A Benign Something

It seemed like this was difficult for her to talk about, so I leaned closer, placing my hand on her shoulder.

"Gayle," I whispered. "You don't have to..."

But she held up her hand in protest.

"No," she said, wagging her head. "You were honest with me, so... just lemme be honest with you."

She turned her head slightly, and I slowly nodded.

"Ok," I said, rubbing her back.

Gayle took a deep breath and sighed.

"So, ya know... that was his thing... When my mom was gone, he'd get drunk, and he'd always sorta... I dunno... like, try to come onto me, ya know? I dunno why I never told her though. I guess maybe I thought she probably felt like you did, when your..."

She paused and wiped her nose and glanced at me. Gayle's eyes were red, but I tried to smile for both of us.

"S'ok," I replied. "I know what you mean."

Then she leaned back against the couch, and I scooted closer, holding her hand in mine.

"So... I guess she must've told him about me or something, because the next thing I know, he comes into my room asking me if I was a dyke. And I could smell the alcohol on him, too. I mean, most of the time, he just sat downstairs and drank until he passed out. The only time he'd say something to me, ya know, some sorta comment about my tits or ass, was when he was drunk, but this was different. I mean, I knew this was not good, him being in my room and all."

Gayle swiped the palm of her hand under her eyes and took another sip from her glass.

"Anyway... so, he comes in my room and shuts the door, and he keeps asking me if I'm a dyke. I was really fucking scared. Any other time, I'd just blow off his comments, but he was acting really aggressive, ya know? So... I tried to run for my door, but there he is standing in my way, so I had to go around him, and when I did, he grabs my arm and drags me over to the bed. I mean, shit, next thing I know, this asshole is trying to rip my clothes off, and he's just rambling on and on, and I couldn't make sense of any of it, but, fuck, you know, I knew what he was trying to do to me."

I could see tears running down Gayle's cheeks, and I reached up and wiped them away with my thumb. She chuckled and said thanks, and then turned to me saying, "Wanna know what I did next?"

Her smile is infectious, but I tried not to let it affect me, given the serious nature of our conversation. I nodded, though, trying to suppress the urge to grin with her.

Gayle rotated her body on the couch, pulling one leg up, so she was facing me.

"Remember those one pens," she said. "The kind that had those weird little... God, what were those called? You know what I mean. They had those things at the top of 'em."

She looked to me for an answer, but all I could do was shrug.

"Oh, you know," she said, pushing on my knee. "They had the really hairy things at the top of the pen, and when you spun it back and forth in your hand, the hair would frizz out. Remember those?"

I thought about it for a second, and then my eyes shot open.

"Oh, yeah," I exclaimed. "Ok, yeah. I remember those. God, I'm sure I had one."

Gayle chuckled, saying, "Well, I mean, yeah. Who didn't?"

Then I reached over to the coffee table and picked up the napkin my glass sat on, handing it to her.

"Thanks," she mumbled, as she folded it and wiped her red nose.

"So, yeah, I stabbed him in the chest with one of those thingamajig pens."

I stared at her and blinked.

"Did he...?"

But she shook her head and coughed with a laugh.

"No," she replied, still chuckling. "I guess those weren't designed to be used as personal defense weapons. Plus he had a pretty thick layer of blubber protecting his evil black heart, so that probably kept him alive, too."

We both grinned, as I took her hand in mine again. She turned her eyes up, trying to suppress her tears, and very quietly thanked me. Then she let out a long breath and fiddled with the napkin in her hand.

"So, anyway, I guess it sorta distracted him long enough so I could make my escape. I just went over to a friend's apartment... this guy I knew. He was a trucker, but not one of those, uh, what do ya call 'em? Long-haul guys. He was just some guy I met at a bar... He and one of his friends played pool with me and one of mine, so it was no big deal. But, anyway, I sorta moved in with him, and, I dunno... I mean, I liked him and all. He was cool. But I kept thinking, ya know, this is what it's gonna be like for me from now on. People are gonna look at me and say, 'Hey, there's the dyke. Let's get 'er.' I mean, here we are in the new millennium and we're maybe a little more civilized and all, but you know, back then..."

I nodded and squeezed her hand.

"Yeah," I replied.

Gayle shrugged and took another swipe at her nose with the napkin, saying, "So, yeah, I lived with him until I graduated a few months later, and, you know... then we got married."

She took a deep breath and raised her chin, looking me straight in the face.

