Another Chance
They went for Ethiopian food, at Queen of Sheba’s on MLK, in Northeast. A place Cindy had eaten off and on her whole life and Tom really liked. He put her bike in the back of his truck, lifted it over the edge with one arm and moved stuff out of the way with the other. His back rippled with muscles she never noticed before. Had heard he hurt his back really bad and moved into his mom’s basement but seeing the way he moved that day, didn’t seem like it. When he pulled off his t-shirt, still wet with sweat from dance, Cindy stifled an involuntary gasp. Tom was looking hot and fit, “Nice truck. When did you get this?” She asked and slapped the sidewall with an open hand, disguising her reaction.
“Last year… lost the one I had on the farm,” he said, as he put a clean shirt on, “Got repossessed. You okay? You look…”
Once he had his shirt on, “I’m sorry,” Cindy said and hugged him in a very awkward and sudden way she immediately regretted, let go, stepped back and started crying, “Sorry. I know it’s too little too late, but I am so sorry for what I did and should have reached out, before this.”
“Heard… and…” he paused to gather his thoughts, “hard as it was, I think it worked out for the best. I’m glad we’re not Dairy farmers. That sucked. Sorry I ever suggested it, live and learn. I realize now, how impossible all that was.”
“Heard!” Cindy smiled and said, as they climbed in the truck. Had always wanted to say to him—he never should have suggested it… but never had the chance and might still be living in Indiana with no dance, “You look pretty good. I heard you hurt your back, no?”
“Yeah, bad…” was all Cindy heard before loud trucks, gearing up as they merged onto the 405 bridge in heavy traffic, drowned him out… windows open, everything loud, “…wasn’t take’n care of myself,” she caught at the end.
“I know what that’s like. Been doing better lately, myself.”
“Yeah! Look’n good! You were tear’n it up on the floor! And how you got the kids go’n! Way better’n downstairs.”
“Thanks, Tom. Wait… did you leave the circle?”
“Yeah. What was that? I left soon as Tina said she was gonna talk about a Fakebook post and bad behavior of men in the dance community, before the circle even started. What the fuck? Carli B? Never seen anything like it. Press stood in front of the doors even, with a couple other dudes, seemed like… to discourage people from leaving? Tina even said, “Please, no one leave.” Like, I don’t know what they were there for but I saw a couple guys turn back after talking with Press, shake’n their heads but I just walked right past him, fuck that! Asked for a refund at the desk even, but they wouldn’t give it, said once circle starts, they can’t cuz the box gets locked. So…thought I’d check out the fourth floor, dance on my own. I love that space. What a surprise!” He glanced at her and smiled wide.
Cindy flashed back to the fantasy of her dream man and last chance baby, was not prepared for what she was feeling. Could it be Tom? That did not seem possible. They parked by the welding supply place, about a block from Queen of Sheba’s. Never busy, they sat themselves where they always sit—back corner, near the kitchen, liked to hear the muffled Ethiopian banter amidst kitchen clamor. Cindy had eaten there, off and on, since she was a kid. Same layout, menus, table cloths and decorations, “How are you two? Have not seen you in a long while. Some drinks?” The only waiter they’d ever had, daughter of the owners, now a grown woman, asked them, as she set places, poured water and left menus but they already knew what they wanted and ordered a vegan sampler—vast platter of injera with eleven different items dolloped on top, around a green salad in the middle, wonderfully dressed. They tore off pieces of the spongy flat bread and used it to pick up what they wanted, all with their hands. Tom ordered a Black Butte Porter and Cindy an Ethiopian ice tea.
“So, tell me about Iowa,” Cindy finally said, after assuaging her hunger and talking with her mouth full, catching up on where they’d lived and for how long, worked what jobs? Noticed Tom winced when Maya was mentioned, so she left off the Satori incident and getting arrested, said only that they broke up and she moved in with her parents (bad enough).
“Iowa… yeah, uh… where to start? I was dating a woman named Isolt. We danced a lot, when she lived here. Had a room in Max’s house. Max is her uncle. I work with him a lot. We met there, at the house, first time I visited and started hanging out. I moved in, out of my mom’s.”
“Hanging out?” Cindy laughed, “How old is she? Eighteen?”
Tom felt self-conscious about their age difference, just then, not sure why, “No… she’s twenty-nine and live’n in Iowa on her father’s farm. Do you want to know this?”
“Yeah! Why not? Twenty-nine… cool. So, you broke up?”
“Yeah, on the trip and I just got back. Went to check out if I wanted to move there and it was a disaster, sort of, I guess. Yeah, um… I don’t know, probably for the best, figure it out before you’re in too deep, sort of thing. She wants to have kids. I’m on the fence. Anyway, I left and changed my ticket, went to meet my dad’s family. He left me his Cadillac. Was gonna fly back from Indianapolis but drove the Cadillac instead… thought it’d been scrapped but it hadn’t.”
“Wait a minute! Your dad’s dead?”
He told her about his father’s suicide (in the Cadillac). How he heard about the funeral but did not attend. Figured leaving the car you kill yourself in to your oldest son, is not something Tom wished to acknowledge or go running after. Told them to scrap it but they hadn’t. So, wanting to get off the farm but in no hurry to get home, he went to meet his father’s family, looked at the car and decided to drive it back, “Figured I could sell it for what I spent on the trip, at least.”
“No way! Good for you! How was that?” Long as Cindy had known Tom, he expressed only contempt for his father— “Far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t exist,” the only thing he ever said about him. Not invited to their wedding, they never met. She knew Tom thought him a horrible parent and primary reason he was hesitant to have kids, still willing though, once they got established, which they never did.
