Chapter 9
Don sat at the end of the dock and dangled his bare feet in the water. He was at Art's fishing cabin, about three hours out of Los Angeles. He hadn't wanted his Dad to ask Art if he could borrow it at first, but he had to admit the seclusion was nice. There were other cabins dotted along the shore, so there was some activity on the lake. Occasionally, a boat would pass closely enough to the dock to send waves lapping around his ankles, or ripples tickling at his toes. For the most part, it was silent, save for the sounds of nature.
Don leaned back on his hands, and tilted his face to the sun. He closed his eyes…
Don's Memory
He admired himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door.
The uniform was clean, cool, crisp, and he stretched the team logo proudly over his chest.
This was the life. He was young, in love, and playing ball for a living. Could it get any better? So what if the genius and his parents were off in Spain for the entire summer? He had all he needed right here. A brand-new, ink-still-wet, college degree — for back-up, when he retired from baseball. An even newer, ink-even-wetter, marriage license. Anna was great. Good-looking, great bod, smart — and ready to give up her own career to follow him around the league. He'd make it up to her, once he got to the majors.
He heard the front door open — in the tiny, four-room apartment, it was always only a few feet away — and opened the bedroom door in time to see Anna place a bag of groceries on the kitchenette counter. She had slammed the front door with her foot as she entered, so there must not be more groceries she needed help with. (Who was he kidding? Until he got bumped up to the majors, two bags of macaroni and cheese box dinners was not likely to happen.) She set her purse and keys down next to the groceries, looked up and smiled at him.
"You got your uniform!"
He'd been part of the team now for almost two weeks, but he had joined them late in the season. His dad had talked him into finishing college first. By the time he had arrived, the uniform budget was gone, and it took the coaching staff a few days to convince the head honchos to pony up for one more. Then, it had to be ordered. So Don had continued to practice with the team in his old college uniform, and warmed the bench in street clothes during the games. This morning, it had finally arrived. He would be able to warm the bench in style, tonight — maybe even see some playing time!
Anna joined him in the bedroom and walked a circle appreciatively around him, looked him over. "I love a man in uniform. Especially a baseball uniform. I'm going to the library some day to look it up — I'm sure they were designed by a woman."
Don laughed. "Whaddya mean?"
She waved her arms at him as if she were one of Bob Barker's girls on "The Price Is Right". "Isn't it obvious? The accentuated butt, the tapered thighs, the paralyzing pecs…the pulverizing package!"
He blushed furiously. "Anna!"
She grinned. "I'm a married woman. I can peruse my husband's package if I want."
Don laughed and quickly used his toes to pull the shoe off each opposite foot. She saw the action and raised an eyebrow, took a step closer. "Why are you taking your cleats off?"
He grabbed her shoulders and moved her the 17 inches it took to get to the bed, then pushed her gently onto it backwards. "I didn't want to hurt you," he growled, and then he joined her.
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Charlie sat on the old couch that had been relegated to the garage, and stared at the chalk board in front of him. So far he had not repeated last Thursday's embarrassing incident in Math 418, when he made the mistake in the equation…but he was still carefully double-checking himself, just the same.
He had gone to the garage to work on cognitive emergence. He hadn't been dedicating enough time to that in recent months. Plus, it was distracting. Then there was the added bonus of the possibility of falling asleep out here. He and Anna had only been together in his bedroom that one time, last week…but in his mind, the bed still smelled of her, and her laugh — and other noises — still echoed off the walls. It was difficult for him to sleep, in there. A couple of times he had really fallen asleep out here. The rest of the time, he would go to his room and sit quietly at the desk until he heard his father's door close. Then he would wait a few more minutes before stealing back down the stairs and curling up on the couch. He was always up before his father in the mornings, now — and that alone was probably enough of a clue for Alan to figure out the rest — but Charlie was doing the best he could.
Charlie leaned his head back against the couch cushions, sighed, and closed his eyes…
Charlie's Memory
They had been dating a few months before he made three simultaneous, related discoveries.
One was that he had long ago stopped doing many of the things he loved. He enjoyed the symphony, and attending plays by great writers like Chekov, Shaw, Shakespeare. He had been brought to tears, laughter, sadness and joy merely by sitting and experiencing dance, performed by gifted artists and athletes. A perfect evening could be had at a subtitled foreign film in a small arthouse theater; a rousing coffeehouse dissection of the film after it was over; and finding a decent jazz combo in an unknown venue around midnight, where people played not for profit but because the music consumed them; and others listened because they believed that to not listen, would be to diminish their very souls.
Somewhere along the way, he had let these things go, and begun to concentrate instead on the less eclectic things he enjoyed. He had found it infinitely easier to find partners and friends who wanted to go hiking, or play golf, or attend a popular movie, or go to dinner…and he wasn't sure how, or when, it happened, but he had stopped all the other activities himself.
When he and Anna had been dating a few months, and had pretty much covered the traditional date pastimes, the second and third discoveries he made were how much he had missed those things; and how incredible it was when you met someone who shared your interests.