I stared back at her for a moment, not sure what to say, and then asked what happened.

Gayle glanced down at the napkin she held and shrugged, as her lips quivered nervously.

"I'm a lesbian," she replied.

I gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and she turned her eyes up to me, her face contorted and red, as she tried not to cry.

"I gave it a shot, ya know?" she whimpered. "I thought, I dunno... Like, maybe it was just some sorta phase I'd grow out of, but I didn't. And every time we had sex, and I mean every single time, I was just sickened by it, ya know? Total turn-off for me."

Gayle wiped her nose, and then glanced up at me saying, "So... yeah, I had an affair. God, you know, I really did try to give it a fair shot, but... I swear, every time I saw him naked, ya know? Every time he put it inside me, I just wanted to throw up. But it's not like I didn't like him. I mean, Hell, ya know, I even sorta loved him a little, but..."

She sat there slowly shaking her head.

"I just couldn't do it any more. I wasn't happy. So then I started seeing this other woman, you know? This lesbian, but the sad thing was, what really opened my eyes was, she was married to a guy, ya know? Just like me, and she was just fucking miserable. So I was like, hey, ya know, let's just run away together, but she said no. She had kids with this guy, and she didn't wanna leave 'em. I mean, yeah, I guess I can understand it, but... to feel like shit every day of your life and know there's nothing you can do about it... So that's why she told me, don't do it. Don't stay with this guy, if you're not completely happy with where your life is going with him, because sure as shit, the longer you stay, the harder it'll be to leave."

Gayle reached over to the coffee table for her glass and took a sip, and then held it between her hands in her lap.

"So how did you do it?" I whispered. "Did you tell him? Or..."

She nodded quickly.

"Yeah," she said. "I had to, ya know? Like I said, I did sorta love him a little, but it wasn't that romantic kinda love. It was more like a friend thing. I mean, yeah, I felt like shit for doing it to him, but what else could I do? I didn't wanna turn out like her, ya know?"

She sat there slowly shaking her head.

"Life's too fucking short for that," she muttered.

Then Gayle took her fingers and reached up to her ears, hooking her hair back over them and giving me a sad, exasperated expression.

"I don't wanna be in a serious relationship like that with someone, if I can't love 'em as much as I should," she said softly. And as she stared at me, looking right into my eyes, she added, "I wanna fall in love with someone. That's what I'm looking for. That's what I want."

Then an almost imperceptive curl quickly reached out to the ends of her lips.

I swallowed and let my eyes fall down to my hands.

"Whadda you want?" she whispered.

I thought about it for a moment, and then took a deep breath.

"What I really want," I replied. "Is for someone to hold me again. But... what I don't want is for someone to replace him... but... maybe to do all the things he use to do... for me... make me feel the way he made me feel."

I turned my eyes to her and she bobbed her head up and down in silent agreement.

There was a long period of silence between us, when she finally cleared her throat saying, "Wanna dance?" Startled, I slowly raised my eyes and found her smiling from ear to ear. She nudged her head toward the middle of the room.

"C'mon," she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

I chuckled, replying with a long sigh, "Oh God..."

Gayle poked at my shoulder.

"Oh, c'mon," she said with a laugh. "It's not like I bite or anything. It'll be fun."

But before I could say anything more, she leapt from the couch over to the stereo.

"Here," she said, jabbing a finger at the buttons. "I'll put on something fun."

I sat watching from the couch, giggling nervously, but once more awed by how she could make me feel so good with so little effort. Then she glanced over her shoulder and held up a CD case.

"A little Jerry Lee, perhaps?" she said, with a mischievous grin.

Then she turned back to the stereo, touched a button, and the room suddenly reverberated with a lively piano melody from the fifties.

I sat on the couch shaking my head, as Gayle's body slowly started undulating with the music, swinging her hips from side to side and bending down slightly at the knees. She turned and wiggled her fingers for me to come to her. I laughed, as I watched, a little embarrassed, but suddenly feeling very cheerful and upbeat. Gayle had a knack for making me smile, whenever I was feeling down.

She stepped over to the couch and reached down for my hands, pulling me to my feet and to the center of the room. And, after a few minutes, I finally let my inhibitions down and together we danced about, as we held hands, twirling around and under each other's arms, and swinging to and fro, laughing the entire time.

As the evening wore on, the whole of my thoughts centered on Gayle and how fortunate I was to have found such a profoundly beautiful and extraordinary person. Not since my husband, had anyone made me feel so very much alive and gratefully so.