“Crazy! Silver line’n, maybe. I mean, I’m sad about it not work’n out… with Isolt, not my dad. I don’t care about him but I like really, uh… loved Isolt, I think… a lot of things go’n through my head but I’m glad it went the way it did… now that I’m back,” he lied. Crushed by what happened in Iowa, Tom went to dance seeking relief from the obsessive thoughts and feelings of rejection he’d been grappling with nonstop since leaving Indiana. Felt like trying to take off a jacket that you’re sitting on… while driving, exhausted… pulling against your own weight from an awkward angle, equal and opposite consequences, potentially catastrophic. And dance worked! The obsession lifted when those doors flew open on the Emerald Ballroom, two boys ran past, almost ran into but didn’t see him, so engaged in their play and utterly ecstatic. Tom watched, as they scuffled towards the stairway, each trying to wrest something from the other, utterly oblivious he feared they would tumble down but, once near the steps, abruptly stopped, both hopped on and slid down the rail, disappeared… then… Cindy bounced off his chest. “Spending time with my dad’s kids and talk’n to Cheryl, his widow, helped me realize a lot and get… some new perspective maybe, on what made him such a prick.”
“Yeah… what is that all about? He killed himself? Not that it’s any of my business.”
“No, yeah, I don’t mind. A little spaced out from the drive… drove straight through and then couldn’t sleep last night, too wired. Do you work for Tina or just volunteer?”
“Yeah! No, I get paid. Started just after New Years. You haven’t been for awhile?”
“No, why? You tracking me?”
Cindy was hurt by this comment but ‘flipped the switch’ quick, as her therapist called it—changed subjects to avoid an onrushing complex, “Be a lot easier if you’d get on Fakebook! Enquiring minds want to know! I’m the new Queen of dance community gossip. Word on the street is you’re available? What will it take for the right gal, to catch your eye? Whoa folks! We don’t assume sexual preference in Portland!” She pretended to thrust a microphone at him but saw right away, he didn’t appreciate her antics, “I’m sorry,” immediately withdrew it, when he didn’t even smile, “I know it’s hard. I shouldn’t make jokes.”
“Jesus!” Tom shook his head, not at all upset, just a little slow on the uptake, “If we couldn’t make jokes? We’d all be fucked! But I don’t want, uh… to be gossiped about, please?” Make sure who this person is, before you spill your guts to them, he reminded himself.
“Yeah! No! I totally get it. My lips are sealed, off the record,” she pressed a first finger onto the table, pretended to turn off a tape recorder but wasn’t sure he got it, “No pressure… God, I’m probably the last person you want to confide in. You probably don’t even trust me.”
“Uh, I don’t know if I do or not… trust anyone. It’s been a strange year, lots of stress,” this wasn’t true for Tom and he knew not why he said it. The previous year had been bliss, steady improvement on all fronts… but now what? Their waiter swooped in, “How was it? Good, good… Anything else? Okay… there’s that. No hurry! Enjoy!” She took away the empty platter and left a check.
“Yeah, me too. I know, stuff’s like, go’n down for everyone it seems… big earth changes,” she regretted right away saying this, got so sick of Tina’s constant quantum leaps and astral pahways, always some big conjunction kicking off a new age or making times propitious for what she plans to manifest. Cindy never got into astrology, didn’t even know what a rising sign was, much to Tina’s amazement, who could barely even decide what to eat without consulting alignments.
“Yeah, or it always is and when distractions get thin or interrupted enough, we can see what’s smack’n us in the face—ourselves. Jacob Dylan has this great song, I heard on the trip—Standing Eight Count, I think it’s called and there’s a line goes like, sweat is falling in our eyes… if it was blood we wouldn’t know it. That’s what it feels like to me sometimes, punch drunk in the last arcade.”
“Damn Tom, that’s poetic! Why’d you come back to dance today?”
“Yeah! Right? What a day to come back. What the fuck was that Fakebook shit?”
Shoe on the other foot, Cindy wondered how much she should divulge and decided—only what’s public, what anyone would be able to see, “There was… uh, you know Carli Brewster? Everyone calls her Carli B?” He did not, “She split up with this guy—Ryen, with an e, accused him of horrible things. Posted it on the Sacred Circle site. You know? Gas-lighting, emotional manipulation, borderline rape, verbal abuse… laid it all out, like five pages, what it was and how he did it. Along with corrogated, corrobated… how do you say that?”
“Corroborated?”
“Yeah! Corr…oborated testimony from former girlfriends of his. Honestly? Reads like… what’s that people say? The definition of insanity? Repeat the same mistake? How’s that saying go? Anyway, that’s not it but you get the gist. Tina, based on the intensity and volume of response, felt we had to address it.”
“At dance? What exactly was she addressing?”
“Bad boy behavior in the dance community, I guess—Toxic Masculinity, she calls it. Says, we have to clean our own house, no one else is going to.”
“Oh my God! Are you kid’n? On Mother’s Day?”
“Mother’s Day? Is that a big deal?” Cindy didn’t get it, felt a twinge at not contacting hers… but it passed quick, “Tina thought doing it on Mother’s Day would be supportive of women.”
“What? Look… I mean… if a man’s gonna get triggered? Good chance it has something to do with his mother and shame. Man, what a double standard! Doesn’t show much care for men. At a dance they paid to attend? Total ambush? No one signed on for that. They came to dance!”
“You’re the only one left,” Cindy said, intending to affirm his choice but sounded accusatory.
“Yeah, well… fuck that! It’s an impossible position, a fork if there ever was. If you leave? Everyone thinks you’re defending what’s-his-name or don’t care about the abuse of women. Where they gonna go? Stand out in the hall? They paid, can’t get their money back. How many people even consider themselves a part of the dance community? That’s not an appropriate venue to address personal problems, either way. It’s not happening at dance. Everybody knows hurt people exaggerate shit, dump on those who hurt them,” Tom remembered how much he’d hated Cindy when she left and how hard he’d worked to resist his sister’s baiting him with gossip.
