Midlife Fallout Ch. 01

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Just remember—eventually, it will be your turn in the duck seat!"

"Okay," she said with a laugh.

"First, I'm mostly retired. I worked on Wall Street in New York and did well, so when things in my life changed, I retired and came out here. I do some personal investing, but I don't really need to work."

"Okay. That makes sense. That's one down."

"Regarding your second keen observation, I actually don't like the beach. So I guess an additional odd-duck question is—why did I buy a beachfront property? The answer to that is: I don't know."

She laughed and I realized how absurd my choice of location seemed.

"But I do leave the porch. I walk to a restaurant every day for lunch, then take a walk and go to the gym in the afternoon."

"That explains why you look kinda buff. So, two down, Steve. You don't have to answer the third if you don't want." Blake looked concerned that she overstepped our budding friendship.

I frowned and looked away from her eyes. How much should I say? I suddenly found it interesting that Princess came to me and wanted to be petted.

"Someday, I think I could tell you everything. For now, let me keep it simple."

I was breathing heavily. Sweat was forming and I could feel a volcano of hate and anger wanting to burst out of me. Angry moisture started to form in my eyes. I stared out to the water so my most leaky eye was away from her as I prepared to respond. I forced the tightness from my lips to be sure Blake didn't think I was mad at her.

"In short, my wife of 25 years blindsided me when she left, then I moved out here far from my friends and family. Then to add injury to insult, my dog, my faithful companion, died."

I had to loosen the mood quickly. "Geez," I exclaimed, "I sound like a bad country song."

I forced myself to laugh. I looked at Blake who had what I first thought was a look of sympathy, but then I recognized it as something entirely different.

It was empathy.

"Now I know what that look was, Steve." She was tearing up. "It's the same look I've seen in my mirror."

Her tears now flowed freely without her making a sound. I pulled her into a hug that at first caused her to stiffen and I wondered if I overstepped bounds. But then she gently gave in. We both seemed to need comfort from a gentle embrace, even if it was a little awkward.

"Blake, someone left you too, right?"

"Yes," she choked out through her emotions.

"Can you and I share each other's pain and maybe both come out stronger?"

"Now?"

"No, but someday soon. Something tells me we both have difficult baggage to unload."

I knew neither of us was ready for a deep discussion of our open wounds. I also knew that my new friend suffered something similar to my current condition, and eventually we would want to share our past battles with each other. We both needed it—just not now.

"Yeah, Steve, you're right. I haven't had anyone to talk to, and it sounds like you're in the same boat. But for now, let's just relax. I'm enjoying your company."

We spent time fussing over Princess and talking about how great dogs were. Then we made plans to have coffee every morning together. We agreed we would play it by ear when she takes her evening walk, but I made sure she knew that iced tea and beer were always available.

*****

I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon thinking about my conversation with Blake. I felt better and more relaxed than I had since my separation and my impulsive move west. With renewed energy, my daily walk seemed to have more purpose.

The afternoon started to fade into evening, and I felt like a kid the day before Christmas while waiting on my porch for Blake's evening walk. I really hoped she would stop again. Then I saw her approaching. Princess was jumping with excitement and I felt my heart leaping with similar vigor.

"Is this the 'Odd Duck' club?" Her smiling greeting warmed me. I can't remember the last time someone seemed to look forward to seeing me. Of all the strange things to have come to mind, I wondered if this was how the Grinch felt when his 'too small heart' started to grow. Then I wondered if I was losing my mind altogether.

"All members are now here and accounted for," I quipped back. "Do we need a special handshake?"

She paused a moment and looked a bit shy and uncomfortable.

"Steve, I've done everything I can to avoid getting too close to anyone, but when you hugged me this morning—well, it felt good."

She paused as if she wasn't sure she could say what was on her heart. With her eyes cast down, she gained the courage she needed. "Can we write the club charter to greet with a friendly hug?"

I pulled her into a quick and gentle embrace. The warmth of our touch flooded my senses as if I was granted a glimpse of new life. I struggled to avoid overreacting.

"Welcome back, Blake. What can I get you to drink?"

"You promised iced tea, which sounds great."

"I also made lemonade, if you prefer?"

