A Benign Something

I think Gayle could sense my anxiety, as one side of her mouth slowly curled.

"Ok," she said, and then we turned and walked out the door.

We went over to the picnic table and sat across from each other, trying to make idle chatter.

"How was your morning?" she asked.

I poked a straw through the top of my soda and shrugged.

"Same as always," I replied, taking a long sip. "How was yours?"

Gayle took a bite of her sandwich and shrugged, as well.

"So-so," she muttered, holding up her hand and tilting it from side to side.

From that point on, the conversation slowly built to a more affable tempo. We talked about my job and hers, what we liked to have for lunch, and the things we remembered from when we were in high school. And, the same as with our previous conversations, this one never seemed forced or contrived, and I felt her interest in me was as genuine as mine in her.

Then she threw me a curve ball.

Just as I took a bite, Gayle dabbed a napkin at the corners of her mouth, saying, "You look really pretty today."

I stopped chewing for a second and swallowed.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

Then I slowly reached for my soda and cleared my throat, stuttering, "You, too."

Gayle grinned, as she chewed, holding her sandwich between her hands.

After that minor moment of strangeness, the conversation picked up where it left off.

We were sitting there talking, having cleared away the remnants of our lunch, with nothing between us save for the half-empty cups of sodas we held, when from inside the building a bell ring. Gayle sat up and looked over my shoulder, and then gave me a dejected smile.

"Guess lunch is over," she sighed.

"Yeah," I replied, fidgeting with my cup. "I better get going."

We stood from the table, and I followed her over to a trashcan. After she stuffed the plastic bag inside, she turned and smiled. It seemed like Gayle wanted to say something, but she hesitated, as if trying to choose her words carefully.

"Well," she said softly, brushing her hands together, and then jamming them in her back pockets. "Um... Thanks for lunch."

I shook my head, replying, "Oh... No, really. I mean, you bought, so I should, uh... I should thank you."

She chuckled and shrugged, looking down at the sidewalk.

The silence between us was quickly becoming uncomfortable for her, and me, as well. I hooked my thumb over my shoulder, saying, "I should probably get back..."

Gayle nodded and looked up, giving me a smile.

"Yeah," she mumbled.

I wasn't quite sure what to say or do, so, just as I went to say goodbye, Gayle took a deep breath.

"You know I'm a lesbian, don't you?" she asked.

I swallowed hard and nodded rapidly.

"Um... Yeah," I replied, still nodding. "Yeah, I knew that."

Gayle's head slowly bobbed up and down, as she looked down at the sidewalk again.

"I just... you know... didn't wanna make you uncomfortable," she said softly. "Some people just..."

"No," I shot back, shaking my head. "No, not at all. That's fine. Really. I mean... yeah..."

My words tapered off, as Gayle stood there trying to smile.

"Ok," she said.

Then she put her sunglasses on and smiled.

"I should probably get back," she said. "Gonna be a little late, as it is."

I nodded, but felt sad in how we were departing. Something didn't seem right. So, when Gayle turned to walk to her car, I called out. But before she looked to me, she quickly brought a hand to her face, as if wiping her nose, and then turned and folded her arms on her chest, slowly walking backwards. She smiled, and, when I went to speak, I suddenly wondered if she was crying. And then my heart went out to her, and I had this incredible urge to go over and hug her.

I cleared my throat and grinned, asking if it was my turn to by lunch next time. Gayle chuckled and gave a short kick of her foot. "Yeah," she said with a smile, pursing her lips and nodding.

I held up my hand, replying, "So... tomorrow? Same time? Same place?"

Gayle chuckled again, and I saw her lips quiver.

"Same bat channel," she said with a wavering smile.

Even from twenty feet away, I could see she was fighting back the tears. She gave me a quick little wave and turned to walk over to her car.

"Hey, Gayle," I called, biting my lower lip.

She was pulling her keys from her pocket and turned to me, just as she got to her car.

My words stammered, as they came out, but I looked at her saying, "Thanks... And... And I really, uh... I really like you."

Her torso jerked slightly, as she chuckled and gave me a wave. She stepped into her car, and I stood there watching, as she backed out, and, when she pulled away, she waved once more.

I turned and walked back inside the building. If I'd known how, I would have jumped into the air and clicked my heels together.

