Four Times

Four Times

Was it eternal friendship or something else?

This one is a little long. The idea for this story came to me almost ten years ago. I have to credit neuroparenthetical as a co-conspirator here. After an early read and his fine editing skills, I must say with conviction, he helped enhance this story beyond expectations. What I couldn't get right in a decade, he set straight in a few days. In the places I was utterly stuck, he ploughed through, keeping the plot and the characters within their original lanes, while providing the impact the piece deserved. Thank you, NP! I hope you enjoy it.

Relax; it's just a story, people.

"My name is Dean. Dean Browning, and my wife is Ashley," I keep repeating to myself.

Have you ever lost your peripheral vision? I have. As a child, I had a condition that remains unnamed and largely untreatable. I say largely, because my pediatrician and my parents found out quite by accident, that Ritalin, along with a baby aspirin and any kind of citrus juice, would stall and sometimes even thwart an episode.

It wasn't just my peripheral vision, but also my mind. I would go somewhere else in my head. Certainly, to me, it felt like a dream-like state. Not in a dream, and not like the movie The Butterfly Effect, where the main character transports through time to his younger years. My halting explanation, as a child, was that I knew reality was still fine, but I had become blurry, and so, to me, reality seemed blurry in turn. I'd lost my prescription eyeglasses, but for my whole being. Obviously, the visual changes were the easiest to describe. They ended up sounding a lot like, well, losing one's prescription eyeglasses, plus the swirling, plus the dimming of all the lights.

In high school, we had to write a paper on what made us unique. Although my condition had mysteriously vanished when I was around seven or eight, I still thought it defined my young life enough to write about it. That spurred me to research all the things I'd been poked and prodded for: glaucoma, retinitis, scotoma, and even diabetes. I basically got a B+ for telling the class all the things that hadn't been wrong with me ten years prior, and, as far as I knew, still weren't.

Thank god for my parents' mistake; their stumbling upon the treatment, completely by accident. A swig from a glass of orange juice to help swallow the Ritalin, right after having chewed an aspirin, had stopped a particularly bad bout dead in its tracks.

I loved my parents. It hit me very hard when they both died in a car crash four months after my seventeenth birthday. I almost didn't go to college as a result. My aunt - my mother's sister - spent hours with me, trying to convince me to still go. She did, eventually. She insisted it was what my mother would have wanted. She also convinced me that a four-year program in electrical engineering would not only help the sting fade, but make my parents very proud, wherever they were.

My freshman year was a grind. I had my nose in my books, leaving very little time to socialize. That ended halfway through my sophomore year. After some classmates began teasing me about being a recluse, I started to venture out. On one of those occasions, I met a very sweet girl, Emily.

I had been making my way through the crowded club as Emily and her mates were doing a bit of friendly jostling. She got pushed into me, and there I stood, wearing a stunning woman's on my shirt and pants. Emily apologized profusely. I put my hand up for her to stop, and we both broke out laughing our heads off. There was something about that laugh and smile that felt contagious.

Emily and I became an item almost right away. We weren't merely compatible; we seemed to share an uncanny and unspoken closeness. It almost felt like two twins, separated at birth, being reunited. That feeling was reinforced by the fact that neither of us were in any hurry to become sexually active. I won't say it was all platonic, but the time we spent getting to know one another seemed to supplant the need for physical intimacy. We spent almost all of our free time doing something together, or, planning what we'd do next.

Of course, all good things, as the saying goes. Four months after Emily and I became a couple, her flat mate moved out and a new girl came along. Ashley Reynolds was a feisty, free-spirited beauty, with a million-dollar smile of her own. She and Emily quickly became good friends. Occasionally, Ashley would join us on our nights out. It happened more and more as we closed in on summer break. It was no longer just Emily and me; there was a third musketeer in our midst. That's how it felt. I wasn't threatened by their friendship. I wasn't jealous of any time they spent together without me - rarer and rarer though that became. Likewise, it didn't seem to matter much to Ashley that Emily and I were an item.

