Tilting at Windmills (6 page)

“Which entails what, exactly?” he asked, his words starting to slur. Still, he ordered up another drink and so did I, just seltzer with a fresh wedge of lime.

I shrugged off his question. “Who says I need to know now what I’m going to do? Pack up my apartment, hop in my car, and head out onto the open road. Destination unknown. Maybe somewhere along the way something will catch my eye, make me stop and see what it’s all about. But really, that’s not what’s going to happen, John. What I want, what I’m searching for, well, it has to come from within. This time away is supposed to allow me to explore all that’s churning inside me. Think about it: For the first time since college, John, I’m free of responsibility and can do whatever I want.” Then I laughed at my nonchalance. “Of course, my bank account’s going to suffer for a while, but I figure six months ought to give me enough time to start answering some of the questions I’ve got. After that, we’ll see.”

He sucked down more of the scotch, then looked at me with bleary eyes. “You know what I think?”

“No, but if tradition counts for anything, you’re going to tell me.”

He pointed an accusatory finger at me. “You’re running away.”

I laughed, a defensive move. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, John, I’m . . . Christ, before we get into a pissing match, let’s drop it. Okay?”

“You’re so eager to drop it because you know I’m right. Do it once, do it again,” he said with the knowledge of years.

“John, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

“At least face some reality, Bri. Come on—when
you
fall in love, you fall hard. When love doesn’t work out, well, you fall even harder. If things had worked out with Lucy years ago, you’d probably have two cars, two kids, and a big fat mortgage now—the American dream. But it didn’t work, and what did you do? You ran here, to New York, and sought help from yours truly. Now, listen to me again, and believe me, I can be this honest with you because, well, ’cause the booze helps. But listen up: You can’t run away again.”

“John, dredging up history is pointless. Lucy and I . . . we were just grown-up kids who didn’t know anything about being adults. And it’s completely different. I wasn’t running away then; I was—”

“Aha!” he screamed out. We caught the attention of the other people in the cramped little bar, curious looks indicating that they thought someone had had too much to drink. I tried to encourage John to leave, but he protested by draining his scotch and asking for another. I waved the bartender away.

“Thanks,” I said, tossing down thirty bucks on the bar, and, with my friend in tow, I exited the bar.

It was late, past ten. We’d been there for four hours, and John was pretty drunk. Good thing I’d chosen the Gaf, so close to John’s place. With lots of help from me, we wove our way down the street, crossed Second Avenue against traffic, and soon found the entrance to his apartment building.

“You need help going up the stairs?” I asked.

“No, you run along,” he said. “It’s your pattern.”

Deflecting his stinging comment, I helped him with his keys and got him inside the building. I turned around and headed down Second and toward home. It was a cold night, crisp and clear, and I enjoyed the brisk walk, liked the way the air cleared my mind after hours in the stuffy, dank bar. There were places that had nights like this all the time, where you could actually see the sky and the stars.

Thoughts kept creeping into my mind. One in particular—John’s theory about how I always run from my problems rather than face up to them. Had I once? And was I doing it now? Was it really my place to talk with Maddie, to confront her with her betrayal? Or was it hers, to realize her mistake and come running to me? Nothing was making sense, and I wondered if maybe I were drunk on bar fumes. I tried to push these troubling, doubting thoughts away—and found I couldn’t. They were firmly lodged now in my brain: Brian Duncan just running away.

B
efore long, a week had passed and I was ready for the next brave step. I packed, put things in storage, notified family and friends, and finalized all the necessary details. Putting your life on hold while you go off to find yourself is no easy task. I was up for it, though, enjoying the physical challenge while suppressing the cerebral. There would be time for mind games later.

Before I knew it, Friday morning arrived. D day. Departure day.

I awoke for the last time in my apartment, and for that single moment everything felt normal. As though I were going to work, making weekend plans with Maddie, and generally going about the routine I’d conditioned myself for these past thirteen years. But the two suitcases near the closet stood as reminders that nothing was the same, nothing would be as it was. The job was gone, so was a certain woman, and come tomorrow, so was the apartment.

