What Might Have Been Ch. 08

New York - August 2012

Central Park moved past me at a five mile per hour pace. I played my game of Pekinese Slalom, dodging dogs, their leashes, and owners. My feet padded through the park, with Green Day as my personal soundtrack.

I have discovered I enjoy running. I dropped twenty pounds in the past nine months, and am back in fighting trim. New York seems a better place to run than Chicago. Central Park is an island of green surrounded by a sea of skyscrapers. I don't forget where I am, and that this is where I want to be.

The sights and sounds of New York lack the emotional baggage of Chicago. I am not constantly reminded of the things I would prefer to forget, but can instead remember only what I choose.

---

Chicago - October 2011

The world dissolved into my project room at Fermilab.

The floor was hard against my back. I blinked a couple times, and stood, still clutching the resonance array in my hands.

"Lance? Are you alright?"

I started and looked at the door. It was Professor Nguyen, the theorist who had designed the experiment and the resonance array. Behind my back, I surreptitiously removed my battery pack from the array. I didn't want to have to explain why it had been attached.

"Yes, Professor. I just found a gap in the safety procedures and shocked myself. I am fine."

"Excellent. Was the experiment damaged?"

"I haven't checked, but I can't see why it would be. I was just getting ready to run the final diagnostic of the software."

"Don't let me get in your way."

He had spent two years of his life on this experiment, and tomorrow was the day it would start. I didn't blame him for sticking around to make sure nothing was damaged. In fact, given how much of his blood and sweat he poured into this, I was touched that he only asked about the experiment once he knew I was OK. Nice guy.

Making sure I had the power off this time, I placed the array where it belonged in the containment unit. I also made a quick modification to the experiment software to automatically cut power to the array when its hatch was open, to prevent my accident from occurring to anyone else.

I ran the diagnostic. Everything checked out. "Looks ready for tomorrow, Professor."

Professor Nguyen was evidently holding in his concern, as an expression of vast relief rolled across his face. "Oh thank God. How about your accident? What do we need to do to prevent that from happening to anyone else."

"I already took care of it."

He gave me a look of respect and sat in one of the chairs. "I already knew about your smarts and work ethic, and you show initiative as well. So what's the deal with you? The rumor around the building is that you had a lot of talent, but lacked the ambition to get your doctorate."

I laughed. "It wasn't lack of ambition, I had some personal problems, which took some time to resolve. I am planning to re-apply for some schools for next fall."

"Good. Science will better for it. If you need a recommendation letter, let me know. Now go home. It's late."

"Thank you, Professor."

I took his advice and left work.

Sitting in my car in the parking lot, I sent Tasha a text. "Worked late. Too tired for the drive. Crashing in a hotel." Tasha liked living and working downtown, so I had a long reverse-commute out to Batavia every work day. She would be asleep and wouldn't see it until tomorrow morning. Tomorrow was Saturday. I didn't have to work, but she was required to be at her store by nine. If things went as planned I wouldn't see her until she returned home around six.

I checked into the nearest Super 8, and slept like a baby.

---

New York -- August 2012

I finished my run through Central Park, and returned to my new apartment, only a couple blocks away from Columbia on the Upper West Side.

A few boxes were still strewn throughout the apartment, left over from moving in the previous day. As I headed into the shower, I thought to myself that they would have to wait a little bit longer. I had other plans today.

---

Chicago -- October 2011

My stuff was already packed and in the car, and I waited for Tasha to get home. The clocks ticked slowly, giving me ample time to imagine worst-case scenarios, which made for a long afternoon. Would she scream and beg? If so, I was certain I could resist her as I already resisted her a universe away. That didn't mean I was looking forward to it. Would she hurt herself or threaten suicide? If that happened, my plan was to leave immediately and call 9-1-1.

When Tasha finally returned a little after six, things didn't go the way I expected. She immediately noticed the changed appearance of the apartment, and she looked at me with curiosity, not anxiety.

I told her that our relationship had run its course. I wasn't happy and was moving out immediately.

"It's probably for the best," she responded, calmly.

Her apathy stabbed me like a knife. I had stayed with her several years longer than had been good for me, under the belief that she needed me. She had said so many times.

