Another Hope For Morning Ch. 1 & 2

Another Hope For Morning

By: Alexandria Ryan
?2005

CH. 1
October 2003

          I love this view of Dupont Circle, the view I have from my fourth story apartment standing on the small steel balcony, while I drink my morning coffee black and bitter. I’m standing outside watching the sun come up over the tall buildings that surround me, it is so beautiful how the golden rays of the sun pass through the gaps between the buildings, how the rays reflect off all the glass windows and then somehow reach me.

          It’s an old apartment building, built in the 1940s or 1950s, complete with its hard wood everything and ceramic countertops. It is so hard to believe this old place hasn’t rotted away yet. With my keen sense of décor, I’ve been able to bring back the classic look this two-bedroom relic once possessed: ivory white walls, black furniture, black and white photographs of ball players and actors long since dead hanging from the walls. I have a very old fridge; you know the one that weighs a ton and has a handle you have to lift up on in order to open it, a traditional icebox.

          You will not find a TV in my section of the apartment. Besides not having much time to watch TV, there really isn’t anything of quality on these days. For the last few years the TV waves have been flooded with so called reality shows, it’s a bunch of junk if you ask me. However, to my chagrin, a small color TV can be found in the second bedroom. Jordan is convinced she can’t function without one, though I keep telling her that she can watch movies and get just about any other form of entertainment she might want from her computer or from a good book. Jordan is stuck in her ways though and will not get rid of the damn thing. I prefer to listen to music to help me to relax, she needs ESPN and CNN in order to go to bed, she’s like a child with a night light, it has to be on for her to fall asleep.

          My space has that grandma’s house smell. I guess it just smells aged. During the day it’s pretty quiet around here. But at night, when the traffic builds up, the noise of cars and music from the bars below on the street level seems to last until the sun comes up; but I wouldn’t have it any other way. This old place is drafty. During the winter months you can really feel it. Even with both the furnaces on full blast, you can feel the cold air coming in from under the small gaps in the window seals. It’s dawning on fall now, so most of the time I just leave the windows open and let the breeze blow through the apartment.

          Jordan should be waking up soon. Any moment, I’ll be startled by her clock radio going off at volumes by which the deafest deaf person could hear. Yet it will be barely enough to wake her from her deep sleep.

          Jordan and I have been together for about nine years now give or take a month break up here and there and the year we spent together but weren’t really together. Though I am not exactly certain how we’ve managed to last this long, especially over the past year and a half. We met during my studies as an undergraduate in Texas. I almost didn’t notice her when we were first introduced at a friend’s party. She seemed like the artsy fartsy type and always politically correct, more like my ex girlfriend than anyone else I knew, nothing like myself. I like to keep things simple, always have despite what other people might think. I had a strange feeling at the time that my friend was trying to set us up. I had about as much interest in that idea as I had in Jordan’s rambling on and on about the contrast of colors found in the painting that was hanging from my friend’s breezeway wall.

          “Have you ever noticed how some artists seem to force the contrast of colors in their paintings,” Jordan said as if she thought I was somehow paying any attention to her.

          “Hum,” I said taking the last sip of my wine.

          “The colors in the painting, the woman is so dull, but dull doesn’t give her justice. In contrast the sky behind her is such a bright blue and vibrant, the viewers almost has to force themselves to focus on the woman. It’s truly amazing really, the symbolism that is.” I was starting to wonder if she would ever stop for air.

          My ears were ringing and I felt this uncontrollable urge to refill my wine glass, but something had to be said first. I think my exact words to her were, “you don’t say, well that’s very interesting,” as I rolled my eyes in utter disgust, and then excused myself to go and refill my glass of wine. I almost never drink, I guess I never really acquired a taste for alcohol; a good thing I suppose, it was a great way to save money as a college student.

