A Benign Something

I walked over to the phone and pulled from my pocket the slip of paper she had given to Rachel, and, as I dialed the number, my fingers trembled slightly. Then I held the phone to my ear and waited nervously.

It rang once. Then twice. Then three times. I closed my eyes.

"C'mon," I mumbled.

"Hello?"

My eyes flew open and I smiled.

"Uh, yeah... is this Gayle?"

"Speaking."

"Hi, this is, uh, Jessica... Jess... I dunno if you remem-"

"Oh, yeah," she chuckled, cutting me off. "Right. Yeah, I remember. Of course. Jess, sure. How could I forget? So did you get the, uh... note I gave to Rachel? I didn't know, if you..."

"Yeah. Uh huh. Yep. I got it," I replied happily, holding up the slip of paper to no one in particular.

I felt nervous. My toes and fingers felt numb and my throat was dry.

"Oh, ok. Great," she replied. "So, um, it's just a little dinner party. Nothing fancy. I was just thinking, uh, hey, why not send you an invite, too, ya know?"

I was staring down at the note in my hand, staring at the smiley face she'd drawn, which caused me to smile in kind.

"Yeah," I said. "I'd like that. Thanks. Thank you. That was, uh... very thoughtful of you."

There was a muffled noise on Gayle's side of the phone, as if she were moving around.

"So, ok. Well, um... Lemme think there... It starts about... Oh, I dunno, six-ish or so. But, I mean, you can show up any time you'd like."

"Would six-thirty be ok?" I asked.

At the front of my mind, I was thinking I'd have to make dinner for my daughter, but the truth is she could make it herself. I simply didn't want to be the first person there. I've always felt a bit awkward about that, particularly when I don't know anyone. I'd rather walk in on a crowd, than have one walk in on me.

"Yeah, sure," she said. "Just so I know when to be standing at the door to meet you."

We both chuckled nervously, and then I was at a loss for what to say next. And, the strange thing is, I also got the impression Gayle felt the same way.

There was a second or two of silence.

"So, um... casual then, right?" I asked, desperately fishing for something to fill the uncomfortable void.

"Yeah," she replied. "But don't get all dolled up for me."

We both chuckled again, and then I thought perhaps it best to make a graceful exit, while I still could.

"Well, all right then," I said, tapping my fingers nervously on the kitchen counter. "I guess I'll see you at six-thirty."

"Great. Great," she replied. "Can't wait to see you again."

It was the strangest thing, but I actually giggled, when she said that, eliciting the same from her.

"Ok, then, um... Well, bye. And thank you again."

"All righty," she replied with what I could almost envision as a smile. "See you then. Six-thirty."

I slowly hung up the phone, still nervous, but giddy all the same. As I turned around, Rachel walked into the kitchen.

"Who was that?" she asked.

I quickly glanced back at the phone, gesturing to it, saying, "Oh, uh... That was Gayle. I just, uh... you know, called to thank her for the invitation."

Rachel nodded, and then opened a cupboard and pulled out a glass.

"You goin', then?" she asked.

I leaned against the counter, replying, "Um, yeah. No reason not to, ya know? Not like I'm some great social butterfly with a full schedule, huh?"

Rachel poured herself some ice tea and took a sip, giving me a thumb's up, as she walked back out to the living room.

That evening, I went through all of my clothes, trying to figure out what to wear. She said casual, so that's what I wanted, but not too casual. I hardly knew her, and I certainly wouldn't know anyone there, so I thought it best to go with a nice casual.

I sifted through everything in my closet, finally settling on jeans and a decent blouse. Now all I had to do was wait three days – three very long days.

When Thursday finally rolled around, I was a nervous wreck for most of the day, and my heart wasn't in my lessons. I tried to remain focused, but it was becoming more and more difficult with each passing hour. By 2pm, I was nearly at the end of my rope in keeping up any semblance of sanity.

After being perfectly alone for the last few years, here was a chance to find company and comfort. In a few short hours, I had the chance to recapture some of what I had lost, to reenter the world of the living and be a part of life again. Things were starting to look up, if only in the form of a new friend. But even that tiny sliver of light was enough to warm my heart and soul.

On Thursday afternoon, once school was out, I rushed home and quickly got dinner started for Rachel, so by the time she arrived, all she'd have to do is finish it. Then up to my bedroom, I dashed, pulling off my drab school clothes and dressed for the dinner party. While I was in the bathroom primping and styling my hair, Rachel came home. I was leaning toward the mirror, applying lipstick, when she stepped into the doorway behind me.

