I’d just gotten of the bus and was heading home to sleep when I met up with the sweaty truck driver. I was wearing all black. I looked appropriately dressed for a funeral and not a chance encounter. Black ballet slipper shoes, long flowing dress matching bandanna and even ebony earrings. It was amazing, I wasn't sweating as much as the truck driver considering how hot it was. He wanted my number. That was funny. Some strange guy in a machine filled truck actually thinking he was going to get “the digits” as they say. Maybe if he weren't so hairy he’d have a chance; then again, probably not. But it’s always fun to flirt. I told him I wasn't interested He kept asking, begging actually so I finally did my usual. I told him I’d get his number and I even promised to call at least once. He looked suspiciously at me. “Are you really going to call?” I smiled. “I promise I’ll call you at least once.” I had every intention of calling hi. It would of course be when all civilized folk would be at work but it would be a call nonetheless. He begrudgingly gave ME the digits. I smiled and walked away after making sure he wasn't following me. A girl can’t be too careful.
As I started towards home I noticed a little Grey car. I had seen it pass by while I was talking to Mr. Hairy but I hadn’t thought much about it. It was the same car I was sure of it. The driver looked as if he were watching me and I couldn’t help but be a bit intrigued because this was a new experience for me. I mean one chance encounter can happen and usually does but two encounters in a row, that’s something.
I’ve always liked a second helping and this one looked much better than the first. He appeared to be looking for a good place to park, which was odd because the street was fairly open. I managed to head home at a rather slow stroll and glance at him on occasion. HE watched me as I slowly approached. He was beautiful, big green eyes, dark black hair, summer tan and perfect lips looked up at me through tinted glass. It scared me and I quickened my pace. His expression seemed lost, actually it was more he seemed confused. It looked as if he was trying to come to a conclusion regarding something or another and he was having a difficult time. I passed his car and I felt him follow me with his eyes. He didn’t speak though. Too bad, I thought. Oh, well maybe only one encounter today.
I smiled at him for some inexplicable reason I wanted to find out more about this stranger who had followed me home. I told him to hold on a minute as I left all my valuables in my house. I still had some sense of self-preservation. When I finally came down we sat side by side on a bench next to one of those trees that smelled wonderful because of it many purple blossoms. I wish I knew what that scent was.
He was obviously uncomfortable and I thought that odd because I was the one putting myself in jeopardy. I was sitting alone in the courtyard of my apartment with a total stranger. Even though he seemed uncomfortable I felt he was determined to talk to me for whatever reason. I’m still not sure why he was so driven to talk to me. I may never know. He started by telling me he actually knew the person he’d asked me about. It was a long time ago and he no longer knew how to find her. She had lived here. He then also confessed that it was a way for him to open a conversation with me; a poor opening at best, but an opening that got him here with me.
Something so cosmic is inevitably flawed. One of the many tricks you learn as a single female is to scope out the ring finger of the man trying to catch your attention. Unfortunately my eyes detected a lovely gold band on the marriage hand. It was not a thumb ring, a pinky ring or even a lollipop ring for a snack; it was a simple wedding band. I hate that. I saw it. I looked away and looked back at it. I pretended I hadn’t scoped his hand so I could rescope with different results. No matter how often I checked and double-checked, the ring was still there and so was I. I couldn’t bring myself to ask about the ring or to tell him to go away the force of him was that strong. He asked me if I could possibly see myself inviting him up for a drink and I replied I don’t have any alcohol in my place. He assured me he was just thirsty and nothing more. So, I invited him up. I wasn’t sure why. I wasn’t sure what I was thinking. I was sure that it felt absolutely perfect. So many thoughts ran through my mind as we walked towards the stairwell and then slowly climbed. He brushed the back of my leg with his knee and I wasn’t sure if it was an accident or done intentionally. It felt right. I could feel his frame shadowing me as we came around the bend. I could feel him staring at me as we finally reached my landing. I couldn’t walk faster if I tried. I could barely breathe. I know that I’m not in the best of shape but I never became winded climbing the stairs. He made me nervous and I didn’t care. How does something like this happen to me? What exactly is happening? I met a man in the middle of the street and now he’s following me home.