          At the time of my friend's party, I wasn’t interested in meeting anyone new. For the past six months or so, I had been licking the wounds inflicted by my previous girlfriend, and at that point, was still of the opinion that all women were evil. I think a small portion of me still feels this way. I had spent almost two and a half years attempting to build a decent and long lasting relationship with a woman who truly did not want one. This became painfully obvious to me the day my suspicions were confirmed that she had been seeing another woman for about the last two months we were together. We soon broke up, and spent several months without talking. So, at the end of the night, when Jordan casually walked up to me and asked nonchalantly if I might like to get together for dinner sometime, I almost said no. For some unknown reason, my answer was yes.

          I guess that is how it all started. The next Friday night, she picked me up at the apartment I was living in at the time, and we had dinner at this little hole in the wall Mexican restaurant, down by the river. The food wasn’t anything to write home about, it was a bit bland and a little over cooked, but as Jordan and I talked more, I felt increasingly like I had known her all my life.

          Even with this strange sense of familiarity, I wasn’t ready to be with anyone new. Therefore, I kept the conversation light and on simple topics.

          “So, how do you know Jason,” I asked as I unwrapped the silverware and placed the napkin on my lap.

          “He and I have taken several classes together.”

          “Oh yeah, which ones?”

          “Well first year poly sci, we also took Dr. Henson’s advanced debate class and a few others. What about you?”

          “Ah, we met in Austin a few years back, been friends ever since. So what do you want to do after college,” I asked.

          “I’m hopping to go to law school, but at this point I have no idea where I want to go.”

          “So would you consider yourself pre-law or is it just something you would like to do?”

          “No defiantly pre-law. What are you studying?”

          “American history.”

          “So you want to teach?”

          “Yeah, I think so.”

          “That’s great, I think you would make a fine high school history teacher,” she was messing with me and the smile on her face gave her away.

          I was concerned that things might spin out of control between us. That is what happened with my last girlfriend, we hardly knew each other, but you bet your ass we were sleeping together. That’s how things go in the world of the lesbians. You go on one date, sleep together once, then you move in with each other. You spend a year or so together, break up because you no longer get along, and can’t figure out why; then you become best friends, and end up going on double dates together, it‘s horrific. So, for obvious reasons, I didn’t do a whole lot of opening up that night. I didn’t want to fall victim to the lesbian cliché again. Besides that, I was still in love with my ex, though I would never admit this, and I did not tell Jordan this important fact that night.

          At dinners end, Jordan and I decided that the night was still young and instead of taking me home, a walk would be nice. We were actually getting along quite well, and so far she intrigued me. Surprisingly enough, she wasn’t near as pretentious as I first suspected when we met at Jason’s party.

          Jordan and I walked up and down that lonely and deserted river for the next two hours disturbing the ducks and geese as we walked, just talking about ourselves. The sound of the slow flowing water was peaceful and conducive to conversation.

          “So tell me more about yourself, Jordan,” I asked as I bent over and picked up a small stone to throw into the water.

          “What’s there to tell?”

          “Well there has to be more to you than college and law school hopes,” I said casting the small stone in my hand out into the middle of the river.

         “Well, I grew up in Vermont.”

          “Ah, beautiful place.”
She stopped walking and turned towards me seeming to get excited, “have you been there,” she asked.

          “No, but I hear it’s a beautiful place.”

          “Sass! I like that in a person.”

          “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I smiled at her as we continued walking, “tell me about your family.”

          “Ah family.”

          “Sore subject?”

          “No, not at all. My mom is a corporate lawyer and my father is a CEO.”

          “Wow, now I know where you get your love of art.”

          “Stop it.” She said giving me a gentle push.

          “What? How in the world did you find art with a lawyer mom and a CEO dad?”

          “I’m an only child. So during high school I spent my free time at galleries and museums. My parents worked a lot and weren’t home much when I was a kid, so I found things to do that I liked.”

          “Man, whatever happened to Barbie and GI Joe to entertain a kid?”

          “You’re just full of sarcasm aren’t you?”

          “Not really.”

          “So what about you? What’s your family like?”

          “Ah, well I’m the second child of three.”

          “So you’re the middle child, figures,” she said sharply.