Exhausted, we finally dropped to the couch, having worn ourselves out. But it felt good all the same, though mostly in knowing that I was with someone who knew how to make me feel good and brighten my spirits.

So we sat next to each other on the couch, talking and giggling and drinking sodas, and then I leaned against her and sighed.

"You're good to me," I chuckled softly, rubbing my nose against her shoulder.

Gayle pulled back, replying with a snicker, "Are you wiping your grubby nose on me?"

I laughed, and she flung her arm around me, as we sat back. Then something startling happened, though I knew it wasn't intentional on her part. When Gayle put her arm around me, her hand hung limp over my shoulder with her fingers dangling just atop the upper half of my breast. An alert shot out across my mind, trying to signal the awkwardness of the situation, but it was quickly stifled. I didn't see the harm, and, to be honest, it didn't bother me. Instead, I reached up with my hand and placed it atop hers, pressing her fingers against my chest. And then we sat there in her quiet living room for a long time listening to the soft music, as I leaned against her and she held me close, neither of us saying a word, as nothing needed to be said.

After a while, when the lateness of the hour seemed to slip past us, I stood in her door about to leave, and turned to her and smiled, taking her hand in mine.

"Thanks," I said.

Gayle playfully swung our hands back and forth and grinned in reply.

"No problem," she said.

I was about to walk away, but stopped and turned to her once again. We stood smiling nervously at each other for a moment, and then I carefully stepped toward her, too embarrassed to look her in the face, and held out my arms, attempting an ungainly hug. Gayle chuckled and wiped the back of her hand under her nose, as if timid about this, too, but put her arms around me all the same. And with my face resting just below her neck, I could feel the warmth of her breath against my head and the sweet smell of her skin, as the faint beating of her heart was barely discernable to my ear. Then I closed my eyes.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Gayle hugged me closer and kissed my head, rubbing her hand on my back.

"You're welcome," she replied softly.

And when we finally parted, I felt my face burning red, but looked up and saw Gayle quickly running the palm of her hand under her eyes, trying to brush away the tears before I could notice them.

"Sorry," she chuckled.

I fished the keys from my pocket, and smiled to myself, as I fidgeted with them in my hands.

"Are you free tomorrow night?" I whispered.

"Yeah," she replied, extending a hand to my forearm and gently caressing it.

I glanced up and smiled, and Gayle was pulling her hand from her face again. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, as if embarrassed, and tried to smile, but her lower lip betrayed her thoughts, as it quivered slightly.

I asked if she'd like to have dinner with me at my place the following evening, seeing as how it was Friday and Rachel would be working.

"Ok," she whispered, trying to smile, as she fought back her tears.

Before I walked away, I stepped up and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"See you then," I said, patting her arm.

As I walked down the hallway, I heard Gayle call out to me. I turned and saw her staring at the floor, both her hands braced in the doorway.

"Thanks, Jessie," she muttered, trying to smile, as two thin silvery lines rolled down her cheeks.

"I'll call you, ok?"

"Ok," she replied, and slowly stepped inside the door.

By the time I got to the car, I was in tears myself.

When I arrived home, Rachel was already in bed. I hung my coat in the hall closet and quietly slipped upstairs to my room. Inside, I carefully closed the door and walked over to my dresser. And, as I undressed, I found myself staring at the few pictures of my husband pressed under the frame of the mirror on the dresser.

I pulled my sweater over my head and gazed at his static image, trying to remember all the times I'd walked into this very room late at night to find him sitting up in bed reading, waiting for me to join him. It was so long ago now, that it felt more like an ephemeral dream, than a reality that had once been a tangible part of my life. One day he was sitting up and laughing and talking, and then suddenly he was gone, leaving a gaping wound in my existence. What remained now was a deep scar, a constant reminder of what I had, but lost.

Staring into the mirror, I saw the phone behind me on the nightstand. My heart began racing, as I turned and stepped around the bed, stopping in front of the phone. I reached down with a trembling hand, but stopped short of picking it up. I sat on the edge of the bed, clasping my hands in my lap, and closed my eyes.

"Please let me do the right thing," I mumbled.

Then I slowly opened my eyes and reached for the phone. I dialed Gayle's number and took a deep breath.

With each ring, I felt the perspiration building on my head and neck. Then I heard her soft voice.

"Hello?"

"Hey..."