I had only a few second thoughts. I was leaving the comfort I’d known, intent now on my trek into the vast unknown. Fear didn’t begin to describe what I was feeling as a heaviness settled into my chest like a bad case of heartburn and nausea nestled in the pit of my stomach. Emotions I hadn’t felt in years toyed with my system, and as a result, my blood was on fire and my body was alive.

Thirty minutes passed while I made my final preparations, that one last sweep of the apartment to make sure I’d taken everything I wanted from my previous life, any objects that might ease the solitude that would be my constant companion on the road. There was one particular item in my desk drawer that, at the last minute, I took out and slipped into my jacket pocket. I thought fleetingly of Maddie, wondered if I’d hear from her, then dismissed it. My attention was drawn to the window, where I saw people on the streets rushing to work, dressed in suits and carrying briefcases. In jeans and a turtleneck, wearing sneakers and a brown leather jacket, I was dressed for the future.

I grabbed the two suitcases, and with my heart suddenly full of an odd mixture of sadness and joy, I closed the door behind me, listening for that final turn of the lock. Its click lingered in my mind as I went down the stairs. Once out in the cool morning air, I realized I’d been holding my breath and so I let it out. A cold breeze washed over and invigorated me. Winter, it was clear, was still hovering, but spring was coming. Hope springs eternal indeed.

My car was parked in the garage across the street, so it was a quick, no-nonsense walk with my heavy load. I’d packed only clothes, figuring any mementos would only bog me down with weight both physical and emotional. Besides, you don’t have to pack memories. They never leave you.

Some even meet you head-on.

A surprise guest was waiting for me in the garage. She was sitting on the trunk of my black Grand Am, her feet resting on its fender. In her hands I saw a tissue, which she used to dab at the corner of her eyes. She was dressed in an attractive package of denim and lace.

“Is Justin allowing casual-dress Fridays?”

Maddie said, “This doesn’t strike me as a moment for flippancy.”

“This isn’t much of a moment for anything,” I replied, standing before the car with the suitcases still in my hands, hoping she’d get the hint that as long as I held them, she was holding me up. But she wasn’t giving up easily, and so I cleared my throat to help along my hint.

She got off the car at last, enabling me to open the trunk and drop both bags onto the carpeted floor beside the emergency repair kit. It helps to be prepared. Except at this precise moment, I wasn’t. Not for this.

“Brian, don’t you think I’m owed a better explanation? For all of this—us. Brian, for us?”

I wasn’t budging. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

She wrapped herself in her arms. “I’ve never seen you be so cold. There’s nothing in your eyes.”

“The new president of a corporation has important responsibilities, and I’m sure your underlings at work need your expert guidance.”

“That’s your third reference to work. Why won’t you talk to me—the person, the woman—not the title? Dammit, Brian.”

“Maddie, what are you doing here? And how did you know to find me here—now,” I asked, hoping we could dispense with this scene quickly and painlessly—okay, quickly. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep up this distant attitude. Truth was, inside I was melting at the sight of her gleaming hair, the resonance of her voice. She was a beautiful woman, nothing could change that, but my feelings went far below the surface, deep down to the heart.

“Don’t be mad at John—I forced him to tell me.”

“John. Great. My best friend sides with . . .” But then I dropped it. It was irrelevant at this point. I guess that in the face of true friendship, his actions were justified. He was looking toward the long run.

“Take me with you,” she blurted out.

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. And I instantly regretted it. I was angry, yes, but cruelty had no place, not between two people who had once shared their hopes and dreams, their inner souls with each other.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Look, Maddie, let’s just leave it as is, before either one of us says something hurtful. This . . . whatever you call it . . . my leaving, it’s something I have to do for myself. If I stayed, I wouldn’t be the man you want me to be. He doesn’t exist anymore.”

“That’s why I want to go. Let me know who you are, who you’ve become.”

“Maddie, there’s no way you could give everything up now. You’d call it a vacation, and in two hours, you’d be checking your messages. This is no vacation, not for me.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s life, and it’s vital I do this. Alone.”