"Oh! How about an Arnold Palmer?"

"Coming right up." I thought it wonderfully coincidental that we shared the same taste for the refreshing drink of half iced tea and half lemonade.

We talked about nothing in particular for a little while as we sipped our drinks. I was really enjoying her company and I realized this was the most I had talked with anyone since I came to Seattle. I wanted to get into a deeper conversation with her if she was ready.

"So, tell me, have you always lived near Seattle?"

Her face fell a bit, but she looked like she was in control of her emotions.

"No. I've only been here a little over eight months. I moved here from St. Louis."

"Wow, you've only been here a little longer than me. Why did you pick Seattle?"

"Purely by accident. It was kind of stupid, really. I went to the Greyhound terminal and just picked the next bus out of town."

Alarms went off in my head. For a grown woman to leave her home so impulsively meant something went seriously wrong. I could see her anxiety grow, so I decided to tread lightly.

"Well, you picked a beautiful destination."

She appeared more at ease since I didn't push for why she left her home. That seemed to help her determine how much to share.

"I left with two suitcases and barely enough in the bank to start a new life somewhere, and I didn't know Seattle was so expensive until I got here. But once I saw the area, I didn't want to go anywhere else."

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here or I wouldn't have any friends," I offered with a smile.

She returned my smile and chose to continue her tale.

"On the bus, I was checking the internet for apartments and was shocked at the prices. So I looked on Craig's List for other opportunities and found three girls looking for a roommate to share the load. They had a place where they could offer me a small bedroom with its own bath. The common areas were to be shared. I answered the ad and we had an agreement before the bus even arrived."

"That came together quickly. How are your roommates?"

"Horrible. I feel a bit like an older, spinster-like Cinderella. They're all in the 20-year-old range and want nothing more than to party. I'm the old hag in the corner room."

"Well you're certainly not old nor do you appear to be a hag. Are they nasty to you?"

"No. Not really. I'm mostly ignored. They seemed focused on trying to set the world's record for hookups. There's a constant stream of different guys staying the night with all sorts of sexual combinations and explorations. My walls are way too thin, but at least my door locks."

She was more at ease, so I tried to press for more of her background.

"It sounds like you had to leave St. Louis in a hurry."

Her face took on a pained appearance, but I could see she would share more.

"My ex had me served with divorce papers on a weekend while he was away. When I checked our meager bank accounts I saw he had already taken his half. We had no property, so I signed the papers, moved my money to a new account, took whatever I cared about in my two suitcases and backpack, and determined I never wanted to risk seeing his sorry ass again."

Blake's face took on an angry look while a few tears streaked down her cheeks. I pulled my chair next to her and hugged her sideways while she rested her head on my shoulder. I wanted to lighten the mood without dismissing the pain she shared.

"I'm sorry you had to endure that. It seems we started as odd ducks, but we're really two wounded ducks trying to heal, aren't we?"

She smiled and chuckled a bit, signaling her mood shift.

"True. Either way," she mused, "we're ducks."

"Let me refresh our drinks."

"Okay. But can you do me a favor?"

"Anything," I replied quickly.

"Be careful what you offer, Steve. Anything is a big category."

"Point taken. What favor would you like?"

"I really love talking with you, but would you mind if we just sat quietly for a while? Being with you is so relaxing and feels so warm—I'd like to just bask in it. Would that be okay?"

"I think that would be great, actually."

I filled our glasses and returned to Blake's side as she gazed out over Elliot Bay. The silence was comfortable and, in some ways, amazingly intimate. She reached over and put her hand over mine. We looked at each other, smiled, and then watched the boats in the distance.

After about a half-hour, Blake squeezed my hand and softly said, "Thank you for sharing time with me and listening. I'm sure there's more we will share in the days to come."

"It's easy talking with you, Blake. I'm guessing we've both been starving for friendship, and we came across each other at an opportune time."

"Yeah, you're right. I've sure been closed off. It took meeting an odd duck to come out of the dark, I guess."

"So, are we officially friends? I'd like to be."

"Yes, Steve. We are. Somehow, very quickly, you've become a good friend. Please, don't hurt me, Steve. I don't think I could take it."

