The Philadelphia Story Ch. 02

"No, I see the way he looks at you." She said in a serious tone.

We considered Ben a close friend and he was one of only a very select few who knew Nadia and I were a couple.

THREE:

The last time I saw Nadia, she was leaving to attend an evening meeting with her doctoral thesis advisor in New Jersey. I distinctly recall that the weather had turned gloomy with a thick fog reducing visibility to zero.

Nadia was not a careless driver but despite my pleas, refused to wear a seat belt. It was one of my pet peeves and the cause of some heated arguments between us.

It was past 11 pm when my cell phone rang and Nadia informed me that she was on her way home and not to wait up.

"Love You." I heard her say loudly and for the last time.

I wanted to stay awake and started correcting mid term essays. After I finished about half the papers, I realized that it was almost 2am. I was reaching for my cell phone to call Nadia when it rang and a sudden feeling of dread washed over me.

Nadia's mother was barely able to speak but I discerned the words, accident, Hospital and died before I wailed in anguish. When I arrived at the hospital, her body was already in the morgue. Her parents saw me and as they embraced me, we grieved together as a family.

My Nadia, my beautiful Nadia was gone.

The EMT"s who brought her to the hospital, told me that she lost control on a highway cloverleaf and the car skidded thru a gap in the guardrail. It plunged down an embankment until it struck a large boulder. Nadia's body went thru the windshield from the force of the impact and severed her carotid artery. She bled to death within a few minutes and was lifeless before they arrived on the scene.

The officer at the accident site determined that Nadia wasn't wearing a seat belt at the moment of impact and the fatal injuries that she sustained might have been avoided if she had worn one. The results of her blood alcohol test showed that she was sober at the time of the accident. The poor visibility and wet roadway were the overriding factors in the cause of the accident.

Indescribable heartache and sorrow engulfed my spirit and I felt like a hollow eyed robot when I attended Nadia's funeral. At her parent's behest, the casket lid was closed because of the extensive injuries to her head and body. With my parents at my side, I placed a single red rose on her coffin.

Like a dazed automaton, I wondered around my house. My request for a leave of absence from the college was granted and although my folks wanted me to come home to Florida, I refused. Nadia was no longer in my life but Philadelphia was my home now.

Slowly my grief turned to anger and bitterness.

"If only Nadia had been wearing a seat belt, she might still be alive." I would cry out loud in frustration and with no one present.

Sometimes, I blamed myself for Nadia's death because I let her drive in such awful weather.

Day after day I searched my soul for the answers but none came. The slightest reminder of Nadia brought on bouts of crying and despair. I couldn't bear to look upon the framed photo that I took of her in Las Vegas and I shoved it in a drawer.

In the hopes of finding some answers or reasons for the tragedy, I attended grief counseling group sessions. After one very difficult session were I finally bared part of my grief to the group, Dana, the group leader, gave me a book. I looked at the title; "The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter" by Carson McCullers.

"It may not provide you with the answers that you seek, but it may give you some insight into the emotions that you are experiencing." She remarked with sympathy.

Although the counseling sessions were instrumental in helping me cope with Nadia's death, I was a changed person.

My bitterness was replaced by a cynicism that hadn't existed before. The wide eyed well-to-do innocent from Florida had disappeared and in its place was a much sadder but wiser individual. Reality sucked and eventually my cynical outlook on life softened but never left me. Sometimes, it worked as a crutch that I relied on to get me thru the day.

However, Ben was the one colleague and friend who helped me more than anyone else. At the funeral we held each other and cried. When he told me that he considered Nadia a true friend and how he had valued her companionship and friendship. I sobbed with utter abandon.

Ben was the one person who I allowed visits to my home and his presence was a welcome relief from the loneliness and hollowness in my soul.

When I returned to work, I learned that the Friday socials were a fixture and continued in my absence. That alone was enough to send me on a crying jag but at Ben's urging, I resumed my attendance with him by my side for support. The kindness that everyone extended to me was genuine and heartfelt. Despite our secrecy, most of them knew simply by the look on our faces that Nadia and I were more than just friends.

As the months elapsed, I slowly emerged from the emotional upheaval and realized that my life had to go on. I put the photo of Nadia I took in Vegas back on the dresser and when I gazed at her countenance frozen in time, I would smile in loving memory. Sometimes the tears came but it was tolerable.

During one of my weekly phone calls to my folks in Florida, my mother reminded me of something she told me after I returned from France;

"Time heals all wounds but some take longer to heal."

Nadia's mother called and informed me that they were relocating to another neighborhood because the memories of Nadia in their home were unbearable. She sent me some photos of Nadia from her childhood thru teenage years and although I grieved anew, I treasured them and still do to this day.

On the first anniversary of Nadia's death, I was standing in the small Russian Orthodox cemetery where she was interred, and while I gazed forlornly at her grave, I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders. It was Ben and he was crying.

Ben apologized for the intrusion and told me he wanted to pay his respects and our meeting was a coincidence. When he turned to leave, I asked him to stay with me and in the biting cold he held me as the tears flowed unabated down my face.

Nearly another year had passed, when I informed Ben that I was contemplating accepting a teaching position in Oregon. With his help and support my emotional healing had progressed but the constant reminders of Nadia at home and at work were still difficult for me to bear.

Ben's face was a picture of sadness. He was my closest friend and in reality, my best friend.

"I don't want you to go." He pleaded.

"Why?" I asked with real curiosity.

"Because..." he stammered and with tears in his eyes was unable to go on.

Then I remembered Nadia's comments about Ben's feelings for me and realized her intuition was correct. As I gazed at Ben, I touched my hand against the side of his face with affection.

