Chapter 4

For the next several weeks, Gayle and I tried to meet for lunch, as often as we could. Sometimes our schedules didn't match, but most of the time, we were able to still find time to talk, either by way of the phone late at night or email during the day. And, with each passing day, with each conversation and email message I received from her, I wanted to be with her even more. Whenever the phone rang, I instantly dashed over and snatched it up, hoping to hear her voice. Likewise, whenever I checked my email in the morning at school, I was overjoyed to find a message from her, sometimes nothing more than to wish me a good day and other times it could be a link to an interesting story or website she thought I might enjoy. Invariably, her guess was always right, and this made me feel even better about how our relationship was blossoming.

Gayle wasn't simply taking a stab in the dark, hoping I'd be impressed with some arbitrary conversation piece, like throwing darts at a target and praying you hit the bull's-eye. She had made a concerted effort to get to know me, and this was her way of propagating and grooming our relationship. Her email and phone calls weren't hollow gestures on her part. She actively engaged me in conversation about any number of topics, as I did with her. And the more information we exchanged, the better we came to know and understand one another, and the more we wanted to know and understand.

It had been nearly two months since I first met Gayle in the park, when she invited me over for dinner one evening. By now, we had become very close friends, and I felt comfortable being around her and discussing even personal details of my life that I normally wouldn't share with anyone other than my husband. So, that evening, we talked.

Music was playing softly on the stereo in the living room, and the lights out there were turned down low, while we sat in the kitchen at the table.

As Gayle ate, she set down her fork and picked up her napkin, wiping the corners of her mouth.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, reaching for her glass.

I sat back and nodded, taking my own napkin and dabbing my lips.

"Mm hm," I replied with a smile.

Gayle pushed her chair back and reached for my plate.

"Done?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," I replied, holding my hands back, as she picked it up along with her own. "Very good," I added. "Thank you."

Gayle grinned and carried our plates to the sink and rinsed them off. Then she placed them in the dishwasher and walked back to the table. She picked up her glass and nudged her head toward the living room, gesturing for me to follow.

We sat on the couch and were quiet for a moment, and then I spoke.

"So, what were you gonna ask me?"

Gayle was taking a sip from her glass, and then held it in both hands, looking down with just the hint of a smile on her face. She crossed one leg over her knee, rolling the glass between her slender fingers.

"It's sorta personal," she said softly.

I glanced down at my glass and shrugged.

"S'ok," I replied. "You can ask whatever you want."

She took a sip, and looked at me from the corner of her eye.

"All right," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Are you..." But then she paused and hesitated a second, and then turned to me saying, "Why aren't you dating anyone?"

I was still staring down at my glass and slowly nodded my head.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I guess that's sort of a good question."

Gayle slowly turned her body so she was facing me and rested her arm on the back of the couch.

"I dunno," I mumbled.

Then I felt her hand on my shoulder.

"I'm not trying to pry into your personal life," she said.

I quickly glanced at her, and then back down to the glass in my hands.

"No," I replied, slowly shaking my head. "I know. It's ok." Then I sighed again.

"I dunno," I said, turning to face her. "It's... I dunno... It's been so long. I never thought I'd find myself dating again, after I got married. It's just... Where do you start? How? How do you find the right person? I mean..."

My voice tapered off and, when I looked up, she smiled.

"I dunno where to start," I whispered.

"Well," she replied, taking a drink, as she leaned back. "Whadda you want?" she asked. "What're you looking for?"

I sighed and pulled my legs onto the couch, crossing them, as I faced her.

"I dunno," I replied. "I'm not really sure."

Gayle was about to speak, when I quickly added, "Someone to be with."

I looked to her for a reaction, and she slowly nodded and turned her eyes down to the empty space between us.

"Yeah," she replied softly. "Me, too."

There was a long silence, and Gayle leaned forward to the coffee table, carefully placing her glass on it. Then she sat back slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, and clasped her hands together.

I had told her all about what had happened with my husband. I told her how it tore me apart, how it destroyed my life, and how empty inside it made me feel. I explained in great depth and detail, crying as she put her arm around me, how desperately alone I felt every day of my life, how hopeless, even meaningless my existence seemed to be, even in light of still having my daughter at my side. Rachel would eventually leave our home and start a family of her own some day, signifying the end of all that was left of mine. No longer would I be a member sitting at the center table of my primary family, but relegated to being yet one more visiting relative from out of town. When my daughter left home for good, I'd be on my own and the thought terrified me.

So, as I sat there with Gayle on her couch, she told me her story.

