Newest Archives Profile Whispers Rings Host
And I mean flushed in the non-bathroom sort of way Weighing my pockets with stones of longing |
Tal Nadler came to visit, just like he said. We played phone tag for a few days. I contemplated hiding instead of having a reunion, but in the end was swayed by my 13-year-old curiosity. I dragged him with me to go sewing machine shopping. He was very tolerant, and told me about his travels in Egypt and his dog saving him from terrorist bombings and the army. We drove around, went to look at cameras, got sick of the material world and went to get hot chocolate at the Java House. I got whipped cream; he didn't. He paid for both of us. Tim was working; he looked shocked to see me with this tall, bearded, brooding Israeli man. Tal is going through a scruffy phase, keeping his long hair just because the army no longer makes him cut it. He looks like an artist--in fact, his facial hair is very similar to Evan's. But he has stopped smoking, he says. We sat down at a little table and talked for an eternity. He talked about his ex-girlfriend from Israel and how he's over casual sex, and I spoke cryptically of Theo, and things being complicated, and having a broken heart, and being in love. We talked about our parents. And life philosophy. Like my conversations with Ben Idrissy on those hot, dusty afternoons in Mali, only more personal. And this time I wasn't the one with the language barrier to break down before getting profound. In the middle of our conversation, Tal got a call on his cell phone. He spoke rapidly in Hebrew for a few minutes, while I shrugged my shoulders and wondered how I ended up here, in this sophisticated joint with some beautiful world-traveler who has known me since the phase when I still wore a wrist-watch and oversized t-shirts. We eventually wandered out into the daylight, drove out of town toward the reservoir. We talked about Ian, and Sara, and the spillway, and then I parked at the entrance to Linder Point. Where Nate took me after prom, I thought wistfully. The trails were muddy. We walked briskly, hoping to make a loop before sundown. Discovered we both have terrible senses of direction. I, of course, slipped and did some cartoonish acrobatics before Tal caught me by the back of the coat. I felt like a kitten, grabbed by the scruff. "Now I know what you mean about clumsiness," he remarked, trying, I think, to be charming and understanding. I prattled about it being a principle characteristic of my personality, feigning pride, or at least resignation, to cover my fumbling embarrassment. We made it to the rocky point overlooking a frozen, dusty landscape. The ice made the lake look horridly polluted, and, I thought gratefully, unromantic. Still, the scope of space was still breathtaking. We stood and chatted for a while, staring into the gray distance. Tal offered me a stick of gum. I thought briefly of "Wet Hot American Summer" and chuckled to myself, but then dismissed the idea. Eventually we moved on, and it wasn't until we'd gone half way round the rim that I noticed a man sitting just under where we'd been standing. Oh, how it must have been to listen to that haltingly awkward banter. I wanted to shout an apology across the water, but I thought perhaps Tal would not have appreciated that so much. Tal chose an alternate route back up the hill, and we were both quite breathless by the time we made it to the trail head. My shoes were solid blocks of mud. Perching on a tree stump, I grabbed a stick and started attempting to clean off my shoes while we continued our conversation. Finally I gave up and gathered myself to go back to the car. Tal was standing silently, immobile it seemed, in front of me, so I started turning back toward where I'd left my cleaning utensil, and somewhere in the midst of my mumbling, asking if he wanted a stick, he kissed me. Typical, Allison, to ruin a moment like that. Assuming, of course, that it could have been a moment. It was an attempt at a deep kiss, that I could tell, but I just wasn't present. I closed my eyes and let it happen, willing my enflamed adolescent heart to resurface, but it never did. So I pulled back, thanked him for flattering me, but told him the truth. That I could only think of someone else. That, like the tragic tradition that even my mom concedes defines my romantic life, the timing just wasn't right. Then I asked him if I could take him home, but he knew it wasn't really a question. In the car on the way back he talked about how he thought of himself as a street cat like he saw in Egypt, independent and skittish around strangers. He said I was like a doe. That I freeze first, trying to be invisible, before I run away. As much as I resisted the clich�, he was right on a lot of points. He laughed when I said I used to relate to wolves. We talked about when I ran with that herd of deer in the woods, one weekend back in high-school, that surreal morning. He said they must have recognized something familiar in me. As I dropped him off, he kissed me again like four years ago, and stepped out. It would have been a clean ending, had he not forgotten his camera in the car. As I drove home, I thought about our parents. How my mom always referred to Tal's dad as "the one that got away." How I'd discovered, talking to Tal, that my mom had been the one to break it off. When I asked her about it, she explained that Craig, Tal's dad, had loved her like almost no one else ever had. That when they were in the same bed she could sense a physical manifestation of his feelings for her surrounding her, like a protective force. Craig asked her to marry him. But even though they weren't together, my mom was still in love with my dad. She couldn't say yes no matter how much Craig loved her, because she could only think of someone else.
Backtracking--History repeats itself at 11:05 a.m.
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