Fear and Dread of Differing Types

Sara showed up in a tight black dress after a drunken night at the beach and another long day there.  She was a knockout.  She was stunning.

I had looked forward to this with a sort of dread rooted in fear.  She'd been in Europe for two months, and then she'd gone to Costa Rica.  She'd been working there, living in the mountains and modeling in the rivers and jungles.  Now she was back in my home state.  She was coming to see me.  What could I show her that would be any fun in this little redneck town?  I was worried.

I texted her in the afternoon, and she wrote back that she was still at the beach.  She had gone over the day before for a modeling gig, had gotten drunk, called a friend, and stayed overnight.  Now she was lying around in her tiny Costa Rican bikini, she said, but would be leaving soon.  She was detouring to take a friend to an out of the way town on her way back home (an hour away from the studio), and then she would shower and come to see me.  She was passing up "some big food thing with a lot of friends," she said, to come see me.  I wrote back right away and told her that she should go to the "food thing" with her friends and should not feel bad about it at all.  I was fine with that.  We were pals.  I wanted to be something fun, not a duty or an obligation.

"I'm just fucking with you," she texted back (while driving, I'm sure).  "I'll see you at six."

I was seized with anxiety right away.  This was a commitment.  Jesus Christ.  What had I gotten myself into, I wondered.

"My god, look at you," I said as she stepped out of her car.  She was more beautiful than when she left.  I felt my extra weight, the extra years, all the drinking and working and worrying and dying in slow motion that had accumulated while she was gone.

"C'mon.  Let's go get a drink."

The last time I'd seen her, we went to a little "gastro pub" and had eaten through their "Starters" menu.  But it was the cocktail I remembered.  It was the cocktail I wanted most.

"The Steamroller: anchor junipero gin, elderfower liqueur, cherry heering, house sour, and steam beer."

It was a beginning.

I got home at a little past three and dropped into bed.  I remembered everything.  And then I was gone.

This morning is perfect, though, gray and rainy.  I feel no need to do anything.  I will go to the diner and get breakfast, then read and lie about and nap.  And of course there is dinner to prepare later for my mother.  LIfe is better this way, I think.  It is good.  I am already dreading the factory.