sela, but she knew how men could be sensitive about such things. Part of the alpha male thing. She put the question to Michael.
"Michael, does this make a difference?"
"What?" he asked, tucking in his shirt. But, he knew what.
"The fact that I'm five years older than you," she said.
"Well, actually," he said, "I graduated high school a year early."
Sela rolled her eyes. "Great. Then, does the fact that I'm six years your elder make a difference about the way you feel?"
"Certainly not."
Sela said nothing, and Michael was left with his own thoughts.
Sela was hosting a sleepover for Angel and her five BFFs, and Michael, not up to the furor inherent in such an event, made himself scarce. At loose ends, he gravitated to the corner tavern, which he had not frequented since his encounter with Adele in the now distant past. Since it was within walking distance, he resolved to have a couple of beers and then return home for an early evening. Walking through the door, he beheld a festive air: the place was decorated for the holidays; Christmas was but four days away.
Past the tinsel-strewn backbar and the sad little balsam fir and the thousand glittering bottles of rum and schnapps and whiskey, he found a solitary vacant barstool. An hour later, he grabbed a handful of bar nuts and washed them down with his third cold beer, and was startled to find a hand intimately draped on his shoulder. He looked up to find Adele - a blonde now - clad in tight jeans and a red flannel shirt. She looked damn good, he thought. And so young.
"Hi, Mickey," she said breathlessly, and kissed him hard on the lips, practically sitting on his lap.
"Hi, Adele," he said thickly. Apparently she still occupied her old haunts.
"Buy me a drink, stud?' she asked, coyly biting her lower lip. He did so. And many more.
Michael and Sela celebrated their two-year anniversary just days later. Angel was spending the evening with her grandmother. As usual, Sela cooked Michael's favorite - spaghetti. She found her man to be somewhat more taciturn than usual, but thought little of it. She felt very sure in a relationship she'd had misgivings about at first. She knew that Michael Lessup, the man she had given her heart to, was a good and kind soul, who would do nothing to hurt her or Angel, who had begun to regard Michael as a stand-in grandfather figure. They had discussed the future. Would they live together? If so, she and Angel would move in with Michael, for he had a much larger home, as befitted a once prosperous attorney. They had even discussed marriage. It gave her a warm feeling inside. Understanding his medical needs, Sela had learned to cook for a diabetic diet, though in fact Michael wasn't very mindful of his health. Things looked good.
Michael, on the other hand, was miserable. With his heart cloaked in guilt, he could barely dress himself. He had betrayed the woman he loved, the sweet creature he'd pledged his heart to. How could he have done something so unspeakable? he asked himself. Which reminded him of something else his older brother had told him: don't think with your dick, Mike. Through the course of the always delicious meal that Sela had prepared, Michael didn't taste a thing.
"What did you do the other night when the girls and I were partying?" asked Sela playfully.
Michael glanced sharply at her. What did she know? "Went to the tavern," he replied. "Had a couple of beers."
"Meet anyone?" she asked innocently.
He glanced sharply at her again, but her face was impassive.
It was not until they were in bed that night, when Sela tried to coax Michael into some lovemaking, that he gave himself away. He confessed to a night of debauchery with the notorious Adele, of whose identity Michael had made Sela aware, more than two years ago, when they both made a clean breast of the past. When he had told her, she grew quiet, and Michael uneasy.
"Is this because of what I told you about our ages?" she asked.
Michael hadn't the heart to lie. "Yes," he said.
"You told me it didn't matter," she reminded him.
"It didn't. It doesn't. I don't know, I guess I had some doubts... I'm sorry, Sela."
"Me, too," she said.
"I'll do anything to make it up to you."
"Once you lose trust, how can you get it back?" she asked. "I told you once that love is like a fine china teacup, that once it's broken, there is no going back." She stared up into his eyes.
"Sela," he said again, earnestly, "I'll do anything. You name it."
"Alright," she said. "Here's what I want you to do: get out of bed, get dressed and go home. Or go back to Adele or whoever you want. Only don't come back here, ever again."
"Sela, no," he began, but she cut him off.
"I loved you, Michael. Let me hold onto what respect I still have for you. Just go. Please."
Present Day
Michael sat on the inevitable green-painted bench in the familiar little park, his mind numb. The weather was past chilly; it was downright cold. Christmas was just days away. He had not seen Sela in almost two years. She had spurned his almost constant entreaties, pleas, phone calls and outreach. To only add to his misery, Karen's child had died during childbirth more than a year before. There would be no Allison. He had stopped shaving and now sported a gray and white beard that did little for his appearance, but he didn't care. He had stopped testing his blood sugar each morning, at first afraid of what it might be and then indifferent to the results. He drank more now than he should. He sighed.
"Hello, Michael." A familiar voice.
He looked up to find Angel standing before him, still pretty and now impossibly taller than when he'd first met her more than four years before. He extended his hand and she enclosed it with her own.
"Angel," he said warmly. "How's your Nana?" he asked at once.
"You hurt her," the girl said.
Michael nodded. "I know."
"She's better," allowed Angel, "but she's still hurting."
Michael said nothing.
"She's so terribly lonely," she added.
"She's not dating?" asked Michael.
