Dick padded to the window to look at the rain, his feet and toes oddly graceful for such a stocky body.
"Were you a dancer?" I asked.
Grey eyes narrowed in his Irish face. It was the morning after our first night together, however, and he knew I wouldn't take him for a sissy. "No," he finally answered, obviously holding something back.
Later, when he knew he could trust me to keep my mouth shut, he told me he'd been a mercenary: "My wife took our three kids and ran off with a neighbor. Didn't see it coming. Not much to live for. Lost thirty pounds. Then took up taekwondo. Got pretty good at throwing knives. Hung out with some tough guys. I still watch my back."
"Seriously? Somebody might still be after you?"
"It's not easy to walk away from that line of work. We were going after some bad people. Guys like us... we knew too much."
"How did that end?" I asked.
He looked out the window. "Couple of years later I was walking down a narrow street with a woman, past a bunch of teenagers goofing off. One of 'em reached out and touched her. Basically harmless. But without thinking I backhanded him hard in the face, grabbed the woman's arm and kept walking. Didn't kill the kid but might've broken some bones. I knew then something in me was becoming damaged. Asked myself who I'd be if I kept on that path. No one I could live with."
The night he moved in with me he looked through the newspaper for TV shows. "Return of the Living Dead! We've got to see this." I was game and set the alarm for 2 am. We necked, ate popcorn, and poked fun at the movie. "They're back... They're hungry... And they're NOT vegetarian!"
After the movie I slept like a baby. Dick snored fiercely but I didn't mind. It was like finding refuge and warmth next to a grizzly.
The next morning we talked for hours. As if our brains had to wake up together before lumbering out of bed. He brought up Jerzy Kosinski. Not his novel Being There, not even the controversy over his possibly having plagiarized, but because of what Kosinski said before he committed suicide: "I'm going to put myself to sleep now for a bit longer than usual."
"Why did that stick with you?" I asked.
"Because he knew when it was time to go. If I'm ever incapacitated, just push my wheelchair over a cliff and walk away."
It ended a different way, and we were nowhere near a cliff...
"Were you a dancer?" I asked.
Grey eyes narrowed in his Irish face. It was the morning after our first night together, however, and he knew I wouldn't take him for a sissy. "No," he finally answered, obviously holding something back.
Later, when he knew he could trust me to keep my mouth shut, he told me he'd been a mercenary: "My wife took our three kids and ran off with a neighbor. Didn't see it coming. Not much to live for. Lost thirty pounds. Then took up taekwondo. Got pretty good at throwing knives. Hung out with some tough guys. I still watch my back."
"Seriously? Somebody might still be after you?"
"It's not easy to walk away from that line of work. We were going after some bad people. Guys like us... we knew too much."
"How did that end?" I asked.
He looked out the window. "Couple of years later I was walking down a narrow street with a woman, past a bunch of teenagers goofing off. One of 'em reached out and touched her. Basically harmless. But without thinking I backhanded him hard in the face, grabbed the woman's arm and kept walking. Didn't kill the kid but might've broken some bones. I knew then something in me was becoming damaged. Asked myself who I'd be if I kept on that path. No one I could live with."
Sure, he was playing a Mickey Spillane character — and as Spillane said of his own stories, yes it was garbage, but it was prime garbage. I was approaching fifty, dreading another date with a "nice" guy. Dick would be a good antidote.
After the movie I slept like a baby. Dick snored fiercely but I didn't mind. It was like finding refuge and warmth next to a grizzly.
The next morning we talked for hours. As if our brains had to wake up together before lumbering out of bed. He brought up Jerzy Kosinski. Not his novel Being There, not even the controversy over his possibly having plagiarized, but because of what Kosinski said before he committed suicide: "I'm going to put myself to sleep now for a bit longer than usual."
"Why did that stick with you?" I asked.
"Because he knew when it was time to go. If I'm ever incapacitated, just push my wheelchair over a cliff and walk away."
It ended a different way, and we were nowhere near a cliff...
0 comments:
Post a Comment