Almost two years prior to this, when Rachel was a freshman in college, she came home one day from school and, over dinner, broke the news that she was a lesbian. Or so she said. The only reason I had my lingering doubts was because of the way she acted about it, as if it wasn’t a big deal. Granted, it shouldn’t be, but she seemed to be taking it in rather casual stride, considering it was a bit more than simply changing your hairstyle or college major. Only a few weeks before, she had been talking about seeing a young man in one of her classes, even going so far as to have lunch with him twice. But now she was a lesbian and, although I had my doubts, and even though we did talk about it to some length, I accepted her decision and left it at that. If it were a phase, she’d likely get over it at some point. Even she admitted it could be such, which only fueled my doubts.

Rachel had been dating Kate for a little over three months. She was a nice enough girl, but a bit rough around the edges. Aside from several tattoos, she also sported a number of piercings, which seemed to do more to attract attention to her, than act as an outward expression of her personality. And, although I never saw her doing so, I assumed she smoked, due to the residual smoke I could smell on her from time to time. But, over all, she was a decent, kind person. Rachel seemed to enjoy her company a great deal, and, as long as she was happy, that’s what mattered.

Whereas Kate was an Art History major, Rachel was studying Anthropology. My understanding is that they met in an art class. And, while Kate was adorned with numerous body modifications, Rachel had none. Well, that is, until her new girlfriend talked her into getting her tongue pierced.

At first, it was a little unsettling to see them holding hands. I think any parent would feel that way. You know someone all their life, and then one day something shifts dramatically about them, and it takes some getting use to. When I saw them kiss for the first time – not that I was gawking, mind you; I simply walked into the living room at the wrong time – I didn’t cringe because my daughter had her tongue in another girl’s mouth. I did so because it was so utterly foreign to me. And, to be frank, I did so because I was seeing a relatively intimate moment between my daughter and her girlfriend, something I’d normally assume to be inherently personal.

It wasn’t a bad thing. I wasn’t mad or upset. It was strange, because it was all so new to me. But now, after a few months to acclimatize myself to their relationship, it wasn’t so unnerving.

Rachel at last came tromping down the steps.

“Ready?” she huffed, throwing her arms into her jacket.

A short time later, after picking up Kate at her apartment, we arrived at the park.

Just like with so many other things in her life, Rachel typically threw herself into whatever it was currently holding her interest, be it classes, music, clothes, friends, and the like. Now that she was a lesbian, she and Kate joined the student Les-Bi-Gay-Trans organization on campus. I never really gave them a second thought, to be honest. To me, they were just regular people. Maybe a bit strange, though only, as I said, in light of the fact that it was all so new to me. After all, it’s not every day you see a large bearded man strolling down the street in a dress, let alone your own daughter holding hands with another young woman.

After I parked the car, the three of us walked to the park, about a block away and smack in the middle of town. There were four streets on four sides of the park, so there was no way you’d miss seeing the event, should you drive through town. There were balloons, booths offering different sorts of foods and beverages, as well as various types of books and literature. And, of course, it wouldn’t quite be a party without games, clowns, and assorted one-person acts in the form of jugglers, musicians, and magicians.

I suppose it’s fair to say, although I was glad to see everyone smiling and happy and out in the open about their sexuality, in the back of my mind, I did have to question whether this sort of thing had a bit too much of a carnival atmosphere to it, seeing as how kids going by might form a different impression, wondering what the hubbub was all about. After all, there was a slight sexual undertone, and sometimes more than simply slight. Some of the prizes at the game booths were condoms and the like, and one of the jugglers did toss about a few adult toys.

Suffice it to say, though, I was pleased to be there with my daughter, as a show of parental support, but I did feel a tad squeamish, too.

Our trio walked around the park, checking out one booth after the next, Rachel and Kate occasionally stopping to chat with a friend. At one point, as they engaged in a lively conversation with another young woman adorned in tattoos and body piercings, I kept myself occupied by thumbing through a book of poetry at a nearby booth.

“You interested in that?”

I looked up and saw a short, portly woman with a broad smile standing on the other side of the table from me. She had long, straight black hair and large glasses that made her eyes seem unusually large; large, but friendly.

I glanced at the book in my hand.

“Oh, uh… Yeah… I guess. It’s interesting.”

I hadn’t even had a chance to read anything in it.

She smiled again.

“I wrote that,” she said, gesturing to the small book in my hand.

“Oh, I see.”

She leaned down under the table and pulled out a small plastic bag, and then reached for the book.

“Here ya go,” she said, taking it from me and placing it in the bag.

I took a deep breath, saying it was ok, too embarrassed to tell her I didn’t actually want to purchase it. But she seemed to sense this and dropped the small book into the bag and handed it to me.

“Yours to keep,” she said with the same friendly grin.

With my face turning red, I chuckled.

“Oh, really… No, that’s ok. I can’t.”

“S’ok,” she replied. “I gotta whole box of ’em down here and haven’t sold one all morning. You’re nice, you’re pretty… what the heck,” she exclaimed happily. “You’re the only person who’s opened one up.”

My apprehensions faded, though I was slightly embarrassed by her remark about being pretty. I took the bag, albeit reluctantly, and thanked her. She only shrugged, still standing there and smiling, looking at me with those big eyes. I stood there fidgeting for a moment, and then mumbled that I should probably get going, but not before thanking her once more.

“Sure,” she said, giving me a small wave.

I stepped back over to Rachel and her friends, standing with my back to the table, trying to hide my embarrassment.

After a tortuously long wait, the conversation between Rachel and Kate and their friend ended, and we continued on our way.

A short time later, the three of us found a bench to sit on. While Rachel and Kate went to get us a bite to eat, I sat on the bench alone, watching them stroll off into the distance, walking from one food vender to the next. I sighed and smiled and crossed one leg over the other and waited.

I guess I’m a people-watcher by nature. As I sat there, I looked out at the milling crowd. Maybe a few hundred people were there. Men holding hands, women holding hands, and a sprinkling of couples of mixed gender, obviously heterosexual. It was actually quite pleasant to see everyone, regardless of what sort of person they were on the inside, laughing and chatting and enjoying a beautiful afternoon in the park. I turned my gaze toward where Rachel and Kate stood in a long line. Rachel had her arm draped over her girlfriend’s shoulder, while the later had her hand in the back pocket of Rachel’s shorts. I smiled and just then saw Kate’s hand come out and grip Rachel’s butt. She jumped, as if startled, and playfully poked Kate in the ribs. I chuckled and turned away and down at the plastic bag sitting along side me.

Just as I picked up the bag and pulled out the little book of poetry, a large man, bald and chubby, with a small dog on a leash, came and stopped in front of the bench.

“You mind if I sit and rest a moment?” he asked in, dare I say, a rather effeminate voice.

I smiled and said sure, but glanced down at the girls to see if they were heading back any time soon. They were still waiting in line, though making progress toward the front.

“God, thanks,” he huffed, as he plopped down next to me.

The little dog yipped up at his master, and the man, fanning himself with some sort of leaflet, sighed.

“No, no, sweetie. Daddy’s gotta rest a minute, ok?”

Then he turned to me, saying, “Lord, it’s brutal out today, don’t ya think?”

I closed the book, trying not to chuckle, and looked up at the sky. We were sitting in the shade, and I was wearing sunglasses and my straw garden hat.

“Yeah, a little,” I replied, giving him a smile.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just a little.”

After a few minutes, he finally hefted his heavy body off the bench.

“Ok, stinker,” he said to the little dog. “Let’s keep moving.” Then he looked down at me.

“Thank you so much, dear,” he said with a big grin.

I smiled in reply and watched them slowly trot away.

No sooner had I gone back to my book, than yet someone else asked to sit on the bench. This time it was a woman’s voice. I placed my hand in the book and put on another smile and looked up. A woman, probably in her mid-thirties, stood before me. She was tall and slender and tan, with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a blue cap atop her head. She was smiling down at me from behind her sunglasses, holding a Styrofoam cup in one hand and a plastic bag with what appeared to be books in the other.

I sighed and smiled, repeating my previous performance with the man and his little dog.

“Sure,” I said, placing my bag on the other side of me, so as to give her more room.

“Thanks,” she replied with a toothy smile.

As she sat down next to me, I turned back to my book. From the corner of my eye, I could see her do as myself, crossing one long tanned leg over the other. A runner, I thought. She had to be a runner or, at the very least, athletic. I could see the toned muscles of her legs bulge slightly, not to mention the running shoes. Then she set her bag down on the bench between us, and I quickly darted my eyes back to the book in my hands.

A minute or so later, I heard a slurping sound and looked up. The woman was holding the straw of her cup to her lips, and then pulled it away, giving it a dissatisfied expression. She must have sensed I was watching and turned to me.

“Empty,” she said, giving the cup a shake.

I smiled, and then she turned and dropped the cup into a trashcan behind the bench. Just as I went back to my book, she softly exclaimed, “Oh, I have that.” I looked up and smiled, raising my eyebrows.

“Pardon?”

She grinned and gestured to my book.

“I got that, too,” she said.

I looked down and held it up.

“This?”

She grinned and chuckled and opened her plastic bag, pulling out the same book of poetry. Then she glanced over her shoulder, back in the direction of the stand from which we both found it, saying, “You got it from Darla, right?”

“Oh, um… Well, I guess. Don’t know her name.”

I looked over at the booth and saw the woman in question talking to someone in front of her table. They were laughing, and then she leaned down and pulled out a plastic bag from under the table, while at the same time reaching for the book in the other person’s hand.

“Uh, yeah. That’s who I got it from,” I replied. Then I turned back to the woman sitting next to me. She smiled, and, in an instant, something struck me as odd about it. But before I could put any more thought into her smile, she held out her hand.