          “Middle child sounds so harsh.”

          “Middle child Sam, say it, I’m a middle child.”

          “Ok, I’m a middle child.”

          “Feel better?”

          “Sure.”

          “Ok, go on.”

          “Well my mom is twice divorced. I have an older brother and a younger sister.”

          “What’s it like having siblings?”

          “What do you mean?”

          “I mean, what is it like having a brother and sister? It’s not a trick question.”

          “From the middle child’s perspective, it sucks.”

          “Is that a technical term?”

          “No, the technical definition would be it was like getting your hand slammed in a car door.”

          “That bad?”

          “It was, but not so much anymore. My sister and I are very close, my brother and I actually talk now, but my mother and I are like best friends. I have an incredibly close-knit family, we always have been, but my mother and I are the closest of the bunch.”

          There is nothing more important to me than my family. I don’t know what I would do without them. However, I do at times find it difficult living so far away from home, but I get back to them and Texas every chance I get these days.
Family isn’t nearly as important to Jordan as it is for me. Growing up an only child, with parents who worked far too much, and had very little time to spend with her, family simply didn’t make the impression on her that it sometimes makes on others, such as myself. I guess they tried to make up for their lack of a parental relationship by buying her anything and everything she wanted. As a token of their love for her, they sent her to Europe for two months in between her first and second year of college, just to travel around. She has gone back to Europe about half a dozen times since we became involved.

          As we walked, Jordan and I talked about politics and how we felt the upcoming Senatorial elections would turn out. It was painfully obvious to me at the time that Jordan was a democrat, so I tried my best not to reveal the fact that I was not. We talked about how it was I had stayed in Texas for so long if I truly hated the state so much, and how it was she had found her way down to Texas from Vermont. I couldn’t understand why anyone from such a beautiful state would want to move to a hot, sticky, and sometimes very ugly state like Texas, especially central Texas.

          I stopped next to a very tall, round and full old oak tree and stared off towards the bank of the river. “So why Texas,” I asked as I gazed off towards the water.

          “What do you mean,” she questioned stopping beside me brushing the short hair on the back of my neck with her fingers. Chills traveled over my entire body as I tried to compose myself.

          “I mean why did you decided to move to Austin for school?”

          “Good question,” she said placing her hands into the pockets of her blue jeans. It was beginning to become a little chilly outside as the breeze picked up along side the shallow banks of the river.

          “There are hundreds of better schools than this one. What in the world made you leave New England?”

          “You mean besides the snow that falls up to your ass and the bone chilling cold that comes with it?”

          “Yeah besides all that.”

          “Well, as I’ve said, in not so many words, my parents are snobs, elitists to an extent. They hate the south and all of its southern traditions and trailer parks with obese women describing how ‘the tornado fell out the sky and flung my single-wide way over yonder.’ They think the south is full of backwoods hillbillies who can’t hardly speak the English language let alone read or write their own name.”

          “Well I don’t like our accounts of tornados either,” I said holding back a laugh.

          “I moved here to piss off the parents. I needed to get away, and I knew they would never set foot down here unless I graduate and even that one is questionable.”

          “So you moved to escape your parents?”

          “Pretty much. Texas just seemed like the perfect place, Republicans and all.”

          “Damn Republicans. But you know Clinton is from the south. Have your parents forgotten that?”

          “Are you kidding? My parents didn’t vote for him, they love Reagan and Bush. They would have loved to have seen Bush do another four years.”

          “I don’t blame you for running, I would have run too, but not to the south.” We continued walking until it became too cold to stand the outside any longer, and then we returned to Jordan’s car.

          She drove me home, it was a short drive, and only lasted about ten minutes, but that night, it seemed to last an hour. As I sat in her car trying not to show my discomfort, the words finally came to me, “I had a nice time, we should do it again.” She agreed and said she would call me when her schedule lightened up. Little did she know at the time how much more difficult it would be for her to see me again.

