Unquenched (10 page)

I walked outside and looked for the car and spotted it on the
corner.  It was cold outside and I could see my breath in the air.  I was
shivering.  But then again, my body had been shaking for days.  The decision I
was making, or had been trying to make, had really taken its toll on me.  I
tried the key in the car door.  It wouldn't turn.  It was the one she had told
me to use.  I wasn't sure why but it wasn't working.  So I tried another one. 
Still no luck.  I was so uptight I had no patience.  Finally, after trying all
of them, the car door opened.  I took the bar lock off of the wheel.  The same
thing happened when I put the key in the ignition.  The key wouldn't turn.  I
tried all of them.  After ten minutes of trying I knew I needed help.  I didn't
want to bother my sister or raise unnecessary doubt.  So I asked one of the
doormen from the lobby in my building and he came back to the car with me.  He
also tried but unsuccessfully and then I had no choice.  I had to tell her. 

"Hi, it's me again.  I'm calling you from the lobby.  I can't
get the key into the ignition," I said with frustration and trepidation. 

"I can't believe you!" she said.  "I don't have
time for this right now.  Just wait downstairs, I'll be there in a minute,"
she shouted in a huff.

Our relationship allowed for such outbursts at each other, it was
strong enough and I knew it.  But hearing her shout at me when I was feeling so
unsure, made me feel only more indecisive. 

When she arrived in the lobby I handed her the keys and said,
"Here, take them, I'm not going to go.  I'll just go with Jordan." 

She looked at me with deeper frustration and said, "Let's
just get the car because I really have to go." 

We got to the car, she put the key right in and then she asked
bluntly, "Are you sure you'll be comfortable driving it, I really need to
know?"

Distressed, and filled with tension from the whole scenario, I
shook my head and said, "Yes, I'll be fine."  I drove us up to our
building, I gave her a hug and said, "Thanks again, have a great time."

When Jordan and I were both ready to go, we pulled away from 68th
St., one at a time, in our respective cars.  I turned on the heat and then the
radio trying to make myself comfortable and relaxed.  It was a long drive and
it was important that I calmed down.  It was a clear sunny day but it was cold
outside and the wind was blowing hard.  From Manhattan, we took the FDR Drive
North up to route 87 and headed north on route 95 from there.  The wind was
still blowing and I felt it in my sister's car.  The car was about ten years
old and at high speeds the car made noise and shook.  I stayed within the speed
limit which was 55mph, but preferred going about 50mph.  The car drove more
smoothly at that speed and didn't sway from the wind.  Everything about the
trip was making me nervous.  The wind.  The car.  And the reason I was driving
up there in a separate car from Jordan.  I kept having catastrophic thoughts. 
I had promised myself that if I saw Tristan, I would punish myself.  I wondered
if fate would do it for me and in a way that I would regret.  Driving my
sister's car, such a long distance, in the wind, alone, I was scared.  Every
time that I slowed down, I knew that Jordan noticed.  He was right up in front
of me and I had planned to follow him for the entire trip.  When I slowed down,
he slowed down.  But he always liked to drive fast and I knew that he was
becoming impatient.  At the rate I was driving, we were never going to get
there.  Sometimes I even slowed down to 45mph.  My nerves were shot and every
time the wind jolted the car, I reacted by slowing down.  He finally pulled up
beside me, honked, and motioned that I should pull over to the side of the
road.  So I did.  I knew that he was going to want to know what was wrong and
why I was driving so unusually slow.  We both got out of our cars and he
actually started yelling at me. 

"What is wrong with you?  You are going to cause an accident
the way you keep changing your speed.  You are not even keeping the minimum speed. 
Tell me, what is wrong?" he demanded. 

Like a child I answered, "I don't know.  The car keeps
swaying and because of that I'm not comfortable driving at such high speeds.  I
don't feel like I have total control in this car." 

I didn't feel that I did, but I also knew that those feelings were
much deeper rooted.  Jordan's car hadn't appeared affected by the wind and I
told him so. 