“I’m Gayle,” she said.

I took her hand in mine, and she gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Jess,” I replied.

As she released me from her soft hand, I heard Rachel’s voice.

“Ok, hope you like what we got, because we’re not gonna go back and stand in line.”

I turned and looked up, as Rachel and Kate stopped in front of me.

“Oh, hey, Gayle,” said Kate.

Apparently, the two were acquainted.

Rachel glanced up from the brown paper bag full of food, splotched with round grease stains, upon hearing Kate, and said hello to Gayle, as well. Rachel then looked at me, and then to Gayle.

“Oh, uh, mom, this is Gayle. Gayle this is…”

But Gayle and I smiled, glancing at each other.

“We’ve met,” I said.

Gayle nodded and smiled at my daughter, and then to me.

Rachel blinked and stared at us for a moment, finally replying, “Oh, uh… Ok, then.”

Then came the awkward moment I’d almost forgotten about. Rachel and Kate stood before us silent, holding the bag of food, and then my daughter gestured to the bench.

“So, uh… how’s this gonna work?” she asked with a bit of a chuckle.

The four of us exchanged puzzled expressions, and then Gayle quickly gathered up her things.

“Oh, here,” she said hurriedly. “Sit. You guys sit. Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude.”

I looked up, as she stood, and smiled at her.

“No intrusion,” I replied with a friendly shrug.

Gayle paused for but a brief second and smiled. And then I noticed it again, something about that smile, something strange about it, almost mysterious.

Still grinning, I swallowed, trying to hide my embarrassment.

When she had everything in her hands, Gayle bid Rachel and Kate farewell, and then turned to me.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, wiggling her fingers, as she walked away.

“You, too.”

For the remainder of the afternoon, we browsed and shopped, sampling various types of food and beverages, and finally sat in the grass near where the talent show would be taking place. And, as had been typical for most of the day, Rachel and Kate found another friend to go over and chat with.

As I sat on a blanket, I pulled out my book, and, no sooner had I opened it, than I heard a familiar voice. I turned and saw Gayle sitting not far away. She was talking to someone, another woman, and they seemed to be having a rather lively and friendly conversation. Smiling, I returned to my book, but found it difficult to concentrate, as every now and then, I’d hear Gayle laugh, a light, airy giggle. And every time she did, I found myself smiling in reply.

Most of the poetry in the book was only so-so. Not all that interesting or unique, to be honest. But it was something to do, while waiting for the show to begin. But soon I noticed something had changed. Over the din of laughter and voices all around me, I didn’t hear Gayle’s voice any longer. Curious, I turned to where she had been sitting, to see if she had left, but, no, there she was, sitting like myself, with her legs crossed and hunched forward reading her book.

She had taken her cap off, her hair still in a long brown ponytail. Gayle was slender, but not skinny; small in the bosom, but not without a figure. Her face was narrow, tipped off with a thin nose and high cheekbones, and her arms seemed long, but maybe that was because of the shirt she was wearing. It was white and sleeveless with a low-cut neck. As for her shorts, they were fairly routine: khaki with snapping pockets on the thighs. Below all of this, she wore small white tennis shoes and no socks.

In a word, Gayle was a handsome woman, with sharp features you’d expect to see of a model adorning the cover of a magazine. I could almost imagine that, if she were dressed more formally, she would strike quite a charming image. She did seem, as best I could tell by our very brief conversation, to be somewhat of a strong woman, strong in character that is; an independent spirit of sorts. She seemed to be the type of person who would sit in an office somewhere high up in a skyscraper making great financial decisions; a woman of business prowess, clever and deft and intelligent.

As I sat staring at her, I began to wonder who she was, what she did for a living, the things she liked and disliked. And then she stretched her long arms over her head, pushing her chest out, and smiled over at me, when our eyes met. I smiled back and she grinned more broadly in reply. That’s when it suddenly dawned on me that I had been staring at her, probably longer than was considered polite. Embarrassed, I quickly glanced down at the ground, trying to think of something to say.

“You, uh… by yourself?” I asked.

Gayle smiled and leaned closer, holding a hand to her ear.

I fidgeted and turned more toward her.

“You alone?” I called a bit louder.

She sat up straight and looked about with a forlorn expression, holding her hands out, her book clasped in her fingers. Then an exaggerated frown crossed her lips and she nodded very unhappily. I laughed, then Gayle laughed, and I asked if she’d like to come over and sit with me, gesturing to my blanket. Apparently confused by my offer and unable to hear me clearly, she, in turn, gestured to me, then to her, and then, bewildered, held up her hands. We both laughed, and I cupped my hands around my mouth, calling out loudly, “Would you like to sit with me?” A few conversations that had been taking place around me suddenly came to a halt, as all eyes turned in my direction.

“Sorry,” I mumbled with a blush to the couple sitting closest.

A moment later, Gayle was slowly striding over to me. As she sat down, she looked at the couple to which I had apologized.

“Sorry ’bout that,” she said with a big grin. “She’s a bit hard of hearing.”

They only smiled half-heartedly and nodded, and then resumed their conversation.

Gayle plopped down next to me, crossing her legs and smiled.

“Thanks,” she said.

I shrugged. I wanted to apologize for staring, but thought better than to bring it up. Maybe she hadn’t noticed.

She unscrewed the cap off a bottle of water and, while taking a gulp, gestured to the book in my hand.

“Oh,” I replied, holding it up slightly. “Yeah, still sorta… you know, pluggin’ away at it. Trying to, anyway.”

Gayle nodded and brought the bottle down and replaced the cap.

“Where’s Rach and Kate?” she asked, looking around the crowd.

I gazed about, as well, until I saw them sitting not far off.

“Over there,” I replied, pointing in their direction.

Gayle slowly nodded, playing with the bottle in her hands. Now came the moment of awkward silence.

“So,” I asked, planting my hands on my lap. “What is it you do? For a living, I mean.”

Gayle smiled and uncrossed her legs, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them.

“Um, physical therapist,” she replied.

My hands twitched, as I quickly shot back, saying, “Oh, I shoulda guessed.”

“Why’s that?” she asked with a grin.

And there it was once more – that suspicious smile of hers. There was just something about it, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

I could feel my face turning red, as I tried to think of a way to word my reply. No matter what I said, it was going to be painfully obvious that I’d been staring at her, specifically her body.

“Well, you know,” I mumbled.

“No, I don’t,” she said, shaking her head and still wearing that smile.

I thought about it for a moment, and then decided to simply give in..

“You just look like someone who… I dunno,” I stammered. “Maybe you run or play tennis or something like that. I’m just saying…”

Gayle slowly nodded, as I tried to explain myself, her grin growing wider. Then she chuckled and placed her hand on my knee, saying, “Ok, you can stop now.”

As she pulled her hand away, she turned to her side and produced a small white paper bag.

“Cookie?” she asked, holding the bag between her thumb and forefinger.

I smiled.

“Um… Sure, ok.”

She pulled out one large chocolate chip cookie between her long tan fingers, and then carefully handed it to me.

“Thank you.”

Gayle licked her thumb and finger, replying, “…welcome.” Then she plucked one out for herself.

For a moment, neither of us spoke, and an uneasy feeling came over me. I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, watching her chew and look around, as we waited for the talent show to start. Then she took another bite.

“And whadda you do?” she asked, holding a hand over her mouth.

“High school teacher,” I replied, breaking off a piece of my cookie.

Gayle slowly nodded, and then turned her eyes to me.

“Yeah, I coulda guessed that,” she said with a grin.

I chuckled, breaking off another piece.

“And why’s that?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“The way you’re dressed.”

I chuckled again, my shoulders bouncing up and down.

“And how am I dressed?”

Gayle snickered, replying, “I dunno… like a high school teacher… a school marm.”

I smirked and nodded, taking a bite.

“Ok,” I said. “Fair enough.”

“Whatcha teach?”

“English,” I replied, smiling back at her.

Gayle grinned, saying her younger sister was an elementary teacher, as was their mother, though retired now.

“You like it?” she asked.

I picked away at my cookie and shrugged.

“Yeah, for the most part. But I dunno… Sometimes I think it’d be nice to be able to teach it to people who really wanted to learn it.”

Gayle chuckled.

“Yeah,” she said, reaching for her bottle of water. “I can remember being bored to tears in that class. The Great Gatsby,” she said, holding the bottle to her lips. She took a few gulps, and then dropped the bottle down again. “That was a real snoozer,” she added with a light laugh.

I grinned.

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess it is a bit worn out.”

Gayle set her bottle down and rotated her body so she was facing me. She crossed her legs and gave me her patented mysterious smile. And, I don’t know why, but I could feel my face turning red.

“So what’re you guys reading in your class?” she asked.

I slowly brought the cookie to my mouth, replying, “The Great Gatsby.”

Gayle doubled over and slapped her hand to my knee, laughing out loud.

For the next hour, we sat and talked, even after the talent show had long since started. Every now and then, we’d stop to watch a particular act on stage, but then one of us would start up the conversation again.

Gayle was lively and fun, sometimes animated, when she spoke, and whenever she listened, she did so with great intensity, leaning forward and smiling and slowly nodding her head. There never really seemed to be a dull moment, during the conversation, getting to know one another. And the more she spoke, the more I wanted to know. So, it was with some sadness that it ended, when the show stopped and Rachel and Kate came walking over to us.

Gayle helped me to my feet, and then helped pick up my blanket and assorted belongings. We giggled and laughed, the same as we had been doing for well over the last hour.

“It was really nice meeting you,” she said, holding out a delicate hand.

