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I appreciate that.
“That's the last of it,” he mumbles politely, shifting his eyes in the other direction. He has just had his hands all over my things including all of my underwear, my books, and every scrap of clothing that I own. He probably knows me better than just about anybody else in the world right now. But he's not going to make a big deal out of it.
“Thank you, Freddie,” I mumble sincerely.
“He's a good man,” he blurts out suddenly. He looks at me directly, his eyes a pale sky-blue. He seems haunted, as though addressing me like this is almost painful for him.
“Okay, well…”
“I mean, you're worried. I could tell you are worried. I just wanted to let you know,” he finishes in a rush.
Then he darts out of the room, closing the door behind him. I'm all alone with all my stuff, everything packaged and labeled for transportation.
Daniel was telling the truth; it only took a couple hours. Here is my very portable life, in some place new all over again. It comes with the same feeling of isolation, of not belonging anywhere. I hate this feeling. I don't like to be adrift. When I was young, I felt so comfortable and secure, it never even occurred to me there was any other way to feel. Now since everything has blown up, I only ever feel that kind of comfort in snatches, wisps of smoke that slide through my fingers soon as I try to latch onto them.
So is this insane? Am I here simply because I was invited, because I feel like I have to accept any kind of invitation anywhere? Or am I running away from the sorority girls?
Are either of those good reasons?
But Freddie's words bounce through my mind again. He's a good man. As the words flow by again, I reach out and grab them for comfort like a life raft. It's not much. But it is something.
Chapter 9
Daniel
Everything is just a little bit different now. Though I kept my word to not be hovering over Kita, her presence is hard to ignore. Even when we are in separate rooms, I can hear her phone buzzing, her moving around, just the daily activities of another living animal in my nest.
Her being here has changed so much. My house smells different. We seem to eat the same sorts of things, that's good. I was afraid of allowing a junk food addict into the house but she seems to prefer whole foods like fruits and lean meats, just like I do. She cleans up after herself, and that's also good. I'm not complaining, but it is significant. I like to have everything a certain way and not have that process disturbed.
But still, even though she is not making a mess, she has a vibration. She has a scent. She has an animal presence that almost tints the air around her. She is like a color, or a song.
And it's getting harder and harder to forget about her.
I knew it the moment I saw her. Her small form, her athletic gestures. She was so helpless there in the bar, surrounded by those vultures.
But it was more than that. Her looks are definitely Slavic in origin, like the girls who use to haunt the American Embassy in Moscow, where I spent some time when I was in the military. I loved everything about them. Their strength, the song-like sound of their language, their easy laughs but cagey natures. It was as though everyone in the former Soviet Union knew that at any time there was the possibility of espionage. Of spy craft. They wanted to be friendly and personable, but also had a deep, cultural awareness of the suspicious situation between our countries.
When I was barely in my twenties, I didn't know anything about people, not really. How we are basically the same, no matter where we were born. How everybody believes they are doing their best, no matter which side they are on. I believed the protocols about staying arm’s length away from the Russians to be the best strategy. That was what we were instructed to do. Some of the guys had relationships with local Moscow girls, but it was frowned upon by top brass.
So I kept to myself, building more and more substantial blockades against interpersonal intrusions. From behind my mental fence, I could just watch them, eventually learning not too long for it too much. They got more distant, becoming like fairies of my imagination. Something I could see, but could not touch.
But Kita reminded me what I had missed. What I pretended did not exist in me, this magnetic attraction to those mysterious, enchanting young women.
And there's something else.
Something that feels so wrong. There's an old saying about how when you save someone's life, then you're responsible for it. I'm not sure that's exactly true, but it might explain why I feel like I need to be over her. I don't just want to be next to her, I want to be on top of her. I want to shelter her from everyone who might do her harm. I want to make sure she does exactly the right things in her life. I want to…
No, I should not be thinking about that.
She's half my age, I know that. I don't have any children of my own, and have never had a wife. So, how can I possibly have these dark feelings? How can I be so possessive? But I do, and they don't make sense. And I know that our animal natures don't have to make sense, but this is disturbing.
I want her in ways I'm ashamed of. Not in enlightened feminist ways. In caveman, Tarzan, brutal ways, where I can take her apart and then put her back together. Mold her body around my body. Dismantle her defenses an
d plunge into her until she begs for mercy…
I'm ashamed.
I’m trying to stay out of her way, hoping this feeling subsides. Maybe I’ve just been alone too long and her presence is uncovering an accumulation of feelings. Maybe it will dissipate soon. It better. I’m not sure how long I can resist.