“I think you’re running away,” she stated, and for a second I was shaken to the core. Those were John’s words, too, and again doubt crept beneath my skin. Was I really running away? Or had John used this line on Maddie in an effort to get me to change my mind? Was now the time to tell Maddie everything? But if I did come clean now, at this crucial moment, would I still be able to leave, to say that final good-bye, or would the flood of memories we’d created draw me close to her, to where I’d be unable to resist her? Silence enveloped us—indecision on my part, uncertainty on hers—and for a moment I saw the woman I’d fallen for, had come to love. It was a nice way to remember her.

“Good-bye, Maddie,” I said strongly, confidence taking over. It worked. Maddie let me go, no more explanation needed.

We’d loved each other, planned a future.

But people change and so do their plans, and sometimes things are never the same. You can’t relive the past; you can’t recapture its mood. Life is a series of new memories, and new adventures, and I for one was ready for them.

O
ne last stop, and it seemed predestined, because I found a parking space right in front of the building. In New York, you find hidden messages in the details.

I was on 47th Street, a street I’d walked or crossed many times, but only one time in particular did the street leave any lasting impression. The month had been December, just last year, less than three short months ago. Snow had covered the sidewalks of New York, pretty, white litter that drifted down from the sky and still seemed fresh on that cold morning. Maddie and I, we’d been playing tourist in our own backyard as we visited the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, window-shopped along Fifth Avenue, and contemplated taking in a matinee. It was a Wednesday and the office was closed for the holiday week. There were any number of streets we could have taken, but 47th, going west, would take us directly to the half-price TKTS booth where we could see what Broadway had to offer on that beautiful winter’s day. So we headed west, strolling arm in arm down the diamond district, lost in our own world. We stopped in front of a tiny shop called Eli’s Jewelers and I pointed to something glistening in the window. A not tiny piece of diamond surrounded by three others on a gold band, it sparkled in the bright sunshine and I thanked the weather or maybe even God for giving the ring that extra sheen.

“Oh . . . oh, Brian, it’s beautiful. No, it’s more than that. It’s . . . indescribable. There’s no word in the English language . . .”

She turned to me.

“Now you know the problem I have every time someone asks me about you. I become utterly speechless.”

“Oh,” she said, and leaned in until our lips touched. We were lost in each other and could have been anywhere rather than in this wintry urban wilderness.

The blaring sound of a taxi horn broke us apart and we laughed. People passing us smiled, the holiday mood vibrantly alive on this diamond-laced street. I told her then that the ring would soon be hers. But it was official—we were now unofficially engaged, or pre-engaged, or, forsaking a label, merely two people very much in love.

That day, we did see a show, we did walk hand in hand through the drifts of snow in Central Park, and we did make love the night long. And we did see nothing but the brightest and most intoxicating future imaginable. The perfect life, marriage, children. She wanted three kids, and I said how fine that sounded. Maddie wanted boys, and wasn’t that wonderful, but a special little girl would, I thought, bring out the untapped father in me. So with these hopes and dreams shared, I took the next step. The next morning I went back to Eli’s and bought the ring.

Now, with the memory of that day so bittersweet in my mind, I entered the little jewelry shop. The ring was in my pocket. The tinkling of a bell alerted the owner, and he smiled at me with recognition. His brow furrowed. This kindly old gentleman had been in business too long a time, and he knew a wounded heart when he saw one.

“My boy,” he said, and clasped his hands in genuine concern. There was little else to say.

I removed the box from my pocket and set it on the counter without opening it.

“I bought this . . .”

“New Year’s Eve, I remember. Figured you needed it for the evening’s celebration. Not so?”

I shook my head. “Change of plans.”

“Let me get my paperwork—I’ll be right back.”

He left me, and I stole a quick glance around the small shop. The last thing I wanted to see was a giddy couple hovering over a selection of engagement rings. I was shaky still from having seen Maddie, and I wondered if any good at all had come of our seeing each other again. She’d given me one last chance to explain my actions. For her, too, it was the moment to come clean, and the fact that she hadn’t done so told me I’d made the right decision. Maddie and I were not destiny’s couple.