That evening, I was on cloud nine. I was happy and excited and full of energy. Over dinner, Rachel asked what got into me all of a sudden, and I told her. I told her how Gayle and I were becoming fast friends, how much I enjoyed her company, and how I felt as though this was going to be a turning point in my life.

I waited for Rachel to make some sarcastic remark, but all she did was smile and nod.

"Sounds like fun," she said, as she helped me wash dishes. "I always thought she was kind of a cool chick."

A cool chick: I liked the sound of that. Gayle was definitely very cool.

Around 9:30pm, I was sitting in my room with the door closed, changing for bed. I tried to make it a habit of going to bed no later than 10:30pm, but that night, I was very tired, probably from mentally wearing myself out all day.

So, as I crawled under the covers, I reached for my book on the nightstand and glanced at the phone. I thought about it for a moment, giggled, and picked up the phone and dialed Gayle's number. But when I held the phone to my ear, there was no dial tone, no ringing.

"Now that's odd," I mumbled, holding the phone away from my ear and staring at it. I poked at the keypad and could hear the familiar beeps, but then I heard a voice, too. I brought the phone back to my ear, furling my eyebrows at this perplexing situation.

"Hello?" I mumbled.

"Jess?"

I held the phone out slightly and gave it a strange look.

"Gayle?"

She laughed.

"What're ya doin'?" she asked. "Were you just banging on the phone?"

"Is... Is that you? This is Gayle, right?"

She laughed out loud and said yes.

I chuckled, replying, "Wow... totally bizarre. I just picked up the phone and was dialing your number, but there was no dial tone or anything. Did you call or something?"

"Yeah," she laughed. "It was weird. The phone didn't ring on your side. Nothing. I dialed your number, and then suddenly I hear this weird beeping noise, and then your voice going, 'Wull now, ain't that odd?'"

And she uttered those last few words in a dopey, exaggerated manner.

"Oh, ha ha," I replied dryly, propping a pillow up behind me so I could lean back against it.

"So what'd ya want?" she asked in a very accusatory manner.

"Me?" I exclaimed, holding a hand to my chest. "You called me first."

"All right," she replied.

She was quiet for a moment, and I grinned.

"Well?" I asked, in my best motherly tone.

"Gimme a second!" she laughed. "I'm tryin' to think of an answer."

I was about to speak, when she said, "I dunno... Just wondered what you were doing."

My heart twittered, and I stretched my legs out under the blankets, replying, "Um... Just got into bed, actually. I was gonna read for a while."

"So why were you gonna call me?" she asked.

"I didn't," I replied with a quick smirk.

"No," she said. "But you were going to."

"Yeah."

"Uh huh... and?"

"And what?" I snickered.

"And why were you going to call me?"

I bit my lip and smiled.

"I forgot," I replied.

Gayle sighed into the phone.

"Oh brother," she said.

But that was a good question: why was I going to call her?

I sat up and closed my book, placing it back on the nightstand.

"What'd you want me to get for lunch tomorrow?" I asked, turning to my side and satisfied with my speedy and clever answer to her question.

For the next hour, Gayle and I chatted, sometimes laughing and sometimes speaking in almost a whisper. I had turned off my light and lay in the dark talking to her, curled up in my blanket.

"You sound tired," she said.

I yawned, holding a hand over my mouth.

"Yeah," I whispered, closing my eyes.

"Want me to let you go?"

"Not really," I giggled.

"It's almost eleven," she said. "You got school in the morning."

"I know," I sighed dreamily. "I just like talking to you."

Gayle was quiet for a moment, and then I heard her soft voice.

"I like talking to you, too," she replied.

I smiled, in my state of semi-consciousness.

"Good," I whispered.

"I'm gonna hang up now, all right? You need to get some sleep. I'll see you at lunch, ok?"

"Ok," I whispered.

But before she hung up, I said her name.

"What?" she whispered.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

There was a second or two of silence, and then she said, "You're welcome, Jessie. Night."

"Night..."

The next morning, I awoke feeling wonderful, better than I ever had in so many long years. I was tired, but it was a good kind of tried, if that makes sense. My body was slow to rouse, but my mind was ready to begin a new day.