          Jordan made her interest in me very clear, but I fought allowing myself to spend too much time with her with all my might. I found ways to avoid being alone with her. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed her company and I absolutely loved talking with her, she was and still is very intelligent and extremely funny. There wasn’t anything not to like about her. I just didn’t want to find myself back in another relationship. At that point in myself I didn’t do relationships; women were people to have as friends and sleep with, they weren’t girlfriends.

          Jordan and I dated extremely casually after our first dinner. I wasn’t in a state to be seeing anyone exclusively. So, the last thing I was going to do to myself was jump into something new with someone I still barely knew.
I saw other people during this time, and tried desperately to forget my ex-girl friend, Chris. But she always seemed to be just around a corner in my brain, and every time I thought I was over her, something made me remember our two and a half years together, then it all came flooding back again. I knew in the back of my mind that Chris would never come back to me, so I forced myself to move on, as much as I didn’t want to. I think that’s one reason I finally allowed myself to settle down with Jordan.

          After a year of pursuit by Jordan, I finally gave in to her. We drove up to Austin to see an opera, the title of which I cannot recall, nevertheless, enjoyed very much; however, my mind was not on the opera or Jordan. Before the opera, we had dinner at a local bar and grill. I hadn’t been there in almost two years, and it was the last place I expected to see my ex.

          Jordan and I stood outside the small quaint restaurant dressed to the nines, both in black pant suits, sweating our asses off, the only difference in our dress was, she wore a light blue shirt and I wore white. We were waiting for our table when Chris and another woman, whose name I didn’t care to remember at the time, came walking up.

          “Sam is that you,” her voice was crisp and clear in my ears my heart sank immediately. The sinking feeling I felt wash over me when I saw her, is a feeling I can barely put words to. It was like someone had punched me in the gut. I stood there, with Jordan’s hand holding me up as, I tried to catch my breath and tried desperately not to fall to the steaming asphalt beneath my weakening knees, that were on the verge of buckling at any moment. I turned around to see Chris walking up to me accompanied by a short blonde woman wearing glasses.

          “Chris, how are you,” I asked trying to conceal the shock I was experiencing.

          “I’m good, you,” She replied looking at me then back to Jordan and then back over to me.

          “I’m well. Long time.”

          “Yes it has been.” Chris began to introduce her date to me but all I heard was, “Sam this is Blaa Blaa. Blaa Blaa, this is Sam.”

          “Nice to meet you. This is my girlfriend Jordan.” The words barley escaped my mouth. Chris shook Jordan’s hand and then gave the obligatory introduction between Chris’s date Blaa Blaa and Jordan.

          Chris and I hadn’t talked in almost a year, as I’ve mentioned, things ended badly between the two of us, and I felt at the time, that it would be best if we simply stopped talking. I was certain that she had moved from the city by then. Chris never really wanted to be in Texas in the first place, but she planed on staying just long enough to finish her Ph.D. The four of us made small talk, while we stood outside as we waited for our tables were, that was the most awkward ten minutes of my life, to that point.

          Jordan and I sat at our small table near one of the restaurant’s many windows discussing school and family and life when Jordan motioned with her eyes that someone was walking up behind me. Chris approached our table while her date Blaa Blaa waited impatiently at the door.

          “Hey I just wanted to say it was nice seeing you again,” she said handing me a small folded piece of paper.

          “Oh, are you leaving,” I asked.

          “Yeah, we just came out for drinks, I have a thing tonight,” she said rolling her eyes, “but anyway, it was good to meet you Jordan. You two have a good night.” Jordan didn’t even have a chance to respond before Chris had walked away from our table and left the restaurant with her date, who looked none too pleased that Chris had come over to say good-bye.

          I sat there as Chris walked away just looking at the note she had left me.

          “So that was the notorious Chris,” Jordan asked as she took a sip of her wine.

          “Hum? Oh yes, that was Chris,” I answered collecting myself as much as possible.

         “So what does the note say, if you don’t mind me asking?”

          “I don’t know. I haven’t read it,” I said taking a small bite of my pork chop.