I grinned wide and offered her mine, and said likewise. And, as she held my hand in hers, she gave it an almost imperceptible squeeze, running her thumb gently over the top of it. My smile twitched, though I’m sure she didn’t notice, and then, just as she released me, she winked, very quickly, but there all the same, and said goodbye.

That evening, as I sat at home watching television and nothing in particular, I found myself wondering what Gayle was doing at that moment. I couldn’t imagine that someone like her – pretty and intelligent and a wonderful conversationalist – would be sitting at home alone. I turned to look up the steps, up toward the bedrooms. Rachel and Kate were in her room with the door closed. The stereo was playing, though not loudly, and every now and then, I’d hear one or both of them laugh. I turned back to the television and smiled and sighed. At least someone was having a good time.

When I finally went to bed, they were still in Rachel’s room, although, once in a while, they had made sudden quick appearances throughout the course of the evening. Otherwise, they remained cloistered away inside her tiny bedroom.

I turned off the lights downstairs, save for that in the kitchen, in case someone woke in the middle of the night. Then I crept up the stairs to my room. As I reached the top step, I could make out the faint smell of incense coming from my daughter’s room. I paused briefly by her door and could hear very soft music playing from inside. Then I heard what could only be a sigh. I took a deep breath and briskly stepped into my bedroom and shut the door.

I walked over to the nightstand beside the bed and clicked on the light. My room was large, and I had been its sole occupant for the last four years. My husband passed away much too soon, and I missed him terribly, but what I was starting to miss most of all was the company. I had long ago come to terms with his death, but never quite with the emptiness in my heart, my life, my home, even my bed. About a year and a half after his passing, Rachel suggested I might start dating – with her permission, of course. That’s a difficult thing to do, no matter how you slice it. Sadness, regret, shame, even embarrassment. I felt it all, at the very thought of dating, of actively seeking out someone else, after having devoted myself exclusively to one person for so many years. My one true love was gone, the man with whom I thought I would grow old. But, more and more, I grew unhappy in being without a close friend, a companion, someone I could lean on and hold. I was tired of being alone.

I never told Rachel, but a short time after her suggestion, and while she was away for a weekend class excursion, I went to a bar in search of what I thought I needed. Not what I wanted, but what I needed. I met a man there, wholly not my type, and brought him home with me. We had sex, if you could call it that. I kneeled on the floor in front of the couch and took him into my mouth. He didn’t last very long, and soon I was gagging, as he worked my head up and down. After he ejaculated into my mouth, I crawled over to a waste paper basket and spit, to which he responded with a disapproving chuckle. Even still, I crawled back and took over masturbating him, keeping his erection so I could have a chance to feel good, too. When he was fully erect again, he had me turn and drop my jeans and panties. I handed him a condom from my purse, and then he entered me roughly and fucked the same. And, as before, his ejaculation came all too soon. I hadn’t felt much of anything, as we briefly had intercourse, except for a deep sense of regret that slowly enveloped me, as he thrust into my body.

I pulled up my jeans, and he did likewise, and then left with no great fanfare. He got what he wanted, and I was left feeling ashamed and angry with myself and the life I felt was unfairly handed to me.

To be sure, I had friends. I had friends at work, friends next door, even a few of my husband’s former colleagues and pals who occasionally said hello, on the off chance we bumped into each other. But they had their own lives and families. Friends come second to family, something I could hardly hold against them. Sure, I had Rachel, the only child of our marriage. And since my husband’s death, she and I had become closer. I still couldn’t help but think her sudden “outing” as a lesbian was more a result of coping with the loss of her father, than it was a part of her nature to be attracted to the same sex. She had dated boys for a very long time, but I suppose this was her way of dealing with the trauma and loss. Mine was to sit at home and feel sorry for myself, trying to cope as best I knew how.

But Gayle struck me as a ray of hope – a possibility, though I don’t know exactly why. It may have been a combination of things. I liked her personality, and we seemed to get along well enough, if only for the short time we talked. But what I think most intrigued me was that she didn’t know my story or me. She seemed to know Rachel and might know something about the tragedy that befell our family. Still, Gayle didn’t know me. Our friends, after my husband’s death, treated me with kid gloves, and, to some extent, seemed to keep a respectable distance, likely their way of letting me mourn. The thing is, they never came back. A few tried, but when we made the attempt at resuming our normal routine, I could tell, it wasn’t quite the same. They’d drop me off to a darkened home, while they returned to their family, and an air of discomforting gloom seemed to settle upon us, as we said goodbye for the evening.

But Gayle wasn’t like this. She didn’t treat me as if she felt sorry for me. With her, it felt like starting with a clean slate. Others might look upon our brief encounter in the park as insignificant, shrugging it off as one of those minor occurrences in life; you make a new acquaintance, perhaps with the possibility of becoming a friend, but if not, oh well. They already have plenty of those, as it stands. Friends come and go. But, in my mind, meeting Gayle carried slightly more weight. She could very well be my way back to a life of normalcy. I liked her, and she seemed to like me. We enjoyed each other’s company. To me, she fit the bill. Gayle was what I wanted.

The next morning, I walked downstairs to breakfast and found Rachel sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal and reading the newspaper.

“Kate go home already?” I asked.

Rachel looked up and bobbed her head, as she chewed.

I opened the refrigerator and pulled out the milk.

“What time she leave?”

Still reading the paper, Rachel shrugged.

“Maybe half hour ago,” she replied.

I walked over to the table with a bowl in one hand and glass of ice tea in the other.

While Rachel continued reading, I tried to think of a way to bring up the subject of Gayle. I reached over for part of the newspaper under her elbow, and she lifted it, still keeping her gaze fixed on the paper.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”

Rachel took another bite of cereal and looked over at me.

As I carefully opened the paper, trying to act very nonchalant about the whole thing, I asked if she knew Gayle’s last name.

“Mah-nin,” she replied with a mouthful of cereal.

I tilted my head and cocked an eyebrow.

“Pardon?”

Rachel chuckled, wiped the milk that had drooled onto her chin, and swallowed.

“Martin,” she said.

Then she went back to reading the paper.

I tried to think of another way to ply her for information, but then she reached out for her glass of orange juice, and spoke.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what?”

“Why’d ya wanna know?”

I shrugged, trying to feign innocence, which wasn’t entirely contrived. It was a good question: why did I want to know?

“I dunno,” I stammered. “She didn’t mention it, and I didn’t think to ask. Just curious.”

Rachel nodded and took a long gulp from her glass, setting it down and continued reading.

I waited a few seconds, and then asked what she was like.

Rachel shrugged and turned the page.

“Nice, I guess.”

I dropped my shoulders and sighed softly. That wasn’t a very descriptive answer.

“So, she’s a physical therapist?”

“Yeah… at the hospital.”

Rachel worked part time there, so I figured that must be where they met.

I opened the newspaper and took a bite of my cereal.

“She seemed pretty nice,” I said, fishing for Rachel to continue the thread, but all she did was shrug and give a curt reply.

“Yeah,” she said. “She’s cool.”

I could see this wasn’t going anywhere and decided to drop the subject.

For the remainder of the day, I tried to keep myself busy. It was a typical dull Sunday for me. I cleaned up around the house, tried to work in the garden, but still, I was bored to tears. Rachel had gone out with Kate somewhere, leaving me to my own devices. By 3pm, I was about at my wit’s end. I couldn’t take the silence and isolation any longer. I walked into the kitchen to the phone and flipped through the university directory looking for Gayle Martin.

And then I found it.

I picked up the phone and was about to dial, but stopped. What was I doing? I hardly even know her. We only talked for, perhaps, a total of an hour and ten minutes. And now I was calling her, as if we were dear old chums? I quickly hung up the phone. No, I thought. Even I would think it a bit strange for someone I had only just met to do that. And then depression set in. I slowly trudged out to the living room and fell back onto the couch.

“I need to get outa here,” I mumbled, running my hands through my hair.

A few hours later, after doing the laundry and folding it, attempting to clean Rachel’s room, but immediately stopping upon finding a sex toy under her bed, aside from the usual clutter, she finally arrived home.

She was helping me fix dinner in the kitchen, when she nearly knocked my socks off.

“Guess who we saw at the mall?” she asked, while slicing a cucumber.

I was rinsing a head of lettuce in the sink.

“Who’s that?” I replied.

“What’s-her-name.”

I chuckled.

“And who would that be?”

Rachel tossed a small slice of cucumber into her mouth, replying, “That, uh, Gayle chick. Gayle Martin.”

My heart instantly started racing, and all the blood in my body sank to my feet.

“Oh yeah?” I replied, trying to maintain some control and not seem overtly, even strangely, enthusiastic about this revelation.

I turned off the water and shook the lettuce in the sink, and then placed it in a bowl and began peeling it.

“And what’d she have to say?” I asked with a nervous grin.

Rachel picked up the cutting board and scraped the cucumber slices into a bowl.

“Notta whole lot,” she replied.

My sudden glee quickly evaporated.

Rachel set the empty board in the sink and turned on the water to rinse it off.

“Oh… Almost forgot,” she said. “She asked what you were doing Thursday night.”

I had just picked up the bowl of lettuce and was about to turn toward the kitchen table, when she said that. I gulped and glanced at Rachel, who thankfully wasn’t looking, as I’m sure I was white as a ghost.

“Yeah?” I squeaked.

Rachel pulled the board out of the sink and began wiping it off with a dishtowel.

“Yeah, said she’s having some friends over at her place and wanted to know if you’d wanna come over too, I guess. I dunno… I wasn’t really paying attention and she talks kinda fast, anyway.”

Now I could feel my face turning red – red with anger. I wanted to toss the lettuce across the room and throttle my own flesh and blood. Instead, I forced myself to remain calm.

“Did she, uh… saying anything else? Any information? Like when and where?”