"My friend, I would never want to hurt you. Us 'ducks' need to stick together. I guess ducks form quick friendships and I have to confess that I value our fast friendship too. All I can promise is, to be honest. I may mess up at times but bear with me. I'll never intentionally hurt you."

She smiled sweetly with a bit of a bashful look.

"Thank you, Steve. I think it's time for Princess and me to wander home. I really appreciated this evening."

She rose from her chair, kissed my cheek, and we bid each other good evening.

*****

Blake and I continued to have coffee together every morning, but her work as a dental office receptionist kept those visits relatively short.

Our evening visits, though, became the most rewarding times. I learned that Blake married an older guy near my age. She was 29 when he left her. I guessed that her frumpy approach was her way to hide. She was damaged and didn't want to be hurt again. She still didn't talk much about her ex and the breakup, but she promised she would eventually share the details. I was pleased to see that her attire was migrating towards normal, and now I rarely saw one of those terrible hats on her.

On a Monday evening about two weeks after our first visit on my porch, Blake walked towards my home the same as she had since we started sharing time together. She smiled as she approached when Princess pulled her to a stop to take a dump in my yard. Blake smiled in embarrassment. I always had plastic bags handy for such occasions, so I walked out to her to help with doodie duty.

"Oh, Steve, you don't need to do that. I have a bag."

I smiled at her. "Nonsense. This is a job for an old guy like me, not a beautiful woman."

While I performed the task I noticed Blake was very quiet and still. Before I finished, she started to walk off with Princess in tow.

"I... have to go."

"Blake?"

"Goodbye."

I stood there stunned while holding a bag of steaming excrement. "What happened?" I was talking to the evening breeze.

I disposed of the bag of poo and fell into my chair on the porch. I couldn't imagine what happened. It seemed like I severely offended her somehow, but I had no clue what I did. My misery returned instantly.

After a sleepless night, I hoped against hope that the morning would be normal, and Blake would bounce onto my porch for our morning coffee together. She never came. That evening, again she did not show up. Wednesday morning continued my lonely silence as her scone was untouched and her coffee went cold. I felt myself growing cold, too. The anger—the hardened heart—both returned far too easily. How did I screw this up?

Wednesday evening I started to give up hope of seeing her again, even though I had no idea why. The time she normally arrived passed, and I slumped in my chair with eyes closed to fight off the depression starting to grow. She was a new acquaintance. How can her absence hurt so much?

I didn't notice anything until I heard a soft voice in front of me.

"Steve, I'm sorry," Blake said softly through her moist eyes as she stood before me.

I jumped up and embraced her. "Blake. Oh, Lord, I've missed you!"

"I'm sorry, Steve."

"Don't be sorry. I must have done something to upset you. Just tell me and I promise never to do it again."

"You couldn't have known. I overacted."

"Known what?"

She sniffled a few times and said with a deep frown, "you said I was beautiful."

Now I was puzzled, but I knew this was somehow significant to her. I hugged her and begged her to sit while I poured two Arnold Palmers. I positioned my chair directly in front of her so I could look into her eyes.

"Blake, are you comfortable sharing why that was upsetting?"

"Yes. It was because you promised to be honest, and that was a lie."

I was stunned by her response. I instantly realized her ex must have really messed up her mind and self-image. I was in uncharted waters as to how to proceed, and I recognized the fragility of the woman seated before me.

"Somehow I get the impression you won't want to believe me, but I was being very honest." I wanted to use the word again, but I first needed to know why it offended her.

"I'm sure you believe what you said, Steve. I know that now. But I've been told over and over again just the opposite—and I can see in the mirror."

"What do you see in the mirror?"

She started to openly cry as she blurted out, "I see a homely fat pig that couldn't even hold on to a bottom-dwelling lousy husband."

Blake was crying heavily, nearly out of control. I knelt before her and hugged her as she fought for composure. I struggled to find the right words while I waited until only quiet sobs remained. Still hugging her with our heads on each other's shoulders, I talked quietly into her ear.

"What would beauty look like in that mirror?"

"You know. Angelina Jolie, Gwyneth Paltrow, Jennifer Lawrence, Scarlett Johansson... beautiful women."

"Why do you think they're beautiful?"