          “Well I see that! Are you going to read it?” I shook my head from side to side quickly, “no, I’m not. I don’t care what it says.”

          Later that night during the opera I took the note out of the inside pocket of my coat and quickly read it.
[e-mail]
[phone]
Anytime you want to call
Was written in Chris’s barely legible handwriting. I folded the note back up and placed it back in my coat pocket as Jordan looked over at me. I patted her leg reassuring her that it was nothing and settled myself into my seat for the rest of the opera. I am certain Jordan knew something was going on, but she didn’t say anything, she never did. I always thought that someday when the time was right, I would call or write Chris, I never did and I still have the note she wrote to me that night.

CH. 2

          I had another two years at the University before I would finish my degree. I’m still amazed that Jordan stayed with me through those dreadful years. During that time, I was increasingly depressed and self-absorbed. I was unfaithful, intentionally hurtful to Jordan, and was never a sure thing when it came to stability. I must have broken up with her no less than five times during our first year together. The relationship was a mess and so was I. I convinced myself that committing to Jordan meant that I was settling for less than what I truly wanted, needed, and was looking for in a relationship and in a partner. At the time, what I wanted, I couldn’t have. What I wanted was Chris. Jordan must have really seen something wonderful in me to stay with me during that period of my life.

          Jordan graduated a year ahead of me and chose to stay in Texas with me during my final year of undergraduate hell, in lieu of returning back east to begin Law School. She was in love with me, though I’m not sure I was in love with her yet. What I mean to say is, I loved her, but I was not in love with her. I think that’s what made me finally wake up and realize what a great thing I had going on with her. That year, I worked on myself, with my feelings surrounding my ex-girl friend, and the real reason I would not commit to Jordan. I started going to counseling and I really learned some things about myself that I didn’t know, or I didn’t want to know. After about six months of individual and couples counseling, I finally reached a place where I was comfortable with myself and with Jordan.

          That year was the most difficult of our past nine or so years, notwithstanding recent events. Jordan should have been awarded the Girl Friend of the Year Award for the shit she had to put up with from me. But as she says, “it was worth the effort, I was worth the effort.” Seven years later, I still don’t know how she did it, or really for what reason. It wasn’t like Jordan couldn’t have found someone better than me, Jordan is fucking gorgeous, always has been. At five feet, eight inches tall, with curves in all the right places, never a blemish, or a wrinkle to be found on her face and weighing a constant one hundred and forty pounds, she turns heads wherever she goes. I am damn lucky to still have her. I guess it’s my wonderful personality that has kept her interested all these years, because truth be told, I’m nothing special to look at, especially these days. Normal and short, that’s what I say I am, five feet five inches tall, one hundred thirty pounds, graying hair that I have to cover up every six to eight weeks, with a concoction that smells like a mix between sulfur and peroxide, basically it is enough to make you gag. I am the epitome of a true college professor. My god I am a lucky woman to have been able to keep Jordan for this long.

          After I graduated from college, Jordan and I moved to the interior of Massachusetts where I attended graduate school and she attended Law School, both of us at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Again, Jordan would finish her education before me, and again she put her life and career on hold in order to stay with me. I struggled my first year of grad school. My grades weren’t up to par and honestly I was home sick and I longed for Texas and its warmer weather.

          The first three years in Massachusetts were hell. It was a different realm of hell than we experienced back in Texas, but just the same it was hell. I must have brought along the luck I inherited from my family, when Jordan and I moved to Massachusetts. Those first three years, everything that could go wrong went wrong. I’m convinced that during that time, if I hadn’t had bad luck, I wouldn’t have had any luck at all. I’m not what you might call the sickly type. It takes a lot to keep me down, but in Massachusetts, it was one illness after another for me. If I wasn’t battling the flu, I was getting beat down by bronchitis or even worse phenomena. During my fourth semester at Amherst, my appendix ruptured and I was rushed to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy. I spent four days in the hospital. By the time I was released, I had come down with the flu again. Jordan brought me back in to the ER the next day with a fever of over one hundred. This time I would spend an additional week trying to fight off infection, fever, the flu and doctors and nurses who wanted to poke me with this and prod me with that every chance they got. That semester really sucked to put it lightly.