But when had been the last time? When I thought about it, the last time I could remember a serious meltdown had been almost three years ago. I had been strenuously avoiding conflict since then. Was there anything more recent? I drew a blank.

Was it a ploy? Was she pretending to not care in order to draw me back? I didn't think so. Tasha was not that kind of a manipulator.

We talked for a half hour, mostly over material things. I hadn't packed any items that we had purchased together, or any of the gifts I had given her. But she didn't want many of them. We packed them into two more boxes, for which I said I would return at a later date.

Tasha was relieved when I told her I would pay my half of the rent through the end of our lease in January. She didn't think she would be able to keep the apartment on her own, but she didn't want a room-mate. The extra time would allow her to find something cheaper and smaller.

I didn't offer to help her move when the time came.

Why had this been such an anticlimax? Where was the tantrum? Where was the threat of suicide? My inner optimist believed that maybe I really had saved her after all. My reliability over the years had provided the stability she needed, and she could now stand on her own.

The cynical part me believed she let me go without a fight because I had nothing more to give her. I had sacrificed everything. Why would a spider care if a dry husk of a fly happens to fall out of its web?

As time passed, I came to a different conclusion. The break-up had been hard for me because I still loved her when it happened. I wanted to leave because she was bad for me, not because of a lack of feeling. But that wasn't the case with her. Tasha no longer loved me. She knew all I had sacrificed for her, and hadn't had the heart to end it herself. The intent wasn't cruel, even if the effect was.

If I had known, I could have ended it years earlier. If... if...if. Fuck it, I was done with regret and second-guessing.

I held her in my arms one last time, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. I wished her well, and meant it.

---

New York -- August 2012

My destination was two miles south. I worked my way there slowly, walking down Columbus. I stopped by Bernstein Brothers and picked up some bagels, cream cheese, and two cups of coffee. Saturday mornings in Manhattan were comparatively relaxed, and I was enjoying my walk.

Before I knew it, I had reached my destination. I had made better time than I planned, so I loitered outside for two minutes until the clock on my phone read 8:18 AM.

I walked toward the building and reached the front door just as an elderly man left it. I headed up the stairs, looking for apartment 3C. I found it, and knocked on the door.

"I'll be right there," said a woman's voice from inside. Share our dreams, she had once told me. But that was several universes away. The woman in this room hadn't seen me in ten years, and was one of the most formidable creatures I had ever met. My heart was in my throat as she opened the door.

---

San Francisco -- March 2012

Cassandra was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen -- an absolute angel. I bounced her on my lap for another minute. When she spat up on my shirt, Dave took her back so I could clean up.

"Getting puked on gets you honorary uncle privileges," Dave said. He threw a burp cloth over his own shoulder and held his daughter against his chest. She was five months old now.

"Then I will wear the stain with pride."

"I'm glad you were able to make it out here, Lance."

"I'm sorry I was such a shit."

"You weren't a shit. You were whipped." He shrugged. "It's good to have you back."

Dave's wife had ducked out to pick up dinner. I wasn't sure if the question I wanted to ask was one I should ask in her presence, so I saw this as a good opportunity.

"I've lost touch with a lot of people over the past six years," I said.

"You haven't heard of Facebook?"

"Not everyone is on it, and some of them don't post their situation online."

"Who in particular?"

"Sara."

Dave smiled.

---

New York -- August 2012

"Oh my God, Lance!" Sara threw her arms around me. She was fresh out of the shower. Her black hair was still damp and had that freshly-shampooed smell.

I briefly regretted picking up the coffee and bagels as they prevented me from returning her hug. "Careful, you will squish breakfast."

Sara released me. "You brought me breakfast! It's like you read my mind. I was just going to head out to get a bagel and coffee."

"This is your lucky day."

Sara motioned me into her apartment, still excited. She performed what she called her "happy dance", where she held her arms in a boxing stance, and ran in place, rapidly bouncing from foot to foot. She was wearing a tight black tank top and red shorts. Sara had always had a nice figure, but now she had a dancer's form. Her legs were incredible.

I set out the bagels and handed her a cup of coffee: skim milk, no sugar.

She took a sip, and smiled. "Perfect."

"I just moved in yesterday. I figured if I didn't look you up first thing after moving to Manhattan, and you heard about it, you would track me down and kick my ass."

