The Cohabitants 6

On their first date, by the end of their conversation in the parking lot of Silver Falls State Park, they were both emotionally exhausted. He suggested lunch at a burger joint in Salem, a favorite drive-thru because it had room enough to park his boat while he ate. She wasn’t really hungry, but he had eating on his mind. So they ate in her car, listening to classic rock and talking about music. 

She couldn’t remember ever being with a guy who talked so much. But she enjoyed listening to him, and the things they had in common were a revelation. In the 1960s, his family had lived in a planned suburb on the south side of Chicago. She had lived in a rural farm town on the commuter rail to the city. Both their dads were business executives who travelled. Both their moms stayed home to raise the kids. Both their families went to church. His grandfather had been a Methodist missionary in Africa. Her grandmother and her parents had taught in Lutheran schools. They both knew the same Bible verses, hymns and liturgy. For them the best part about church was the music. Both had lapsed in their teens and never went back. Still, they tested each other to see who knew all the words to the Lord’s Prayer. She’d never done that with a guy before.

It was late afternoon when they returned to the parking lot where they had met that morning. She pulled her car up beside his truck assuming he would be getting on the road home. Instead, he pointed out Sportsman’s Warehouse where he intended to go shopping after they said goodbye. She now realized that he had planned this shopping excursion all along. She had been manipulated into this destination because it was convenient for him. He had an agenda that did not include her. Fishing. He admitted he had chosen this location for the day because Sportsman’s Warehouse was one of his favorite stores, but it was an hour north of where he lived. So this day was an occasion to meet her and go to a fishing store. Two birds with one stone, her and the fish. 

After eleven years living alone, she assumed the world revolved around her. However, this man had a life that revolved around fish. Her relationship zombies rose from their graves and would not let her pass without acknowledgement that she had competition for his attention. It’s possible she was in this mall parking lot because inside the store he was secretly meeting his mistress, the other woman, the gal who held his checkbook, the maid who cleaned his house, an old girlfriend, a hooker he hired to drain off the sexual tension built up over the last few hours. Or a fish.

Curious, she followed him into the store where she would otherwise not set foot. As he entered the glass doors a portal to the underwater world slid open. He disappeared into the aisles of fishing gear and she became invisible. His blood pressure lowered to a lazy river. He was in his flow, elevated, lighter, dangling in the water column focused on brightly colored plastic earrings. No, they were lures. Fishing lures. Brightly colored plastic earrings that look like fish food, floating in a sea of fish eggs, frozen worms, grubs, rods and reels, nets, crawfish scents, tiny creatures on peg-board reefs submerged in a psychedelic maze. 

She didn’t speak the language. Didn’t know the customs. But she was alert to human anatomy. She could see his shoulder muscles move under his t-shirt. His hands were callused and rough, arms covered with scars, skin tan, beard white, crows’ feet deep. Yes, Ernest Hemingway. The Old Man and the Sea. He was hunting through thousands of plastic bits with the intensity of a shark sniffing blood.

Ordinarily, she was one to whiz through a store with a shopping list, in and out as fast as possible. She did not browse. But he strolled every aisle as slowly as if he had lead weights on his feet, scanned every display like it held a secret code, read labels and hefted strange objects in his hands, assessing their weight, flexing them, getting a closer look at their construction, comparing colors. Green pumpkin? 

This man had a life that began before her and would obviously go on without her. That required an attitude adjustment. In her fantasies, she was the star of the show. His life had never been part of her mirage. Now it was clear that fishing was more important to him than she was. She had never been lower than a fish. She had never been in such a large store where there was absolutely nothing she wanted to buy. Maybe this meant they weren’t compatible. She could just leave now and he probably wouldn’t even notice.

Her craving for a Knob Creek Manhattan was like a blaring alarm clock hurting her ears. She needed a drink to help her think. She was getting ornery and she didn’t want to say anything stupid. Cranky words were moving toward the tip of her tongue. Since she quit the sauce, candy bars had become her fix. She pulled an emergency Reese’s off the shelf at the checkout line and began to unwrap it. Before she could pull out her credit card, he paid for it with his own purchase.

Back in the parking lot they hugged again, warmer than earlier, but still performative, pandemic rules, faces turned away. Physical contact just long enough for her to memorize his width. Mission accomplished. All very ordinary except the flush of fresh hormones. No final words. No plans for the future. No expression of gratitude. No skin. Nothing but the most casual. “See you later.” As though this meeting was a regular thing for them. Then at the first traffic light out of the mall parking lot, he pulled his truck up beside her car and signaled for her to open her window.

“You should be in the left lane,” he said pointing to her left. Smile. The light changed and he was gone. 

Of course, he was correct. She was in the wrong lane. He was looking out for her again. As she drove back to Portland she put aside steamy thoughts of sex and kissing. This guy seemed to transcend the physical experience. He had held her chair, her coat, bought her a two-dollar candy bar, and watched to be sure she was on the right road home. Protectiveness was behavior she had not expected. It was old school. There was something new and quite comforting about being watched over. She glanced in the back seat at Moon, her guard dog, and pondered the idea of a guard man. He didn’t even try to kiss her, not even on the cheek. It was perplexing. Honorable. Not the usual sort of behavior. In her youth, after this much time with a man she would be trying not to get pregnant. Now they were driving in opposite directions and her billowing lust had nowhere to go.