We met in the diner. I was sitting at the one end of the
counter, he closer to the door. An older, but very attractive gentleman, blue
blue eyes and greying hair. Handsome, and extremely so. I guess I was staring,
and he looked up and looked straight at me. Our eyes met before I could look
away and pretend I wasn’t staring. He smiled and looked down at this coffee. As
did I. When I did look up again, he was looking at me, casually, but definitely
looking at me. I blush, smiled and looked down at my coffee. He laughed and shook
his head as he left.
I had been going to this diner for almost a month. I just sat
there and drank my coffee. I had seen him before, just getting a coffee and
then leaving. Until that morning. The next day I was there again… because that
was what I did. And then he showed up again. Sitting at the counter, ordering
his coffee and then looking in my direction, searching and finally coming to
rest on me. He smiled, finished his coffee and left.
After about a week of glancing at each other over coffee
cups, I decided to sit in a booth. My back to the door. Next thing I know, he was
standing next to my table.
“Hi”, he said. I looked up, “Hi”.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the seat across from
me. I shook my head. He sat, raised his hand and indicated 2 more coffees to
the waitress. We sat in silence. The coffee came and we drank it in silence. A
warm, comfortable silence. Every now and then our eyes met. And then we smiled.
Eventually we laughed. When I finished my coffee, I picked up my jacket, nodded
at him, smiled and left. At the door I stopped and looked back at him. He smiled
at me, and I left.
For a couple of days I couldn’t make it to the diner. When I
did show up, he was already there. Clearly waiting for me. He waved at me, and
signalled to the waitress. As I sat down, he said, “Haven’t seen you in a
couple of days.”
I smirked, “Missed me?”
He smiled and shrugged, “Yeah…”
The coffee came. He said, “I’m Ryan”.
“Sam.”
“Hi, Sam,” and he stretched out his hand to greet.
“Hi, Ryan,” and I met his hand to shake, and as we touched,
it was instant connection. We held the grip a couple of seconds longer than
necessary, our eyes fixed on each other. Reluctantly we broke the grip. We drank
our coffee in silence. As we finished and I got up, he asked: “Tomorrow?”
I quipped: “It’s Saturday.”
“Yeah. So?”
I smiled, “We’ll see” I said and left, and I didn’t look
back at the door.
The following morning it rained hard and it messed up all my
plans. I hurried to the diner, much later than when we would normally meet.
When I went in, I was soaking wet. I found him at our table, my coffee waiting.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” he said.
Still standing I gulped down my coffee.
“Bye,” I said.
“Bye,” he said.
And I left. But at the door I stopped and looked back. He
looked at me, half a smile on his face, his eyes squinting as he tried to
figure out what was happening. I smiled at him and left. He just shrugged,
laughed and drank his coffee.
Monday morning he was waiting for me again, although I
wasn’t late. He was early. And he looked worried, troubled. I sat down. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He signalled for coffee. Only 1 cup arrived.
“And you?” I asked.
“Gotta go,” he said, but hesitated, shifting his weight.
“It’s ok. Go,” I said, shooing him away. He smiled, and got
up, but paused again.
“GO!” I said firmly, shooing him away again. At the door he
stopped and looked back, smiling before leaving hurriedly to his car and
speeding off.
We met at the diner every morning like this for just over 4
weeks. Some days we just sat in absolute silence and drank our coffee, maybe
read the newspaper – the actual paper, not on cellphones. Apparently neither of
us were big on technology. Other days we couldn’t stop talking.
One day, I was already there, waiting for him. He came in,
took off his scarf and coat, sat down and just put his hand on mine, which was
resting on the table. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. But
apart from our handshake weeks ago, this was the first physical contact we’ve
had. He signalled the waitress for coffee. And we just sat there, holding
hands, looking at each other, smiling on and off, drinking our coffee.
Eventually it was time to go.
Squinting, like he did when he thinks, looking away and then
back at me, he said: “I don’t wanna go”.
I squeezed his hand, pulled mine away and asked: “Tomorrow?”
He shrugged, looked away out of the window, then back at me
and smiled. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”
I smiled, nodded and left.