She pulled back to look at me. "Come on, Steve. All you have to do is look at them."

"Blake, you're a smart woman with enough life knowledge and experience to know beforehand what I'm going to say, but I'll say it anyway. Some terrible people in your past have poisoned your perspective. Listen to me, and believe it's the truth—not just to me, but to anyone who takes the time to know you."

"What?" She looked predisposed to doubt what I said next.

"I don't know if those women are beautiful. I know they're gorgeous and pretty to the eye, but I don't know if they're beautiful. Actually, several you mentioned I know enough about to say, without question, they are not beautiful to me. You understand what I mean, don't you?"

"Yeah, I get it. Skin deep beauty versus what's inside. But that doesn't change what I see in the mirror."

"Because you see yourself through the filters created by others that chose to destroy your self-image. It was their way to control you. So let me tell you what I see—being completely honest—no holds barred. Okay?"

"I guess."

"When I first saw you walking in front of my house, even though you tried to hide yourself, I noticed your lovely face."

She cringed in disbelief.

"Bear with me, Blake. I remember my exact thoughts. I saw a 'girl-next-door' loveliness in you. Understand, to me that's near perfection. I don't care for the plastic faces you see on fashion models. I want to see an honest face that warms my heart and will stand the test of time—a face that I can gaze upon for decades and always admire."

"Oh, come on. Really?"

I wasn't getting my thoughts through to her.

"It's like the old story of Ginger versus Maryann from Gilligan's Island. You know who I mean?"

"Yeah. I've seen it."

"Read comparisons online sometime. Everyone assumes Ginger is the real beauty while Maryann is just the ordinary girl next door. But many guys are like me. I had the hots for Maryann and couldn't care less about Ginger. What's really interesting is to see pictures of the two actresses today in their senior years. The woman who played Maryann is still beautiful, while Ginger is...well...just look them up. The years treated her less kindly. Do you see what I'm saying?"

"To you, I'm Maryann-like."

"Yes, but there's more. And you know this. I've learned enough of you that I'm getting to know you and your heart. I see pure beauty within you, Blake."

"How can you say that? You hardly know me."

"True, and there's a chance as we get to know more about each other that I may learn something of you I don't like. But unless you're a serial killer or you torture kittens or something, there's not much you could do or say to change my opinion."

"But you haven't addressed this flabby, approaching middle-age body. I'm not fishing for compliments, but this is not beautiful."

"You're far from middle-aged yet, although I think you've convinced yourself you're older than you are. But let's address your concern. You know that for every female body type, there's a male who prefers their type. Some like rail-thin women. Others like 300-pound overweight women. And there are lots of steps in between. I like well-rounded ladies with a little meat on them. From what I've seen, you are not heavy at all and are well in the range of what I find extremely attractive."

I noticed her facial features were looking more relaxed. She seemed to grasp that I was telling her the truth.

"Even these little breasts?" she asked with a little lighter mood and the hint of a smile.

"To be fair, I haven't seen them in the flesh, and I'm not asking to, but they appear perfectly matched to you. Let me try something."

I opened Google and searched for 'perfect breasts.'

"I'm not trying to get you to watch porn, but look at all these images that are described as perfect."

She gave me a strange look before she observed the screen. "Okay. Your point?"

"They're all different. There is no single size or shape that defines perfection. If anything, the huge ones are a turn-off to me. Do you know what I like about your breasts?"

She blushed with a grin. "We're getting very personal, but no. What do you like?"

"They're attached to you."

"Oh."

I held her face to look into my eyes. "You are beautiful. The voices in the past don't matter. What they've trained you to see in the mirror is the lie. You are a beautiful woman, Blake. That's honest. That's a fact. Please don't doubt me again because I can't keep the promise I made a few minutes ago."

"What promise?"

"I promised I'd never again do what upset you. But now that I know, I can't stop telling you what I honestly feel. You. Are. Beautiful."

Her face lost all signs of doubt, and her eyes seemed to project that she accepted what I said as the truth. Still, I saw a question forming in her mind.

"Alright, Steve. I believe you're being honest. But if that's the truth..." She hesitated, struggling to say what was on her mind. "...If that's true to you, why haven't you made a pass at me?"