          The next fall, Jordan's mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer. That was a hit from out of the blue. There was no history of cancer in Jordan's family until her mother was diagnosed. We learned of the cancer in September, and Nancy passed away in November. Jordan spent almost the entire month of October back home in Vermont, in order to be near to her mom. Can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the exact same thing had the roles been reversed; it is unfortunate thought that it takes a serious illness to bring a family close.

          I flew to Vermont for the funeral in mid-November, and afterwards drove back to Massachusetts with Jordan. I tried to be there for her the best I knew how, but I couldn’t imagine losing my mother to such an illness or so suddenly. So it was difficult for me to understand her grief. But it was the best I knew how to be.
Except during her mother’s illness, Jordan and I hardly spoke for almost three years. We both were too busy with school to talk about much of anything. When we weren’t at class and when I wasn’t teaching, we were too exhausted to do anything besides just sleep. So that was our interaction for the better part of three years.

          After the first three years, and after Jordan graduated from law school, things started to slow down for the two of us just a little. Jordan and I were finally able to enjoy each other’s company. I continued to student-teach lower level undergraduate classes, but by that point I had finished just about all my classes and exams and had begun work on my dissertation. Jordan and I both had a little more free time on our hands, and were able to remind each other why we were together. I had about one more year at Amherst before I would finish my dissertation and receive my Ph.D. in American history, then it was just a matter of where I would be offered a professor’s position, and if Jordan would move there with me. I never expected Jordan to follow me around the country as I acquired my education and I certainly had no expectation of her tagging along to where ever the hell I would end up teaching. I know some people who expected these things, but for me the thought never crossed my mind. I always assumed that if she didn’t want to move with me, she wouldn’t, and why not? Why should I expect her to? It wasn’t like we were married or anything.

          By the start of my last year, I began to receive offers from different schools around the country but nothing from the South, which was just fine by Jordan. She had enough of the South while she lived in Texas. She slowly began preparing for the few different states BAR exams that I had applied to teach in. She had already passed the Massachusetts State BAR and had been working at legal aide in town doing pro-bono work, which she loved. The work she was doing kept her busy, which in return made me happy. I’m the kind of person who needs her space from time to time; so living with someone else isn’t the easiest thing for me to do.

          I was eventually offered a teaching position at George Washington University my final semester at Amherst, a position I could hardly pass up. I gladly accepted the offer and upon completing all my Ph.D. requirements, moved to Washington D.C. with Jordan in tow, as usual. We moved into a moderately sized, rundown two-bedroom apartment, off Dupont Circle, the same apartment we live in today, and over the last two years have been able to fix the place up to our liking. Jordan and I managed to settle in quite easily, much to my surprise. I wasn’t sure how I was going to like living in a large city considering the largest city I had ever lived in was Austin, and that’s not saying much.

          Jordan took a job as a legal consultant with a non-profit almost immediately after moving to DC. Her job takes her away from the city quite often. At times, she’s away for as long as three weeks out of the month. Not what you might consider exactly healthy for a relationship.

          I don’t think I had ever complained about her time away from home, except maybe last year around my birthday, when I turned thirty-two. For some reason, thirty-two hit me harder than thirty. Maybe it had something to do with still being in school at the time, and not having a spare minute to think or worry about my age. Nevertheless, I wanted her home, and she was not. My birthday was the day things changed between us. The day I knew she and I wouldn’t last much longer. That day, I began an affair that is still on going.

          I had just sat down for dinner and a movie when the phone rang. It was two days before my thirty-second birthday. “Hello,” I answered.

          “Good you’re home,” came Jordans voice over the phone line as crisp as if she were sitting at the table next to me.

          “Hey sweetheart. How is Chicago,” I asked picking up the remote to pause the movie.

