!!!!!*****WORKING DRAFT*****!!!!!
“Sarah?”
Howard’s familiar baritone came through clear, static-free, as if he were calling from the room next door.
“Howard? Where are you?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but after all our time together, politeness came naturally. “I haven’t heard from you in…years. How are you?”
“Actually, I’m here, in Boston. Somerville. Thought I’d take a holiday for a bit, see the old school, friends, you know?”
“So, I’m on your list? After the way we left it?”
He chuckled. “You’re the first, Sarah Jane.” He left that dangling, as if afraid to go on.
“Well, I suppose I should appreciate that, should see you.” My life was full, this January, a frenzied struggle to polish my dissertation for submission to my thesis committee and a journal. On this snowy Saturday, I decided I deserved a distraction. I gave him my address, asking him to wait two hours while I finished up my work.
By the time he showed up, I already had on my puffy coat, muffler and gloves in hand, ready to whisk him out the door to dinner. I didn’t want him in my apartment, afraid of how that might feel. “It’s such a mess in there, I wasn’t expecting anyone…”
By the end of dinner, he’d caught me up on his last year or two. He was engaged, to a Palestinian girl in the process of converting to Judaism. He was managing the finances of his kibbutz, which had become a powerhouse in the growing Israeli wine industry.
“We’re specializing in that new grape, Shiraz,” he said. “A real money-maker over here, for some reason. American Jews are enthralled with buying anything we make. Gives them a feeling they’re helping to defend the homeland, maybe?”
“I hope it’s better than that sweet stuff my parents always had,” I said with a smile.
“How is your family, anyway?”
“Mom’s still the same as always. You’d think she had a son who was a doctor, the way she talked about me the last time she was here. When she found out I have to take a board exam to start practice next summer, the first thing she asked was, ‘What’s the highest score you can get, Janie?’ But my dad – he seems to be slowing down. He’s put on a little weight, won’t stop eating all those steaks, despite what his doctor says. Even wheezes now when he goes upstairs. They had to move to a one-story place for him.”
The evening went on like that, catching-up, superficial pleasantries, a quick return to the easy camaraderie we’d always had. By the time we got back to my place, I felt safe enough to invite him in. He reached into the back seat for a box, embossed with the logo of his winery, clusters of gapes on a background of rolling fields, Sea of Galilee in the distance.
“I know you don’t really care for wine, but please, just for me, try this? It might change your mind.”
Inside, I found two dusty goblets, rinsed them off, and set them on the kitchen table. “Here. For old times’ sake?”
He lifted two bottle from the box of four, saying, “You’ll like this. I’ll leave the rest, you can give it as a present if you don’t want any more.”
Howard went overboard that evening, soaking up one bottle and half the other, while I found myself surprisingly sleepy after just two glasses. At first voluble, full of himself, by the time he was half way through that second bottle his eyes drooped, his words slurred, and he kept blinking at me, saying, “Sarah…we had…you, me…such good time together. We should have…you.”
I couldn’t let him drive home like this, I knew. I gathered up the glasses, rinsed them out, then found a clean sheet and spare pillow, draping them over the living room couch.
“Howard.” It sounded like he was snoring. “Lehrman!” I shouted. He started, weakly lifting his head and staring up, eyes at half-mast.
“Umpf?” was all he could muster.
“Come on, get up, over to the couch. You can leave in the morning.”
Acting as his rudder, I managed his shuffling walk to the sofa, where he plopped akimbo, one leg still dangling to the floor. I slipped off his shoes, not bothering to move his leg. I didn’t really want to touch him any more.
That night, I had one of those flying dreams, where I start jumping up, and up, feeling almost weightless, bounding with high arcs that seem to last forever. Each time I rose further, until the wind started to buffet me, stronger and stronger. Now falling, my legs and arms splayed out, uncontrolled, until…
I awoke, finding Howard on top of me in mid-climax. Screeching, I pushed him away, howling, “What the hell are you doing! Get out of here! Get the fuck out of here!”
“I’m sorry, sorry…” he mumbled.
“Sorry’s not the word for it – you’re pathetic! Don’t ever, don’t ever come back, or call me, never, you hear.” I scrambled up, raced into the living room, grabbed his shoes and coat, throwing them out into the hall. He stumbled after them, and I slammed the door behind him, bolting it twice and throwing the chain for good measure.
Shaking, I raced to the bathroom, washing, scrubbing, pulling out the Massengill pack, squeezing it over and over inside. My breathing came in spasmodic bursts, which led into sobs, Shaking, I covered the toilet with a towel and sat down, trying to think. “What just happened?” was all that came through my mind. I closed my eyes, and tried to remember, had I done anything, said anything, that led him to believe…? I felt embarrassed, ashamed, like it was my fault.
“That’s not fair! It’s not fair!” I shouted. Not fair, that whatever power I had built, all my self-esteem, could be ravaged, tarnished in an instant. By someone I had trusted.
I imagined calling my sister, telling her. I heard her say, “Well, your ex-boyfriend, you let him in, two bottles of wine, what did you think was going to happen?”
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