She was still looking down at her hands, when she reached up and brushed the hair from her face, hooking it over her ear. Then she glanced in my direction, giving me a weak smile.

"I've never told anyone this," she said. "But... I was married, too... a long time ago."

Then she looked at me again, as if embarrassed, adding, "To a guy."

She reached for her glass and took a sip.

"When I was seventeen, my step-father tried to rape me. I guess my mom told him about me... how I was a lesbian... thought I was, anyway. So... She was at work one night, and he was getting drunk, as usual..."

It seemed like this was difficult for her to talk about, so I leaned closer, placing my hand on her shoulder.

"Gayle," I whispered. "You don't have to..."

But she held up her hand in protest.

"No," she said, wagging her head. "You were honest with me, so... just lemme be honest with you."

She turned her head slightly, and I slowly nodded.

"Ok," I said, rubbing her back.

Gayle took a deep breath and sighed.

"So, ya know... that was his thing... When my mom was gone, he'd get drunk, and he'd always sorta... I dunno... like, try to come onto me, ya know? I dunno why I never told her though. I guess maybe I thought she probably felt like you did, when your..."

She paused and wiped her nose and glanced at me. Gayle's eyes were red, but I tried to smile for both of us.

"S'ok," I replied. "I know what you mean."

Then she leaned back against the couch, and I scooted closer, holding her hand in mine.

"So... I guess she must've told him about me or something, because the next thing I know, he comes into my room asking me if I was a dyke. And I could smell the alcohol on him, too. I mean, most of the time, he just sat downstairs and drank until he passed out. The only time he'd say something to me, ya know, some sorta comment about my tits or ass, was when he was drunk, but this was different. I mean, I knew this was not good, him being in my room and all."

Gayle swiped the palm of her hand under her eyes and took another sip from her glass.

"Anyway... so, he comes in my room and shuts the door, and he keeps asking me if I'm a dyke. I was really fucking scared. Any other time, I'd just blow off his comments, but he was acting really aggressive, ya know? So... I tried to run for my door, but there he is standing in my way, so I had to go around him, and when I did, he grabs my arm and drags me over to the bed. I mean, shit, next thing I know, this asshole is trying to rip my clothes off, and he's just rambling on and on, and I couldn't make sense of any of it, but, fuck, you know, I knew what he was trying to do to me."

I could see tears running down Gayle's cheeks, and I reached up and wiped them away with my thumb. She chuckled and said thanks, and then turned to me saying, "Wanna know what I did next?"

Her smile is infectious, but I tried not to let it affect me, given the serious nature of our conversation. I nodded, though, trying to suppress the urge to grin with her.

Gayle rotated her body on the couch, pulling one leg up, so she was facing me.

"Remember those one pens," she said. "The kind that had those weird little... God, what were those called? You know what I mean. They had those things at the top of 'em."

She looked to me for an answer, but all I could do was shrug.

"Oh, you know," she said, pushing on my knee. "They had the really hairy things at the top of the pen, and when you spun it back and forth in your hand, the hair would frizz out. Remember those?"

I thought about it for a second, and then my eyes shot open.

"Oh, yeah," I exclaimed. "Ok, yeah. I remember those. God, I'm sure I had one."

Gayle chuckled, saying, "Well, I mean, yeah. Who didn't?"

Then I reached over to the coffee table and picked up the napkin my glass sat on, handing it to her.

"Thanks," she mumbled, as she folded it and wiped her red nose.

"So, yeah, I stabbed him in the chest with one of those thingamajig pens."

I stared at her and blinked.

"Did he... ?"

But she shook her head and coughed with a laugh.

"No," she replied, still chuckling. "I guess those weren't designed to be used as personal defense weapons. Plus he had a pretty thick layer of blubber protecting his evil black heart, so that probably kept him alive, too."

We both grinned, as I took her hand in mine again. She turned her eyes up, trying to suppress her tears, and very quietly thanked me. Then she let out a long breath and fiddled with the napkin in her hand.

"So, anyway, I guess it sorta distracted him long enough so I could make my escape. I just went over to a friend's apartment... this guy I knew. He was a trucker, but not one of those, uh, what do ya call 'em? Long-haul guys. He was just some guy I met at a bar... He and one of his friends played pool with me and one of mine, so it was no big deal. But, anyway, I sorta moved in with him, and, I dunno... I mean, I liked him and all. He was cool. But I kept thinking, ya know, this is what it's gonna be like for me from now on. People are gonna look at me and say, 'Hey, there's the dyke. Let's get 'er.' I mean, here we are in the new millennium and we're maybe a little more civilized and all, but you know, back then..."

