World of Echos (3 page)

           
Lucille
got the idea that he was talking about his relationships and how he perceived
the females in them. She wondered if it were here place to speak about such
things. He had brought them up, after all, but at the same time they were still
personal. It wasn't like people forfeited their ability to expect others to be
polite to them once they said something into the air.

           
“Do
you think that deep down, when you describe 'people' that you might really be
talking about all the women that you had feelings for that might have fucked
you over a little bit?”

           
Brent
looked out across the lake in the other direction of Lucille for a long time
before answering. When he did his voice was quite but strong, sure, but smooth.
He didn't sound like someone that was trying to convince her of something. He
sounded like someone that was saying something because they thought it was
true, and not just in the sense of not being a lie, but also in the sense of it
being true in the sense of integrity of a structure, like a board running
straight and true, or the floor of a large dance hall holding true through the
tango.

           
“I
think you make a good point there,” he said. “You know, I try not to be bitter.
But it's kind of like losing home all over again, you know? I don't know how
you feel about the entire thing, exactly, but in the end I came away from it
feeling cheated. My family had built such a great life for themselves and it
was all swept away in just a few short months. Just like yours did. I know my
family was lucky not to lose any figureheads, as callused as that sounds. And
we were also very, very lucky to be able to just buy tickets to an airliner
that would get us the fuck out of there. I'm so sorry that you had to stay.
Really, you have no idea.”

           
Brent
wiped tears from his eyes as discretely as he could. Lucille hoped that
thinking and talking about this wasn't pushing things too far for him. She
didn't like the idea of Brent breaking down and crying full force on their
first time meeting. He was such a handsome man that tears just really didn't
seem to belong on his face at all anyway. As they walked and the bridge gently
sloped back toward the ground Brent slowly pulled himself back together.
Lucille could tell that it took an effort though; it wasn't just some easy
thing that he did, like flash his hand in front of his face quickly to change
his expression. He was a genuine person who was really having a hard time
dealing with all of the old images and memories that were most certainly being
churned up in him as they had been in herself. It was a hard thing to think
about it, something she knew well. But even though they were pretty obviously
into each other they both wanted to talk about what had happened. It was just
the nature of the wound, the nature of sharing loss so intimately with just one
person and not at all with anyone else.

           
As
they walked and talked about small things like traffic and the weather Lucille
couldn't get enough of Brent's handsome features. She wanted to talk to him
more, maybe so much that it would take all night. But they didn't have all
night. It was a weeknight so when they got to their cares they stopped walking
and said their goodbyes. Or tried to. It didn't go as smoothly as either of
them would have liked.

           
“Well,
I, uh. I . . .,” Brent said. “Well what I mean to say is this. I . . . I really
enjoyed myself.”
           
Lucille couldn't help but
giggle at how nervous he was being. Without hesitating she got on her tip toes
and kissed him on the cheek.

           
“Oh,
Brent,” she said. “My old friend. How good it has been to see you again. You
have no idea how much I've missed you all these years. When you left and went
to America, I didn't know what I was going to do. Really, I was so broken and
lost without you. Even though we were kids, and even though it wasn't love as
adults think of it now.”

           
He
raised one of his hands in a gesture meant to softly silence her.

           
“I
know,” he said.

           
Brent
reached out and took her hand in his own.

           
“Listen,
I want to meet again,” he said. “I have your number and we have each other's
emails, so we'll be in touch.”

           
She
nodded, knowing that he wasn't trying to snub her by ending so formally, that
he was just trying to save face so that he didn't cry again in front of her.
She watched him drive away first as she sat in the front seat of her car as
tears rolled down her face. It was such a strange thing to have the past come
back and interact with her in the present, it was almost like the past hadn't
happened at all. She knew that wasn't true, though. She knew it more than she
knew anything else in her entire life. The past was always going to be there,
set in something like concrete. It wasn't going
to
magically change or anything, even if she really wanted it to.

           
As
she started up her car and pulled out of the park she thought about how lucky
she was to be able to talk to Brent again. On her way to her house, a small
brick house in a nice neighborhood, she wondered if there would ever be
anything more to them than just mere friendship. It was hard to say. She did
know that she didn't want to rush anything, didn't want to get excited and make
any of the old mistakes that she'd made in her youth when she'd first started
seeing boys. She wanted to take things slow so that she didn't have to live
with anymore regret than she already had.

           
She
wouldn't have to wonder for long, though. In the coming days Brent would be in touch
with her.

           
Dear
Lucille,

           
I
was wondering what you would be doing this coming Friday night. I realize that
right now it's only Tuesday, so the weekend can be a ways away, but I was just
asking you because I need to be able to know when to take work off. You know
how it is with us pilot playboys, we have to talk to our
bosses
days in advance to secure even one weekend to ourselves!

           
I
hope you are doing well. You have no idea how good it was to talk to you the
other day. Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner, but I didn't want to rush
things. You are special to me, more than you know. I understand that doesn't
make sense since we are supposed to be adults that are non-nostalgic, but I
guess I'm not that way.