"Gettin' ready for your big date?" she said with a smirk.

I pulled the lipstick away and pressed my lips together.

"Funny," I muttered.

Rachel turned and walked into her bedroom. I could still see her reflection in the mirror, moving around in her room.

"You know she's a dyke, don't ya?" she called.

I was applying eye shadow, when she said that, and slowly stood up, staring at myself in the mirror. I hadn't even thought of that. A few seconds later, Rachel was standing in the door behind me again.

"Look nice," she said.

I closed my makeup kit and placed it back on the wire shelf above the sink.

"Thanks," I mumbled, slipping past her and into my room.

As I sat on the bed slowly tying my shoes and thinking about what Rachel had said, she walked in and leaned against my dresser.

"You knew that, didn't you?"

I put more effort into working my shoelaces and looked up at her.

"Knew what?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"That's she's a dyke."

I looked down, shaking my head, and dropped my foot to the floor, lifting the next.

"Wish you wouldn't use that word," I replied with a huff.

"Why not?" she chuckled. "I'm a dyke. Kate's a dyke. Gayle's a dyke. What's the big deal?"

I glanced at her and she grinned.

"It's an ugly word," I replied. "That's why. And, yeah, I kinda figured she wasn't exactly straight."

That, of course, was a lie. But it wasn't as if I had assumed she was heterosexual, either. The fact is it never even crossed my mind. But now that it was there, now that the seed had been planted, that same unassuming mind began running rampant with questions, though one in particular was the focus: why did she invite me? Was she simply being friendly or did she have some other ulterior motive? Then I began thinking about what that ulterior motive could be.

Was Gayle attracted to me?

I was standing in my closet, looking for a light jacket to wear, and let my gaze fall to my husband's side. Nothing there had been touched since his death. Everything was as he left it, the day he went to the hospital to have a benign brain tumor removed. In and out in a few days was how it was supposed to go. Instead, within hours of his surgery, he had climbed out of bed to go to the bathroom, against the orders of his nurse, and made it back just in time to hit the call button, alerting the nurse's station that he needed assistance. When she got to his room, he was lying on the floor dead. A blood vessel in his brain had ruptured.

Rachel and I had walked down to the hospital cafeteria to get the three of us something to eat. He wanted pizza and a Dr. Pepper. We had left him sitting up in bed, talking and lively, watching television. The surgeon had been in to check on him, saying he could probably go home in two or three days.

For several months leading up to that day, I had been worried sick he was going to die, that his tumor was worse than what the doctors had said. They all assured me it was benign and that removing it was a routine procedure. And when he was sitting up in bed, laughing and talking, I was finally able to sigh in relief. I had thought my worries were over.

I quickly snatched a jacket from a hanger and clicked off the light in the closet, walking out and shutting the door behind me. Rachel had gone downstairs, and I could hear the television on in the living room.

"Why can't things just work out right for once," I whispered softly, as my eyes began to water.

"Hey, where'd ya hide the salt?"

I moped over to the bedroom door, slowly slipping my arms in my jacket. Then suddenly, Rachel appeared in front of me.

"Can't find the salt," she said.

While buttoning my jacket, and without looking up, I told her it was in the spice drawer.

Rachel stood there for a moment watching my hands slowly work the buttons.

"I think she has a girlfriend," she said softly.

I raised my face and brushed the hair from my eyes.

"Pardon?"

Rachel stood staring at me, not smiling, but giving me an almost sympathetic expression. I had been fighting back my tears, something I'd become good at over the last few years.

She shrugged.

"She's probably not... you know... interested in you like that."

Then she shrugged again and gave me a weak smile.

"I dunno," she said. "I think she's seeing someone, but I dunno for sure. Maybe, maybe not."

I returned her smile, though it was a bit forced, and followed her downstairs. I picked up my keys and purse and walked over to the door. And there I stood briefly, wondering if I should do this. Were my hopes simply going to be dashed once again? What made it seem all the worse was that I had built myself up to this point. For a second, I was almost angry with this Gayle person, someone I hardly knew, someone who, for an instant, I tried to blame for allowing me to climb to the top of the mountain only to suddenly feel a strong gust of wind trying to push me off the other side. I wanted to blame Gayle, but I couldn't. I couldn't, because I didn't know her or her motives. And worse yet, I was basing my assumptions, which is all they were, on something as benign as whom she preferred to sleep with. Still, it had been a benign something that tore my life apart before. Now the question became not what were her motives, but was I going to let this stop me? Was I willing to take a chance and let go of the flotsam I was clinging to and try for something else? Was it worth the risk?

