The Last New Year

The phone rang and I jumped for it, hoping that it was Con. It was Chuck and before we had talked but a moment, I was pouring out the events of early this morning. He suggested that we meet for breakfast and not having anything else to hold to, I accepted.

He was very complimentary when we met, but I knew that I looked like hell. How else could I look after crying for the last two or three hours. He was very concerned. However, I know that part of the concern was for himself—was Con going to confront him and/or his wife?

As I continued to pour out my troubles, I became aware of Chuck's face taking a strange expression, and at the same time I was aware that someone had stepped up next to our table. I looked up and gasped when I saw that it was Con.

I tried to get to my feet and Con placed a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back into my chair. As he stepped to the side of Chuck's chair he said, and not too softly, "I hope you two lovers have a wonderful life."

As he said it, he put his hand behind Chuck's head and then slammed his face into his breakfast plate, breaking his nose. Blood began to run onto the plate as some of the hotel staff came running.

Con threw a fifty dollar bill on the table and told the waiter that it should cover any damage to the hotel property. One of the waiters had come still carrying a pot of coffee. Con took it from him and poured most of it in Chuck's lap. The rest, he poured down the front of my dress.

Chuck was screaming and moaning and I screamed as the coffee hit. Fortunately my dress and bra took the brunt. Con dropped the pot on the table and walked out amid my scream and Chuck's moaning. The wait staff were frozen and didn't try to grab Con, which was probably a good thing. * * * * * Ten Years Later * * * * *

I have had calls from a number of my old friends wanting to get together at our twentieth reunion that is coming up in a couple of weeks. I have declined each of them. I will never attend another reunion, especially by myself.

I saw Con a week after I got home from my last reunion. He came to the house to pick up clothes and other personal items. I tried to talk with him, but he just ignored me. As he left, he handed me an envelope. It contained divorce papers.

That was the last time I saw him. I heard a week later that he had taken a transfer and was working in Saudi Arabia. Finalization of the divorce was handled through his attorney. I also heard a couple of years ago that he had remarried.

Following the reunion, I was in contact with Chuck, by phone, a few times. The calls were primarily to ascertain whether Con was going to take action against him. Apparently he didn't and I haven't heard of or from Chuck in over eight years.

I did find out later that my close classmates were aware of what had happened at the reunion.

I have not remarried. I have to admit that I still love him and can't get him out of my mind. I date and have had a few overnight excursions. But any time I let a man get personal, it doesn't take long before I am reminded of Con. You see, two drops of that coffee did land directly on my breast and burned like hell. Both drops became blisters the next day and one of the blisters became slightly infected a few days later. The infection, when it was cleared, left a small (about half the size of a dime) discolored spot like a light tan birthmark. It isn't horrible, but when a man sees it, there is always a question or remark.

The spot on my breast is a constant reminder of him and what I gave up. It also kind of reminds me of Hester Prynne in Hawthorne's 'Scarlet Letter.' My spot is my scarlet "A." By the way, I have never gone out or celebrated New Years Eve since that time—ten years ago.