I showered quickly and told Rachel she was on her own for breakfast, as I busied myself making sandwiches for Gayle and myself.

My daughter stood at the kitchen counter, reaching for a bowl in the cupboard.

"You gonna eat all that?" she asked, using a spoon to point to the sandwiches in front of me.

I chuckled, replying, "Nope. One's for me and one's for Gayle."

"Ah."

Then I wrapped the sandwiches in plastic and carefully placed them in a small cooler with a bag of chips and carrot sticks.

As with the day before, the morning seemed to drag on. But finally, at long last, twelve-thirty rolled around and I dashed down to the main office with our lunch.

I nearly skidded around the corner, and there she was, just as the day before, sitting on the bench outside the office. We grinned wide at each other, and then Gayle led me outside to our picnic table.

We sat and talked, our food being merely a hindrance to the conversation. And, as usual, we laughed and whispered and laughed some more. And, when it came time to part, I asked Gayle if she wanted to go shopping with me after work. She stood there twirling her sunglasses, scratching her chin and staring up at the sky, as if putting heavy thought into it.

"Oh, c'mon," I said, giving her a poke in the stomach. "It'll be fun."

She winced, as my finger poked her, and she quickly pulled away.

"All right," she laughed. "But no more belly poking."

"Can't promise you that," I chuckled in reply with a shake of my finger.

Gayle and I then exchanged email addresses, so we could arrange a time and place to meet, in order to go shopping, before parting ways for the remainder of the afternoon.

Very quickly, I was finding that to be a difficult thing to do with Gayle: saying goodbye. It seemed like no matter how it was done or worded, it didn't seem right. Several times now, I found myself wanting to shake her hand, but that seemed terribly formal for someone like her, as well as taking into consideration the nature of our burgeoning friendship. Still, as time went on, I wanted to touch her. Not in a lurid, sexual manner, but just a gentle touch of my hand, making a physical connection with her. I wanted to know what it was like to hold and be held, to feel a physical closeness and the accompanying phrenic bliss of knowing someone cared about you. In Gayle, I was beginning to feel this about her, both for her and in how she treated me likewise.

That evening, as I drove to her condominium, it did cross my mind once more that she was a lesbian, though I shrugged it off. But it was still in my mind, nevertheless. I knew she was and didn't care. At least, I consciously told myself I didn't. Deep down, however, down in my heart, I was beginning to develop feelings for Gayle. Not romantic or sexual, but not quite platonic, either. Somewhere in between were where those feelings and emotions hovered, probably as a result of being without both for so long and my heart not knowing quite what to make of the situation, finding itself in a dilemma and not knowing which way to go. It would sort itself out in the end, I reasoned. In the meantime, I didn't care. I was happy again and that's all that mattered.

Gayle and I walked throughout the mall, from one shop to the next, sometimes stopping to try on various clothes. At one store, as I stood in front of a mirror wearing a blouse, she came up from behind, placing her hand against my back.

"Looks really nice," she said, smiling warmly at my reflection.

Then I felt her hand gently rubbing against me, and I blushed and grinned.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

My reaction must have been an unconscious signal to her, as from that point on, not always, but every now and then, Gayle would touch me; a hand on my back, my arm, my thigh as we sat next to each other and laughed about something. Had I been married or even dating someone else, I'm sure I would have thought it strange for her to do these things, after only knowing each other for a few days. But neither of these applied to me, so I simply enjoyed whatever she had to offer. Even an ephemeral, glancing touch of her hand was enough to fill my heart with joy.

For the next several weeks, Gayle and I tried to meet for lunch, as often as we could. Sometimes our schedules didn't match, but most of the time, we were able to still find time to talk, either by way of the phone late at night or email during the day. And, with each passing day, with each conversation and email message I received from her, I wanted to be with her even more. Whenever the phone rang, I instantly dashed over and snatched it up, hoping to hear her voice. Likewise, whenever I checked my email in the morning at school, I was overjoyed to find a message from her, sometimes nothing more than to wish me a good day and other times it could be a link to an interesting story or website she thought I might enjoy. Invariably, her guess was always right, and this made me feel even better about how our relationship was blossoming.