           
I
would like to be upfront though that I want more than just friendship. I'm not
saying that I want to go straight to the courthouse and get married—that
actually couldn't be farther from the truth. You have to understand though that
I'm just being upfront. I don't want you to think that I only want to hang out
and talk about the weather or the trees, although I'd be down to just hang out
and talk about eagles though. That was so cool when we got to watch that one
snatch a fish out of the lake! It reminded me of our youth together, when we
used to go adventuring out in the woods until deep into dusk, when my father
would get his old lantern out and walk through the woods hollering our names
into the dark. Can you believe what a hard time we gave him as children? I do
miss that man . . .

           
I
didn't tell you, but my father passed recently. The doctor said it had
something to do with scaring on his internal organs from the infection that he
got during the outbreak but was able to fight off. And I'm sorry if talking
about fathers is rough, considering, but I just thought you would want to know.
It turned out after all these years the old man would still get pulled under by
that God damned disease!

           
I'm
sorry for getting emotional. You know how it is though. You and I, we are very
alike in many ways. We both have so much tragedy we can never tell anyone about
because there is simply no way they would ever understand. Could you imagine
telling one of your middle school classes the story of what happened? None of
them would even know what to think!

           
Anyway,
I can only hope that you will join me this Friday night! And if not that night
then some other night. Just let me know. I hope you are doing well and that the
kids aren't giving you a hard time!

           
Truly
Yours,

           
Brent

           
Lucille didn't know what to say.
How could she have said anything negative about his family being able to go to
America? Now she just felt like a fool. And he'd stood there and suffered her
stupidity like a true gentleman. She'd have to make it up to him somehow, but
she wasn't sure how.

           
Brent,

           
I
would very much like to spend this Friday evening with you. Would you like to
come over to my place and hang out, though? I'm afraid that I have to be around
my place because I'll be dog sitting for the weekend and the dog that I'm
taking care of was just recently severely injured so he has to be given
medicine very frequently. Also I have to help him move around to go to the
bathroom. I guess the details don't really matter, and are kind of gross so why
share them, and maybe I should just say something along the line of “the dog is
ill” or something. LOL Anyway.

           
I
have some old VHS tapes that are a documentary about our old village and what
happened. I know that we spent pretty much the whole time last time talking
about what happened, but I think it would be cathartic for both of us if we
watched it together. Who better to watch it with? I will admit that I haven't
seen the film yet. I guess I just haven't worked up the courage to sit down and
watch it all the way through. So far I've only been able to make it through
about the first ten minutes before I just don't want to watch it anymore. But I
think if you were there it would be different. You know? Maybe if you were
there and we could hold each other's hands or something. Maybe if you could put
your arm around me while I rested my head on your shoulder. Maybe, maybe,
maybe.

           
Let
me know what you think!
           
Lucille

           
For
some reason, even though Lucille knew that he was a pilot who likely didn't really
have much time to just sit on his phone looking at his email. She reasoned that
he had probably been sitting in some gate in an airport just waiting for the
last flight to offload so they could take off. In her mind’s eye she saw him
sitting there and looking around at all the happy couples that seemed to
populate the airport in her imagination. And he wasn't at the Des Moines
International Airport in the dream, he was at the O'Hara airport. He'd just
landed a big airliner full of people during a storm. As he sat looking around
he pulled out his phone and started typing.

           
But
maybe that's not how it had been at all. Maybe he'd typed it out on his
computer before heading to the airport. That was probably why he couldn't just
type out a quick answer and shoot it back. Lucille chided herself for being
like some school girl who just couldn't wait to see the guy she liked. She
needed to calm down. She needed to stop sitting in front of her old desk top
waiting for her email to chime that someone had decided to reply to her
message. So instead of sitting by her computer she just turned the volume up
and started to clean her house in preparation for Brent's looming visit. Even
though it wasn't a for sure thing she just couldn't help but believe that he
wouldn't be able to help himself but to say yes.

           
To
insure herself of this she stopped cleaning long enough to go into the bathroom
and look at herself in the mirror. She looked good, she had to admit. Her read
hair and freckles really set off the way her busy cleavage seemed to want to
rise like two loaves of bread out of her plunging neckline. After she'd gotten
home from school that day she'd had a glass of wine and dressed in something
sexy for no reason. She often did things like this and had no idea why. She supposed
it was just because it made her feel sexy and special. There really wasn't
anything like clothing to make a girl feel special.

           
After
analyzing her appearance and agonizing over a few gray hairs Lucille went back
to cleaning. She cleaned and cleaned and cleaned until there really wasn't
anything left to clean. When she go to that point she started to circle the
large fish tank she kept on a table in her living room. Maybe he wouldn't like
the slight smell of salt water and fish in the air, she thought to herself.
Maybe she should empty all of the water, clean the tank, then put new water in
with a fresh dose of the special kind of salt water that the pet store sold,
the kind they swore would make the smell of fish not envelope her entire place.