          “I hate this damn town and all of its midwestern ideas of grandeur. How is DC?”

          “It’s been raining all week. I’m thinking about buying a small house boat to float around on before we all drown.”

          “You’re so funny you know that,” she said as she laughed.

          “Only for you. So what’s up?”

          “Bad news,” she replied.

          “Go on!”

          “I have to stay here longer than I had hoped,” she said quickly forcing the words out of her mouth.

          “How much longer,” I asked coldly.

          “We won’t have things wrapped up until probably Sunday night,” she said in an apologetic tone.

          “Come on. You’ve got to be kidding,” I whined.

          “I’m sorry baby, really I am. I want to be there with you.”

          “You’ve missed the last three years. Can’t you just slip away or something,” I begged.

          “You know it’s not that easy. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

          “Yeah, I know.”

          “Don’t be like this, please? You know good and well I didn’t plan this,” she insisted.

          “I know you didn’t, but you didn’t avoid it either,” I pouted.

          “Why don’t you call Rachel and hang out with some friends, get out of the house for the night,” she suggested as an appeasement.

          “Yeah, I’ll probably do that. Have you cancelled our dinner reservations, or do I need to,” I asked knowing the answer already.

          “Oh could you!? I’m completely swamped and I don’t have their number.”

          “Sure thing.”

          “Well hey, we’re about to start up again so I have to go.”

          “Sure.”

          “I’ll call you later in the week.”

          “Sure.”

          “I love you.”

          “Sure. Me too.”

          “Bye,” she hung up the phone without another word and so did I. I looked down at my plate, but dinner didn’t look so appetizing any more, so I just sat down on the couch and started the movie.

          Later that night when the movie was over I reached for the phone and dialed Rachel’s number. Rachel was a close friend and colleague of mine who also taught at the university.

          “Yeah,” She answered.

          “Rachel?”

          “Hey you. What’s up,” her voice was cherry and upbeat.

          “Not much. Say, Jordan’s going to be in Chicago until Sunday or Monday, so I was thinking maybe we could get a small group of friends together for dinner and drinks maybe Friday night? What do you think?”

          “That sounds great. Where do you want to go,” she asked.

          “Haven’t thought that far ahead,” I responded honestly.

          “You want me to take care of things,” she offered.

          “That sounds great. Just be sure to let me know where and when. I’d hate to not show up for my own birthday dinner,” I said sarcastically.

          “Good deal. I’ll let you know the details. Hey, I’ve got a friend in town visiting from another school, would you mind,” she asked.

          “No not at all. Bring ‘em along.”

          “Great. I’ll let you know the details by Friday.”

          “Thanks so much, I’ll see you then.”

          “K. Bye”

          “Bye,” I hung up the phone and looked around the apartment. I decided that I was too bored to sit and watch movies or read so I simply decided to go to bed and start again tomorrow.

          The rest of the week went by like most weeks, nothing too exciting happened during the day and at night, I laid in bed grading the past semester’s final exams which happened to be exceptionally pitiful. When Friday rolled around, I hardly remembered it was my birthday, that was until my mother called me at 4:45 in the morning to remind me, that on the day of my birth, I had not allowed her to sleep in, so this year, just like every year past, I would not sleep after 4:45 either.
The phone rang abruptly rousing me from a delightfully kinky dream. I reached and fumbled for the receiver on my nightstand, finally picking it up on about the fourth ring. “Hello?” I said, my sleep still in my voice.

          “Good morning sweetie!”

          “Mom,” I questioned. She immediately broke into her own unique rendition of Happy Birthday to You.

          “You are one sick woman. You know that,” I said when she finally finished.

          “Do these phone calls never stop,” I pleaded.

          “You’ll miss them when I’m gone,” she shot back with sarcasm.

          “Bullshit! You’ll outlive us all. You’re too full of piss and vinegar to die before your children,” I said making us both laugh.

          “So, how does it feel to be thirty-two,” She asked.

          “I don’t know. I’ve only been thirty-two for a few minutes. You tell me?”