“Tina says it’s epidemic.”
“What? Exaggeration? Only thing I see epidemic is Narcissism—say whatever you want, facts be damned. Anybody investigate? I don’t know the guy but it doesn’t matter. Even if it’s all true, doing that at dance? Is ridiculous, unfair and small minded.”
“Walker, Ryen Walker, with an e, lives in Eugene, five-foot-ten, straight brown hair, shoulder length, likes to climb trees—Detective Cindy Sherlock reporting!” She saluted and said, “No, yeah… don’t know why she didn’t post it on the Eugene site. That’s where they were living. Ours is a lot bigger, probably. Sherlock Cindy found the allegations to be credible. JK! I verified only that she posted and stood by it. That’s all Tina wanted. Wouldn’t let me contact Ryen. Not that I wanted too! I read through all the responses and took down a couple of those that got too… carried away, let’s say. She made me take down his response, basically calling her a liar and saying she’s mentally ill. I don’t have any power, really. I just do what Tina tells me.”
“Oh my God! You read the responses? How was that? Sounds like torture.”
“Eh, I get paid by the hour. Very informative, if you could call it that. I hear you… about the dance. Darci was pissed too, I could tell. Did she say anything?”
Tom hailed the waiter and ordered a cup of coffee. Cindy got a refill on her ice tea. “Yeah, she went off, soon as she got within earshot. Said it was like… someone took a shit between her ears and she had to dance like crazy to get clear again. Demonstrated, put her hands around her neck and stumbled about on the sidewalk at random, did like convulsive movement and violent coughing fits, pulled herself around by her own hair… very entertaining. Sorry I missed it. Called Carli B an insecure dumbass bitch, look’n for a pity party to help her throw dirt on her own shithole.”
“Yep! Good ol’ Darc! Can always be trusted to put a finger on it! Um… I really can’t judge. I mean… I voted to take hers down—ASAP! No upside for us. But Tina’s more of an activist, wants to take a stand, make sure we stay, drum roll please… on the right side of history.”
They both laughed, “Wanna go for a walk?” Tom said, “On the left side of history? Irving Park?”
“Sounds great. I’m a go the bathroom. Here,” she handed him a twenty, “If you wanna pay?”
They drove and parked on the street by ReRun, another place they’d often gone, when visiting Tom’s mom. A little consignment shop, always had really good stuff and reasonably priced, “Hey! Whatever happened to that old boom box we bought?” she pointed at ReRun, as they got out. An old Sony tape to tape, with Surround Sound speakers, looked so cool and sounded great. Something she’d wanted as a kid but never got. Her parents more fond of educational gifts.
“Uh…” Tom took a moment to recall, “Oh yeah! Had it strapped to Jerky…remember? That old tractor we used to muck out the barn? With the front loader bucket?”
“Yeah, ugh! I hated that thing! Exhaust in your face! Hopped if you turned too sharp!”
“Yeah, well, I had it strapped to the roll bar and the bungee broke, fell into the muck and that was that. Ran over it. Lost The Cure, Greatest Hits. Made hella noise! Thought a back tire popped. Sounded like a gun shot, when it smashed!”
They did several circuits around the park and finally sat in the grass on a hillside, above the softball fields. Sun warm, scattered clouds, “Tell me what happened in Iowa, if you want—no pressure.” Relaxed, day already a stunning success, Cindy felt about to have desert.
“Okay, but then, you have to tell me what happened with Maya?”
She shuddered, pretended a shiver and put on her sweater, “Okay! It’s a deal!”
“Isolt moved to Iowa… because her father begged, she said, was never specific about what their deal is. He wanted her to move there because the last two tenants trashed this farmhouse he owns and he’s done renting, gonna sell if she won’t go. That’s the gist of it. Last tenants made holes in the walls and tore out all the copper pipe and wiring—meth heads, I guess, or opiates, maybe both. Anyway, he’s gonna sell if she won’t live there and fix it up herself, which she always wanted to do—homestead: live as simply as you can off the land. We thought I could farm part of it, raise animals, have a shop, make stuff, sell at a market in Omaha—thirty miles away, low key. Maybe have a kid. Nice set up, kind of a dream place—forty acres adjacent a county park, grasslands and forest. No rent. Her dad’s wealthy, owns a lot of property in Omaha.”
“No rent? Sounds wonderful… what happened?” Cindy felt very jealous. Wished she had a place like that—no rent! In Portland, of course.
“Oh, I don’t know… other people happened, I guess. Three women moved in and she didn’t tell me about them, before I went. They, uh… where should I begin? She moved away six months before I visited and met them shortly thereafter, I guess… only learned the details in retrospect, after I arrived…” Tom trailed off, obviously upset. Cindy touched his arm, said, “You want a hug?” He nodded, turned towards her and they embraced for a long time, eyes closed tight against unwelcome memories. Pressing just hard enough to keep it up. “Thanks,” Tom sat back, “Yeah, okay… so, she went there in winter and it was hard, cold and lots of snow, house barely functional. Hit the ground run’n, I guess you’d say, got overwhelmed, had to figure out how to do all this stuff on her own. Father’s not any help, well… financial, he is, buys what she asks for, pretty much, lets her do what she wants, gave her a truck but he doesn’t do any of the work and there’s a lot. Anyway, she found help. Saw an ad on Craigslist from female contractors, who specialize in remote, live-in situations and care-take rural properties. Three witches! And that’s what they call themselves, I’m not make’n that up. Needed help building a wood shed, so she hired them, didn’t check any references and before you know it, they moved in. Curly, Larry and Moe—are my names for them. Don’t get me started. I could write a book. Unbelievable!”