Life's a gamble, no matter how much you try to avoid it. Making this proposition even less palatable is the notion that unless you're willing to take chances, you're never going to find what you're looking for.

Happiness doesn't find you. You have to create it.

I turned from the front door and told Rachel I'd be home no later than 10pm. She was moving about in the kitchen and stepped into the doorway and nodded.

"Ok," she said. "Have fun."

That's what I decided I wanted: fun and happiness for once, and to Hell with the risks.

Within fifteen minutes, I was driving into the parking lot of Gayle's condominium complex. It was nice, but large and anonymous. Rachel and I lived in an older part of town with big houses and large trees lining the streets. There was plenty of room to move around and spread out, as opposed to here, where everything and everyone was compacted into small modular habitats. There was very little in the way of personal outward trappings, expressing that unique individuals lived inside.

Looking for a place to park, I was becoming more anxious. Gayle was a lesbian. She found me in the park that Saturday and struck up a conversation. She sat and we talked, and I had invited her to do so. Now she had extended an invitation to me to come to her home. Did she see me at the park that day and make some kind of conscious decision? The thought almost made me wince, to think that she was interested in me, as Rachel implied, "that way". But what if she wasn't? Just because she's a lesbian, doesn't mean she has sex on the brain around the clock. Then I thought about it. It suddenly popped into my mind: sex with another woman. I pulled into an empty parking space and turned off the car and quickly shook my head.

"Ok," I mumbled. "You're reading way too much into this."

I gathered up my purse and stepped out of the car.

It was early September and the evening sun was casting an orange and gold hue. I gazed up at the building in front of me, looking for any sign of a dinner party in the open windows. There was one on the second floor, the curtains open, and I could see two people standing with their backs to me. A light was on inside, and they seemed to be talking.

"Must be it."

I took a deep breath and followed the sidewalk to the door of the building. Inside, I checked the mailboxes and found Gayle's. Then I turned, and before me was a set of steps, one leading up, the other down. Based on her condo number, and where I had seen the people standing in the window, I guessed she lived on the second floor, so I trudged up the steps.

Standing inside the hallway of the second floor, I could hear music emanating from the other side of the first door to my right. It was Gayle's number on the door: #521. I glanced down at my watch and grinned. The time was almost exactly 6:30pm, with a minute to spare. It was one of those things I took a wee bit of pride in, that of being punctual. Then I looked up at the door, took a breath and exhaled, put on a smile, and knocked. Instantly the door swung open.

And there was Gayle.

As she opened the door, she was turned away, saying something to someone inside the room and laughing. She had a glass in one hand, it looked like wine, and I chuckled nervously, in response to her, and then she turned to me and smiled.

"Hey! You made it," she said with a broad grin.

Gayle stepped back, bringing the door with her.

"C'mon in," she said, extending a long finger and brushing the hair from her eyes.

Inside the living room were a dozen or more people. Some standing, some sitting, all of them chatting and laughing in small groups. Against one wall was a large entertainment system in an equally large wood cabinet. The television was off, but I could see the little red and green lights of the stereo flickering in time with the music it played.

"Wanna take your coat off?" she asked.

I turned and smiled, as Gayle stood there holding her glass in one hand and the other jammed in her back pocket.

"Oh, um... Sure," I replied.

I went to remove my coat, but Gayle, taking a sip of wine, shook her head and smiled.

"Mm, no. C'mon," she said, gesturing for me to follow her.

As we walked toward a lighted hallway, she'd let her hand land on various people we passed, eliciting a quick turn of the head and smile from them. Then their eyes would land on me, and I'd smile back, almost embarrassed. But their grins broadened, when they saw me, this stranger in their midst, perhaps an unconscious way of welcoming me into their circle.

I followed Gayle down to an open door, which led into a dark room. Just outside the doorway, she reached in and flipped on a light. It could have been a bedroom, but it looked as though she used it for other purposes, numerous in fact, as there was a desk, computer, a radio, assorted books and a stationary bike. But strewn throughout the room, here and there, were other coats. Gayle said I could leave mine in there, as well.

