By Larry Roszkowiak
Some events occur and time stands still.
I met a woman. She was somebody’s sister. Call her Daboo.
We all went to dinner. She sat to my left. She wore a dark brown floral blouse that was very open at the top. Her profile struck me as something from an ancient coin.
Her eyes were big and dark. Mine were drawn to hers like magnets. She didn’t look at me.
She was friendly but in a vacant way. After the dinner she made it a point to give me her phone number. She was going to stay in San Diego for a few weeks. She was apartment sitting for a family friend.
Two weeks later we went out alone. She was warm – then quiet. Happy – then quiet. Laughing – then quiet.
After dinner we went to the park. She wanted to swing on the swings. We swung side-by-side for about ten minutes. I stopped. My arms were tired.
She kept swinging. Harder and harder. Higher and higher. It was a tremendous display of energy. She continued for forty-five minutes. It was near midnight.
She stopped and came and stood by my side. She was panting and leaning on the fence with both arms.
“You’re married, aren’t you?” I said.
“You came out here to try to get your head straight about your marriage.”
She nodded again.
Suddenly she looked very small. All night long she had been charming and confident and strong. For this little moment she looked scared and worried. I’ll never forget that look. I never saw it again.
We spent the next eight weeks together. Regularly we would smile at each other at the sheer joy of being together. I loved her. I enjoyed everything I did with her. I enjoyed doing nothing with her. I enjoyed being stuck in traffic with her.
She enjoyed me and I liked it. I liked it a lot. She could smile across the dinner table better than any woman in the world. She had long dark hair and wore a long flowing robe and glided around the apartment in a misty swirl that reminded me of the lady on the douche box. I couldn’t keep my hands off her. She loved every minute of me.
After eight weeks she had to go back to her marriage far away. The morning she left was unbelievably sad. We woke as usual then looked at each other for a frozen moment that we both knew would be all we’d have for the rest of our lives.
When I left her house I had to run. It hurt so badly.
I never saw her again.
I’ve never forgotten her.