I’d never really thought about cheating other than in a philosophical sense.
So it was after one of our fights that I found myself walking on our favorite beach, wondering why it was so difficult for two people to get along, when I noticed something peculiar.
A woman knelt at the waters’ edge at the base a jagged cliff where sand meets jutting rock. The offshore wind stung my eyes. Absentmindedly, I drew closer to see what she was doing. She had a dollar store red and yellow plastic toy tugboat. Carefully, caressingly, she stuck a handkerchief down into the smoke stack, the end stuck up like a wisp of smoke. With a gentle shove and a blown kiss she set it out to sea on the receding tide. I was close enough see a monogram.
She stood to leave. Whether it was the whipping wind, kneeling for so long or the sight of another person, she stumbled in the sand and staggered toward the water. I quickly reached her side and offered my hand in support. I shivered at the coldness of her hand. I asked her is she was all right. She wiped tears from the clearest glacial blue eyes I’ve ever seen and said weakly against the noise of the surf that she was fine.
I was thinking how icy her hands were and asked her if she wanted to have some coffee somewhere. She turned, looked at the toy boat bobbing out of sight, sighed and said simply, “Sure, there’s a pot on at my place.”
I’m not sure why but I didn’t find this strange. As we walked her hand slowly warmed and its grip became sure of itself.
We sat in her rather plain kitchen sipping an aromatic African blend as the afternoon wore on with talk of this and that.
The rain that had been pouting all morning suddenly got serious. The biting dampness of the cool storm air knifed through the screen door we were looking out of and as we shivered we retreated into each other’s arms for comfort and warmth. She trembled as I held her tighter, then our lips brushed and a kiss that almost never was, lasted for hours. That first sweet, innocent kiss gradually became a raw burning focus of passion. Passion that, hours before, neither of us knew existed and now that we did know, we wanted it to go on forever.
The kiss was only the beginning. The chill of the day soon faded as our bodies fueled our desires. Much later a thunderclap shook the tiny bungalow. The rattling brought reality with it. The realization of where I was and what had happened made me wonder if I was about to awaken from a wonderful dream. She was incredibly beautiful as she gazed into my eyes and I knew this was no dream. Love? Lust? No, beyond both those puny emotions we flew.
Soon I found myself making all the classical excuses. “Working late, doing a power lunch, finishing work on Saturday, don’t know when I’ll be home,” and my wife bought it! I couldn’t believe how easy all this was!
Yet the laws of diminishing returns gnawed at my subconscious, eased their way past my ego and finally began boring holes in my “ideal arrangement.” Things that at first didn’t really seem to matter now took on proportions that were unavoidable. Little differences threatened to split into yawning chasms before my eyes. Of course my heart wanted none of it, longed for the “kiss” and indeed that was all that seemed to stay the same. I told myself it was the physical I was after, all the rest shouldn’t matter.
So it was another stormy afternoon that I let myself into her place with the key hidden in the hanging Fuchsia. The place was quiet, I expected to find her napping but she was gone. The coffee pot was cold. I went into her dresser drawer to get a pen and stationary for a note, but what I found scrambled my brain with the force of an electric shock. I found a crumpled note that simply read, “sorry.”
I don’t know how many hours later I found myself walking on that lonely beach again, the rain and wind soaking my clothes, sadness and betrayal soaking my soul. Then at the base of those same jagged cliffs I saw a female form stooped over the waters’ edge. My eyes fought with the impending dusk as I lurched toward her. I was about to decide it wasn’t her, details didn’t seem right, and yet the familiarity nagged at the corners of my perception.
Realization began winning the battle for my senses. One of those toy boats with a man’s handkerchief stuck into the toy smokestack like a smoke plume, pitched and spasmodically drifted out to sea. My mouth opened, but only hurt poured out of my heart, “No!” my wordless cry was vainly lost in the roaring surf.
Then a blast of wind knocked the bobbing messenger back to shore nearly at my feet and as I picked it up my heart leapt! My mind spun as it tried to get a grip on what this all meant. It was not my handkerchief! A new set of emotions and questions played tag in my brain.
Tearfully I started towards the woman. She turned and as our eyes met, lightning bolts of recognition raced through my brain, thunder of reality pounded my soul. First I looked at the plastic boat, the monogram and then back at my wife!