After about another 2 weeks of holding hands at the diner,
he asked me if he could take me somewhere the following day, which was a
Saturday. I said “sure”.
The following morning we met at the diner, drank our coffee
and left. He opened the diner’s door for me, as well as his car’s door. A
black, big, fancy, powerful car. I asked where we were going, but he just smiled.
We stopped at a shopping centre.
I looked at him, aghast.
“Shopping?!”
He laughed. “Yeah. Shoppin’” and he opened the car door for
me. As I got out, I turned to him, still taken aback, and asked: “So this is
your idea of a perfect first date? Shopping?”
He laughed and quipped: “So, this is a date?” and as he caught
up to me, he took my hand. And for the full duration of the trip through the
aisles and shelves of the shop, he did not let go of it.
Afterwards we went to his house to drop off the groceries.
He invited me in for coffee, showed me the house. One room had a door closed
and since he skipped it, I didn’t ask. The basement was his hobby room –
woodworking. He builds all kinds of things down there, especially boats. With
hand tools. No power tools.
We drank coffee on his couch, and watched a movie. He pulled
me closer and I leaned against his chest, and he just held me. When the movie ended,
I asked him to take me home.
“You could spend the night?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“No.”
“Why not?” he retorted, clearly surprised by my answer.
“’Cause.”
“You have a curfew or somethin’?” he asked sarcastically,
still thinking I might be joking.
I looked at him, picked up my handbag and coat, and said
quietly, “I’ll call a cab,” and headed to the door. He leaped over and grabbed
my arm. His eyes serious. “Hey, I’ll take you home.” His eyes continued to
search mine. I looked down.
“You alright?” he asked concerned. I just nodded.
He got his keys and we left. Our only conversation being one
or two worded directions, like “turn here”. When we arrived at my block of
flats, he asked: “We gonna talk about this?”
I didn’t answer, but turned to the door, aiming to get out.
“Did I do somethin’ wrong?” He asked more urgently.
I opened the door to climb out, but he reached over and slammed
it shut.
“No,” he said, “Talk to me.”
I cast my eyes down and began to blush. I could actually
feel my cheeks turning red.
“You blushin’, Sam?” He asked quizzically.
I smiled, but tried to hide it. He lifted my chin with his
hand and turned my head to him. His eyes squinting, concerned. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t wanna have sex,” I said eventually.
His eyes shot open, his expression changed from concern to
incredulousness instantaneously.
“Sex? This is what this is all about? Sex?!”
I blushed some more.
He shifted his weight. Looked out the window and then back
at me. A couple of minutes went by. He was processing.
“What, like ever?” he eventually asked.
“Not until I’m married.” I said quietly, looking away. A
quiet understanding filled the car.
He turned my face towards him, his blue eyes piercing mine.
“That’s not why I wanted you to stay.”
I nodded knowingly. “Sure.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“All guys want sex,” I said explanatory. He just looked at
me and I continued, “And a sure way of getting it, is telling a girl that of
course you’ll wait until she is ready. She feels respected and whalla! she
opens her legs.” I threw my hand in the air in a gesture, my voice rising
towards the end.
A minute passed
“I’m not them,” he said matter-of-factly.
“So you haven’t even thought of having sex with me?” I asked
tauntingly. He gulped, made a surrendering gesture with his hands, his eyes
looked this way and that.
“I’m a guy,” he said eventually.
I smiled wryly. “hhmm hmmm….”, but tears welled up in my
eyes and I turned my head away. The lump in my throat was choking me. I opened
the car door again. Like lightning, he leaned over and slammed the door shut
again. He sat back, clearly frustrated.
“I’m not them,” he repeated.
I looked away, out of the window, bit my lip, trying to hide
my tears.
“Hey,” he barked, “look at me.”
I turned my face and looked him in the eye, a tear rolled
down my cheek. His eyes turned gentle, a softness covered his face as he wiped
the tear from my cheek. He searched my eyes and said softly, “I’m not them.”
I nodded, sniffled and I quickly got out of the car, and
into the building. He sat there for a while and then sped off.
He wasn’t at the diner the following day. I wasn’t there the
day after that. When I arrived on Tuesday morning, he was already waiting. I
sat down, keeping my hands in my lap.