Sara's generous red lips parted in a grin. "You figured right." She then raised her eyebrows. "You moved in?" Was that a sparkle of hope?

"I live on 110th Street."

I watched her do the geography in her head. She smiled, and said, "A little bird told me you might be coming."

"I wondered why you weren't too surprised. And Dave isn't a bird."

"He sure sang like a canary."

"What did he tell you?"

Sara spread a small amount of cream cheese on a wheat bagel. "Not much. You had some sort of epiphany, so you dumped the girlfriend-from-hell after a six-year relationship. You were going for your doctorate at Columbia. You were planning on wooing me if I was single. Same old, same old." She was carefully watching my reaction.

"That fucking bastard." I paused, then asked, "He said 'woo'"?

"Parts of Dave are still stuck in the 19th century."

"I'm glad you two are talking again."

"Me too."

I changed subjects. "What have you been up to, Sara?"

She leaned forward with a beatific smile on her face. The curve of her breasts briefly distracted me as she answered, "I love my job! I wasn't a great dancer or singer, but it turns out I am awesome at choreography."

"What are you working on?"

"There is a musical version of Jaws opening this winter on Broadway. I am an assistant choreographer. On Monday, I am supposed to present some ideas for Sheriff Brody's symbolic dance with the shark. Get this, the musical number is called 'We're Gonna Need a Bigger Boat'".

"Awesome! Have they cast the shark yet?" I was joking. I expected that it would be mechanical, or played by a team of actors.

"Nathan Lane."

I love Broadway. "I will be there opening night."

"Please do!"

I paused. "I missed you, Sara."

She pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. "Says the guy who hasn't talked to me in ten years."

"All I can say is that I am sorry. After high school, I blamed you for breaking up with Dave, and then I got caught up in some madness with my girlfriend. I am trying to re-connect with the people who I cast aside, and you were at the top of my list."

"After Dave."

"No, you were ahead of Dave."

"You talked to him months ago."

"Yes, and you seem to know one of the reasons I talked to him." I left unspoken another reason, that I wanted Dave's tacit permission before I made a play for Sara. Yes, he was married and hadn't dated her for ten years, but guys could be weird about such things. Dave had been delighted at the prospect.

"Ah, yes," Sara said, "the wooing thing. When you changed the subject I assumed it made you uncomfortable."

"No, does it make you uncomfortable?"

Her smile was playful, but I recognized wariness. "I haven't decided yet."

"Understandable."

She raised an eyebrow. "That girlfriend of yours really did a number on your head. The Lance I knew would have been offended that I didn't view him as a gift from God."

"No, I have my mojo back. I just understand why you would be cautious about a guy recovering from a six-year dysfunctional relationship, and who hasn't talked to you in ten years."

"So what's your cunning plan?"

"Plan?"

"If you knew I would be cautious, you concocted a cunning plan."

"I have learned a lot about improvisation."

"As a fallback for when your plans go tits-up."

I laughed. Ten years, and she still knew me. "Yes, I have a cunning plan."

"Spill."

"Step 1: surprise you at your apartment by bringing you bagels and coffee for breakfast. Step 2: convince you that I have my shit together and am worth the effort. Step 3: seduce you. Step 4: have wild sex with you on the couch, and then again in your bedroom..." I checked the time on my phone. "...All by ten o'clock."

Sara smiled with delight. "Maybe you do have your confidence back!"

I took a bite of a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese. I had laid down the perfect bait for her. I was Babe Ruth in the 1932 World Series, calling my home run shot. I couldn't guarantee it would work, but I could guarantee she would want to see me try.

Sara asked, "Didn't some guy say that no plan survives first contact with the enemy?"

"General Moltke the Elder. Good thing you and I are old friends."

Sara took a sip of coffee, appraising me over the rim with a glint in her eyes. I had her attention. "I have eaten my bagel. I guess it's time for you to move to Step 2."

---

Evanston, Illinois -- April 2012

"Good morning, Mrs. Pugacheva."

"You are... Lance, no? You used to be big shot student who worked with my husband." She was older, and her eyes showed more pain, but she was still beautiful.

"Yes, Mrs. Pugacheva."

"Call me Irina. Please to come in and have drink."