“Whoa! Tell me about… the witches!” Tom in the Midwest, on a farm, with witches? Cindy had feelings like the night before Christmas.
“Really? Okay, no… I’ll tell you what happened but, seriously, if I get go’n? Better not. I’ll just say that, in my opinion, they manipulate the situation, get her to go along with stuff she shouldn’t. Lie a lot. Pretend the farm talks to them.”
“Talks to them? How old are they?”
“Uh… two are probably mid to late thirties and one sixty-ish? Hard to say, probably younger but she looks a little worse for wear. Did heroin awhile, I guess. Oh yeah, and they’re all in recovery. So… you’re either in recovery or denial. Nothing around there to drink or smoke. Somebody always in the house, we had to go somewhere else, to be alone. Which is fine, there’s places… but come on, let me know in advance.”
“Wow! Yeah! So, they’re all older than Isolt? Is that right? Isolt?”
“Yep. Isolt’s twenty-nine.”
“Is her mom around?”
“No. She lives in Arizona. They don’t really get along, always lived with dad. Mom’s an alcoholic, I guess, verbally abusive. I don’t really think she’s look’n to be mothered, though. It’s more complex than that, kind of ideological, I guess. She’d hate me say’n that but… it’s like she’s brainwashed. Thinks they know what she wants to do and she doesn’t, sort of turned the whole thing over to them… while she learns. I don’t know why? Got intimidated, I guess? And they exaggerate everything. Her dad is hands off, for the most part, but inconsistent. Wants you to jump when he says, sort of thing but forgets you exist if you displease him, as she puts it.”
“They don’t know… how to do stuff, though?” Tom knew how to do most everything on a farm and grew incredible food, if he had time to tend it.
“No! God no!” He laughed but could have cried, still felt the heartache and struggle of those days, roiling about inside. The way they tried to undermine confidence in what he knew to be right, “They… uh, God, I don’t know where to start? First of all Isolt didn’t tell me until we were on our way there from the airport… I flew into Omaha, “Oh yeah,” she says, “there’s some temporary people living with me. They’re helping with the homestead. I’m learning stuff from them.” Temporary people? I said, what is that? I mean, I’m like ask’n myself right away—Do I deserve this? Like, I’m a grown man with a high stress job, come visit to see if we’re compatible and I wanna move and help you do this thing? Maybe have a kid? And this is the chance it gets?” Tom shook his head.
“Whew!” Cindy sort of whistled, imagined how difficult it must have been for him. Tom could not stand back, when they started the dairy farm, and let her fumble around and be inefficient, learn in her own way. They had a huge fight about it one night and she finally convinced him, through tears and sobs and gobs of snot, that she would never learn if he didn’t let her figure it out on her own because he uses too many words. A huge trigger—someone barking words at her, while she tries to learn a physical activity. It made her mind go blank. It’s what her dad did. Is it that big of a deal, something takes an hour instead of twenty minutes? “Yes!” He’d say and try to make her understand marginal utility. “I bet you didn’t like that,” she said and he laughed, knowing she knew what he meant, “That’s not a good start. Did you try to correct them?”
“Of course! Jesus! What a mess. They fucked up everything they touched. When I got there? We met at the door and I couldn’t even hear their names, off kilter washer, in the basement, pounding so loud, air gurgling through the kitchen sink! “Sounds like you need a balance the washer and put in a vent,” I said, analyze that sorta thing by instinct. Wrong foot to get off on, “Oh my! So great to have a man in the house! We can learn so much now!” The oldest—Moe, said and they all cackled, even Isolt laughed a different laugh. Like I wasn’t in on the joke! Holy shit! They plumbed the house without any vents! Maybe you don’t know what that means but it’s what causes things to bubble like that, sewer gas into your house! Anyway, I offered to fix it and balance the washer but they didn’t want me too and Isolt left it up to them! Said she trusted their instincts. Things work fine. She doesn’t notice a smell. So of course I’m like, what the fuck? You don’t trust mine? I don’t get it, why am I here? Curly, said the washer was a special eco type that is supposed to tip back so water doesn’t spill out the front, silly! I’m not making this up, and it’s easier to load and isn’t it just like a man to think only of abstractions like level and plumb and not the person’s body who uses it? Abstractions! Oh my God! I laughed! “Oh you want to mansplain it to us?” They cackled. What? Like who doesn’t know there is only one plumb and one level… anywhere in the world? Not to mention square? And they got very mad, said geometry and mathematics are patriarchal inventions… sorry, told you, I get carried away,” Tom felt good talking to Cindy about these things.
“Wow! She didn’t back you up? Did you say anything? Like why you hang’n me out to dry, bitch? That’s crazy!”