I gave him lemonade. We sat on the tiny pin-striped couch in my living room and somehow managed to remain in neutral corners. He told me stories of Kings and Queens and sailing wax. Well maybe not sailing wax but more than half of them were tall tales I’m sure. When there were details of pain and hardship though, I felt they were genuine tales. He seemed to me a troubled soul a beautiful, charming, troubled man-child. As he relayed a particularly fanciful tale he gestured wide with his hands. I noticed a distinct lack of wedding band. Now, I am 100% positive that I saw a ring. I would not have put that band on his finger just to torture myself at least I don’t think I would. I do have a warped imagination. The mystery of the ring’s disappearance was soon solved. There became a brief moment of silence where we both happened to glance out the window. It was much darker than it was when we first entered. When I checked the clock it stated the time as 7:52 P. M. we had been engrossed in conversation for nearly 4 hours. It was well past time for him to be on his way. He rose to leave and underneath him lay the solitary band. We both saw it lying there. He looked at it then looked at me and smiled. He smiled a smile I’m sure he’d smiled a thousand times before. A smile he’d used to get out a trouble since he was maybe four.
He told me he was embarrassed to have it as he slid it back in place. He said he hadn’t thought I would talk to him if I had seen it. He told me he was married to stay in the country to a woman who was just a good friend and wanted to help him. Now anyone with common sense would see right through that line of bull. If that were a true story he could have said it right up front and he wouldn’t have worried about the ring. I have common sense but I wanted to believe otherwise so I accepted his explanation as fact. He called me the next day. We talked of Europe and his childhood. How he wasn’t really close to his parents or his siblings except for one baby sister whom he adored. He’d been a hoodlum in his youth; a body builder with long hair, running wild in the streets. He’d been a model for a moment and a loner for even longer. He’d traveled the rails and somehow managed to earn enough with odd jobs to bring him here to America
He told me he was no older than I was before I told him an age. He told me so much that my head overflowed and one word kept coming to mind. Lies, all of it lies is what I thought. Beautiful, charming, convincing, disarming lies were all he said. I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. But even through the lies I unearthed grains of truth. He was an arrogant spoiled brat with a father that only half cared and a mother whom he resented for not always being there. He was afraid to be alone but even more afraid to care for fear of being hurt. He was I. I had met myself and was afraid of seeing me so clearly. Every fear and every dream all the smoke and mirrors of my reality were reflected in Perjha. My own soul looking me in the eyes and not wanting me to go was Perjha. My first true connection with another human being was Perjha. Another woman’s husband was Perjha. I kept trying to convince myself to believe his outlandish tale of just being married to stay in the country. I knew it was a lie but I didn’t want o make him go away. Not yet. Besides what harm could there be in making a new friend, it’s not as if we’ve done anything. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. He asked if he could come over. He said he needed to see me. He said it so simply. I said come over. Almost immediately he was here.
He looked even better than the day before. He was wearing the popular outfit of white tank top under an open shirt and black jeans. He brought a gift as well, a lovely bottle of champagne. Somehow we never got around to the champagne. We resumed our positions on the couch and continued to converse. His stories were never ending. Without warning he kissed me; a long, lingering soul touching kiss. My thought about nothing happening became a memory as we kissed. All thoughts vanished and time passed but neither of us noticed. The words stop and no were slowly loosing meaning. He took my hands, led me to the patch of floor by my window and began to do one of the most cliché moves in history. He danced with me as he sang “Misty” softly in my ear. Cliché and all I loved the mood. The moment was an exquisite first. Dancing in the dark as he sang the words no and stop left my brain and he won. I’m pretty sure he knew he would. I’m pretty sure I knew he would. We stopped dancing to move on to better things. You know, just because momma brought me up knowing right from wrong, it didn’t mean the lines didn’t cross from time to time. This was definitely one of those times. I knew what I wanted was wrong but our connection was just too strong for me to deny.