"No thank you. I can't explain why, but I owe you a favor."

She gave me the once over. "I am having ideas on how you could repay."

"I am flattered, Irina, but if I take you up on it, you won't believe what I have to say."

"Yes?" She frowned. I had piqued her curiosity.

"Let go of the hate. Find a good immigration lawyer and get your divorce, or move back to Ukraine to be with your family. Get your degree again at an American university. Think of something. You are better than the life you are leading."

I saw tears in her eyes as she slammed the door on me.

---

New York -- August 2012

Step 2: convince Sara that I have my shit together and am worth the effort.

"I had a lot of difficulty breaking up with Tasha. I loved her, but needed to leave her."

"That must have been hard."

"Hardest thing I have ever done, but I am not saying that to get sympathy."

She sat back, drinking her coffee, ready to listen.

I told her a metaphorical version of the truth. "Before I left her, I had a long debate with myself, and somehow in my mind you served as the voice of reason and practicality, telling me that love wasn't enough."

She looked down. I could tell she was thinking of Dave. "That sounds like something I would say."

"Back in high school, I had a crush on you, attracted by your looks, smarts, and attitude. But reflecting back, I realize that was just the tip of the iceberg. You were always so alive, filled with kindness, honesty and sense."

Sara looked like she had something to say, but was carefully trying to choose the correct words. I let her find them until she finally spoke. "Ten years ago, you would never had to convince me you were worth the effort, Lance."

"No?"

"Never. But I am not looking for a project. People change only slowly, or not at all. I am not a nurse to put Band-Aids on your romantic wounds, or a guru who will help you find yourself. I live in one of the world's centers of fashion, but I buy my clothes off the rack because then I know what I will get."

"I know that about you. I broke up with Tasha almost a year ago. I am not on the rebound. I had some shit to work through, and I did it. That is why I didn't contact you earlier. I didn't want to risk having emotional baggage screw things up."

"Here's the question, Lance. Did you come to New York for me or for you?"

The question was laced with traps. Telling her it was for me sounded like a lie. Saying it was for her had the stench of desperation. I chose the truth. "I am going for my doctorate for me. I applied to Stanford and Columbia because they were the two programs I wanted most. I did that for me. I was accepted to both. I chose Columbia because I love New York City and because it would give me a chance with you that I would never otherwise have."

"You sure know how to put pressure on a girl."

"If you were just a girl, it would be too much, but you are Sara. I know you."

Sara flinched. "It's not that simple, Lance."

I smiled with confidence. "Why not?"

"You just got out of a nasty long term relationship, and you seem to give me credit for it, even though I haven't seen you in ten years."

"Yes."

"You are idealizing me. You are putting me on a pedestal." Her blue eyes pleaded with me to prove her wrong.

"Sara, I idealize every woman I have ever cared for. It's who I am."

"That's supposed to re-assure me?" She looked disappointed.

"There is a big difference between you and the other women I have idealized."

She waited for me to follow up.

I smiled. "You won't let me get away with it. If I ever put you on a pedestal, you would kick it down yourself."

Sara laughed. "What time is it?"

"Almost 9 o'clock."

"I am not convinced you have your shit together yet, but in the interests of sticking to your schedule, I think you better pick up the pace and move to Step 3."

---

Indianapolis -- May 2012

I pulled up a hundred yards away from the white ranch-style house at 7AM. I sat in my car, watching. I read the New York Times on my phone while I waited.

A little before 7:30, the garage door opened and a Ford Explorer left and headed toward downtown. I only got a brief glimpse of the driver -- a thin, weaselly man with a receding hairline. He looked to be the right age.

I left my car and headed to the back of his house. I put on leather gloves, pulled out a towel and wrapped it around a rock that I found near the sliding rear door. I shattered the window as quietly as I could, and carefully reached in to unlock the door.

No sign of an alarm system. I wasn't surprised. I didn't think he would want authorities responding.

I did a quick check of the rooms on the main floor, and found nothing, as expected. I headed down into the basement. It was finished, but not in any normal way. The basement windows were all sealed off, covered by a material I didn't immediately recognize. The same material covered the walls and ceiling. I guessed it was some sort of soundproofing. A small bathroom existed in one corner, opposite a corner room with a steel door.