I kept in touch with Emily over the summer break. She was at home with her folks in SoCal, and I was staying with my aunt near our old home in Jacksonville, Florida. Ashley's family lived outside of Chicago. It was a lonely summer and one full of introspection. I thought quite a bit about my childhood, and the good times with my parents. I'd been their only child, and they'd doted on me; 'spoiled' is probably a better word. I tried to think about how marriage might suit me. I'd close my eyes and see if I could picture Emily and me together, with a few children of our own.

When we got back to school in September, Emily pulled me into her dorm room one afternoon when I came round, nearly ripping my clothes off. The sex that day was furious, with both of us craving relief. It was the first time we had intercourse. The entire previous year, we'd only used our hands and mouths. Emily seemed to have three or four orgasms, while I did my best to make it last. I won't say I succeeded. Everything pent up in me crashed through in about fifteen minutes, but I never went soft, and for our second round we were both more deliberate.

I asked about Ashley after our third date. Em told me she'd met someone, and we'd probably also meet him soon. There was a moment of sadness, hearing that, and I couldn't pinpoint why. I needn't have worried. Three nights after learning about Ashley's new boyfriend, Em and I met him.

Steve and I took to each other right from the start. We both had plenty in common: baseball, fast cars and specifically rebuilding their engines, fly fishing, and collecting sports cards. Many nights out at a club or dinner, Emily or Ashley would have to remind us there were four people at our table.

There were now four musketeers. I could tell that Steve and Ashley were having sex by their expressions and body language. Emily was insatiable for those first three months of our junior year. Ashley was the only one of us who was a sophomore, but she wasn't really sure what her future held. She actually spoke offhandedly about dropping out on several occasions. The energy between the four of us was slowly changing.

After one extremely pleasurable romp, Emily placed her head on my chest and looked up at me.

"Would you date Ashley?" she asked, not even bothering to set up the trap. She just launched it right at me. "I'd like it if you did."

I must have looked at her incredulously, thinking it was a joke. "Date Ashley?" I half-stated, half-asked, "Why would you want me to do that?"

"Because," she responded, "I want to date Steve."

I felt sick. Emily studied my reaction, wordlessly. Neither of us said anything for a minute or two. Once Emily was convinced I wasn't going to throw up in her bed, she continued.

"Dean, I'm talking to you as a friend now," she said, "I consider you one of my best friends in this world. We have a lot of fun together, and I would never do anything to screw up our friendship. Straight up, I have a thing for Steve, and no matter how I've tried, I can't shake it. I had to talk to Ash about it, because girls... women notice these things. Anyway, during that talk, she confided in me that she spent the summer riddled with guilt. You see, she'd been having thoughts - maybe more like daydreams - of us breaking up. She has a thing for you Dean, and she's got it bad."

She let that sink in. I tried to remember any time the four of us had been together where maybe I'd missed the signs. The problem was, Steve and I, always got on about something or the other. I realized that I hadn't been paying much attention to either Ashley or Emily during our outings.

"Dean," she said, shaking me out of my stupor. "I wouldn't hurt you; I hope you know that. One date is all I'm asking. Well, I suppose I'm also asking you to trust me. Let's see how you and Steve feel afterwards. If I'm right, then the two of you will probably agree to, or even ask for, a second."

I was so nervous going to pick up Ashley for our first date. I didn't want to screw up my relationship with Emily or Steve, and it was all I could think of driving over to the dorm. Steve had picked up Em an hour earlier. The girls had planned it that way to avert any awkwardness. They failed miserably, because there was more than enough awkwardness to go around between me and Ashley - and, I hoped, between Steve and Em.

Ash sensed it right away. She took my hand and we went for a walk instead of getting in my car. We didn't say anything to each other until we started around the next block.

"Dean, I know this probably seems sudden and out of place," Ashley said. "Please try to relax. None of us can predict the outcome, but Em and I felt like we at least needed to test the waters, and we had to find a respectful way to do it. 'Nobody gets hurt' was our main objective, believe me."

I'll try," I stumbled, finding my voice. "I'm not sure about anything; I'm just going to go with the flow, okay?"

"That's all I can ask," she stated assuredly. "That's all any of us can ask."