Rachel wiped her hands with the towel and turned to me. She seemed to be racking her brain, trying to remember, while I became more impatient.

“Umm… Oh, yeah,” she finally said, and reached into her back pocket, pulling out a small slip of paper. “She wrote it down.”

Rachel handed it to me, and there, scrawled on it in someone else’s handwriting, obviously not Rachel’s, was a name, phone number, address, and time. Below this were the words, “Dress casual”. Next to that was a smiley face.

The blood that had boiled to my face now flooded back down to my feet.

“Gonna go?”

“Hm?”

I looked up and Rachel was staring at me. She poked her finger at the paper in my hand.

“Gonna go?” she asked.

“Oh… Um… Yeah, well, uh… Sure. Sure, I don’t think I have anything going on that night, so, uh… yeah, you know, why not? Sure.”

Rachel smirked.

“Yeah,” she replied sarcastically. “You gotta real busy schedule, huh?” Then she turned and walked into the living room. “A real social butterfly,” she said. “That’s you.”

For the remainder of the night, I felt giddy. I hadn’t felt this good in a long time. For some reason this little, otherwise insignificant, invitation made me feel more alive than ever before. So much time had passed, since I last felt such joy in my heart, and I was happily becoming reacquainted with something I thought I’d never again experience.

Today was Sunday and the get-together, or whatever it was, wouldn’t be until the following Thursday – four agonizingly long days. All evening, I fought the urge to call her. Over and over, I played out in my mind what I’d say, what my reason would be for calling. To thank her? To let her know I had accepted her offer? Or maybe she felt sorry for me. Maybe she and Rachel had been talking that afternoon and somehow my name came up in the conversation.

“Where’s your mom?”

“Sitting at home sulking. She’s really in bad shape. Boy, I feel sorry for her, don’t you?”

Was this a pity invitation? No. No, it couldn’t be. Besides, I doubt Rachel would talk about me like that. I think she understood what I was going through. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I reasoned out how that conversation probably went.

“Where’s your mom?”

“Uh… Last I saw her, she was at home vacuuming the rug. Why?”

That was more like the Rachel I knew.

So, I didn’t call Gayle. I wanted to. I wanted to very badly, but I didn’t. I resisted the temptation. No, I thought, I’d call her tomorrow evening. Still, that would be a torturous twenty-four hours.

That night, as I crawled into bed, I leaned over to set my alarm on the nightstand. The phone was sitting next to it. I glanced at the clock once more, the fleeting thought of calling her coursing through my mind, but quickly turned away and pulled the covers up over my shoulders.

“Definitely not at this time of night,” I mumbled.

Sure enough, the next day was pure Hell for me. I was nearly tempted to call her around noon, but thought better of it. That would probably be worse than calling her as soon as I got the invitation. So I waited. Every now and then, I’d glance at the clock in the back of my classroom, seeing how much longer I’d have to wait and suffer. The hands moved slowly, excruciatingly slowly. And even though it felt like the day would never end, with each passing hour, every minute that slipped by, I knew I was that much closer to home, the phone, and my new friend.

It wasn’t until 4:30pm that I finally cast off the shackles and jumped in the car and sped home. By 5pm, I was standing in the kitchen debating whether or not to call. I looked over at the clock, my new tormentor, and bit my lower lip. Shaking my head, I forced myself to walk away.

“Too soon,” I muttered. “Might not be home.”

What about calling her at six?

I shook my head again. No. That might be too soon, as well. She might be out jogging or running or exercising or whatever it is she does.

All right, how about seven? Surely she must be done by then.

I sat on the edge of the couch and thought about it. Seven o’clock. No, let’s make it seven-thirty, just to be on the safe side.

Ok, but what’re you going to do until then?

Make dinner.

And that’s how I busied myself for the next hour. By 6pm, Rachel was home, but said she had a late lunch and wasn’t hungry. Although it would have been nice to know this before I prepared enough food for two people, still, it killed an hour. Half an hour later, I had finished dinner, chatted with Rachel for a few minutes about her day, and was ready to clean up. When seven o’clock rolled around, I decided that was long enough. I was going to call Gayle.I walked over to the phone and pulled from my pocket the slip of paper she had given to Rachel, and, as I dialed the number, my fingers trembled slightly. Then I held the phone to my ear and waited nervously.

It rang once. Then twice. Then three times. I closed my eyes.

“C’mon,” I mumbled.

“Hello?”

My eyes flew open and I smiled.

“Uh, yeah… is this Gayle?”

“Speaking.”

“Hi, this is, uh, Jessica… Jess… I dunno if you remem-”

“Oh, yeah,” she chuckled, cutting me off. “Right. Yeah, I remember. Of course. Jess, sure. How could I forget? So did you get the, uh… note I gave to Rachel? I didn’t know, if you…”

“Yeah. Uh huh. Yep. I got it,” I replied happily, holding up the slip of paper to no one in particular.

I felt nervous. My toes and fingers felt numb and my throat was dry.

“Oh, ok. Great,” she replied. “So, um, it’s just a little dinner party. Nothing fancy. I was just thinking, uh, hey, why not send you an invite, too, ya know?”

I was staring down at the note in my hand, staring at the smiley face she’d drawn, which caused me to smile in kind.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’d like that. Thanks. Thank you. That was, uh… very thoughtful of you.”

There was a muffled noise on Gayle’s side of the phone, as if she were moving around.

“So, ok. Well, um… Lemme think there… It starts about… Oh, I dunno, six-ish or so. But, I mean, you can show up any time you’d like.”

“Would six-thirty be ok?” I asked.

At the front of my mind, I was thinking I’d have to make dinner for my daughter, but the truth is she could make it herself. I simply didn’t want to be the first person there. I’ve always felt a bit awkward about that, particularly when I don’t know anyone. I’d rather walk in on a crowd, than have one walk in on me.

“Yeah, sure,” she said. “Just so I know when to be standing at the door to meet you.”

We both chuckled nervously, and then I was at a loss for what to say next. And, the strange thing is, I also got the impression Gayle felt the same way.

There was a second or two of silence.

“So, um… casual then, right?” I asked, desperately fishing for something to fill the uncomfortable void.

“Yeah,” she replied. “But don’t get all dolled up for me.”

We both chuckled again, and then I thought perhaps it best to make a graceful exit, while I still could.

“Well, all right then,” I said, tapping my fingers nervously on the kitchen counter. “I guess I’ll see you at six-thirty.”

“Great. Great,” she replied. “Can’t wait to see you again.”

It was the strangest thing, but I actually giggled, when she said that, eliciting the same from her.

“Ok, then, um… Well, bye. And thank you again.”

“All righty,” she replied with what I could almost envision as a smile. “See you then. Six-thirty.”

I slowly hung up the phone, still nervous, but giddy all the same. As I turned around, Rachel walked into the kitchen.

“Who was that?” she asked.

I quickly glanced back at the phone, gesturing to it, saying, “Oh, uh… That was Gayle. I just, uh… you know, called to thank her for the invitation.”

Rachel nodded, and then opened a cupboard and pulled out a glass.

“You goin’, then?” she asked.

I leaned against the counter, replying, “Um, yeah. No reason not to, ya know? Not like I’m some great social butterfly with a full schedule, huh?”

Rachel poured herself some ice tea and took a sip, giving me a thumb’s up, as she walked back out to the living room.

That evening, I went through all of my clothes, trying to figure out what to wear. She said casual, so that’s what I wanted, but not too casual. I hardly knew her, and I certainly wouldn’t know anyone there, so I thought it best to go with a nice casual.

I sifted through everything in my closet, finally settling on jeans and a decent blouse. Now all I had to do was wait three days – three very long days.

When Thursday finally rolled around, I was a nervous wreck for most of the day, and my heart wasn’t in my lessons. I tried to remain focused, but it was becoming more and more difficult with each passing hour. By 2pm, I was nearly at the end of my rope in keeping up any semblance of sanity.

After being perfectly alone for the last few years, here was a chance to find company and comfort. In a few short hours, I had the chance to recapture some of what I had lost, to reenter the world of the living and be a part of life again. Things were starting to look up, if only in the form of a new friend. But even that tiny sliver of light was enough to warm my heart and soul.

On Thursday afternoon, once school was out, I rushed home and quickly got dinner started for Rachel, so by the time she arrived, all she’d have to do is finish it. Then up to my bedroom, I dashed, pulling off my drab school clothes and dressed for the dinner party. While I was in the bathroom primping and styling my hair, Rachel came home. I was leaning toward the mirror, applying lipstick, when she stepped into the doorway behind me.

“Gettin’ ready for your big date?” she said with a smirk.

I pulled the lipstick away and pressed my lips together.

“Funny,” I muttered.

Rachel turned and walked into her bedroom. I could still see her reflection in the mirror, moving around in her room.

“You know she’s a dyke, don’t ya?” she called.

I was applying eye shadow, when she said that, and slowly stood up, staring at myself in the mirror. I hadn’t even thought of that. A few seconds later, Rachel was standing in the door behind me again.

“Look nice,” she said.

I closed my makeup kit and placed it back on the wire shelf above the sink.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, slipping past her and into my room.

As I sat on the bed slowly tying my shoes and thinking about what Rachel had said, she walked in and leaned against my dresser.

“You knew that, didn’t you?”

I put more effort into working my shoelaces and looked up at her.

“Knew what?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

“That’s she’s a dyke.”

I looked down, shaking my head, and dropped my foot to the floor, lifting the next.

“Wish you wouldn’t use that word,” I replied with a huff.

“Why not?” she chuckled. “I’m a dyke. Kate’s a dyke. Gayle’s a dyke. What’s the big deal?”

I glanced at her and she grinned.