Tom flinched a bit, hearing Cindy call Isolt a bitch, but it passed quick and without response, “Yeah, it is. We had a huge fight the second night and they all heard. I asked her to be quiet but it was like she couldn’t, like she wanted them to. Said how it was scary to be alone, way out there, and it is way out there, and they will move out when I move in but she never said that in front of them, I noticed and am like—don’t broadcast that! Jesus! Who knows what they’ll do? It made her mad, I didn’t trust them. She kept saying I thought she was stupid. I said even smart people make bad choices. Anyway, it got worse from there. Third day? I stayed behind and got some space, when they went to sell stuff at the farmer’s market in Omaha. They’d been lose’n chickens to a fox, so I decided to patch up several gape’n holes in the coop. Scrounged, from a fall’n down barn, some pieces of aluminum screen, stapled it up, all nice and neat and fixed the splintered frame, so the door closed all the way and latched again. Well, that night, a fox got two more chickens and I’m like what the fuck? Huge racket in the night, get up, go out there and see, by the light of my phone… someone removed all the screen! I could see marks where they pried and pulled with scissors. I asked around, as people got up and Curly said she and Larry took it off, cuz they had previous plans to make flour sifters with it, to sell at market, and they make consensus decisions. I need to check in before just use’n whatever. I couldn’t believe it! You just lost a bunch of chickens! The rest stopped laying! They are terrified. You just wanna let a fox eat them? I said, too loud and—I’m not make’n this up—they said they are talk’n with the fox and work’n things out and do not want chickens that lay anxious eggs, because they feel imprisoned and can’t wander out into the gardens for a midnight snack, if they wish. I’m not make’n this up! Swear to God! And anyway, hens feel more secure if there’s a way to escape and they don’t have to be indiscriminately raped by the rooster. They are not slaves. Oh my God! They wander all over the place, go in the house, eat stuff from the garden, ugh! They talk to them, lure them with treats! Feed them from the table! Drove me fuck’n nuts! Had a huge fight when they questioned my construction knowledge, called it ‘of the head’ and theirs ‘of the heart’. Said level and plumb and square and vents are standard because it’s easier for heartless men to do things fast and make money and buildings will stand, no matter what, if in heart-harmony with the people who build and use them. It’s called magic and I’m a magic denier and half dead because of it. Isolt could have intervened but she didn’t, went on about her business. Said, we have to work it out ourselves. So I told her, that night, I feel betrayed and it’s them or me. And she says she’s not asking them to leave unless I stay. I suggest it’s just for the rest of my visit and she says, “No, they have nowhere to go,” so I left. Took a car to Omaha the next day, left it at the airport and flew to Indianapolis. Worst day of my life. No… not really. Top ten, maybe? If my body feels right, nothing’s that bad. The memory of my back is still fresh. It holds like the top five spots. I do miss what we had, though. It was nice.”
I miss what we had… when it was nice, Cindy thought, surprised at how comfortable she felt, “Gosh Tom, sorry you had to go through that. What made you think to go visit your dad’s family? His other family.”
“No—his only family. We’re not his family.”
“K. Yeah, sorry, I remember,” when they were together, Tom avoided all mention or memory of his father. Although, when so moved, he could produce chilling depictions of painful events, suffering at his hands and claimed to not have one good memory of him.
“Good!” Tom felt in such a state, like someone spiked his drink. Dance, fatigue and strong emotion from Cindy’s reappearance, had him feeling stoned, without having smoked anything, “Wait! You tell me about what Darci said, Walter something Bear?”
“Ugh! What a nightmare! Breitenbush? Ever been there?”
“No. Heard about it. Max goes on occasion. Does work, I think. Doesn’t say much. Crappy housing and low pay, he said once, great if you like to take baths.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a trip. Beautiful but the people are, uh… dramatic. Let’s just leave it at that. Darci said it’s a mirror of the macrocosm but I don’t know about that,” she told him the story, start to finish, of meeting Darci’s Breitenbush friends in the North Park Blocks, while they were having lunch and how she was able to tell that she and Cobra were…
“Cobra?” Tom interrupted.
Yeah—Cobra,” she continued, “They all have names like that—Cobra, Nova, Sequoia, Starlilly.” Told him how she can always tell when Darci is attracted to a man. How after meeting them all at lunch that day, she asked Cindy to go with and they had a great time until Walter Runny Bear showed up in the soaking tubs—geothermal water, right out of the ground. Running Bear, actually but they called him Runny because he had a chronic runny nose, in the meeting at least, sounded like a foghorn when he blew. They knew it was mean making fun of him but kept it between them, were both mad as hell on the drive back home and cutting loose. Shared what she heard in the meeting, how they changed the tub names before voting on it, drowned her out with shouts when she disagreed and how she left and felt good about how she did it. Her encounter with Bombadil and the tour of off grid systems… Tom would have appreciated. When she finished, the sun was behind clouds and temperature dropping, “Brrr! I’m cold,” she shivered a bit and pulled her sweater close, leaned into Tom, “I’ve still got to ride home.”
“I’ll give you a ride,” Tom said, “but we better go. I’m supposed a check in with Seamus.” Tom felt in no hurry, “You wanna come over? Warm up? It’s just, uh… near where mom lives.”
“Sounds great!” She said, delighted with the invitation. They sauntered back to Tom’s truck, both feeling good at this surprise encounter and in no hurry to end it.
Nobody home at Max’s house, the front door was locked and having no key they went around back to get in. Tom showed Cindy the shop. Once inside, she could see Max was a different breed, to say the least. Anyone who could function in such disarray, must have incredible powers of concentration or eyesight at least, Cindy thought, “How does he ever find anything?”
“I don’t know. You’d be amazed. He just seems to know where stuff is. Says it calls to him. Guy can do anything and hates to buy stuff, thus the amount he keeps around, likes to have what he needs on hand. Dumpster dives a lot. Hates waste. Quite a sight, big guy.”
“He’s big as you? How tall are you? Six…”
“Six-five. Yep, inch taller and about twice as wide, not fat. Max is huge. He’s from Indiana.”
“No way! A Hoosier?”
“Yep. He’s a baller too, recruited to IU. Serious injury his freshman year, I guess, broke his back and never played again, at that level, anyway. He’s still damn good. We play in Alberta park. I don’t know how it happened. He doesn’t talk much about his past. I got most of that from Isolt,” Tom said, as he fished a key out from under the back porch floorboards. They entered the kitchen, through a very large and heavy backdoor. Almost bad as the shop, stuff hung everywhere, deep sinks full of dishes. Everything seemed to serve multiple purpose—pipes held things up and worked as towel or drying racks. All the plumbing was exposed. The kitchen table had been a basketball backboard, hoop still attached, no net, looked like an old fashion microphone enlarged. Random things hung from it, none of which she could identify. Tile everywhere, uneven, looked like it had been done by kids. Tom, seeing Cindy run her fingers over a part of the tiled counter, said, “Yeah, did a lot with his kids. Has two—Jason and Chloe.”
