Sometimes

They never should have been there. Her face nestled in the warmth of his neck, the smell of passion, of adoration. Her business was not with him, and yet at that moment, she couldn’t remember, for the life of her, what her business was. She conveniently pushed away thoughts of soiled laundry, to-do lists that seemed to regenerate despite her endless efforts at demolishing them, screaming kids, cold dinners, absent friends. For just this sliver of time, the world was nurturing, forgiving, and kind. It was a harmless mystery that begged to be explored and answered.

And he had explored her. Every inch of her. He had held her conflicted body in his arms and convinced her that she was amazing. He had seen her flaws, seen her from angles that had revolted her for years. He had seen her scars, her imperfections, her shame, and had gently caressed them, kissed them, honored them. She, after a lifetime of pain, felt whole. He accepted her for who she was, but it was sorrow that pulsated through her. For more years than her memory allowed her to recall, she had hated every ounce of her body, her mind, even her purpose.

Their meeting had been by chance. Their connection signified her bottomless need for approval. She had never considered herself a desperate person or weak by nature, but it is funny what life can do to an eager participant. Somewhere between childhood and motherhood, she had lost herself. She found herself grieving the loss of a carefree existence, of blissful ignorance, of invincibility. And slowly, but surely, she handed over these beauties of life in return for security, yet, ironically, was left empty-handed. So when they stumbled through their awkward small talk, their exchange of niceties, she had found herself relishing his words. One brief, painful, clumsy conversation over some irrelevant home improvement task that she had taken on became a source of revival for her, and she began to hope that they would meet again. She even practiced what clever comments and jokes she might make at that next meeting, and in her mind, it was a charming representation of what she had to offer. An interesting conversation, deep insights into the happenings in the world, a sense of humor, a different take on things. How she had hoped to show these things off yet had found that those currently in her life had forgotten her gifts. That there was no one there to listen. No one there to smile. To laugh. To be intrigued.

He may have been turned off to have known the extent of her deliberation over their first encounter. Probably would have pegged her as desperate. Maybe psychotic? But he had no way of knowing how many times she had replayed the conversation or how she had revised it, improved upon it, even made the necessary changes to have created something flawless. He took it at face value. A polite, unusually childlike young woman who radiated warmth. He really just thought she was cute. Maybe a good lay. Things in his life had been complicated as of late, and there was no conflict in seeking out a little comfort. He couldn’t even remember what they had said. He hadn’t noticed how, nervously, she adjusted her hair, or the fact that she had briefly stumbled over her words. He never would have imagined how she had strained at each utterance, in hopes that she hadn’t sounded like a fool. Yes, he was drawn to her like hummingbirds to sugary syrup when she mumbled her first word, but it was not as much due to a need for love as it was a need for relief.

But she, unintentionally, upped her chances at a second sighting by diving into more home improvements than she had engaged in throughout her lifetime. She found that she needed nails, sandpaper, glue guns, almost on a daily basis. And her unintentional efforts paid off long before her fantasies had subsided. There he was. In an aisle full of items that couldn’t have been further from her interests, looking very inquisitively at some product that was sure to improve his world.

He was the portrait of beauty. His small frame was cloaked in fashionably rugged, loose-fitting jeans that, in the most modest way, accentuated his curves. A beloved white t-shirt, evident by the traces of wear around his neck, was relaxed, and yet, exhilarating to an admirer’s sinning eyes. Her heart sent out a painful warning, threatening to cease all oxygen flow, as she considered engaging in more than the appropriate “hello.” But he relieved her of the menacing heart failure by smiling and approaching.

This particular exchange was equally as impertinent and yet she found her desire and needs seeping out through her pores. Her smile and jittery glances all serving as a message to him that he only needed propose something. He only needed say, “Come with me,” and she would have been heading out the front door, unwanted home improvement products left behind without a thought, and walking into the bright, revealing sunlight with him hand-in-hand. She didn’t even know his name, but it was an unnecessary use of time and effort at this point. She knew marriage was not in their future, nor even friendship, and that the less she knew of him, the easier he would be to forget.

It didn’t exactly play out in such simple terms, but after a bit more elaborated effort on both of their parts, riddled with secret phone calls, stiff lunches, and tedious walks in the park, there they were. And she knew she had no business being there, yet, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what her business was.

The hotel room was questionable. The drapes were illuminated by the demanding sun that hung high in the sky. The yellowing color of them only reminded her of the reality of her act, as if no heavenly activity could occur in a location of this stature.

There were no words to be shared between the two of them since they both understood the limits on their relationship. Like patrons at the same rest stop on the same highway, but they understood they were headed in opposite directions. So they spared each other the effort and only held one another.

“There are no happy endings,” her voice offered, crisp as fall, up through the silence of the room. She touched his hair, considered its meaning to her fingertips, and then slowly, deliberately, parted their bodies. And it was his hair, and where it met with the browned skin on his forehead, that was the last thing her knowing eyes took in before she moved gracefully through the door. The smile that crept across her face was not generated out of happiness, nor had the previous sadness that had engulfed her influenced its presence. It was merely the reality of it all.