“It’s an ugly word,” I replied. “That’s why. And, yeah, I kinda figured she wasn’t exactly straight.”

That, of course, was a lie. But it wasn’t as if I had assumed she was heterosexual, either. The fact is it never even crossed my mind. But now that it was there, now that the seed had been planted, that same unassuming mind began running rampant with questions, though one in particular was the focus: why did she invite me? Was she simply being friendly or did she have some other ulterior motive? Then I began thinking about what that ulterior motive could be.

Was Gayle attracted to me?

I was standing in my closet, looking for a light jacket to wear, and let my gaze fall to my husband’s side. Nothing there had been touched since his death. Everything was as he left it, the day he went to the hospital to have a benign brain tumor removed. In and out in a few days was how it was supposed to go. Instead, within hours of his surgery, he had climbed out of bed to go to the bathroom, against the orders of his nurse, and made it back just in time to hit the call button, alerting the nurse’s station that he needed assistance. When she got to his room, he was lying on the floor dead. A blood vessel in his brain had ruptured.

Rachel and I had walked down to the hospital cafeteria to get the three of us something to eat. He wanted pizza and a Dr. Pepper. We had left him sitting up in bed, talking and lively, watching television. The surgeon had been in to check on him, saying he could probably go home in two or three days.

For several months leading up to that day, I had been worried sick he was going to die, that his tumor was worse than what the doctors had said. They all assured me it was benign and that removing it was a routine procedure. And when he was sitting up in bed, laughing and talking, I was finally able to sigh in relief. I had thought my worries were over.

I quickly snatched a jacket from a hanger and clicked off the light in the closet, walking out and shutting the door behind me. Rachel had gone downstairs, and I could hear the television on in the living room.

“Why can’t things just work out right for once,” I whispered softly, as my eyes began to water.

“Hey, where’d ya hide the salt?”

I moped over to the bedroom door, slowly slipping my arms in my jacket. Then suddenly, Rachel appeared in front of me.

“Can’t find the salt,” she said.

While buttoning my jacket, and without looking up, I told her it was in the spice drawer.

Rachel stood there for a moment watching my hands slowly work the buttons.

“I think she has a girlfriend,” she said softly.

I raised my face and brushed the hair from my eyes.

“Pardon?”

Rachel stood staring at me, not smiling, but giving me an almost sympathetic expression. I had been fighting back my tears, something I’d become good at over the last few years.

She shrugged.

“She’s probably not… you know… interested in you like that.”

Then she shrugged again and gave me a weak smile.

“I dunno,” she said. “I think she’s seeing someone, but I dunno for sure. Maybe, maybe not.”

I returned her smile, though it was a bit forced, and followed her downstairs. I picked up my keys and purse and walked over to the door. And there I stood briefly, wondering if I should do this. Were my hopes simply going to be dashed once again? What made it seem all the worse was that I had built myself up to this point. For a second, I was almost angry with this Gayle person, someone I hardly knew, someone who, for an instant, I tried to blame for allowing me to climb to the top of the mountain only to suddenly feel a strong gust of wind trying to push me off the other side. I wanted to blame Gayle, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t, because I didn’t know her or her motives. And worse yet, I was basing my assumptions, which is all they were, on something as benign as whom she preferred to sleep with. Still, it had been a benign something that tore my life apart before. Now the question became not what were her motives, but was I going to let this stop me? Was I willing to take a chance and let go of the flotsam I was clinging to and try for something else? Was it worth the risk?

Life’s a gamble, no matter how much you try to avoid it. Making this proposition even less palatable is the notion that unless you’re willing to take chances, you’re never going to find what you’re looking for.

Happiness doesn’t find you. You have to create it.

I turned from the front door and told Rachel I’d be home no later than 10pm. She was moving about in the kitchen and stepped into the doorway and nodded.

“Ok,” she said. “Have fun.”

That’s what I decided I wanted: fun and happiness for once, and to Hell with the risks.

Within fifteen minutes, I was driving into the parking lot of Gayle’s condominium complex. It was nice, but large and anonymous. Rachel and I lived in an older part of town with big houses and large trees lining the streets. There was plenty of room to move around and spread out, as opposed to here, where everything and everyone was compacted into small modular habitats. There was very little in the way of personal outward trappings, expressing that unique individuals lived inside.

Looking for a place to park, I was becoming more anxious. Gayle was a lesbian. She found me in the park that Saturday and struck up a conversation. She sat and we talked, and I had invited her to do so. Now she had extended an invitation to me to come to her home. Did she see me at the park that day and make some kind of conscious decision? The thought almost made me wince, to think that she was interested in me, as Rachel implied, “that way”. But what if she wasn’t? Just because she’s a lesbian, doesn’t mean she has sex on the brain around the clock. Then I thought about it. It suddenly popped into my mind: sex with another woman. I pulled into an empty parking space and turned off the car and quickly shook my head.

“Ok,” I mumbled. “You’re reading way too much into this.”

I gathered up my purse and stepped out of the car.

It was early September and the evening sun was casting an orange and gold hue. I gazed up at the building in front of me, looking for any sign of a dinner party in the open windows. There was one on the second floor, the curtains open, and I could see two people standing with their backs to me. A light was on inside, and they seemed to be talking.

“Must be it.”

I took a deep breath and followed the sidewalk to the door of the building. Inside, I checked the mailboxes and found Gayle’s. Then I turned, and before me was a set of steps, one leading up, the other down. Based on her condo number, and where I had seen the people standing in the window, I guessed she lived on the second floor, so I trudged up the steps.

Standing inside the hallway of the second floor, I could hear music emanating from the other side of the first door to my right. It was Gayle’s number on the door: #521. I glanced down at my watch and grinned. The time was almost exactly 6:30pm, with a minute to spare. It was one of those things I took a wee bit of pride in, that of being punctual. Then I looked up at the door, took a breath and exhaled, put on a smile, and knocked. Instantly the door swung open.

And there was Gayle.

As she opened the door, she was turned away, saying something to someone inside the room and laughing. She had a glass in one hand, it looked like wine, and I chuckled nervously, in response to her, and then she turned to me and smiled.

“Hey! You made it,” she said with a broad grin.

Gayle stepped back, bringing the door with her.

“C’mon in,” she said, extending a long finger and brushing the hair from her eyes.

Inside the living room were a dozen or more people. Some standing, some sitting, all of them chatting and laughing in small groups. Against one wall was a large entertainment system in an equally large wood cabinet. The television was off, but I could see the little red and green lights of the stereo flickering in time with the music it played.

“Wanna take your coat off?” she asked.

I turned and smiled, as Gayle stood there holding her glass in one hand and the other jammed in her back pocket.

“Oh, um… Sure,” I replied.

I went to remove my coat, but Gayle, taking a sip of wine, shook her head and smiled.

“Mm, no. C’mon,” she said, gesturing for me to follow her.

As we walked toward a lighted hallway, she’d let her hand land on various people we passed, eliciting a quick turn of the head and smile from them. Then their eyes would land on me, and I’d smile back, almost embarrassed. But their grins broadened, when they saw me, this stranger in their midst, perhaps an unconscious way of welcoming me into their circle.

I followed Gayle down to an open door, which led into a dark room. Just outside the doorway, she reached in and flipped on a light. It could have been a bedroom, but it looked as though she used it for other purposes, numerous in fact, as there was a desk, computer, a radio, assorted books and a stationary bike. But strewn throughout the room, here and there, were other coats. Gayle said I could leave mine in there, as well.

As I took it off, I could sense her looking at me. Staring at me. Watching me. And the gears in my mind started turning again. She’s a lesbian, I thought quietly, and could feel myself blush.

I gently laid my coat on the seat of the chair in front of the desk, and then turned to her, brushing my hands down my side. She was holding the glass of wine to her mouth, taking a sip, and smiled, when our eyes met.

“You look nice,” she said softly and with that same curious smile I’d seen the previous Saturday in the park.

I glanced down and could feel my face burning red.

“Thanks,” I replied sheepishly. “Your note said casual, so I, uh…”

“Want something to drink?” she asked, but in a tone that seemed livelier, as if changing the subject.

I looked up and nodded.

“Um… Yeah, sure.”

Gayle’s suspicious smile faded into a more amiable expression.

“C’mon,” she said, nudging her head toward the door.

As I followed her back into the hallway, I found myself staring at her from behind.

Gayle was a few inches taller than me, and she most certainly had the figure of an athlete, perhaps more that of a dancer. Long, slender legs extending up to a small round butt. She was wearing jeans and a white, buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled slightly up her thin forearms. And down from the back of her head cascaded her long brown hair, stopping midway between her shoulder blades.

That was the first time I consciously thought of her as an attractive woman. But, of course, she was. There was no denying it. Any man in his right mind would find her attractive. I also noticed how she moved with a certain ease and grace, her limbs seeming to flow, as she walked and gestured and went about the mechanical business of being a hostess. There was a degree of finesse in her every movement, even elegance, as if choreographed and rehearsed many times over, but coming at such short notice as to be wholly an unconscious act. When she laughed, her body would gently bend like a lithe reed, slowly arcing back, her hands clasped around the glass of wine they held in front, counterbalancing her delicate movement. And then her teeth would shine, as her lips slowly receded and her jaw dropped, almost like that of a marionette, straight downward, while her eyes narrowed and brows rose high. And her smile was infectious. When Gayle smiled, so did everyone else.

