Finding Erin

"I learned that my skill at reading others stood for nothing when it came to men—I'm a woman. I'm vulnerable—I accepted that. Anyway, I chose Hernan; I let him take what I could never take back. He did my bidding. Are we cunts to men, Heather? It felt that way."

Erin's regret gave me pause. I reflected on my marriage to Russell and our fallen relationship—my divorce and unrelenting search for meaning through women like Erin, whose reach for love exceeded their grasp. I so wanted to tell her my story, to make her understand how much hurt I like she, carried through life. It was not the time, however, and I held back.

Not surprisingly, she read my mind. "Tell me, Heather," she said. "Tell me about your first time. I want to know." Hedging, I uncourageously gave myself an out: "Your question is for later, sweetheart. After I write your story, I will tell you—and the others, all of the women I am crisscrossing the world to meet—I promise." With a hint of skepticism, she politely accepted my explanation.

"What about after?" I asked.

Erin's expression turned puzzled. Clarifying, I asked, "Where did your thoughts go right afterward?"

"After? Gee, Heather, what had I done? I laid there. I listened as he drifted off to sleep. I stared at the ceiling into that empty room. Like a child, I had hoped for something, passion, love, and, I don't know, I was alone.

"I was wet, sticky. I thought about this complex yet simple human passage, and the strangest thought struck me. I had always wondered what the other side of sex looked like after a man finished. Suddenly, I turned practical. Had he used a condom—I didn't even know. I had been too shy to look, and he didn't force my head down there to suck him—I kind of wish he had. I worried about myself; a girl should know better, don't you think, Heather?"

"You might be surprised at how little women think at such times," I told her. "When sex—or God forbid, love enters the mix, we surrender our logic. If that sounds like the voice of experience, it's because it is." She smiled that my hint of folly validated hers.

"Concern filled me," she said, "What if I got pregnant? I didn't know him; I was far away from the security of the little farm where I grew up. My sisters still lived there—I failed them. Would they see that I had given myself away in Peru? Would I look different? No, Heather, the other side of virginity wasn't what I thought. I was anxious for weeks, long after I flew home. There, I waited for my period. One day, it came."

***

Part 6—"You see, Erin, your story lacks an ending."

*

Almost unnoticed, the café's noisy distractions at the start of Erin's telling faded as shoppers melted back into the marketplace. Lost in thought, the clinking of glasses and clash of silverware eventually jarred us as waiters tidied tables in anticipation of the approaching dinner hour. Awakening from Erin's intimate journey, our excursion to the past ended, and we returned to the present.

All was tranquil as our time together drew down. Interviewer and subject refocused, and the narration, jotting, and nodding ended as Erin's comforting smile returned, brightening our mood even as the mid-afternoon sun dimmed.

Hers was a bruising tale, yet she was a study in contentment. Gracefully folding her hands on the table, she looked at me. For a final time, I felt the subtle weight of her patient gaze as we finished up. "I wish it were a happier story, Heather," she said, a touch of guarded affection in her voice.

Looking directly at her, I replied, "I wish you had found happiness in Peru, that it had turned out better for you. Your story is courageous and sincere—thank you for sharing it with me, with other women. Your experience reflects the circumstances of many. It will help others as they risk what you risked. In my book, I will call your chapter 'Finding Erin.' She beamed at the revelation. "I am grateful," I continued, "and we're almost finished."

"Almost?" she inquired.

"Yes—almost. You see, Erin, your story lacks an ending."

Mildly amused, she asked, "What do you mean, Heather? What else is there?"

Turning inquisitor a final time, I asked my closing question: "When you went to Peru, you believed in love, that you might discover it someday. Do you still believe?"

END