He and Amita had been unable to connect over anything except math. Anna could listen to him obsess about his work, and provide effective advice and feedback, but she could also argue that 'superfluous man' was a recurring theme in Anton Chekov's plays, and recognize a Coleman Hawkins sax arrangement when she heard one.
Anna was beautiful to the point of stunning, fun to be with and around, interesting…Charlie tried harder to pull himself out of his world and be interesting himself, when he was with her.
Anna was perfect.
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The ocean breeze was significant, so Anna walked until she found a natural windbreak, of sorts. It probably wasn't really natural. Someone had come before her, and arranged the large pieces of driftwood this way, in an "L" shape, the connecting corner at such an angle that one could be protected from the worst of the wind, and yet continue to watch the waves. Still, she was grateful for it, and she spread one of the blankets she carried with her and then dropped to the sand. She scooted back into the "L" and wrapped the other blanket around her.
Because of her daily appointments with Dr. Schwartz, she was unable to travel very far from the city. These afternoons on the beach, just an hour away, had become as much a ritual — and as important to her mental and emotional health — as her meetings with the doctor.
She stared intently at the waves. Sunlight glistened harshly enough off the water to hurt her eyes, but she didn't want to put on her sunglasses and distort the view. Instead, Anna closed her eyes…
Anna's Memory
The first time she had cooked dinner for Don had nearly been the last.
She had noticed him her freshman year of college, found out he was on the baseball team and went to all the games that spring. Nothing came of it, much to her chagrin, until the next September, when they met accidentally outside the Music Building. She had been with her new roommate, Stacy, who knew Don well enough to stop and say 'Hi'. Stacy had introduced them, and before the chance meeting was over they had a date for that evening. Don was nothing if not a fast, efficient worker.
By December, they were a campus item, but they both had their reasons for not wanting to let their families in on it. Before school dismissed for the month-long Christmas/New Year's break, Anna went to Don's off-campus apartment to make him dinner. His roommates, both also ball players, had already left for their homes, like most students; Don and Anna had decided to wait until the next day, so that they could have their Christmas celebration together in privacy first.
She had considered all sorts of impressive entrees, but decided upon a simple tuna noodle casserole. For one thing, it was easy. She had made it several times in the past, and was fairly comfortable with its success rate. For another, her parents kept her on a pretty strict allowance while she was away at school, and the less she spent on dinner, the more she could eek out for Don's Christmas present.
It was an unfortunate turn of events that the oven in Don's tiny apartment burned hot. By the time Anna checked on the casserole, almost 20 minutes before it was supposed to be finished, it was thoroughly burned and fused to the side of the glass dish, almost a full inch, all the way around. Anna had started to cry, but Don had insisted it was fine; he even claimed he preferred his noodles 'well-done'. He had eaten from the less-burned inner portion out, and had managed two generous helpings, complimenting her almost ceaselessly.
It was then, even before they had gone into his bedroom and made love for the first time — it was then, in the kitchen, over burned tuna and noodles, that she had known she loved him.
Anna's Other Memory
On their fifth date, it was Anna's turn to plan the evening. So far, they had each genuinely enjoyed whatever the other had come up with, so even though it was a little strange to have a picnic on the lawn of the main library at UCLA, and definitely cheap to then attend the fall concert put on by the school orchestra, she suggested it anyway. Charlie claimed to be delighted with those plans.
Although she would never admit it to him, Anna had taken a half-day, and had spent the entire afternoon getting ready for this 'casual' encounter. She had traveled to a Greek deli she knew about on the other side of L.A., and she had paid them an embarrassing amount of money to design and pack the perfect picnic. She had even thrown in a bottle of Oozo as a joke. Charlie had gamely choked down a capful — literally. She was afraid for a moment that he would either pass out or throw up on the lawn beside the library. He had switched to wine after that, and she was glad she had spent the extra money and time finding a really good one, recommended by the lady at the deli; even though it took her four more stops to find someone who had a bottle. Then, she had gone to the salon and gotten her hair trimmed, even though it wasn't time for a cut, yet. She wanted it to be the perfect length. Back home, as she showered, she marveled at all the trouble she was going to. She couldn't remember putting this much effort into a date before.
It had been worth it. Between the spanakopita and hummus, Charlie had explained the cognitive emergence theory, and thoroughly entertained her with a story about his father and brother, and the one time Charlie had talked them into attending a ballet with him, for his birthday. His father had been so embarrassed by the tights that he squeezed his eyes shut and refused to look whenever a male dancer took the stage, and his brother had not just fallen asleep, but had a very loud dream. While Charlie had managed to abate the snoring with a well-placed elbow once or twice, he had been completely unprepared for his brother's sudden jerk into awakening, complete with a shout of "Freeze! FBI! Hands against the wall, feet out, and spread 'em!"
It was later, at the concert, when she saw Charlie crying during the orchestra's moving rendition of "An American Ellegy" — it was then that she had known that she loved him.
