Slipping Through My Fingers Part 1

I remember the day we met. I remember leaning back against a car as you came around the corner on a yellow bicycle. I remember that you had just purchased a new album. (They were albums then. Not tapes. Not CD’s. Albums.) I remember it registering with me that Jeremy’s breathing pattern changed when you rode up. It was the first time I suspected he was secretly in love with you.

Funny. I never asked him about it. I guess because I knew the question itself could pull his house of cards down like a stray gust of wind. And all these years later, even though we never talked about it, I am sure he was in love with you. There’s not even a hint of doubt.

Right after we were introduced, you asked Jeremy when the two of you were going to swap wives. I said nothing. I might have blushed. But I was… intrigued. Flattered. Okay – let’s be honest – I was game right then. I also knew Jeremy had a thing for your girlfriend, Linda. Though I always suspected that was part of his tangled passion for you.

Did you ever know he was in love with you? Did you ever even suspect? Did you know he had a thing for Linda? Is that why you brought the whole “swap” thing up? Or were you just being charming? Because, you were always that. Charming. Almost to a fault.

God, you were beautiful. Your head shaved smooth, wearing the requisite white T-shirt with the Anarchy “A” scribbled in black magic marker. Jeans and a leather jacket. Young and rebellious. Radical and wild, and you had me from hello.

You were still living in that house with Jay and Barbara. We sat in the living room, listened to that new album, had a few beers, smoked some grass.

By the time I moved to the city, you were sharing a different house with Jeremy, with Jay, with Perry, and with Matlin. I loved that house, the house we all came to call “The Hotel.” You and Linda had split up. Jeremy and I were engaged.

One Tuesday afternoon, just before Thanksgiving, you, Jeremy, and I were playing cribbage at The Hotel and I asked Jeremy to get drunk with me that night. Jeremy said he had a mid-term the next day. You said you’d get drunk with me. It was settled. We would tie one on.

Later I asked Jeremy, “Can I?”

He hesitated.

“Yeah.” He said at last.

We settled into the kitchen, where you had set out gin and tonic. I hated gin and tonic. But that night, I didn’t care. I was nervous as a cat.

“(She) was trying to keep (her) courage up by applying booze…”

Of course, we had a lot of company. No one ever drank alone at The Hotel. I remember Tom and David being there. Erica McFee. Jacob Stein. Jonathan. I think Matlin and Barbara were in for a bit. And maybe Derik and Tresia.

Probably we played cards at some point. And the gin and tonic flowed like, well, gin and tonic.

But then, finally, we were alone. We were conveniently seated close together. But suddenly, we both turned a little shy. More gin and tonic. Or maybe we didn’t bother with the tonic. We flirted cautiously at first, and then with reckless abandon. Finally you kissed me.

That night, as we made love, you kept asking me over and over again, “Will this happen again?”

And each time I said, “I can’t be the one to answer that.”

Why didn’t I just say “Yes”?

*          *          *

Around 5 a.m. I heard Jeremy in the shower. “I think I’m supposed to go home now.”

“He knows?”

“Of course.”

And when the shower stopped, I got up, dressed, and went up to Jeremy’s room upstairs.

But my heart stayed in your room with you.  A part of my heart has never left.