“I don’t like not finishing a fight,” he finally said. I
looked up at him. His eyes squinted as he thought, analysed. “I don’t mind a
fight. But you fight and you finish it. You don’t leave in the middle of a
fight.”
I wanted to say something sarcastic, but bit my tongue. I
just looked down.
“You don’t wanna have sex, that’s fine with me,” he continued,
“I don’t come here day after day hoping to get sex.”
I looked up. “So what do you come for?” I asked
challengingly.
“To be with you. To spend time with you,” he answered almost
immediately as he leaned forward on the table. He searched my face for a
moment, then leaned back into the seat, shifting his weight, adjusting his
jacket. Then he sat up straight and looked me squarely in the eye.
“ I LIKE you,” he said, with emphasis. He sat back again.
Looked out of the window and then back at me. “I like you, Sam”, he said again,
but a little more quiet. I looked down, blushing again. “You blushin’ again,
Sam?” he asked, a playful note in his voice. I smiled and looked up at him as I
put my hand on the table. His gaze softened as he took my hand, intertwining
our fingers. He smiled, then laughed, shaking his head. When he looked back up,
he was still smiling, a surety, a contentedness rested on his face.
“I like you,” he said again.
For the next four Saturdays we went to various places all
around the city, the flea market, the park… When the day was done, he dropped
me off at my flat. I never invited him up. He never asked. Then one Saturday
after the day was done, as we climbed into his car, I asked him, “You wanna
make me coffee?” He paused. Then glanced at me sideways. Then he buckled up,
started the car and said, “Yeah,” as the smile covered his face.
At his house, I made myself comfortable on the couch while
he made the coffee. We watched a movie and again he pulled me closer and I leaned
on his chest. He smellt warm, a feint hint of deodorant. And I dozed off. When
the movie finished, we just sat there for a minute or three. Finally he kissed
me on the head and whispered, “Let’s get you home,”.
I wanted to stay so badly. Not to have sex, just to be with
him. To spend the night with him. In his house, in his presence. To wake up
with him. But after my ferocious display of morality the last time, I swallowed
my desire and we spent the trip in silence. He opened the door for me and I got
out. I mumbled a “bye” and went up.
After another couple of Saturdays, with him patiently
driving me home at that hour of the night, the desire to spend the night with
him overwhelmed me. And when the movie ended that Saturday, and he kissed my
head and said, “Let’s get you home,” I paused, caught my breath, and whispered,
“Can I stay?”
He paused, then sank back in the couch, kissed my head
again, pulled his arm a little bit tighter around me, and just said, “Yeah,”. I
couldn’t see his face, but he was smiling, his eyes lit up. We watched another
movie and I fell asleep. Not wanting to scare me away, he didn’t move all
night. He just sat there, sleeping upright, all the while holding me.
When I did wake up the following morning, he was already
awake. I looked up at him and he was (still) smiling. “Morning,” he said
softly, kissing my forehead.
“Morning,” I answered self-concious.
“Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” I answered and lifted myself up so that he
could get up.
He made the coffee and we drank it in silence. The rest of
the day was spent quietly around his home, as if still in a daze from the night
before.
It’s been three months since we met and we still haven’t
even exchanged phone numbers. That night when he drove me home, he asked for
mine. “I wanna tell you good night,” was his explanation.
We met for coffee every morning, texted during the day and
every night he would call me to say good night. But we wanted more. More time
with each other, more talking, more silence, just more. One Friday morning he
asked if I wanted to have dinner that evening. I agreed.
He picked me up at my flat and we went to his house.
“I thought we were having dinner?” I stated as he got out of
the car.
He opened my car door and said, “Yeah.” I climbed out and he
closed the door behind me. He walked to the house and I just stood there.
“You comin’?” he asked as he opened the door.
Flabbergasted, I followed him. He had prepared two steaks,
on two plates, with two beers – opened, in front of the fire. I just stood
there, just inside the doorway, frozen.
Eventually he walked over to me, took my hand and gently
pulled me to the couch.
“It’s ok,” he said, smiling like a dog who found a bone,
gesturing for me to sit. I sat and he moved my tray closer to me. Then he took
his seat next to me and started to eat.