Well, the first date was a wash. Maybe 'disaster' would be a better word. We were all so worried about hurting one or more of our friendships, that we basically didn't have dates at all. We all agreed to try one more time, and to try to relax. We made promises to each other sitting around the kitchen table at my apartment. The promises were sincere, and we all felt that.

After date number two, it seemed the girls might be onto something. The kiss I received at the end of that date, from Ashley, was smoldering. I'd never experienced it before, with Emily or anyone else. I had to relieve myself when I got home.

My new relationship couldn't compete, at first, with what I'd had with Emily - not emotionally. Physically, though? It was incredible.

Emily, I came to realize, was more like the sister I'd never had. She was like a best friend wrapped up in a sister. I could say the same about Steve being that brother, although we never fought like many siblings. I found that odd actually. The closest we came was civil and respectful disagreement. With the switch of partners the entire dynamic of our double dates changed. There'd been a tension to them before that that I'd never even noticed until it was gone. It was replaced by a new tension - the good kind of tension. Steve and I still dug deep into our shared interests, but both of us found it much harder to ignore our new girlfriends for extended periods of time. It embarrassed me a little - pained me, even, to be honest - that Steve and Em might have been sharing flirty looks and longing gazes for months. Post-swap, though, I was sharing them with Ashley, and she with me. Steve was sharing them with Em, and vice-versa. It was all working out.

Against all odds, our four-way friendship survived - thrived, even. I'd been terrified. I honestly don't even know how I'd ever found the courage to agree to that first date with Ashley. The fear of losing three people I cared deeply for, all at once, in a metaphorical train wreck - one that we ourselves would have plunged into headfirst - had set me to such a panic that I'd had to seek out help from the college's counseling services. Since I hadn't been able to actually talk to them about what had been happening with the four musketeers, I'd instead wrestled with some serious issues stemming from the loss of my parents. Wouldn't you know it, it had all been connected.

Healing is a process. I still had fears, even as the weeks went by and everything seemed so natural, so easy, and so right. I never told any of the other three about them. I hoped that I'd just get over it. As it turned out, the trio had other plans.

After our fourth one-on-one dates, we met up at Jimmy's Grub Shack, and we actually sat down and talked about it - about everything. I almost had a panic attack. I found myself reaching for my emergency Ritalin and aspirin, but it never quite got there. I forced myself to open up to my friends, and lean on them. They were doing the same with each other, including me. They were happy. I was too. Ashley and I were becoming a real couple, and it became obvious that Steve and Em were one already. We danced around the sex bits, but all four of us got the message: things were better post-swap. Everything felt natural. Nothing felt forced.

Fear and doubt finally gave way to a different kind of disbelief - the good kind. We'd actually done it. We were going to be okay, both as couples, and as the four musketeers.

I graduated the following year with my civil engineering degree in electronics. Steve graduated law school, and worked as an intern for eighteen months before he could take the bar. He passed on the first try. Ashley completed a two-year Associates degree in graphics arts. Emily was the brain of our group. She finished cum laude in her field of marine biology.

Ashley and I were engaged two weeks after graduation. We'd already decided to move to a suburb of Jacksonville. I was fortunate enough to get a job with the State of Florida right out of the gate. Em and Steve were only two months behind us announcing their engagement. We would have a June wedding, while our best friends would wed in September.

They also moved to Jacksonville for Emily's job, although the law firm Steve worked for had corporate offices in Savannah. Our houses were six blocks apart. We continued to see each other most weekends. Of course, Emily was Ashley's maid of honor, and Steve my best man. They both planned our bachelor and bachelorette parties. There was plenty of booze on both counts, but we all agreed not to have strippers at them. They would be on the same night, one week before our wedding day.

The night of my shindig, I was feeling no pain. At one point, it seemed Steve was missing in action for quite a while, but I was too far gone to say for sure. The next afternoon, Steve called me.

"Hey, Deano," he said teasingly, "how's your head?"

We talked about the party for a bit, sharing the highlights, as best as our hung over brains could recall them. There were plenty of lowlights too, since some of our co-workers - his and mine - weren't very good at holding their liquor.