"Would it make you feel better if you were driving my car?"
he almost shouted at me.

"Yes, but only if you really don't mind," I whimpered.

 "Oh, I mind," he said.  "But if that is the only
way we are going to get there before next year, then I'll do it.  If you start
slowing down again, we are switching back, understood?"

So we switched cars, pulled back onto the road and I drove at
80mph and never stopped.  The car was better, the guilt was overwhelming but
the urgency inside me still prevailed.  I cried as I drove as I thought about
what I was doing.  I thought about Jordan and what I was doing to him.  He
didn't know what I was doing, but I did, and that was enough.  And then I
thought about Tristan and the reason I was doing it.  I wished I had handled it
differently but needed to see him despite it.  The tears slowed down as I
prayed to just get through the next thirty-six hours.

But it didn't get easier.  As we pulled up to Jordan's parents’ home,
I felt like a fraud.  Everything I was feeling was punishment enough.  But I
kept telling myself not to be so hard on myself.  I had always been good at
berating myself.  I knew that in some ways I had been catering to my own needs
as I held on to Jordan during my uncertainty.  But I had to be fair to myself. 
That didn't necessarily make me a selfish person.  I had thought about his
needs as well.  Even if I had really made up my mind, I was waiting for the
timing to be right.  Or more right.  The holidays were not the time to do it. 
So I was in Cape Cod, with Jordan and his parents, and I was doing it for him. 
I was trying, desperately, despite the discomfort, to accommodate both of our
needs.

We walked into his parents' house and I said hello to everyone. 
His brother and two sisters and respective spouses were all there.  The
atmosphere was festive as they had been preparing for Christmas Eve dinner that
night.  In the spirit of the holidays and as a token of appreciation for having
me, I bought his parents a book.  It was a book on cooking, country style, as I
knew that was a passion of theirs.  I had also baked a pie as a small
contribution to the dinner.  But I felt like a secret agent.  Funny as that
sounds, it was almost like having two lives.  In some ways I was totally
immersed in the life of Jordan yet had another life that was totally my own. 
His family was good.  They were different from mine in cultural ways but they
made me feel at home with them.

After we arrived and an hour had passed, Jordan seemed a little
more relaxed.  I no longer felt his anger as it seemed to be replaced with
tenderness and warmth.  His reaction to me on the drive up north was not very
typical of Jordan.  But I understood too well what lied behind his force.  He was
disappointed about my leaving early and everything that was related to it.  But
more than that, he was dreading the future and what he feared it had in store
for us.

The house itself was a spectacular sight and the view and
surroundings only enhanced it.  It was located at the end of the street which
overlooked a canal.  The canal spilled out onto the bay which you could also
see from the house.  From almost anywhere in the house you could see the canal
and the boats and docks upon it.  The house may as well have been built out of
glass with its plethora of windows and panoramic view.  It was a country home,
with Laura Ashley touches and pillows and dried flowers all around.  The
kitchen had an island that looked down on the living room and an airy feeling
about it.  There was no doubt, it was a cozy place but it didn't feel right to
enjoy it.

Jordan called me from out on the deck, "Come join me for a
few minutes, it's beautiful out here." 

The sun was still shining but beginning to set and the chill was
starting to bite.  I grabbed my jacket and went out to him and sat down on his
lap. 

"Hey there," he said.  "I'm really glad that you
came."

 "Me too," I said, as I put my arms around him. 

And strangely enough I meant it.  Jordan may have not been the one
for me but I cared about him in a way that was difficult to explain.  He handed
me a sip of wine and we both stared out at the sea.

It was almost time to get dressed for dinner.  I went into the
bedroom debating what to wear, but there was something else on my mind.  I
picked up the phone and called my own number at home.  I was calling my
answering machine.  I needed to see if there was a message from Tristan.  I
hoped and prayed that there wasn't, because if there was, that meant he
wouldn't be able to make it.  Well, based on the fact that I suggested he call
me only if he couldn't come.  And if I wasn't going to see him, then Jordan and
I drove to the Cape separately, all that way for nothing.