Angel shook her head no. "She has a hard time trusting," she said. "But then, you know that." When Michael only sighed, Angel continued, "I think you were good for her, Michael. You know, Pops," she said referencing her great grandfather, "wasn't all that great a guy."
Michael looked up at the 15-year-old with surprise. "Sela almost never talked about Trevor," he said. "I took it she put him on a pedestal and compared everyone else to him. What was he like?" he asked.
"He died when I was about seven," said Angel. "But, he wasn't always so nice."
Michael looked at her questioningly and finally Angel blew out a breath and admitted, "Sometimes he hit Nana."
A sudden fire blazed in Michael's eyes. "Sela wouldn't put up with that."
"Nana said, once you choose someone, it's for life, good and bad, ups and downs. He was upset because my mom got pregnant by some lowlife, and saddled him with a little bastard. He called her a slut and said it was Nana's fault because she raised her children stupidly."
"How did you get along with Trevor?" asked Michael, dreading the answer.
"I don't remember a lot, I was so young," replied Angel. "But I don't remember him ever touching me, like you do. You know, hugs, holding hands, like that."
Michael was stunned. He just sat there on the bench, trying to get his mind around all this. He looked up, surprised at the little girl who was fast becoming a young woman, wise beyond her years.
"So, I think you were really good for Nana. But," she said, "you know how she is."
Michael nodded again. "She was right about me, Angel," he began, but she cut him off.
"I think the two of you should just get over yourselves," she said emphatically.
"Hm? What do you..."
"Nana's BS about fractured teacups and all the rest," she went on as if he hadn't spoken. "I want you to come home with me, Michael. Today is Nana's birthday and I asked her what she wanted and she said, 'surprise me.' So I am. I'm dating now, and I know that everyone deserves a second chance. You don't have to come back for good, but come back at least for today. The metro bus leaves in ten minutes; it'll let us out a block from our house. Please?"
As Angel led Michael through the front door of her and Sela's medium-sized house in the burbs, she called into the kitchen as she closed the door. Michael stood behind her, feeling a little lost, but with a growing excitement. "I got your present, Nana," she called.
"What did you get?" asked Sela's warm, familiar voice. She walked into the living room and saw Michael.
"A new teacup," said Angel.
Sela stopped in her tracks, looked in surprise at Michael. "Where did you come from?" she asked.
"I found him sitting in the park," volunteered Angel.
Sela wiped her hands on the towel she carried. "In the park? In this weather? How long have you been sitting out in the cold?" she asked.
"For two years," he replied.
Sela flushed.
"Would you like for me to go?" asked Michael.
Sela shook her head. "No. Please stay for supper. We're having your favorite."
"I smelled it from outside," said Michael with a little smile.
During dinner the three caught up. Angel explained she was serious about a boy named Mark, which left Sela with a frown. Michael disclosed the tragic fate of his granddaughter and he said, "I almost called you."
"I wish you had," said Sela. Michael went on to say that Karen had made partner at her firm and was more determined than ever to have a child. Angel excused herself to use the telephone and Michael and Sela sat regarding each other. Finally, Michael could take it no longer and said, "Let's play 'Truth.'"
"You mean 'Truth or Dare'?" asked Sela cagily.
"No. One person tells the other person something they never told them before. It's got to be the truth. You game?"
"I'll go first," she said. "Michael, it's nice to see you, but you look like five miles of bad road."
Michael blinked, said, "Fair enough. My turn."
She braced herself.
He said, "Sela, I'm still in love with you."
She dropped her wine glass, which shattered spectacularly against her dinner plate.
Angel popped out of her bedroom, alarmed by the sound of the breaking dishes.
Michael continued as if nothing had happened. "I've grown two years older, but I've gained the wisdom of 20. I love you, Sela, and I want a second chance."
When she hesitated, he added, "You won't regret it. I've evolved," he said with a little smile.
"Alright, Michael," she whispered. "I've evolved a little myself, I guess. It'll take a while to recapture the trust."
"I understand."
"Maybe years," she added.
"I know," said Angel with a grin, "in three years we can have a double wedding."
I loved this narrative. The main character feels real. The world he inhabits feels appropriate to his character. The love story is wonderfully redemptive. One of my favorite scenes is the very first one. It felt so full and rich of emotion and possibilities. There is a grit to this story. It also shines a light on a world we don’t always see…seniors. Well done, Bill!
ReplyDeleteI appreciate your thoughts, June. This lovely lady has been kind enough to read several of my stories prior to publication--or even submission--and express her thoughts. Look for June's story in FOTW a month from Today--I will!
DeleteI enjoyed this tender, heartfelt story. Michael's combination of grumpiness and kindness is distinctive and memorable.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Gilbert. I'm please you enjoyed the MC.
DeleteYes, this is a tender, heartfelt story about love in our twilight years. Michael went back to bed with Adele as a way to hold onto the illusion of youth. In the story, Sela appeared younger than Michael as she did not, at the time, have serious health issues. I guess he just panicked about his own illness and the age of Sela. I am glad these two got back together, as life is too short to obsess over hairline fractures.
ReplyDeleteWell said, Rozanne; you got the point of the story completely; life IS just too short to obsess--over anything. Thanks for writing.
Delete