“Oh? Do they live here?” She looked around for signs.
“No,” Tom took Cindy by the wrist and led her out of the kitchen, past a massive staircase with curvy, natural limb rails and into the living room. “They’re twenty-somethings, live with their mom, mostly. Are here sometimes.” Tom pointed to a giant couch, brown leather, well worn, made for the big and tall, matched a recliner and loveseat set opposite, big coffee table between, it too made of limbs, covered with old books and magazines, “Have a seat. I’ll start some water. You want tea? I was going to make peppermint. We have some that’s really good.”
“Sounds great! Thanks!” Tom went back to the kitchen. Cindy sat on the couch. Her feet barely touched the ground. A Ben Franklin stove to her left, big belly, black and chrome, looked much used but no wood around. No TV, that she could see. Cindy would have loved a fire.
“So… what happened with you and Maya?” Tom called from the kitchen.
Of all the ways to ask that… Cindy thought, You yell it from another room? She didn’t answer, figured he’d be in soon. Picked up a copy of American Shaman and read a little about Merlin.
Tom figured she didn’t want to answer and decided not to push it, set down two mugs and a pot of peppermint tea, “None a my business. That’s fine. No need to know.”
“No. I don’t mind. Just didn’t wanna… you know—yell it to you? In the kitchen?”
“Right! Sorry, yeah, that was, uh… not well thought out. So, what happened? Only thing I heard was you got arrested.”
A jolt shot through Cindy’s chest. For some reason she’d assumed he didn’t know that, “You know about that?”
Tom laughed, “C’mon, Teri’s my sister, remember? She just said you got arrested for breaking a window in Maya’s yoga studio,” Tom smiled big, almost laughed, could not keep a straight face.
Offended, “You think that’s funny?” Cindy said, pulled up a leg and scooted towards him, who sat about six feet away on the massive couch, “Just…need a be closer. K?”
Tom nodded and apologized, “Sorry, I… it’s just… Teri gets all mixed in with it. She gets such a kick outa… I mean, she came to me like she’d just found gold buried in the yard. I told her I didn’t want to know but she blurted it out anyway. Sorry.”
Cindy never liked Teri, seemed someone for whom nothing was ever good enough, looked at her like she was livestock, first time they met, made nasty comments about people being fat, “Not surprised. Woman feeds on gossip. What happened with Maya? So much,” her mind reeling, fished for a place to start? “It was doomed from the get-go. I don’t know what to say about how I left the farm, it’s like…”
Tom signaled for her to stop and said, while he poured their tea, “It doesn’t matter why you left the farm. I was… so disconnected… from you, from reality… not sure anything would have made a difference. I don’t know what I was chase’n but it wasn’t there. Always afraid of falling behind like… what happened to me would… and it did. Took a lot of pain to bring me back, physical and emotional. We don’t need to apologize… were both so in over our heads, save yourself was a rational choice. I’m glad you did. Seems to have worked out well,” Tom realized how much he liked this Cindy, so present, so attentive, not angry, “I really enjoyed dance’n with you today. Thanks for ask’n.”
“You are welcome! That was awesome! So great to have you there and you totally saved my ass, with those boys. Damn! Nice timing!” Tom smiled and nodded. Cindy took off her sweater. “Maya… is a fucking narcissistic bitch! Sorry, but I just need to get that off my chest. I don’t know what I thought would happen. I saw it all along. Everybody wants her and she flaunts it, like I was gonna be enough…” she caught herself, “anyway… my brother, remember Scot?”
“Yeah, Scot, one t.”
“Yeah, well, he goes by Pace Turner now, I guess, if it hasn’t changed again. Is like a booking agent for spiritual teachers, or was. Something else now, I think, internet actors maybe? Anyway, he came to town and convinced Maya, via me, to host this Satori bitch, big shot yoga teacher from California somewhere. Stayed with us for a week. Insufferable! They’re all like trying to outdo one another and show off and there’s this long build up where I’m made to feel… you know? An outsider? Like I’m not on their level and well, short of it is—I’m half crazy anyway, with Scot involved… and I see them fucking through the studio window, smash it with a brick, cut my hand bad, go back home, very calculated and smear blood all over the bed and pillows—super expensive organic bamboo sheets! And then, for some stupid reason, I went to my parents house, wasn’t thinking clearly, lost a lot of blood. Got stuck there. They weren’t hurt any, don’t worry—a little coitus interruptus was all.”
Tom laughed and wondered was this his friend—Omaha Witherspoon? Who showed up, out of the blue and dropped everything to tend him through the worst of his herniated disc? She too, a yoga teacher, went by the name Satori, “When was this?”
“Um… spring, last year… late April, I think. I could have killed them. I mean, not like I almost killed them, they weren’t hurt, but I felt that whatever grabbed that brick would not have stopped short of them being dead if it coulda got hands on them… ha! They probably would have kicked my ass. Just glad there was a frame full of jagged glass and a four foot drop between us… never talked to me since. Maya doesn’t ever come to dance. Tina said she heard I did and doesn’t feel safe. Thanks Tina! Tina loves her gossip!”
“Ugh! Why do people do that? Such a drama queen.”
“Yeah! Queen bee’s gonna Queen! Anyway, it’s been a long ass year. I just moved out of my parents house, when I got this job. Was on anti-depressants for awhile—Protozol. That sucks! Did therapy. Have a great therapist. She’s really helped me stay present and deal with shit as it comes up and accept it’s not gonna work out how I want. Usually doesn’t. Where did we get all these fucking expectations?”
“Yeah, right? I don’t know.” Tom pondered whether to say anything about Satori. The thought of her fucking Maya, bothered him but then it did make sense—their not having sex. She preferred women and Maya was super hot, “I know her,” he decided to go for it, “Satori. I know her.”