I could hear her moving around.

"Did I wake you?" I asked.

"No," she whispered.

I closed my eyes and took another deep breath.

"Can I tell you something?"

Gayle was quiet for a moment, and then said yes.

I wrapped my hand around the cord and sucked in deeply through my nose.

"Don't say anything, after I say this, ok?" I whispered.

"All right," she replied.

"Just... Just say goodnight, ok?"

"Ok," she said softly.

I clenched my fist tightly and closed my eyes hard, my body trembling from head to toe.

"You're my best friend, Gayle," I whispered, as my heart began pounding in my chest, and I was sure she could hear it. "...and I love you very much."

Suddenly, I felt my entire being relax, after unloading that heavy weight. Gayle was quiet for a few moments, and, just as I was about to kick myself and try to find a way to apologize, I heard her say in a whimpering voice, "Goodnight, sweet Jessie." And then she hung up.

I slowly set the phone down, stood from the bed, and trudged over to the closet and cried.

The next morning, as I walked into the school, I passed another teacher walking out of the main office.

"Mornin', Jess."

"Hey, Lyle."

I hadn't taken five steps, when he called to me again. I stopped and turned, and he said there was something for me in the main office. I furled my eyebrows, asking if he knew what it was. Lyle sipped his coffee and shrugged.

"Just a letter, I think," he replied, as he walked toward me on his way to his classroom.

"Some woman dropped it off, just before you got here," he added, as he strode by.

My eyes went wide, and I asked if she had long brown hair. He was still walking away and held up his hands.

"Dunno," he said. "That's just what Diane told me."

I turned and walked quickly back to the office. Inside, the principal's secretary, Diane, was pushing fliers and memos into the teachers' mailboxes. She was a portly woman, middle-aged and cheerful, and had a son in my class, a junior, and one of the better students I had.

She glanced at me and smiled, as I stepped around her to get to my mailbox.

"Good morning," she said with a wide smile.

"Hey," I huffed impatiently, as I snatched the papers from my box.

I walked over to the counter and quickly thumbed through the short stack of papers. From the corner of my eye, I could see Diane look over her shoulder.

"Looking for something?" she asked.

I nodded, growing antsier, as I didn't find the letter.

"Yeah," I muttered under my breath.

Diane ambled around the counter and over to her desk.

"Hey," I said. "Lyle just told me someone dropped a letter off for me this..."

And then I watched, as Diane reached down to her desk and held up a small, light blue envelope.

"This?" she asked with a grin, as she stepped over to me.

As Diane handed it to me, I saw Gayle's eloquent handwriting on the front. There was only one word on it: "Jessie".

Diane leaned against the counter, resting her forearms on it, and pointed a finger at the envelope.

"You know her?" she asked.

Still gazing at the letter in my hand, I smiled and nodded. It wasn't a regular envelope, but more the type used to hold a card. My mind was racing, as I wondered what it could be. A thank you card? But then my smile faded, as I thought back to our brief phone conversation the night before. Was this her way of saying thanks, but no thanks? All the blood in my body seemed to sink to my feet, and I felt myself go numb.

"Yeah," I mumbled softly. "I know her."

When Diane didn't say anything, I looked up and she tried to smile.

"Why?" I asked.

Diane glanced at the door to the office, and then back to me, picking at her fingers.

"Is her name Gayle Martin?" she asked.

I swallowed and nodded, wondering how she knew. Then the gears in my head started turning. Gayle's husband had been a truck driver, and Diane's husband owned a small trucking company.

"Yeah," I squeaked nervously. "That's her."

Diane laid her hands flat on the countertop and looked at me with a sigh.

"It's really none of my business, Jess," she said.

"What?"

"Her," she replied.

"What about her?"

Diane took a deep breath and looked at the door again.

"She was married to my brother," she said in a low voice.

Just as I felt a sense of relief sweep over me, grateful that she didn't say an angry woman had stormed in that morning and threw this letter at her, anxiety set in once more, as I began to realize that Diane probably knew about Gayle being a lesbian, and I'm sure she'd seen us meet outside the office for lunch over the last few months. And now she'd stopped by to deliver a card to me, though the contents therein remained a mystery. Still, I had no doubt, if Diane knew Gayle, she also knew she was a lesbian, and it probably didn't take a great leap of logic to figure out that Gayle and I had become close friends. The absolute last thing I wanted was for people to be talking about me behind my back, spreading rumors and God knows what else.