After the usual Friday happy hour, I asked Ben if he would come to my home for an informal dinner. My idea of an informal dinner was take out and we sat on the floor in front of the coffee table loaded with cartons of food. I experienced a feeling of contentment in Ben's presence similar to what I felt with Nadia.

We were watching a movie on the television when I drifted off to sleep. For some reason, I woke when the credits were rolling and the lyrics of the song on the soundtrack caught my ear:

"...every time you go away, you take a little piece of me with you...life goes on and I must find a way to carry on..."

The lyrics pierced my heart like a knife and Ben held me as I bawled with my head on his shoulder.

When I looked at Ben with my eyes dripping tears, his face betrayed his feelings of love.

"Why don't you want me to go to Oregon?" I asked with a weepy voice.

"I love you Cindy. I have for a long time." he declared with firm emotion.

"Please don't go." He begged.

I pulled him close and held him with tenderness. Although I wasn't sure of my feelings, I was willing to take a chance. The lyrics of the song made sense; I had to carry on.

Though it was awkward at first, our dates were filled with laughter and happiness. He appreciated my biting tongue but usually countered with something positive. It was a part of me that I disliked but felt powerless to control.

Every weekend was filled with Ben and his lame but funny jokes. I thought my brutal honesty about life and its disappointments would drive him away but he countered with optimistic observations of his own. And, that look of love never left his face, if anything it grew stronger with each passing week.

Poor Ben, we had been dating for over a year and in all that time we only kissed and hugged after each date. From the start, he assured me that I could take as much time as I needed before anything of a sexual nature occurred.

A thunderstorm kept us sitting in Ben's car after a fun night. I was kissing him with a lot more passion than usual and didn't realize the effect it might have on him. I relentlessly drove my tongue into his mouth and he moaned loudly with each intrusion.

With our bodies pressed together and mine moving around against his...suddenly he jerked and I saw his expression change to one of sheepishness.

"I'm sorry Cindy. Please don't be mad at me." He cried with anxiety.

When I finally realized what happened, I made a couple of small but less than complimentary comments implying lack of self control.

Ben's face had a wounded look and it touched me deeply. When I thought about the almost three years that we had been friends, I failed to remember him with a girlfriend or any girl for that matter.

"How have you coped with the lack of sex for, what, almost three years?" I asked incredulously.

"Do I have to explain, I mean all men, you know, ah...take matters into their own hands."

He remarked shyly.

With fierce determination, I drug Ben into my home and led him to the bathroom with orders to clean up. With Ben occupied, I stripped to my panties and jumped into bed.

When Ben saw me in bed he just stared and looked frightened. With a towel around his waist and a long sleeved dress shirt his only attire, he looked almost comical but I wanted him. I wanted him badly.

I threw back the covers and with my partially nude body on view, told Ben to get into bed. His body was barely touching mine when I attacked him and kissed him with fervor. My heart was beating wildly in my chest and I took charge of the proceedings.

With one orgasm out of the way, I was hoping Ben had enough left to fuck me silly. I needn't have worried. When I mounted Ben, I looked at him and although he was average looking with an average body and penis size, I knew I loved him and that's all that mattered to me.

After an exciting love making session, I recognized the fact that I had a lot more experience with sex and while we were talking set some basic ground rules.

"I love you." He blurted out in a deeply expressive tone.

Those three simple but enormously effective words made my blood surge thru my body and I wanted Ben again and again.

Our future lovemaking required a lot of tutoring from me and Ben was an A+ student. With "on the job" training, he became a skillful and accomplished pussy eater. A bona fide necessity for me.

Ben's expressed his love for me when we were together and I knew his love was genuine because he treated me as though I was the most important person in his life. His old fashion notions such as opening my car door and holding my hand as we walked down the street impressed me and made him more endearing. He treated me with the utmost respect and was sensitive to my feelings even though I was sometimes lacking towards his.

I waited patiently for Ben to ask me to marry him. I was ready. By now I was over thirty years of age and was positive of my love and devotion for this wonderful man who filled the emptiness in my heart.

On the fourth anniversary of Nadia's death, I stood at her grave and articulated my thoughts out loud in the empty cemetery. Ben had asked for my hand in marriage and with my voice cracking and filled with tears I spoke;

"I love you Nadia, I always will. But, I love Ben too and I want to spend the rest of my life with him and have his children. You told me he had feelings for me and you were right. He was my friend first, then my best friend and lover. But, when you left me, you took a piece of me with you. A piece I would willingly give over and over again, my love. My heart has ached for the sight, the sound and the smell of you and it will ache till my dying day. If there is a merciful God, I will see your smiling face in paradise. I can think of no greater joy."

My chest heaved with sobs as I walked out of the small cemetery. My love for Nadia was unconditional and everlasting. I had valued and cherished her above all others and no one, not even Ben could supplant her.

With only a week before our wedding, I was holding Ben's head in my lap and as I gazed at his contented face, I remembered a quote from a famous author:

"Life is a tale worth living."

I wanted to live my life, to feel loved and love someone with all my heart.

The ceremony at the non-sectarian chapel was presided over by a Rabbi and a Lutheran minister. Most of my friends were in attendance and Nicole, at my insistence brought her two children. When we turned to face our families and friends as husband and wife, half of the room yelled "Mazeltov" with gusto.

After a brief honeymoon, Ben and I settled into our life together. An overpowering desire to have children had me screwing Ben often and I kept our sex life enjoyable and varied. While my childhood was happy, I felt lonely without brothers or sisters and having children was my number one priority.

After one year of screwing like rabbits on Viagra, I saw the positive result on the EPT stick and cried with elation. Ben was ecstatic and I never saw him happier.

And, here I arrive at the end of my tale but I think of it as a beginning because a precious new life grows inside my body. Maybe in the future there will be more tales to tell but for now, I plan on being hopelessly busy and devoted to my children and husband for the next thirty years or so.