“What?” Cindy, not ready for this, felt like something gripped her intestines from within and gave a twist, “You know her?” Wasn’t sure what she felt, obviously distressed, assumed Tom knew none of it and now had to consider—Satori might have told him? “What did she tell you?”
“About?”
“Come on Tom—me, Maya, the whole thing? Anything?”
“No. Not a word! She just showed up one day, across the street, working for Max. Never told me why she was in Portland. Business, was all she said. Never told me where she went or where she came from. Don’t know where she is. Haven’t heard from her since.”
“Wow… figures. But how do you know her?”
“She’s Omaha Witherspoon, went to Knox with her. I probably talked about her? She was a basketball player and we worked out together a lot. Made All-American twice, best women’s player ever at Knox, far as I know. I think I told you once, she was the only person from college I regret not stay’n in touch with. She’s a piece of work, that one.”
“Ugh!” Cindy wanted to vomit. Tom’s reverence for Satori made her sick, “Well, maybe she’s the best home-wrecker now from Knox. Like how do you do that? Stay with me, eat what I cook, talk sweet and then fuck my partner behind my back? Purity supreme… they probably fucked in our bed! How does one do that? Did she even consider how that would make me feel?”
“Uh… I don’t know, sounds familiar—you ran off with her. Look in the mirror… they were meant for each other,” Right away, Tom wished he hadn’t said this, did not wish to dredge up old shit.
Cindy glared at him, face red, first thought was—Fuck you! I’m leaving! Wanted to claw his eyes out… but she didn’t. Stayed still, continued to breathe and let it sink in, repeated it to herself several times. Something clicked—yes, she’d done the same to him. Not exactly, but close enough, same level of me-first indifference, for whatever reason. Not like she didn’t know this, she did, but something hit home in the flesh… what goes around, comes around, perhaps? “Tom…you’re right. It’s a bitter pill to swallow but I probably had it coming, if there is such a thing as karma.”
“You know what Max said? When I asked him about karma and is there some cosmic mechanism that redresses imbalances?”
“What?”
“Sure feels like it… sometimes. Terms like that, he went on to say, come from people trying to name or explain something they experience directly… but we act like people are brainwashed or coerced into believing stupid things by the words, not having had the experience. Like the blind elephant guys? You heard that story? All come across this elephant and think it is something different, depending on which part they touch?”
“Uh… must have missed that one. What? Blind elephant guys?”
“Yeah, it’s a yoga teaching story, Satori told me. Four blind people come across an elephant in their path, one feels the leg and says it’s a tree, one feels the trunk and says it’s a snake, one feels an ear and thinks it a leaf and…I can’t remember what the other one… tail, I think is a piece of grass? Anyway, point being—the world appears differently to everyone.”
“Okay, I’ll buy that! What’s the point?
“The world appears differently to everyone. No one sees the truth.”
“What’s that got to do with karma?”
“Uh… I don’t know. What were we talking about?” Tom, distracted by Cindy’s hardened nipples, shifted his position on the couch and pulled up a leg, as she had, sat half cross-legged face to face, bent legs touching.
Cindy was cold but didn’t want to put on more clothes, wanted to take off what she had and fuck this beautiful man, “Tom, uh, could we get a blanket and snuggle? I’m really cold. I mean, no pressure, just… laying down would feel good right now. I’m a little tuckered out, rest up before I ride home? This couch is plenty big enough. Or I can just curl up, if that doesn’t feel right, for you?”
Tom felt something too. Admiration for this person he once loved but had long ago written off as not worth keeping in touch. Where he’d feared the past pains might come screaming back at him, they hadn’t, “Uh, yeah… I can find something. Sorry, I didn’t make a fire. It’s… we’re out of wood. Furnace doesn’t work.”
“No worries! This is good tea!” Cindy felt warm inside.
“I gotta run upstairs,” Tom got up, “Hey, wanna snuggle in my room? It’s just, uh… Max will be home soon, I’m sure, and maybe with kids. Not a problem but it might be more peaceful.”
“Yeah! I’d love to see your room! If it’s clean. JK!” She jumped up and eagerly followed him up the grand staircase, “Quite the stairway! Little disproportionate but, okay.”
“Yeah, no, he got it… uh, the materials were left over from a job in the West Hills. Some McMansion he worked on, like ten thousand square feet, I guess. Someone bought it who plays for the Blazers. Put in this grand staircase and then didn’t like how it looked. Told him just get rid of it, do another one with a different kind of wood. So he took it and rebuilt it here. Was like, before he worked for Seamus. Seamus doesn’t do houses like that, for fatcats. Well… some, if they’re female and attractive.” Tom held out a hand to the left, as they crested the steps, “Here it is,” gestured towards his room.
“Where’s your bathroom? I gotta pee.”
Tom pointed across and down the hall.
“This where Isolt stayed?” Cindy peeked in the room across from his, on her way. It was empty but for a futon bed, unmade, “Sorry! Nosey… right? Clean up your room!” She said, with a little flick of her wrist, walking backwards down the hall, felt giddy, heart full, same as she had at Breitenbush… like life changing events, were starting to happen to her.
“I’ll be in here,” Tom laughed and shook his head, pleased with the day’s events and full of energy, which he did not expect. Seemed like a soft and joyful landing, given the circumstance. Cindy, different than he remembered, same in all the good ways but now with an added spunk and sparkle he never knew before… maybe when they first met. Much less negative.
“Oh Tom! I love what you’ve done with the place!” She said, returning from the bathroom, set down her things by the bed. Pointed at the full sheet of plywood, peppered with eyebolts and screwed to the wall at the head, asked, “What’s that for?”
