She smelled like chlorine. It was the first time we hugged, and I wanted it to be a hug to remember. I squeezed her in my arms and hoped that she would do the same. I wish I remembered if she did. I lowered my face down to her shoulders and it made perfect sense to me, even through the coat she was wearing. Of course she smelled like chlorine. She loved swimming. She must have gone to the pool before we met up.
Eventually we let go. I held her shoulders and looked her in the eye. I didn't want it to end.
"I know it's late," I said. "But would you want to get dinner?"
It didn't take long for us to decide on the pizza place down the street. Toppers, known for the whopping amount of toppings you could put on your, "'za," they called it. I was just happy we could eat together.
We drove separately, so I offered to take her in my car, so we could go together. I'd been waiting months for this. Time together, outside of work.
We first met at work -- our first day on the job, actually. I was lost getting from one building to another, and, I couldn't resist asking this beautiful girl for help. She was from Michigan, got a math degree, so you knew she was a smart cookie. From that day on, I made it my mission to see her on a regular basis. It had to be weekly -- more often and I risked her getting sick of me! We had shared calendars so I always made sure to book a lunch for us, 1 day of the week. Sometimes it was us and her other coworkers. Sometimes it was just the two of us. The latter was my favorite.
Lunches turned into outings. Hikes with mutual friends or nights at the climbing gym in groups. Swimming was her thing. Rock climbing was mine. She was the dolphin. I was the monkey. The nights that I climbed alone, when I looked at my chalked, chapped hands, I wished that her hand was in mine. If I thought hard enough, I could imagine it, sometimes.
There were other times when we parted, I was enamored with her eyes. They were my favorite part about her. I don't know if I imagined it, but more than once I saw her eyes water looking at me. They were so full, it seemed. Maybe it meant that she had some other distant lover, that it made her sad knowing how much I liked her. Or maybe she was tearing, because it made her so happy to know that someone felt the way I felt about her. I like to tell myself that she knew. She knew the longing I had for her, and she wanted to honor that. I'll never know. I never asked.
I wanted to see those eyes when we hugged, in the movie theatre parking lot. I like to think that I did. When we got to Toppers, we talked about the movie. It was Les Miserables. I was so moved by Javert's final scene, how the internal conflict played out in his mind, and I wanted to convey that to her. I guess my sensitivity was heightened that day. It was exciting just to be with her in the dark, in that movie theatre. I was so nervous I got there 10 minutes early, and waited outside in the cold for her. I wanted her to see a friendly face before she opened that door. She didn't come very much later.
During the movie, she surprised me with a gift. She got a smoothie before coming -- well, one smoothie divided in two cups. Touché. It was my turn -- I brought an orange for us to share. I peeled it with a technique I perfected as a teenager, and surgically divided it in half, giving one to her. I was astounded by how alike we thought.
We spoke more at Toppers and compared our backgrounds. She had a brother. I had a sister. She was a vegetarian. I wasn't. Then she told me something I wasn't expecting.
She had a boyfriend.
They met in college. He's in Africa now. I was at a loss. I didn't know how to feel about it. I had to be respectful. I couldn't not be. I told her I didn't have a girlfriend. I was single, and, jokingly, hey. Maybe she knows some friends of hers who are looking.
After we ate our 'za, we drove back to the movie theatre parking lot. She pointed her car out to me, and I parked next to her, getting out to say good-bye. We hugged again, for the second time. I didn't want to let go.
It was different for me after. I couldn't help the way I felt about her. Weekly lunches reminded me of that. It hurt too much. They became monthly lunches, to monthly "hi's" in the hall, to, nothing. I moved out of that city. She stayed there.
That was then. This is now.
We're at a beach right now, the three of us. My wife isn't so much into swimming. The water gets in her hair and starts curling it up again. She doesn't like it so much, but I think her hair looks pretty nice after some water.
It's my son's first time on the beach today. I brought his Spider-Man floaties that we blew up together -- good choice in floaties, my son.
I can't swim much myself. Particularly, I can't tread water, but that doesn't really matter when you only go two, three feet deep. Just deep enough for a 2-year-old boy to have to tiptoe on the sand, but not too deep that his dad can't help him.
I hold his hips in one arm, and his shoulders in the other. I tell him to kick just like we learned in the swimming pool, and paddle with his arms. When his ears get water in them, I show him to tilt his head and bang on the top side to get the water out. My little dolphin.
I want him to be fearless when he grows up. I want him to be unafraid of his emotions. I don't want him to live with the longing that I lived with.
When we finish our day at the beach we hit the miniature showers placed outside. The floor is completely wet from everyone else leaving the beach. There's build-up of sand all around the showers, so even if you can get all the sand off your feet, there's just more once you set them back down. The game doesn't end.
I hate the feeling of sand on my body, especially my hair. So I spend a solid 30 seconds with my face to the shower, hands massaging through my hair. It smells a little like chlorine.
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