Cheesecake, RC Colas and a Moon Pie (short story)

Dave and Breen become true ‘oneness.’

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We were approaching the exit before the one for Breen’s Aunt Margaret’s home, “Dave, take this exit.”  I raised a questioning eyebrow, but Breen just smiled and sat back, listening to the radio.

The town was called Warren’s Tavern and there was not much to it but a few stores and a spattering of old single family homes.  Breen wanted to stop at the Gas-’n-Go.  We went inside and bought RC Colas and a Moon Pie for Breen, “Don’t tell Aunt Margaret I got this, okay, cause she’ll be mad at me for ruining my dessert appetite; that sort of thing.”  Outside again, she took my hand and we walked over to some chairs on the store’s porch.

Now sitting, and definitely enjoying her Moon Pie, Breen looked at me with a schoolgirl grin, “Why didn’t you get one?”  “My diet routine, watch the carbs…sooo, even though I love Moon Pies, I want to spend my carbs on the homemade stuff you said your aunt is making for us.”  In an amused voice, Breen asks, “Stuff?”  “I said that in a nice way.”  “David, my aunt does not make stuff.  She bakes pies and cakes.”  “OK, I am holding out for the wonderful pies and cakes that your aunt has lovingly, tirelessly, carefully baked for us to enjoy.”  “BS, BS, BS!”

I notice she had been looking across the street, “Dave, when Donna and I first met, she said that the two of you maintained your privacy, yet could still be so close.”  She looks at me with a questioning look.  “We are close, but yes we have our privet lives.  Then, my relationship with Donna is not what I want with you.  I…Breen, I want to be open with you, but we still need some privacy…it’s the balance.” I could tell she understood and agreed.  So I volunteered, “I overheard Donna say that she had no idea where I went soon after my divorce, and the possible sex with swans part also.”

Breen giggled, “Is it a secret?  I mean why is it so important to keep it from Donna?”   “I never intended it to be a secret.  She never asked and I guess, eventually, as time passed, it became a ‘secret.’  I did not tell her right out because she would not have approved of the trip.  I had planned a cruse, then I said hell, do something totally stupid.  So first I went to New York, bought some strawberry cheesecake and ate it while I walked around SoHo.  Bought some orange and stuffed it in my mouth as I took a tour of Chinatown.”  Breen is staring at me open-mouthed, not wanting to believe what I was telling her.  “I flew to Monterey, California for some key lime cheesecake with mango sauce and watched the sea lions.  Albuquerque was next. Went to Dee’s Cheesecake Factory on Menaul Boulevard for amaretto cheesecake; I think it was chocolate amaretto.  Strange city to have cheesecake worthy of a special trip; that’s cause you need to experience it fresh served in the small shop next to the bakery.  Flew to Del Ray, Florida for some really good, diner-style cheesecake; the kind you used to be able to buy at diners from Baltimore to New Jersey.  Now you have to go to where the great diner cheesecake chefs have retired.  Then, back home…cheesecaked out, if I might say, but my mind was clear.”

Breen had that look of ‘should I laugh or cry,’ “Your mind?  No wonder you kept this to yourself.  I think sex with swans in Switzerland may have been easier for Donna to understand.”

Moon Pie finished, she put out her hand to stop me from getting up.

Her mood took a sudden change; it became serious, deep in thought.  Not knowing why, I waited.  She is looking, staring at something across the street, “See that house over there, the yellow one?”  I nodded.  “I was in the upstairs bedroom, the one to the right of the door, when I decided to get married the first time.  My friend Trish lived there at the time.  We had just walked back from this store.  I remember the day so vividly.”  Breen was now looking off into the distance, not at the house, but through it.  “I missed the Moon Pies when we lived overseas.  Funny how little things like that stay in your mind.  I was here for a visit and Trish and I just talked and shoved Moon Pies in our faces for three days.  Well, it seemed like a lot of them; guess I was making up for the one’s I had missed and those I would miss when I left.”  I had no idea what Moon Pies and marriage had in common.  Nor did I have words to respond, so as to help Breen grasp what she was reaching for.

“Trish laughed at me over all the Moon Pies and made a comment about it was a good thing I was not into guys the way I was feeding myself on junk food.  It was meant as a joke, but how would she know about my life in the ‘big would,’ as she called life outside Warren’s Tavern.”  Breen looked at me, studied my face, “I had an instant vision of marriage as the answer to my life’s problems.  Marriage was the obvious step because he had been urging me to marry him.  I could tell you words like ‘teenage love’ and ‘teenage immaturity,’ but Dave I never fully understood why I got married the first time.”