Tom followed her finger and looked, at first, like he’d never seen that piece of plywood before—a remnant from times past, relic, gone from his mind… “Bondage…” snuck out, somehow, as the censor whiffed, “Isolt liked… uh, we explored some things.”
“I love bondage! OMG! Never thought you’d get into it,” Cindy responded without a hitch.
This blew Tom’s mind, of course, “What?” The Cindy he knew before would have been offended, called it perverted and acted like only a sick mind (men) would engage in such things. She hated oral sex, thought it disgusting to put your mouth where someone pees, no matter how clean or let them do it to you, “You’ve… done it?”
“Only once, but… uh, do you want to hear this?” It dawned on her how forward she was being.
“Cat’s outa the bag. Yeah, I guess. Um, maybe not the details.”
She told him about her experience with Mathew. How he had his studio “decked out, no pun intended, like the bridge of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” because his father worked on and died when it sank, “It was the only time I did but I’ve been like, uh… itch’n to do it again,” Tie me up and fuck me, Tom!!! She was willing to beg.
Amazed at how calm and simple this was, no resistance came up for Tom, a little thrill perhaps, long awaited answer to prayers past perhaps? Cindy taking an active role in their sex and not acting like she’s just servicing him, never really wanting to, “Uh… I’m not sure how to respond to that. I’m, uh… not sure I should.”
She stepped forward and kissed him. They lingered lips touching, breathing in tandem, “Tie me up and fuck me, Tom. Please? Anything you want, I’ll do it. It’s okay. No expectations.”
It was a voice he’d never heard, sure of herself and what she wanted, super erotic. They talked, whispered really, about her past experience, what she liked and what she didn’t, established safe words to exit, should either of them feel threatened or things get out of hand, “Okay but,” Tom spoke up, “I’ve been awake like two days straight and…”
She put a finger to his lips and he fell silent, “When I take this away… no more equivocation. We either go for it, or you turn your back on me and I leave. Okay?” Tom nodded. She lowered her hand and he stayed where he was, eye to eye… hers wide, wild and burning into his, “First things first. Maybe this isn’t protocol but I’ve got to do it,” she knelt, untied and, still looking into his eyes, pulled down his pants, positioned herself just right and put his stiff cock in her mouth, as far as felt comfortable. A million thoughts swirled about the things she… felt. Sensation… not thoughts about sensation or its lack. Her prejudice—it’s gross or this is all about him—had always come before she felt anything, really. Now, fully hard, stretching her lips a little bit, she began to lick and suck like it was something she loved and not just another expectation put upon her she can’t meet. Could feel Tom tense and twitch and shift positions, as she moved up and down with her tongue. The smells too, after dance and sweat and no shower—intoxicated her! She couldn’t believe it, loved how it felt, like she wanted to swallow and yet keep it in her mouth and throat all at the same time. Pull it out, look at and stroke it. Wanted to make him cum but also wanted so bad to feel him inside her again! He grabbed her hair and moved her head how he wanted. She choked and had to push back, whence he pulled her up and pushed her, face down on the bed, removed her sweatpants and panties, lifted up her shirt and undid her bra, rolled her face-up and pulled it off. Started fondling and sucking her tits but stopped abruptly, when she said, “Oh Tom! That feels so good!” Climbed off, retrieved and stuffed her panties in her mouth, put a finger to his lips and said, “Stay!” Stepped away and pulled a box off the shelf, full of velvet ropes and clips. Tied her ankles wide as he could to eyebolts at the foot of the bed, knelt at her head, removed the panties and inserted his cock. She sucked and licked as best she could without hands, as he bound her upper body, arms behind her back, nipples bulging between taut velvet ropes crisscrossing her tits, which looked swollen and about to explode. Tom told her moaning was okay but no screams, tucked in the panties and started caressing her nipples with fingers and tongue, working up to pinches and bites and finally clips. Cindy squirmed with delight, wet like she’d never been, going crazy for this, wanted him to fuck her but he wouldn’t. Only teased with slight touches and flicks of his tongue on her thighs and pussy lips, rubbed on them and adjusted the ropes so they ran right alongside and across her inner thighs until she started screaming, through the panties, “Fuck me! Tom! Fuck me! Please!” At which he pressed a hand over her mouth and inserted his rock hard cock into her wet pussy. Cindy got off immediately, then multiple times, bound tight, hands tied behind her back, legs stretched wide, unable to do anything but writhe, she had multiple orgasms, each more intense than the last. About to climax himself, Tom pulled out and Cindy screamed, best she could, “No! No! No!”
Tom removed the panties from her mouth and breathless, she laughed and begged, “Come inside me! Please! In my mouth, my pussy, I don’t care. I’m protected. It’s okay!”
Tom pushed the panties back in, unbound her feet, rolled her over and got her up on her knees, face in a pillow, positioned her legs and feet so he could kneel between and, holding her bound hands for leverage, fucked her from behind until he came, eyes closed tight, blue lights streaking by—felt things he’d never imagined, especially with Cindy. Body convulsing, fell off, lay there a minute and caught his breath, left her like that, as he went to the bathroom, peed and cleaned up a bit.
Cindy, quivering in absolute ecstasy, would have stayed there forever waiting for him to fuck her again, if she could. OMG! She’d never been fucked like that, by anyone! She probably would have let Mathew, that might have been good, but he held back, by previous agreement, hoping undoubtedly that she’d return and pay for it. She never knew this Tom existed! So sexually competent and sure of himself… all the times they’d wasted! Ugh!
Tom came back and slowly untied her, as she continued to moan and express non-verbal appreciation. When he finally took the panties from her mouth, sopping wet, she was crying and speechless, could only look at him and smile through tears of joy. Both exhausted, he lay down behind and pulled the covers over them. They spooned and snuggled awhile, kissed a couple times but spoke no more words and… eventually slept.