He didn’t call me the next day. He didn’t call me the following day, the day after that or the day after that either. I thought he was gone. I had no way to contact him and I was sure I’d never see him again. He had told me that he lived nearby but I lived near everywhere and nearby could be in any direction. His self defense mechanism was truth coated in lies so for all I knew I was just passing through and nearby could be another city. I missed him. I hated that. He’d gotten so close to me and now he wasn’t there. I knew I should have been stronger. I just couldn’t because I didn’t want to be strong. I’ll forget about him, eventually. A week or so after this my phone rang. Someone on the other side sang “Misty” to me. I smiled against my will. “Hello Perjha.” He asked me not to be mad at him but to help him instead. He told me he had spent the past weeks thinking of what had happened. He asked if he could come over and of course I said yes. He came over and we talked. I couldn’t understand how we could talk about everything so easily. The subject of the day was music and us. Perjha and I were so alike in so many ways I could scarcely believe he hadn’t found a complete dossier about me and had memorized the key points to imitate.
I kept locking up the thoughts in my head. Random thoughts like: “You’re now the other woman. What could possibly come of this? What if he goes away again?” I didn’t want to be logical and in control anymore. Perjha would be my secret, my tall, dark and handsome secret. He made me happy and I would think of nothing else, not the wife I’d never meet or the guilt I felt in general regarding the whole situation. I enjoyed our conversations. He’d call me or come over and we would talk as we played cards or sat in our usual spots on the couch; harmless engaging conversations. I think we talked so much because Perjha needed a friend. He seemed to have no one in which to confide his problems. I felt that if I could keep him as a confidant then I would feel no guilt at our meetings. It was hard. Perjha attempted to make love to me on several occasions and each time it became more and more difficult to say no. He’d pout each time he was defeated. I couldn’t help but laugh at his frustration. I didn’t want to tell him he wasn’t alone. He’d eventually laugh and smile his four-year-olds smile grab me up into a big bear hug and hold me for hours. We’d hug and he’d leave.
Everything would have continued if I’d never seen his wife. I was standing at the bus stop waiting to start my morning commute when I saw them. His car was directly across from me. He saw me. I saw his wife. She was so tiny and sweet. She was very attractive too. She looked like a woman in love. That look made me die inside. My fantasy world came to an abrupt end. Perjha came over that night and I told him to go away. He wouldn’t leave. I told him we couldn’t continue. It was no longer a game. He wouldn’t listen. He grabbed me, pinned me against a wall and said, “I want you, all of you. You can’t deny you want me. You enjoy this game of teasing me and telling me to go away. I won’t let you send me away. I want you. All of you.” He was right. I did enjoy it but it couldn’t continue. I’d seen the other woman. I’d seen the wife and no matter how I wanted to lie to myself, I knew she loved him and he was married to her not me. “Please go away.” I quietly said. He looked at me and then he did. I was alone again. I fell back into my previous routine.
I waited at my stop well before or well after the time I saw him with his wife. As much as I wanted to catch a glimpse of him, I knew it would be better if I didn’t. I lay awake at night thinking of him. I would tell myself to get over it. My subconscious never listened. I would often dream of us. Places we’d been or snatches of conversation. One night I dreamed he returned to me without his ring. I awoke to the phone ringing. It was Perjha. He told me he was moving and that he and his wife were getting a divorce. He was lying again. I felt it but I didn’t care. He told me what I wanted to hear and heard how much he needed me in his voice. He came over. It was magic. He felt so good. I wished I’d given in again sooner. IT was wondrous until that final climax. We’d done it again and we both knew it was wonderful but wrong. We lay there silently for a while. We didn’t need to speak. He kissed me slowly and tenderly. He held me tight and then he left. He remained in my life for another week. We had numerous phone conversations regarding politics and current affairs. We even discussed our own affair. On the last day I saw him he told me the truth of his age, adventures and wife. I listened as if the information was new but I’d discovered all the truth long ago.
I decided to make some tea. As I moved to the kitchen I did a little dance. We were listening to music and if music plays my body sways. He asked me to dance for him. I did. He smiled. His eyes followed my every move traveling up and down my form with unguarded desire. The song ended and I went to him. He wrapped me in a warm embrace. We remained that way for a while and then he smiled and hugged me before he left. I never saw him again. Not exactly never, he did show up in bits and pieces in the forms of future relationships. I’ve yet to find the complete package. One day I know I will. I hope he’s happy. My phone rings from time to time and no one says a word. I swear I hear “Misty” in the background. I could be wrong. Even still it’s a nice song to hear.
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