She had stopped speaking, but her eyes told me that she was continuing the story silently to herself.   In a soft, almost whisper, “I tried to be a good wife, I really did try.  Maybe the cards were stacked against me from the very start because I chose someone who was so selfish he wanted to share nothing with me, just take.”  She paused.  I nodded, reached out and took her hand.  Almost to herself, “That part we have gone over before, haven’t we?”  I gave her hand a gentle squeeze in reply.

Breen quickly got up and looked at the house for a second or two, then turned around and looked at me again. “Maybe it was to be an adult, maybe a way to leave one’s childhood home…who knows, its past history.  But the guilt of your past never really leaves…” she looks straight into my eyes…”and it rears its ugly head when you truly fall in love with someone.” She paused, then, “Dave, I’m far from perfect.  Don’t ever think I am perfect, because I can selfishly take just as good as anyone.”   She is looking at me and telling me that she loves me.  I keep the words forming silently in my mind; I just nod understanding.  Understanding of the commitment her openness had just brought to the table.

As I stood, Breen looped her arm through mine and we walked to the car.  She hesitated letting go so she could get in.  This was real hesitation; hesitation of not wanting to lose me.  Suddenly the table was turned.  The commitment Breen’s openness brought to the table was what I had always dreamed about, but this was not a game; now I had to choose to commit or walk away.  I wanted to stay.

When I got in, Breen leaned over and kissed me.  With seatbelt buckled, Breen leaned against me, placing her head on my shoulder.  I started to place the car in gear, but she took my right hand off the gear shift, raised it to her lips, and kissed the back of my hand.  “Dave, please stop thinking I am perfect.  I can read your mind.”  Still having no words to say, I just squeezed her hand and pressed the side of my head against hers.  Breen reached out and turned the radio on, knowing the mood had to lighten up “Music time.”

We completed the trip to her aunt’s house in a peaceful, oneness.

(Through a Stranger’s Eyes, is a work of fiction, copyright Steven S. Walsky, 2005, all rights reserved.)

The complete novel Through a Stranger’s Eyes, a novel of love, is posted on this blog.

Expression (Painting with Words)

Every one of us has the ability to use words to communicate.  Sometimes we simply build a wall around the thoughts that want to be set free into the world.  I believe the secret to expression, is how you chose to emote ‘yourself’ through the words you use.

Think of each word as having an individual, unique life to share with the reader.  For example, ‘Idiosyncrasy,’ is a twelve letter word.  As a word, idiosyncrasy is spelt this big: hold your hands shoulder-width apart.  Yet the definition of idiosyncrasy is, regardless of how you try to bend the word, simply a noun meaning peculiarity.

The word ‘no,’ n, o, on the other hand is two letters.  Not spelt this big, hands shoulder-width apart, but, hold your hands about two inches apart.  However, it is you, the communicator that has the marvelous ability to use the full breadth, the depth of a two letter word.  You have the ability to release ‘no’ into the world as an adverb, an adjective, or as a noun.  And, if capitalized, ‘No’ is a spelling variation of N-o-h, a classic Japanese dance-drama having a heroic theme.  Yes, ‘no’ can be a heroic word.  I admire country music writers.  They can take a simple word and befuddle your mind; as Lorrie Morgan sang, “What part of no don’t you understand?”

I write free form and free style prose because of the freedom of structure.  For me, traditional poetry is at times too rigid in meter, in rhyme.  As a photographer, black and white is my medium of choice, because it demands that I communicate without the assistance of vivid, self-expressive colors.  In the realm of black and white photography I am forced to be truly creative.  One day, through comparison of my writing and photography, I recognized the freedom from the ‘rules’ I gained in my prose was, to me, a freedom to be sloppy with my writing; a reason why I was having trouble communicating through my writing.

What I propose to each of you, is to analyze your writing; but not vertically – not as an entity unto itself – but to look horizontally.  Compare and contrast your writing to the other ways you express yourself.  If you want to write a love letter, try to envision how you would compose a photograph or a painting of that person; a mental picture that reminds you of how you feel in your heart about him or her.  Try to imagining how you would express your love through the sense of touching.  Let the feeling of touching the softness of skin on the neck just below the earlobe, or the feeling of warmth of a kiss under the summer’s night sky, guide your words.