          “Thirty-two wasn’t bad. But as you well know I was raising you, your brother and sister.” I sat up in bed adjusting myself to a comfortable state.

          “Oh god, this isn’t going to be a continuation of the ‘when are you going to give me grandchildren?’ talk is it?”

          “I’m not getting any younger ya know. I wouldn’t mind having time to get to know them outside of some god forsaken nursing home,” she said plainly, in her own comedic way.

          “You’re kidding right?”

          “No, I’m not!”

          “Fine. Jordan and I will give you a grandbaby.”

          “Really! When?”

          “Do you want a boy or a girl,” I asked.

          “What,” she asked confusedly.

          “I’ve been thinking about buying a puppy. Do you want a boy or a girl?”

          “You’re such a smartass you know that?”

          “I learned from the best.”

          “Let me talk with Jordan real quick, I have a question she might be able to answer.”

          “No can do, she’s in Chicago?”

          “Oh?”

          “Yeah, don’t get me started.”

          “Well, ok then I’ll try her on her cell phone later.”

          “Why don’t you call her now, she’d love for you to wake her up at the crack of dawn!”

          “No, I think I’ll let her sleep.”

          “Ok, fine pick on me.”

          “I’ll talk with you later sweetie. Have a good day.”

          “I’ll try. I love you mom.”

          “Love you too. Happy birthday.” I hung up the phone and pondered whether or not I would be able to fall back to sleep. Once I realized that I was wide awake at five in the morning and there was no use fighting it I got out of my warm bed and went into the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast, the entire time thinking to myself, this is going to be a long day.

          Friday was a normal day I guess, just like most every other day. I didn’t have to teach due to the semester having ended a week prior and luckily, I didn’t have to be in the office either. So I just sat at home and watched war movies, and JAG syndicate reruns in the spare bedroom cursing my laziness with every breath. After lunch, I started reading a new book my mother had sent me for Hanukkah a year earlier and was just now able to get around to reading. I read until about four thirty, when I decided that I should start getting ready to go out to the restaurant Rachel had made reservations at.

          I stood in front of my open closet for what felt like ten minutes simply debating what I should wear. I didn’t worry about dressing up; I hadn’t felt the need to impress anyone for what felt like a very long time. I finally decided on a pair of simple black slacks and a coral blue button down women’s dress shirt tailored more like a men’s dress shirt, and of course a black belt and black shoes. I combed my graying hair cursing my DNA the entire time. I began going gray by the time I was eighteen or so, or at least that’s when I first noticed the small patches along my temples. I didn’t stand a chance for not going gray, my father was completely salt-n-pepper by the time he has twenty and I was a spitting image. There was no hope for me.

          I donned a lightweight jacket and left my apartment and headed down the street on foot towards the small Italian restaurant near the circle. I stepped inside the restaurant just as it began to rain. I felt a rush of excitement or perhaps uneasiness wash over my body, I suddenly felt very aware of myself and the sizable group of people I called my friends seated at the rear of the restaurant where most of them had begun to gather.

          I first spotted Paul, a reasonably tall but a little overweight and out of shape middle-aged history professor at the university, and then I spotted Rachel. We made eye contact and smiled at each other. Her friend was seated with her back to me, but where I was standing, in the middle of the restaurant, I knew exactly who she was.

          There was no mistaking her small athletic frame, her short sandy blonde hair, or the way she held her glass of wine in her right hand with her pinky finger extender ever so slightly. Most of all, as I got closer to the table, closer to her, there was no mistaking her incredibly intoxicating scent.

          “Hey Sam.” Rachel said as she stood up from the table to give me a hug. Slowly my friends began to turn in their chairs to acknowledge my presence. The Rachel’s friend turned and looked up at me. I was speechless as my heart skipped a beat.

          “What in the hell is she doing in DC?” I asked myself as the panic I felt inside began to show in my eyes, but there was no time for questions, Rachel was attempting to introduce me to someone I already knew, someone I had never forgotten.