There are fragments and dialog, verses and parables, plot twists and chapters. There are pages I have yet to read, much less write and compile.
There is print that requires me to narrow my focus and reflect. There are volumes with worn covers that never entirely close. There are meetings with men of my dreams that replay darkly, and I am thankful there are others that offer their gifts of grace.
There are airports and waiting rooms, carousels and customs officers.
There is dutiful transport and necessary movement.
*
For some of us flying is exhilarating and terrifying. Is that because we’re closer to our gods, or falsely empowered once released from our grounding?
*
In dream as in fantasy, my men are content to mingle and mix. They discuss without competing, and ownership is not an imperative.
I am not a child and nor are you.
I see no point in pretending to be chaste.
*
Mixers in college offer a peculiar platter: the humorless law student, the tow-headed future minister, the Israeli with black curls and full beard who resembles Mr. French. While I’m crazy about this jaunty gentleman, nothing I do can capture his fancy.
The first lover appears in the midst of a crowd and I suspect he views me as a little sister. He is Parisian and clever. We become good friends. It is months before we consider alternate activities.
I have much to learn and he is an inspired instructor. We do not contend this is love when it is sex.
*
There is the workplace with its promise.
There is the Vietnam Vet who wants to marry. I love him bravely but I rightly refuse. His nightmares unhinge me. His ex unsettles me. I do not wish to sleep with blood and shadows.
*
There is Jean-Marc in the 80s, as we collide courtesy of a common employer.
We correspond. We dance. We eat. We love.
There are airports for both of us, and lies to overcome.
*
There is the man of my dreams whom I meet in Laguardia. Those are days of flights as commonplace as taking a bus. He woos me with a vengeance, he wins my heart for life, he doesn’t yet know what I know: another woman will give him what he truly needs.
Yet I ask myself for years if I should have said yes.
And he visits me still, from his place beyond waking.
*
By the time I encounter the one I wed, I am gravitating toward whatever seems simple. But I am wrong in my assessment, ignoring flares and signals.
There are airports in our picture as well as in our meeting: Logan, Heathrow, Hartsfield, Schiphol.
While our story may be painted as charming, the union itself is something else. There are good days and there are babies. There are empty chairs and the night’s silence. There is the man I no longer recognize who moves on to a Bigger Life and a New Family, as divorce dismantles my bolts and my beams, and the framework of marriage becomes a factory of phantom limbs.
*
I am not without blame in my episodic history.
*
May I inhale deeply and marvel at my men? The ones that I conjure and the ones I never mention?
Perhaps I remember too few. Perhaps I fabricate too many.
*
After divorce, the online world spins its own dizzying revolution: the license to flirt from the safety of a screen, the freedom to fantasize after carpool and dishes, the folly to fall in love – again and again.
We may choose to meet our strangers over coffee to get to know them. We may require crossing the city or the county or the state. Some of us purchase a ticket to traverse an ocean, blind to the repetition of patterns that take years to acknowledge.
We are storing whatever moments we can, in order to sustain us.
*
There is Normandy and a gentle soul. There is Scotland and the comfort of kindness. There is conversation. There is consummation. There is consolation in even the smallest step forward.
And then there is Chéri.
*
Ah, Chéri, your brazen body belies your mastery of cerebral terrain. You hunt my hopeless heart by cooking up Francis Ponge in the morning, and brandishing Beaubourg on the weekend afternoon. You slay me with sleeplessness in the heat of our summer.
I write by day as you do your duty at the office. You return to our evenings on rue Charlot and we make love by the balcony as the cat purrs.
There is the Champs-Elysées in a brittle December. There are goodbyes beneath a vaulted sky.
There is the airport. Always, the airport.
*
From a distance, we may dwell in poetry and passion more easily than we know.
When we open a door even a crack, serendipity may appear at the threshold.
There is the astonishment in discovering that we are younger than our failings.
*
You will say I have lost my faith in marriage, and I reluctantly agree.
You will say I have lost capacity for commitment, and I am not so certain.
I have my regrets, but I would not undo my journey.
I know the pages as they write themselves anew. Though I jumble the timeline and I blend the characters, I have not lost the press of my lips, the touch of my fingers, or the luxurious pace of the slow pen.
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This is part of a coordinated group writing exercise on how we met our spouses or significant others.
Ahh DA – you are always so eloquent. I so relate to two specific lines (although I loved them all):
“But I am wrong in my assessment, ignoring flares and signals.” Boy did I have those flares and signals before marrying at 21. But therein lies the rub – I was 21. I hadn’t yet learned to pay attention to flares and signals when my romantic heart was pitter pattering.
and
“I have my regrets but I would not undo my journey.” Nor would I.
A beautiful, sensuous post. I sort of knew before linking through that the non-singular “men of my dreams” post would be you. 🙂
“We do not contend this is love when it is sex.”
If only I had followed those words, my heart would have been broken far fewer times during my years of dating.
Your writing is beautiful, D.A.