Gayle wasn't simply taking a stab in the dark, hoping I'd be impressed with some arbitrary conversation piece, like throwing darts at a target and praying you hit the bull's-eye. She had made a concerted effort to get to know me, and this was her way of propagating and grooming our relationship. Her email and phone calls weren't hollow gestures on her part. She actively engaged me in conversation about any number of topics, as I did with her. And the more information we exchanged, the better we came to know and understand one another, and the more we wanted to know and understand.

It had been nearly two months since I first met Gayle in the park, when she invited me over for dinner one evening. By now, we had become very close friends, and I felt comfortable being around her and discussing even personal details of my life that I normally wouldn't share with anyone other than my husband. So, that evening, we talked.

Music was playing softly on the stereo in the living room, and the lights out there were turned down low, while we sat in the kitchen at the table.

As Gayle ate, she set down her fork and picked up her napkin, wiping the corners of her mouth.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, reaching for her glass.

I sat back and nodded, taking my own napkin and dabbing my lips.

"Mm hm," I replied with a smile.

Gayle pushed her chair back and reached for my plate.

"Done?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," I replied, holding my hands back, as she picked it up along with her own. "Very good," I added. "Thank you."

Gayle grinned and carried our plates to the sink and rinsed them off. Then she placed them in the dishwasher and walked back to the table. She picked up her glass and nudged her head toward the living room, gesturing for me to follow.

We sat on the couch and were quiet for a moment, and then I spoke.

"So, what were you gonna ask me?"

Gayle was taking a sip from her glass, and then held it in both hands, looking down with just the hint of a smile on her face. She crossed one leg over her knee, rolling the glass between her slender fingers.

"It's sorta personal," she said softly.

I glanced down at my glass and shrugged.

"S'ok," I replied. "You can ask whatever you want."

She took a sip, and looked at me from the corner of her eye.

"All right," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Are you..." But then she paused and hesitated a second, and then turned to me saying, "Why aren't you dating anyone?"

I was still staring down at my glass and slowly nodded my head.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I guess that's sort of a good question."

Gayle slowly turned her body so she was facing me and rested her arm on the back of the couch.

"I dunno," I mumbled.

Then I felt her hand on my shoulder.

"I'm not trying to pry into your personal life," she said.

I quickly glanced at her, and then back down to the glass in my hands.

"No," I replied, slowly shaking my head. "I know. It's ok." Then I sighed again.

"I dunno," I said, turning to face her. "It's... I dunno... It's been so long. I never thought I'd find myself dating again, after I got married. It's just... Where do you start? How? How do you find the right person? I mean..."

My voice tapered off and, when I looked up, she smiled.

"I dunno where to start," I whispered.

"Well," she replied, taking a drink, as she leaned back. "Whadda you want?" she asked. "What're you looking for?"

I sighed and pulled my legs onto the couch, crossing them, as I faced her.

"I dunno," I replied. "I'm not really sure."

Gayle was about to speak, when I quickly added, "Someone to be with."

I looked to her for a reaction, and she slowly nodded and turned her eyes down to the empty space between us.

"Yeah," she replied softly. "Me, too."

There was a long silence, and Gayle leaned forward to the coffee table, carefully placing her glass on it. Then she sat back slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, and clasped her hands together.

I had told her all about what had happened with my husband. I told her how it tore me apart, how it destroyed my life, and how empty inside it made me feel. I explained in great depth and detail, crying as she put her arm around me, how desperately alone I felt every day of my life, how hopeless, even meaningless my existence seemed to be, even in light of still having my daughter at my side. Rachel would eventually leave our home and start a family of her own some day, signifying the end of all that was left of mine. No longer would I be a member sitting at the center table of my primary family, but relegated to being yet one more visiting relative from out of town. When my daughter left home for good, I'd be on my own and the thought terrified me.

So, as I sat there with Gayle on her couch, she told me her story.

She was still looking down at her hands, when she reached up and brushed the hair from her face, hooking it over her ear. Then she glanced in my direction, giving me a weak smile.

"I've never told anyone this," she said. "But... I was married, too... a long time ago."

Then she looked at me again, as if embarrassed, adding, "To a guy."

She reached for her glass and took a sip.

"When I was seventeen, my step-father tried to rape me. I guess my mom told him about me... how I was a lesbian... thought I was, anyway. So... She was at work one night, and he was getting drunk, as usual..."