She kept me close to her side, as she made the rounds between friends, introducing me to all of them and actively engaging me in whatever conversations we stumbled upon or initiated, and there was nothing contrived about her performance. When she asked me what I thought about one thing or another, the sincerity of her interest was evident in her eyes, how they wrinkled at the corners and her nostrils would twitch and flare. And it was intriguing to watch her speak, as she did so not only with her voice, but her entire being, moving her body and hands and legs, gesturing and touching someone with a delicate hand. Several times, I’d feel Gayle’s hand on my arm, my shoulder, my back; a soft touch, as she spoke to me or someone else. Then she’d turn to me and smile, a soothing grin. And, as the evening wore on, I slowly became more enamored by her subtle grace.

After we had made an appearance at each small circle of friends, we found ourselves alone and sitting on the couch. Gayle asked if I was having a nice evening, and I couldn’t help but notice how she seemed to avoid looking at me, when posing the question, as if too embarrassed to make eye contact. When I said yes, she rolled her nearly empty glass of wine between her fingers and smiled and nodded.

“I’m glad,” she replied, glancing at me with a smile, but quickly hid behind her glass, as she held it to her lips.

My stomach fluttered and my gaze drifted down to the glass in my hands.

“Can I get you some more?” she asked, with a light gesture.

“I’m fine,” I replied. “Gotta drive home, anyway.”

Gayle turned more toward me, lifting one knee onto the couch.

“I’m sorry,” she said, almost plaintively, resting a hand on my thigh. “I shoulda asked first, if maybe you’d like a soda or something instead of wine.”

“S’ok,” I replied, taking my turn to hide behind my glass.

Then I felt the hand on my thigh give an almost imperceptible squeeze, and then pull away.

The party was slowly winding down, and soon the conversations became less animated and more demure. Gayle and I spoke quietly on the couch, sometimes giggling, sometimes leaning close and speaking in nearly a whispered tone. And the topics ranged widely and changed smoothly. Gayle knew how to live and enjoy life, expertly combing for the smallest morsels and finding joy in them, something I had long since abandoned. We discussed books and movies and songs and the people we knew and those we didn’t. She told me about her mother and sister, the friends she had in high school and college, as well as those with whom she worked and those in our presence. And she listened with great intensity to my story, though never broaching the subject of my husband, something I came to assume my daughter may have already imparted to her. One by one, and sometimes in pairs, people slowly departed, stopping by to thank Gayle for inviting them and shaking my hand, taking a moment to say it was nice to meet me, to which I replied in kind. She would stand and escort them to the door, and, when she came back, she always seemed a bit sad to see them leave. When the last of the partygoers had left, Gayle came and plopped down onto the couch next to me with a long sigh.

“…the one thing I’ve never liked,” she remarked, as she leaned to the coffee table to pick up her glass.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Gayle took a long sip.

“Whenever a party ends,” she replied.

We sat for a moment, gazing around the now empty living room. Music was still playing on the stereo, though so low as to be nearly inaudible. A few empty cups sat about, one in the windowsill and another on an end table. Gayle inhaled deeply, and then let out another long, exasperated sigh.

“Well,” she said, slapping her hands to her knees and motioning to stand. “It’s getting late,” she said and smiled at me.

I looked down at my watch and gasped. It was five after ten.

“What is it?” she chuckled. “Got a curfew?”

I snickered and explained how I had told Rachel I’d be home by ten. Then Gayle gestured toward the kitchen.

“You can call her, if you’d like. Phone’s right over there.”

While Gayle walked around the room cleaning up, I called my daughter to let her know I’d be home shortly.

“How was it?” she asked.

“Pretty nice,” I replied, holding the phone close to my mouth, as I watched the hostess from the corner of my eye move deftly about, picking up one item or another. Then I told Rachel I’d be home within half an hour.

When I hung up, Gayle was walking into the kitchen with the empty cups and stepped over to the trash. I stood for a moment, fidgeting with my hands and asked if there was something I could do to help.

“Nah,” she said. “There’s not much. I can get it.”

Then a peculiar mood seemed to sweep down between us, something I hadn’t felt in years, but when I recognized it, I felt my face turn red and blush. Gayle seemed to sense it, as well, and when she hooked her thumb over her shoulder toward the room with my coat, I smiled sheepishly and nodded.

“Um… You wanna get your…”

“Yeah,” I stammered. “Gettin’ kinda late.”

I followed her down the hall to the room, and she leaned inside to flip on the light. I slipped past her to get my coat, draping it over my arm, and then back down the hall we went, stopping at the front door. As I pulled the keys from my coat pocket, I could see Gayle jam her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and rock gently on her heels, as if she were nervous. When I looked up, she was staring down at the floor, pursing her lips tightly, almost as if she wanted to say something. And then my keys jingled and she looked up and smiled, brushing the hair from her face. I grinned fitfully in reply and reached for the doorknob.

“I guess I should…”

“Yeah,” she replied quickly, nodding her head. “Can I, um… let me walk you out? That ok?”

I pulled my hand away from the door and nodded with a sputter.

“Oh, uh… yeah, sure.”

Gayle chuckled nervously and reached for the door.

“Can’t be too safe,” she added with a tense giggle.

Then she opened the door and gestured for me to go ahead of her. As I walked out into the quiet hallway, I felt as though I were on a date, back when I was a teenage girl.

We walked downstairs and out to my car in the parking lot, and the entire way neither of us spoke. Honestly, I wouldn’t have even known what to say. With each step, I was consciously trying not to think of Gayle as being a lesbian and how peculiar she was acting toward me. In fact, if I had to describe it accurately, it was just as I said, no different from when I was in high school and on a date with a boy who was nervous about how the evening would end.

She stopped at the front of my car, while I took the last few steps to the driver’s side door. Then I carefully pushed the key into the lock and looked over at her. Gayle was standing there with her arms folded tightly against her chest, her bosom hardly visible, and a broad smile on her face. But it wasn’t merely a smile, a simple display of politeness, rather a grin expressing a genuine happiness within. And, when I saw it, I couldn’t help but feel the same way. Warmth suddenly filled me, and my stomach fluttered at seeing her standing there like that. I blushed and looked down at the door and slowly pulled up on the handle. The door gently popped loose, and I stepped back to open it.

“Well… Thanks again for inviting me,” I said softly, not quite sure what more to say, but feeling as though those few words weren’t nearly enough. And, when I gazed over at her, I giggled, as she stood there still wearing that precious grin for me.

“Thanks for coming,” she replied with a little wave of the hand.

I fidgeted with my keys, smiled nervously, and, as I stepped down into the car, Gayle spoke.

“Oh… Um… Hey.”

I quickly poked my head out the door and tried to stand.

Gayle held out her hand, saying, “I was, uh…” Then she chuckled and glanced down at her feet, playfully kicking one foot, adding, “I was wondering if, uh… if you’d like to go to lunch maybe… sometime… no, uh… no big deal.” And then she snarled her lip for emphasis, giving a wave of the hand for more effect. Just a routine departing question, was what she seemed to be implying.

My eyes darted to the steering wheel, as my brain tried to register this sudden and unexpected request. It was beginning to feel more like a date.

“I, uh… Yeah, yeah… Um… Sure, you know, yeah. That’d be fine. Sure. I’d like that.”

Gayle’s smile returned and she shrugged, leaning from one foot to the other and asking if any particular day would work best for me. My eyes roamed the interior of the car once more, as I tried to think and make sense of all that was happening before me. Then I noticed my hands beginning to tremble.

“Any… Any time would, uh…”

I cleared my throat and tried to speak again.

“Any time’s ok… with me,” I stammered. “I, uh… Did… Did you have a certain day that’d, uh… work for you?”

She brushed a hand over her forehead and looked off for a moment, as if in thought. Then she slowly shook her head.

“Um… No, not really. Would, uh… Would tomorrow be ok? Would that work?”

My head jittered up and down.

“Yeah, sure. That’d be fine. So… Should I call you?” I asked.

Then I looked around the dashboard for a pen and paper to write on. When I finally found something, I turned back to Gayle, ready to take down her work number, but found that she had stepped over to the door. I looked up and blinked, as she stood there in front of me with her arms still folded. I went to place the small scrap of paper I’d found on the door to write, but saw that my hands were now visibly shaking, so I quickly pulled them down to my lap, placing the pen and paper on my thigh. I glanced up and nodded, and she gave me a number I could reach her at during the day.

So it was settled. I’d call her in the morning to arrange meeting her for lunch. We then parted with a few more quick, uneasy goodbyes, and, as I pulled out, I watched as Gayle slowly trudged back inside, staring down at the sidewalk, her arms folded and wrapped tightly around her chest. And in that instant, I felt sorry for her. I could empathize with her, and it ached my heart that someone like her, so alive and wonderful, would have to return to a darkened, desolate room to be left alone. But what made a tear come to my eye was the knowledge that I was now doing the same thing, what I’d been doing for the last several years, and I did so passionately hate it.

When I arrived home, I checked myself in the rearview mirror, to ensure Rachel wouldn’t see that I’d been crying, and then I slowly followed the sidewalk to the front door and stepped inside.

As I lay in bed, once again alone in my own dreary tomb, I rolled over, and my eyes landed on the phone sitting on the nightstand. I wanted to call her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. In my heart, though, I knew if I did, she’d understand. So, instead, I turned away and faced the ceiling, wondering if Gayle was doing like me at that very moment, lying in bed wondering if there was any way out of this, if there was really any hope at all. Then I sighed and closed my eyes, drifting into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning, I awoke feeling hung over, weak and tired, and emotionally, if not physically, exhausted. Gayle’s party had been a wakeup call for me. Something had to change in my life. What I was looking for, whatever it might be, wasn’t going to come find me. I had to go get it myself. And, as I stood in the shower with my hands behind my back, letting the warm water splash over my body, long strands of wet hair dangling around my face like a curtain, I began thinking about Gayle, thinking about how this person whom I barely knew made me feel. There was just something about her, some unknown, intangible quality I couldn’t quite define. My subconscious kept trying to regurgitate her being a lesbian, but I shook it out of my head.