With a mouth full, he commented, “You like medium-rare?” and
he pointed with his knife to my steak. I smiled, then giggled as I picked up my
knife and fork and cut into the steak. Perfectly done to medium-rare. We ate,
and talked and watched the movie and drank some beer. And around midnight, he
grew quiet. Then he looked at his watch and then at me, a question mark on his
face.
I had no intention of going home. I got up from the couch,
pointed to the room with the closed door and said matter-of-factly: “I sleep in
there, on the bed.” He looked up at me, then at the door.
I knew the history. I knew that that was the room he and his
wife shared. And that he never went in there. I knew that I was pushing the
boundaries of our relationship, the boundaries of what is allowed and what not.
“Already made it,” he gestured to the room, “just in case.”
I awoke to the smell of coffee the following morning and
just as I sat up in the bed, he came in with the 2 cups.
That Sunday night when he drove me home, I found myself not
wanting to go. My dependence on him and his presence was scaring me. He must’ve
felt my inner turmoil as he asked when we stopped, “You ok?” I just nodded and
got out as fast I could.
I didn’t go to the diner for the whole of the following
week. He called, texted. By Tuesday, I switched off my phone. By Friday night
there was a knock on my door. I ignored it, but then my landlord bellowed:
“Either you open this door, or I evict you. I don’t need the feds harassing
me…”.
When I opened the door, Ryan was standing there, badge in
hand, using his status as federal agent to coerce my landlord to take him to my
flat. I have never seen him so distraught. It looks as if he hadn’t slept since
he dropped me off. When he saw me, his face turned to ice. He turned around and
walked away.
“Ryan!” I shouted. He just waved me off with his hand and
kept on walking to the stairs.
“Ryan! Wait!” I shouted again, running after him. He kept on
walking, almost running down the stairs.
“Just wait!” I shouted down the stairs.
He stopped and looked up. “Why?”
I started down the stairs. “I just needed some time. To
think.” I said.
“Well,” he shrugged as he started down the stairs, “now you
can have all the time you need. Don’t let me keep you.”
“Why did you come here, then?” I screamed after him.
“To check that you were alive.” He screamed back.
“And that’s it? You leave just like that?”
He paused. “Yeah.” And he started down again.
“I thought you weren’t like them,” I shouted after him. That
stopped him dead in his tracks. He made a fist with his hands, literally
gnashed his teeth, and started back up the stairs, 2, 3 at a time. Out of
breath, he came to a stop in front of me.
“I’m not,” he said, “but I can’t make you believe that.” And
he turned and walked down the stairs. “Take all the time you need.” he said as
he reached the door to the building, and left.
Sunday morning he wasn’t at the diner. For the whole of the
next week, he didn’t show up. I didn’t call or text him. And he didn’t try to
contact me.
That Saturday evening I went to his house. His door is never
locked, so I didn’t knock, I just went in. I knew he would be in his basement,
so that’s where I went. As I started down the stairs, he paused his sawing,
didn’t look up, just paused, then started sawing again.
“Sure you don’t need more time?” he asked sarcastically.
I came up beside him. He put down the saw and moved to a
farther corner of the basement.
Eventually he looked up at me. “What did you need to think
about?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. Just ran my fingers up and down the ribs of
the boat. He looked at me, squinting.
“What are you so afraid of?” he asked softly.
I looked up, “You,” I answered, and looked down again.
For a minute he just stood there. Then he came over to me
and stood very, very close to me. He smelt warm, musky, the smell of freshly
cut wood enveloping us. He lifted up my chin with his fingers, forcing me to
look at him. His eyes studied my whole face, running up and down and finally
landing on my eyes.
“I’m not them,” he whispered softly, a smile playing on his
lips, his blue eyes shining with tenderness. His face close to mine.
“Let me love you,” he finally whispered, keeping my gaze.
Then his eyes turned down to my mouth and very slowly his lips met mine. He
kissed me slowly, softly, intensely. I don’t know how long the kiss lasted, for
me time stood still.
When he stopped and we opened our eyes, he smiled, his eyes
filled with love I guess I just didn’t see before. I smiled back and as he
grabbed me, and pulled me closer, kissing me with such intensity, I
surrendered.