I nodded and squeezed her hand.

"Yeah," I replied.

Gayle shrugged and took another swipe at her nose with the napkin, saying, "So, yeah, I lived with him until I graduated a few months later, and, you know... then we got married."

She took a deep breath and raised her chin, looking me straight in the face.

I stared back at her for a moment, not sure what to say, and then asked what happened.

Gayle glanced down at the napkin she held and shrugged, as her lips quivered nervously.

"I'm a lesbian," she replied.

I gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and she turned her eyes up to me, her face contorted and red, as she tried not to cry.

"I gave it a shot, ya know?" she whimpered. "I thought, I dunno... Like, maybe it was just some sorta phase I'd grow out of, but I didn't. And every time we had sex, and I mean every single time, I was just sickened by it, ya know? Total turn-off for me."

Gayle wiped her nose, and then glanced up at me saying, "So... yeah, I had an affair. God, you know, I really did try to give it a fair shot, but... I swear, every time I saw him naked, ya know? Every time he put it inside me, I just wanted to throw up. But it's not like I didn't like him. I mean, Hell, ya know, I even sorta loved him a little, but..."

She sat there slowly shaking her head.

"I just couldn't do it any more. I wasn't happy. So then I started seeing this other woman, you know? This lesbian, but the sad thing was, what really opened my eyes was, she was married to a guy, ya know? Just like me, and she was just fucking miserable. So I was like, hey, ya know, let's just run away together, but she said no. She had kids with this guy, and she didn't wanna leave 'em. I mean, yeah, I guess I can understand it, but... to feel like shit every day of your life and know there's nothing you can do about it... So that's why she told me, don't do it. Don't stay with this guy, if you're not completely happy with where your life is going with him, because sure as shit, the longer you stay, the harder it'll be to leave."

Gayle reached over to the coffee table for her glass and took a sip, and then held it between her hands in her lap.

"So how did you do it?" I whispered. "Did you tell him? Or..."

She nodded quickly.

"Yeah," she said. "I had to, ya know? Like I said, I did sorta love him a little, but it wasn't that romantic kinda love. It was more like a friend thing. I mean, yeah, I felt like shit for doing it to him, but what else could I do? I didn't wanna turn out like her, ya know?"

She sat there slowly shaking her head.

"Life's too fucking short for that," she muttered.

Then Gayle took her fingers and reached up to her ears, hooking her hair back over them and giving me a sad, exasperated expression.

"I don't wanna be in a serious relationship like that with someone, if I can't love 'em as much as I should," she said softly. And as she stared at me, looking right into my eyes, she added, "I wanna fall in love with someone. That's what I'm looking for. That's what I want."

Then an almost imperceptive curl quickly reached out to the ends of her lips.

I swallowed and let my eyes fall down to my hands.

"Whadda you want?" she whispered.

I thought about it for a moment, and then took a deep breath.

"What I really want," I replied. "Is for someone to hold me again. But... what I don't want is for someone to replace him... but... maybe to do all the things he use to do... for me... make me feel the way he made me feel."

I turned my eyes to her and she bobbed her head up and down in silent agreement.

There was a long period of silence between us, when she finally cleared her throat saying, "Wanna dance?" Startled, I slowly raised my eyes and found her smiling from ear to ear. She nudged her head toward the middle of the room.

"C'mon," she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

I chuckled, replying with a long sigh, "Oh God..."

Gayle poked at my shoulder.

"Oh, c'mon," she said with a laugh. "It's not like I bite or anything. It'll be fun."

But before I could say anything more, she leapt from the couch over to the stereo.

"Here," she said, jabbing a finger at the buttons. "I'll put on something fun."

I sat watching from the couch, giggling nervously, but once more awed by how she could make me feel so good with so little effort. Then she glanced over her shoulder and held up a CD case.

"A little Jerry Lee, perhaps?" she said, with a mischievous grin.

Then she turned back to the stereo, touched a button, and the room suddenly reverberated with a lively piano melody from the fifties.

I sat on the couch shaking my head, as Gayle's body slowly started undulating with the music, swinging her hips from side to side and bending down slightly at the knees. She turned and wiggled her fingers for me to come to her. I laughed, as I watched, a little embarrassed, but suddenly feeling very cheerful and upbeat. Gayle had a knack for making me smile, whenever I was feeling down.

She stepped over to the couch and reached down for my hands, pulling me to my feet and to the center of the room. And, after a few minutes, I finally let my inhibitions down and together we danced about, as we held hands, twirling around and under each other's arms, and swinging to and fro, laughing the entire time.