“I’m not a lesbian,” I replied softly. “And so what, if she is? That doesn’t mean anything.”

But my mind kept dwelling on it, kept going back to her curious smile and the way she acted when we were sitting alone in her living room or standing outside by my car. My mind was working feverishly to convince me that her motives weren’t as amiable as I thought, but I knew the impetus for this notion was purely conjectural.

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” I mumbled, and turned to rinse my face.

And then my subconscious slipped a thought into the light where I could see it.

“She’s pretty.”

I stopped rinsing the shampoo from my hair and let my hands slowly drift down over my mouth. Then I turned from the spray and opened my eyes, brushing the water from them.

Did I just think that?

My subconscious presented me with a myriad of mental images, as proof of the assertion – her smile, her slender fingers and lean legs; her flowing brown hair and the way her body moved. And then I began thinking of the details, the things I couldn’t see, the things hidden under her clothes. I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of these sudden bizarre thoughts. Not once had I ever looked at another woman and admired her sexuality. And the less I attempted to thwart these thoughts, the more emboldened my subconscious became and began sending a flurry of them racing to the forefront of my mind.

Standing there in the shower, I thought about Gayle and how she acted towards me. When we talked, it was as if we were connecting on an emotional and intellectual level. In short, trying to become friends. And I was genuinely interested in getting to know her, and there seemed no doubt in my mind she felt the same toward me. You can tell, when someone’s faking it, when their motives are transparent. Sometimes it’s overt and at others merely a gut feeling that something isn’t right, but I didn’t sense any duplicity in Gayle’s words or actions. And what difference did it make, if she was attracted to me? Was it such an awful thing? In fact, if she were, I’d almost be forced to take it as a compliment. Over the last few years, several men had made passes at me, though I wasn’t all that interested in following through. Sure, they were nice, and I was even friends with one of them, a colleague at the school where I taught, but nothing ever transpired from it. We remained friends and nothing more, and that friendship didn’t seem to suffer for it. It’s entirely possible to be attracted to someone, yet still maintain a purely platonic relationship with no ill effect.

As I stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel off the shelf, I found myself actually becoming flattered that Gayle would be attracted to me. I smiled and giggled at the thought, as I dried myself: another woman attracted to me, of all people. The possibility had never even crossed my mind, not once in my life.

I used the towel to wipe the steam away from the mirror, and, just before I started brushing my hair, I stood staring at my reflection. My wet hair hung limp around my face, stopping just above my eyes in front and below my neck in back. Red and long, my husband always like it that way. Many years before, when Rachel was very young, I came home one day from the salon with a new hairstyle, much shorter than I’d ever had it before. My husband took one look and gasped, making me promise never to cut it that short again. And that evening, as we lay in bed, he kissed me and held me close, saying I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

It’d been a long time since someone had said that to me.

After dressing, I walked downstairs to breakfast. Rachel was sitting at the table, and we ate together. She was reading the newspaper, as usual, and asked a few questions about the dinner party at Gayle’s, but otherwise it was just a routine morning.

When I arrived at school, I made my way quickly to my classroom. Today I was going to give my first period students a pop quiz, something I really disliked doing, but it was a way to keep them on their toes and ensure they did the required reading. It would also afford me a good fifteen minutes to make a call to Gayle.

The bell rang, and the last of the stragglers slowly made their way into the room, taking their seats. I announced there was going to be a quiz, and then came the obligatory groans of protest, but I apologized, saying it was for their own good, and promised to be holistic in my grading.

Once my students were fully occupied, I quietly excused myself and quickly made my way down to the teacher’s lounge, not far from my room. As I opened the door, another teacher was walking out, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Mornin’, Jess.”

“Hey, Todd.”

Then I dashed over to the phone, before anyone could walk in on me.

I pulled out the slip of paper with Gayle’s phone number at work and dialed.

“Good morning. Physical therapy. How can I direct your call?”

“Um, yeah,” I said softly, looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was walking into the lounge. “Is Gayle in yet? Gayle Martin.”

“Yes, she is. Can I tell her who’s calling, please?”

I sat down on the couch next to the phone and squirmed.

“Uh, yeah, my name’s Jess. Jessica. She’s expecting my call.”

“Ok, I’ll let her know you’re on hold. Just a moment, please.”

But before I could thank her, that wretched music they always play came over the line. I glanced at the clock on the wall and grimaced.

“C’mon,” I mumbled.

“Hey, Jess.”

Startled by those sudden words, I shot upright and grinned.

“Gayle? Hey, uh… So, I, uh, don’t have a lot of time here.”

I glanced at the clock again, then to my watch.

“Ok,” she said. “Yeah, a client just showed up here, so we better keep it short. Thought I’d grab the phone quick, when they told me it was you.”

I held the phone to my ear with both hands and felt my face turning red.

“So, um…”

“Ya know, you have a really pretty phone voice,” she said with a chuckle.

I giggled in reply, and she added, “Well, and off the phone, too. I’m just saying…”

“I don’t have much time,” I laughed. “I gave ’em a pop quiz a few minutes ago, and they’re probably done by now.”

Gayle laughed, saying, “Ugh. God, those sucked. Ok, what time? When and where?”

“I, uh…”

“Want me to come over and meet you?” she asked.

My arms began trembling.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Um… You know where, right?”

“Uh huh. What time?”

“Lemme think here,” I said, closing my eyes and rubbing my fingers against my forehead.

“Hurry up,” she laughed.

“I’m trying!” I exclaimed with a snicker. “You’re making me nervous.”

Gayle laughed again.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Geesh… Um, would twelve-thirty be ok? I only have a little over an hour, but if we waited till tomorrow, I’d have…”

“No,” she replied quickly. “Today’s fine. So, ok then, I’ll meet you at twelve-thirty. By the front doors?”

I nodded. “Yeah, that’d work.”

“Ok,” she said. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“All right,” I whispered. “Bye.”

“See ya then… Oh, and Jess?”

“Yeah?”

Gayle was quiet for a moment, and I glanced at the clock once more, but smiled.

“Thanks for calling,” she said. “Kinda made my morning.”

“You’re too much,” I giggled nervously, staring down at the floor. “See ya later.”

As I walked back to my classroom, I had bells on my toes. I felt so good, in fact, that when I got back to the room and saw all the quizzes sitting on my desk, I told my students they were off the hook. I wasn’t going to grade them, to which they sighed in relief.

From twelve to twelve-thirty, I had to sit in the hallway down near the cafeteria with another teacher, as we worked the hall monitor shift. No one was supposed to get by us without a written pass. Her name was Gloria and was on the verge of retiring, which I think many students wished she had opted for many years before. She could be nice enough, but she did have a tendency to be cranky and play favorites with the students. As a result, whenever one of them wanted to go to their locker during lunch, they invariably came to me, if I was sitting out there with her.

When Rachel was still in high school, she told me how Gloria had a nickname with the kids. They called her “The Gestapo”, because, just as how in every movie set during World War Two there was always a Gestapo agent at a train station checking papers and passports, so too did Gloria with the same fervent demeanor.

“Pay-pahs, pleez,” was how Rachel verbalized it, using an exaggerated German accent.

I, on the other hand, was referred to as “Mother Theresa”, for the mercy I tended to hand out freely to everyone with even a mediocre sob story.

So, as I sat on one side of the hallway and Gloria the other, where she sat reading, I tried to wave the kids over to me, as they approached, partly to help them and partly to kill thirty minutes.

At twenty after twelve, a young girl from the main office came walking down the hall. I was talking to a student, when she stopped next to me.

“Mrs. Clarke, you have a visitor at the office.”

I glanced at my watch.

“Already?” I mumbled, but with a broad smile.

Gloria looked up from her book.

“Yeah, go on,” she said. “Only a few more minutes left.”

“Thanks,” I replied happily and jumped up from my chair.

As I made my way quickly to the office, I passed two boys walking toward Gloria. When they saw me leaving, they stopped in their tracks and frowned.

“Sorry,” I whispered, as I zipped past them.

The main office was far on the other side of the building, so by the time I reached it, I was nearly sprinting and out of breath. But, when I turned the corner, there she was. Gayle was sitting on a bench in the hall with one leg crossed over the other, twirling her sunglasses in her hand. I came to a screeching halt, just as she turned to see what the commotion was. And, when she smiled at me, mine grew wider. Then she stood and picked up a plastic bag next to her, along with two large sodas in a cardboard holder.

“Hey, there you are,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind. I dropped by the sub shop on the way over.”

I stopped in front of her, my chest heaving up and down, and continued to smile nervously.

“You ok?” she asked, giving me a funny look.

I nodded.

“Um, yeah… I was just… just on the other side of the building, when they told me you were here,” I replied, pointing back behind me.

She held up the sodas and bag, saying, “So, where’d you wanna…”

“Oh, uh… We can go outside, if you’d like,” I said. “There’s a picnic table just around the corner, kinda under a tree. It’s a little shady there.”I think Gayle could sense my anxiety, as one side of her mouth slowly curled.

“Ok,” she said, and then we turned and walked out the door.

We went over to the picnic table and sat across from each other, trying to make idle chatter.

“How was your morning?” she asked.

I poked a straw through the top of my soda and shrugged.

“Same as always,” I replied, taking a long sip. “How was yours?”

Gayle took a bite of her sandwich and shrugged, as well.

“So-so,” she muttered, holding up her hand and tilting it from side to side.

From that point on, the conversation slowly built to a more affable tempo. We talked about my job and hers, what we liked to have for lunch, and the things we remembered from when we were in high school. And, the same as with our previous conversations, this one never seemed forced or contrived, and I felt her interest in me was as genuine as mine in her.