Jordan was in the kitchen talking to his mother and I trusted that
he would be with her long enough for me to make the call.  I heard my phone
ring.  It rang twice.  But then it clicked.  There was one message.  Let it be
from anyone but him, I thought.  The message rewound. 

"Hi, it's me," I heard Tristan say.  My heart was
pounding as I dreaded his next words.  "I got your message and I am very
pleeeased that your plans have been changed." 

The pounding in my heart eased a little.  In such a short time, I
had come to appreciate the intonations in his voice and the way that he
elongated the word "pleased" when he said it.  It put such emphasis
on what he said that his excitement became somewhat contagious. 

"Yes, of course I am still available and I really look
forward to seeing you", he added.  "I'm still in Germany and my
flight leaves early tomorrow morning, so if you need to call me for any reason,
I will be home tonight.  Otherwise, I'll take your advice and go to sleep when
I arrive in New York and I'll wait for your call to wake me up.  OK, I'll see you
tomorrow then, and I can't wait.  Bye-bye." 

I hung up the phone and relief washed over me.

Christmas Eve dinner was elegant and simple.  The table was set
nicely, the lights were low and candles lit the room.  It was a peaceful meal,
unlike those at my family functions.  Oh, don't get me wrong, I loved my family
gatherings.  They were just different from those of Jordan's.  Aside from the
holidays, which were acknowledged with respect, Jewish household meals were
never meant to be serene, tranquil or calm.  We always fought to get a word in
edgewise and completing a story was virtually impossible.  The more noise, the
better the party.  Discussions were possible but seven of them at once.  Jokes
and humor were usually the theme for a meal.  In fact, year after year, the
same stories were told.  In a way, it was tradition.  By dessert, after
everyone was pleasantly stuffed, it was usually the time to perform.  We went
around the table to each and every person, and demonstrated our bodily
talents.  This one wiggled their ears, and that one crossed their eyes, this
one folded their tongue and that one was double jointed, and then we laughed
and laughed until no one could breathe.  It was silly behavior and we knew it. 
But it became tradition.  And it was a warm and intimate setting, a place we
could all be ourselves. 

At Jordan's house we had our coffee and enjoyed philosophical talk
some more.  His family ways contrasted some of my family ways, but sharing was
something we all had in common.  If only I could feel what I wanted to feel for
Jordan, I could see myself being a part of their home.  It was natural.  But my
feelings for him just weren't.

That night Jordan and I went to bed and I knew he was feeling
particularly intimate.  Anticipating what I did the following day, my needs
were not nearly as strong. 

"I love you," he said, as he embraced me tightly. 
"Things are not always going to be easy for us, but I care about you so
much.  I hope you know that." 

My heart was breaking.  Emotions welled up inside me.  Suddenly, I
wondered if I was making a mistake.  Jordan was a real person.  Someone that
you build your dreams around.  Someone that you spend your life with.  Tristan
was a fantasy.  Someone that provided short term excitement. 

Think.  Think hard.  Make a decision and stick to it.  Feel good
about your decision and don't second guess yourself
, I
kept telling myself. 

"I really care about you too," I responded to Jordan. 

And at that moment, a wave of affection overcame me quite
forcefully, as I initiated one of the most passionate nights we ever had.

"Good morning," Jordan exclaimed cheerfully. 

"And good morning to you," I said to him as I nestled up
in his arms.  "Oh, and merry Christmas," I added. 

"Thanks," he said. 

We cuddled for a while in the morning sunlight and I tried to put
my mind at ease.  I wasn't ready to start thinking about the day ahead and the
ramifications of it all.  We put on sweat pants and went out to the living room
where his family had been awaiting our arrival.  There was a big decorated
Christmas tree with a million presents around it and wonderful holiday music in
the background.  There was no religious connotation as it was all so new for
me, but I enjoyed the festivities and the spirit.