You are one amazing writer, woman! Wow. I’m already picturing the movie based on your memoirs. 🙂
BLW, you sure do get around – in a good way!
What an interesting life you have led. Men were meant to be the bit players, and you the star! But I believe a leading man is out there waiting for you. Somewhere. But I caution you to stay out of airports. Take a train instead.
I’ve been too busy raising my boys (and writing) to be hanging out in airports much… 🙂
Beautiful. Just plain beautiful.
Beautiful and evocative, in so many lines. But the one about airports and lies jumped out at me for some personal reasons. Loved your post.
What a writer you are! I think this journey should be a book. one chapter per lover.
Thank you, Lynn. Some of this is – to me – writing exercise for something I’ve been toying with. Glad you enjoyed!
Your writing is beautiful. Wasn’t I just here yesterday saying the same thing? (If I had your eloquence, I wouldn’t have to repeat myself. )
That kind of repeating yourself is fine with me, Darryle. (Make my day?) Thank you!
Hey BLW
I like when you talk of love and sex. And, hear this as a compliment; I think you do it as a Frenchwoman would 🙂 Plus you do it with this expressive and sensitive voice that I really enjoy each time.
None of us are “never to blame”, none of us never made mistakes, but you know what? There is a kind of instinct in those things and you seem to have it as I think I do. Think of some of these so called mistakes: should we undo them and take the other option, maybe over years it would appear as an even bigger mistake. The kind of mistakes leading you into dead ends for years if you see what I mean.
“I have my regrets, but I would not undo my journey.”
When you say that, I think of something important I say in the end of “Being French”, about living fully and with the less possible of regrets. In France we have a saying : “Better having remorse than regrets”. As I see it, the way you end your phrase precisely makes this point: Should it be redone, you wouldn’t do otherwise. So you see, no regrets to have! 🙂
There are things I would do differently, François. But we don’t have that option, and like most of the mothers I know… as oddly superstitious as it sounds, anything that seems as if it could possibly impact our children for the worse – as if we could actually go back in time and change something – well, we wouldn’t. That doesn’t mean there aren’t things I wouldn’t do differently – other choices – things I was too young (or naive) to fully understand at the time. Some are very small things. But then… would we have the lives we have now? Would our children or others we love? Would we have learned the hard lessons?
There are car accidents I would undo… but what might the change to those events have caused that could have been worse? (Tu vois le problème, bien entendu… )
This is beautiful. I was drawn to “ownership is not an imperative” and “I do not wish to sleep with blood and shadows” and ” The ones that I conjure and the ones I never mention.” Thanks for pulling me in.
Blame it on my jet-lag but I also have no other word to say but “Beautiful”–this deserves more than that and yet it is exactly that too…
You are a beautiful writer! Yes, I see a book in here! Even those of us that have been married to the same man for over 30 years secretly have those same thoughts of “what if —?” Thoughts of those we maybe left too soon, or wondering what they are doing now? So many different paths that could have been taken!
Beautiful. open and vulnerable. I think I could read this again and again. I’ve loved too many times–the wrong person, place. And, I keep those memories with me. But, I think now I’ll view them in a different light after this post.
@Walker, @Nina, @Heather, @Joy – Thank you for your good words. So glad you enjoyed.
And Walker, yes… there are memories that are bittersweet. How can you reach this stage in life without both the joys and the sorrows, sometimes intermixed? I consider myself fortunate to have loved good and interesting men. That there was no “forever” in a conventional sense does not deplete my well of wonderment.
Vous parlez si doucement quand vous parlez de l’amour.
Oh Wolf. What a delicious remark. I thank you.
That was steamy and so beautifully written.I need glass of wine now.Whew!
“…we are younger than our failings…”
You are an expert, astonishing, exquisite writer, BLW. I am in awe. And to read a blog post in which Francis Ponge appears! You are a gift. C’est tout.
Marci, you’re a sweetheart. Thank you for those most welcome words. (And you know Ponge! Délicieux!)
Your writing is just lovely!
Thank you, Haralee! Sometimes I wonder why I do this everyday… 😉
Wow! That was incredible. I was home ill a few days ago and came across your blog. I am glad I did.
I really enjoy your writings and insight. I will continue to read as your writings have both substance and emotion.
I really must say that sometimes your articles have evoked painful emotions. I do not see that as bad but rather a point to examine where I am. While I have wonderful daughters, have had incredible experiences, great friends, and I am professionally accomplished, I do not think that I will have great love again. Perhaps it is my experiences, my make up or just this is what happens when you reach a certain age.
Is it possible to be deeply and madly in love with someone new in your mid forties? So far I don’t think so, but the romantic in me hopes so.
Thank you for your gracious words, Curtis. And I’m delighted you’re reading and commenting. You’ve also just given me a new topic to explore. I thank you for that… So stay tuned.
BLW you write so beautifully. Smooth as silk. Loved your story.
Thank you, Carpool Goddess. It was a delicious cruise down memory lane… with a touch of writerly license…
Awesome write BLW. As others echoed, these words are smooth and evocative. You are a lady of such writing versatility!