"Dean," Steve's tone changed. "I need to tell you something, so it's out in the open. Last night, I got a text from Emily. She told me everyone was beyond wasted, and Ashley was 'falling down drunk' was I think how she put it. Anyway, she asked me to come take her home, or if I was too plowed, to call a cab. I didn't want to ruin your fun, but I was worried about the girls, so I went over and took her home, then came back."

"Okay, so?" I asked. "It sounds like you did the right thing. Same as any of us would have done, no questions asked. Is there something else?"

"Nothing else." Steve stated flatly. "I never keep anything from you, and like I said, I didn't want you to worry about her. Besides, you were way too drunk to help her get home anyway. I didn't tell you then, so I'm telling you now, is all."

"Okay?"

Steve sighed. "Come on, man. You know why I'm telling you that nothing happened. What the four of us have is awesome, but it's got some weird history behind it."

"Huh," I replied. "I guess I just don't think about that anymore."

"Well," he said, "that's actually really cool that you don't. I don't usually either, but it's a bachelor and bachelorette party, and everybody's wasted, and so I did think of it, once I sobered up a little. I love you, man. No secrets."

"No secrets," I agreed.

And that was that. No fear, no doubt, no panic attack; no Ritalin, no aspirin, no orange juice. I probably should have had some orange juice, really, for unrelated reasons. We then moved on, talking about how much the bar tab had cost Steve.

The wedding was much like most others. We had a lovely ceremony. We both read our own handwritten vows, we both wanted to punch the nagging photographer, and we both got a little cake face. Our honeymoon in Cancun was memorable. Where Emily had a small frame, tiny boobs, and even ridiculously small feet, Ash was full-figured. Don't get me wrong; she was only one-hundred-twenty pounds on a five-six body, but she filled that body out voluptuously. She was between a C and a D cup, and the heads she turned in her bikini made me jealous.

We made love several times per day, for the whole trip. The best part to me was the tenderness and the warm gentle kissing and exploring each other's body as foreplay. That wasn't something we'd really spent time doing in college. I guess I just felt closer to Ashley somehow, if that was even possible.

A few months later, it was Steve and Emily's turn. We reversed roles, helping them to plan and handling certain details, even though both sets of their parents were still alive. Less than a year later, Ashley became pregnant, and our friends were just two months behind us. We all went to Lamaze classes together.

Destiny was born on a hot, humid August day. Haley was born four days before Halloween. Steve and I doted on our girls. All of us had everything we needed. We had wonderful families and wonderful friends. Each couple was, between them, making enough money to plan meaningful futures.

Emily had that kind of job where she wasn't 'on call,' per se, but was needed at some of the most inopportune times. That worked out well, because Ashley and I had flexible schedules. In fact, Ash didn't go back to work until Destiny was three. Nine months after Haley was born, Steve was told to be at his corporate office to do case work for a major trial the firm was handling. Ashley and I worked out a schedule with them; we went there and helped prepare dinner, or Em and Haley came to ours. We watched her regularly, and, a few nights during those six weeks, even kept her overnight with us so Em could get some sleep. We also drove them up to see Steve three of those six weekends he was away.

Steve and Emily reciprocated when I had to go for a ten-day training in Miami. Destiny and Ashley were in good hands. I only worried the appropriate amount for a father separated from his precious baby girl.

Fast forward we went. We spent almost every weekend together, and we planned at least one vacation per year together too. The funny thing was we just never grew tired of one another. I think with our similar attitudes and goals, we were a good fit. Our girls became even closer friends, because, well, they were always together.

I would coach the girls' soccer team, and one year, when Destiny wanted to try basketball, Steve stepped in because I had a big work project. He coached her team to the championship. I was proud of them both.

If I had to name one wrinkle in our perfect relationship, I guess it would have to be over-familiarity. Once Emily 'pants'ed me at the HOA pool, in front of four or five other couples - who were friends of ours - and a few teenage kids too.

Then there was an April fool's prank of kissing and groping on the dance floor by Ashley and Steve. Neither Emily nor I laughed at that, but then again, Em didn't complain either, which upset me.