As I took it off, I could sense her looking at me. Staring at me. Watching me. And the gears in my mind started turning again. She's a lesbian, I thought quietly, and could feel myself blush.

I gently laid my coat on the seat of the chair in front of the desk, and then turned to her, brushing my hands down my side. She was holding the glass of wine to her mouth, taking a sip, and smiled, when our eyes met.

"You look nice," she said softly and with that same curious smile I'd seen the previous Saturday in the park.

I glanced down and could feel my face burning red.

"Thanks," I replied sheepishly. "Your note said casual, so I, uh..."

"Want something to drink?" she asked, but in a tone that seemed livelier, as if changing the subject.

I looked up and nodded.

"Um... Yeah, sure."

Gayle's suspicious smile faded into a more amiable expression.

"C'mon," she said, nudging her head toward the door.

As I followed her back into the hallway, I found myself staring at her from behind.

Gayle was a few inches taller than me, and she most certainly had the figure of an athlete, perhaps more that of a dancer. Long, slender legs extending up to a small round butt. She was wearing jeans and a white, buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled slightly up her thin forearms. And down from the back of her head cascaded her long brown hair, stopping midway between her shoulder blades.

That was the first time I consciously thought of her as an attractive woman. But, of course, she was. There was no denying it. Any man in his right mind would find her attractive. I also noticed how she moved with a certain ease and grace, her limbs seeming to flow, as she walked and gestured and went about the mechanical business of being a hostess. There was a degree of finesse in her every movement, even elegance, as if choreographed and rehearsed many times over, but coming at such short notice as to be wholly an unconscious act. When she laughed, her body would gently bend like a lithe reed, slowly arcing back, her hands clasped around the glass of wine they held in front, counterbalancing her delicate movement. And then her teeth would shine, as her lips slowly receded and her jaw dropped, almost like that of a marionette, straight downward, while her eyes narrowed and brows rose high. And her smile was infectious. When Gayle smiled, so did everyone else.

She kept me close to her side, as she made the rounds between friends, introducing me to all of them and actively engaging me in whatever conversations we stumbled upon or initiated, and there was nothing contrived about her performance. When she asked me what I thought about one thing or another, the sincerity of her interest was evident in her eyes, how they wrinkled at the corners and her nostrils would twitch and flare. And it was intriguing to watch her speak, as she did so not only with her voice, but her entire being, moving her body and hands and legs, gesturing and touching someone with a delicate hand. Several times, I'd feel Gayle's hand on my arm, my shoulder, my back; a soft touch, as she spoke to me or someone else. Then she'd turn to me and smile, a soothing grin. And, as the evening wore on, I slowly became more enamored by her subtle grace.

After we had made an appearance at each small circle of friends, we found ourselves alone and sitting on the couch. Gayle asked if I was having a nice evening, and I couldn't help but notice how she seemed to avoid looking at me, when posing the question, as if too embarrassed to make eye contact. When I said yes, she rolled her nearly empty glass of wine between her fingers and smiled and nodded.

"I'm glad," she replied, glancing at me with a smile, but quickly hid behind her glass, as she held it to her lips.

My stomach fluttered and my gaze drifted down to the glass in my hands.

"Can I get you some more?" she asked, with a light gesture.

"I'm fine," I replied. "Gotta drive home, anyway."

Gayle turned more toward me, lifting one knee onto the couch.

"I'm sorry," she said, almost plaintively, resting a hand on my thigh. "I shoulda asked first, if maybe you'd like a soda or something instead of wine."

"S'ok," I replied, taking my turn to hide behind my glass.

Then I felt the hand on my thigh give an almost imperceptible squeeze, and then pull away.

The party was slowly winding down, and soon the conversations became less animated and more demure. Gayle and I spoke quietly on the couch, sometimes giggling, sometimes leaning close and speaking in nearly a whispered tone. And the topics ranged widely and changed smoothly. Gayle knew how to live and enjoy life, expertly combing for the smallest morsels and finding joy in them, something I had long since abandoned. We discussed books and movies and songs and the people we knew and those we didn't. She told me about her mother and sister, the friends she had in high school and college, as well as those with whom she worked and those in our presence. And she listened with great intensity to my story, though never broaching the subject of my husband, something I came to assume my daughter may have already imparted to her.