Writing is art; paint with your words, don’t just type them out.

Adventures in Dating: Dave Starting Over

After I got divorced I had decided to skip dating and go right to relationships; which seemed at the time to be a good plan.  I reckoned that I was too old to ‘date’ and too young to worry about needing to rush into a long term commitment.  Also, I was too broke to afford to do much of anything, and dating is expensive.  My goal was to enjoy life and hopefully find a woman that enjoyed the same things I enjoyed, and we would enjoy these activities together, thus enjoying being with each other.

Notice I used ‘enjoy’ more than once; enjoy was the operative word.  Nevertheless, for some reason my coworkers and friends were so intent on ensuring my love life was on a steady course, they overlooked the word enjoy.  Dating is not bliss enjoyment; it’s looking, testing, impressing, and re-looking.  Not that you cannot have fun on a date; it’s just that dates are intended to be predictable events that normally fit a routine acceptable by both parties.  My best friend Donna summed it up, “You’re scared to go out with a woman for the first time!”  Maybe that was the problem.  Never was good at dating before, why would I be any better now?  The prospect of dating again was scary.

Thankfully, there was a Donna in my life who took pity on me and sort of ran interference as my coworkers and friends tried to introduce me to their female friends, family members, and even complete strangers who they met in their van pools and even on public transportation.  I think the most interesting was the policewoman who, while writing a speeding ticket for a coworker, commented that her ex-husband drove the same type of car, just as fast.  “Call her Dave, I’m sure this is her work number,” pointing to the number printed on the ticket, “she’s a doll, a real doll.”  “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

Donna and I discussed dating over coffee and cheesecake one afternoon.  We, or more correctly, Donna worked out the ground rules, “No blind dates; period.  No dates with sisters.”  “Do you mean Nuns?  I didn’t think they can date.”  “Dave, this is why I ruled out sisters.  I would not want you dating my sister.”  “She available?”  “NO.  Now, back to the rules.  No dates with any women who like NASCAR.”  “Uh?  Why is it you constantly find fault with my liking NASCAR; it’s an American recreation!”  “I’m only looking out for your own good.  You’re prone to elope with the first woman who likes NASCAR…if you can find one.”  “A lot of women like NASCAR!”

“Trust me on this one, if she likes NASCAR, Chevy Silverados, or eating mint chocolate chip ice cream straight out of a half-gallon container it’s a nonstarter.  And by the way, watching cars drive around in circles is not recreation.  Maybe it is for the driver, but not you.  The only physical exercise involved is lifting the TV remote and possibly carrying a beer into the den. Unless you go to a race,” laugh, “and I went, remember, and ‘recreation’ was limited to jumping up every other lap to see who ran into whom.”  By the time Donna had written down all the rules, I was not sure if any woman would be going out with me.

She takes on a ‘third grade teacher’s look’, “Oh, one last thing for the list, I get to pre-rate the prospects.”  “Why, so you can date her first?”  “Don’t be a dumb-ass this is for your own good.”  “Obviously no woman is going to be good enough to make the cut.”

Seriously, I did not want to become another ‘eligible’ divorcee.  I had visions of just being who I was and everything would work itself out.  Which meant maneuvering within a ‘couples’ world as a single person, and not feeling self-conscious being a ‘party of one.’  For the most part it worked because I had spent a good deal of time on the road for work, so party of one’ y’all was old hat.  I started enjoying hobbies again and travel, and before I knew it I was meeting people who had the same interests; and people translated into women with the same interests.

Donna kept me focused on ‘enjoyment.’ However, apparently there is a lot of pressure on your friends when you are divorced.  They have a guilt ridden psyche, “you’re not getting any younger,” “good soul mates are hard to find,” “the competition is not in your favor,” etc., etc., etc.; well-meaning comments from well-meaning friends.  I was out to prove them wrong.

This was not an instant success story.  No, ‘party of one’ was more often than not.  The complete date list was a short one and that was fine with me.  When someone at work would ask about my love life I would say, “I am in the fun stage of life right now and I’ll let you know if I fall in love.”  For some, if you’re not ‘in love’ you’re not being successful at dating.  I was rewarded for my ideals and steadfastness by meeting Karen; and, sadly, chastised for Mandy.

(Adventures in Dating: Dave Starting Over is a work of fiction adapted from Through a Strangers Eyes, copyright 2005, by Steven S. Walsky, all rights reserved.)

Through a Stranger’s Eyes is now posted on this blog.