Then she threw me a curve ball.

Just as I took a bite, Gayle dabbed a napkin at the corners of her mouth, saying, “You look really pretty today.”

I stopped chewing for a second and swallowed.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

Then I slowly reached for my soda and cleared my throat, stuttering, “You, too.”

Gayle grinned, as she chewed, holding her sandwich between her hands.

After that minor moment of strangeness, the conversation picked up where it left off.

We were sitting there talking, having cleared away the remnants of our lunch, with nothing between us save for the half-empty cups of sodas we held, when from inside the building a bell ring. Gayle sat up and looked over my shoulder, and then gave me a dejected smile.

“Guess lunch is over,” she sighed.

“Yeah,” I replied, fidgeting with my cup. “I better get going.”

We stood from the table, and I followed her over to a trashcan. After she stuffed the plastic bag inside, she turned and smiled. It seemed like Gayle wanted to say something, but she hesitated, as if trying to choose her words carefully.

“Well,” she said softly, brushing her hands together, and then jamming them in her back pockets. “Um… Thanks for lunch.”

I shook my head, replying, “Oh… No, really. I mean, you bought, so I should, uh… I should thank you.”

She chuckled and shrugged, looking down at the sidewalk.

The silence between us was quickly becoming uncomfortable for her, and me, as well. I hooked my thumb over my shoulder, saying, “I should probably get back…”

Gayle nodded and looked up, giving me a smile.

“Yeah,” she mumbled.

I wasn’t quite sure what to say or do, so, just as I went to say goodbye, Gayle took a deep breath.

“You know I’m a lesbian, don’t you?” she asked.

I swallowed hard and nodded rapidly.

“Um… Yeah,” I replied, still nodding. “Yeah, I knew that.”

Gayle’s head slowly bobbed up and down, as she looked down at the sidewalk again.

“I just… you know… didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” she said softly. “Some people just…”

“No,” I shot back, shaking my head. “No, not at all. That’s fine. Really. I mean… yeah…”

My words tapered off, as Gayle stood there trying to smile.

“Ok,” she said.

Then she put her sunglasses on and smiled.

“I should probably get back,” she said. “Gonna be a little late, as it is.”

I nodded, but felt sad in how we were departing. Something didn’t seem right. So, when Gayle turned to walk to her car, I called out. But before she looked to me, she quickly brought a hand to her face, as if wiping her nose, and then turned and folded her arms on her chest, slowly walking backwards. She smiled, and, when I went to speak, I suddenly wondered if she was crying. And then my heart went out to her, and I had this incredible urge to go over and hug her.

I cleared my throat and grinned, asking if it was my turn to by lunch next time. Gayle chuckled and gave a short kick of her foot. “Yeah,” she said with a smile, pursing her lips and nodding.

I held up my hand, replying, “So… tomorrow? Same time? Same place?”

Gayle chuckled again, and I saw her lips quiver.

“Same bat channel,” she said with a wavering smile.

Even from twenty feet away, I could see she was fighting back the tears. She gave me a quick little wave and turned to walk over to her car.

“Hey, Gayle,” I called, biting my lower lip.

She was pulling her keys from her pocket and turned to me, just as she got to her car.

My words stammered, as they came out, but I looked at her saying, “Thanks… And… And I really, uh… I really like you.”

Her torso jerked slightly, as she chuckled and gave me a wave. She stepped into her car, and I stood there watching, as she backed out, and, when she pulled away, she waved once more.

I turned and walked back inside the building. If I’d known how, I would have jumped into the air and clicked my heels together.

That evening, I was on cloud nine. I was happy and excited and full of energy. Over dinner, Rachel asked what got into me all of a sudden, and I told her. I told her how Gayle and I were becoming fast friends, how much I enjoyed her company, and how I felt as though this was going to be a turning point in my life.

I waited for Rachel to make some sarcastic remark, but all she did was smile and nod.

“Sounds like fun,” she said, as she helped me wash dishes. “I always thought she was kind of a cool chick.”

A cool chick: I liked the sound of that. Gayle was definitely very cool.

Around 9:30pm, I was sitting in my room with the door closed, changing for bed. I tried to make it a habit of going to bed no later than 10:30pm, but that night, I was very tired, probably from mentally wearing myself out all day.

So, as I crawled under the covers, I reached for my book on the nightstand and glanced at the phone. I thought about it for a moment, giggled, and picked up the phone and dialed Gayle’s number. But when I held the phone to my ear, there was no dial tone, no ringing.

“Now that’s odd,” I mumbled, holding the phone away from my ear and staring at it. I poked at the keypad and could hear the familiar beeps, but then I heard a voice, too. I brought the phone back to my ear, furling my eyebrows at this perplexing situation.

“Hello?” I mumbled.

“Jess?”

I held the phone out slightly and gave it a strange look.

“Gayle?”

She laughed.

“What’re ya doin’?” she asked. “Were you just banging on the phone?”

“Is… Is that you? This is Gayle, right?”

She laughed out loud and said yes.

I chuckled, replying, “Wow… totally bizarre. I just picked up the phone and was dialing your number, but there was no dial tone or anything. Did you call or something?”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “It was weird. The phone didn’t ring on your side. Nothing. I dialed your number, and then suddenly I hear this weird beeping noise, and then your voice going, ‘Wull now, ain’t that odd?’”

And she uttered those last few words in a dopey, exaggerated manner.

“Oh, ha ha,” I replied dryly, propping a pillow up behind me so I could lean back against it.

“So what’d ya want?” she asked in a very accusatory manner.

“Me?” I exclaimed, holding a hand to my chest. “You called me first.”

“All right,” she replied.

She was quiet for a moment, and I grinned.

“Well?” I asked, in my best motherly tone.

“Gimme a second!” she laughed. “I’m tryin’ to think of an answer.”

I was about to speak, when she said, “I dunno… Just wondered what you were doing.”

My heart twittered, and I stretched my legs out under the blankets, replying, “Um… Just got into bed, actually. I was gonna read for a while.”

“So why were you gonna call me?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” I replied with a quick smirk.

“No,” she said. “But you were going to.”

“Yeah.”

“Uh huh… and?”

“And what?” I snickered.

“And why were you going to call me?”

I bit my lip and smiled.

“I forgot,” I replied.

Gayle sighed into the phone.

“Oh brother,” she said.

But that was a good question: why was I going to call her?

I sat up and closed my book, placing it back on the nightstand.

“What’d you want me to get for lunch tomorrow?” I asked, turning to my side and satisfied with my speedy and clever answer to her question.

For the next hour, Gayle and I chatted, sometimes laughing and sometimes speaking in almost a whisper. I had turned off my light and lay in the dark talking to her, curled up in my blanket.

“You sound tired,” she said.

I yawned, holding a hand over my mouth.

“Yeah,” I whispered, closing my eyes.

“Want me to let you go?”

“Not really,” I giggled.

“It’s almost eleven,” she said. “You got school in the morning.”

“I know,” I sighed dreamily. “I just like talking to you.”

Gayle was quiet for a moment, and then I heard her soft voice.

“I like talking to you, too,” she replied.

I smiled, in my state of semi-consciousness.

“Good,” I whispered.

“I’m gonna hang up now, all right? You need to get some sleep. I’ll see you at lunch, ok?”

“Ok,” I whispered.

But before she hung up, I said her name.

“What?” she whispered.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

There was a second or two of silence, and then she said, “You’re welcome, Jessie. Night.”

“Night…”

The next morning, I awoke feeling wonderful, better than I ever had in so many long years. I was tired, but it was a good kind of tried, if that makes sense. My body was slow to rouse, but my mind was ready to begin a new day.

I showered quickly and told Rachel she was on her own for breakfast, as I busied myself making sandwiches for Gayle and myself.

My daughter stood at the kitchen counter, reaching for a bowl in the cupboard.

“You gonna eat all that?” she asked, using a spoon to point to the sandwiches in front of me.

I chuckled, replying, “Nope. One’s for me and one’s for Gayle.”

“Ah.”

Then I wrapped the sandwiches in plastic and carefully placed them in a small cooler with a bag of chips and carrot sticks.

As with the day before, the morning seemed to drag on. But finally, at long last, twelve-thirty rolled around and I dashed down to the main office with our lunch.

I nearly skidded around the corner, and there she was, just as the day before, sitting on the bench outside the office. We grinned wide at each other, and then Gayle led me outside to our picnic table.

We sat and talked, our food being merely a hindrance to the conversation. And, as usual, we laughed and whispered and laughed some more. And, when it came time to part, I asked Gayle if she wanted to go shopping with me after work. She stood there twirling her sunglasses, scratching her chin and staring up at the sky, as if putting heavy thought into it.

“Oh, c’mon,” I said, giving her a poke in the stomach. “It’ll be fun.”

She winced, as my finger poked her, and she quickly pulled away.

“All right,” she laughed. “But no more belly poking.”

“Can’t promise you that,” I chuckled in reply with a shake of my finger.

Gayle and I then exchanged email addresses, so we could arrange a time and place to meet, in order to go shopping, before parting ways for the remainder of the afternoon.

Very quickly, I was finding that to be a difficult thing to do with Gayle: saying goodbye. It seemed like no matter how it was done or worded, it didn’t seem right. Several times now, I found myself wanting to shake her hand, but that seemed terribly formal for someone like her, as well as taking into consideration the nature of our burgeoning friendship. Still, as time went on, I wanted to touch her. Not in a lurid, sexual manner, but just a gentle touch of my hand, making a physical connection with her. I wanted to know what it was like to hold and be held, to feel a physical closeness and the accompanying phrenic bliss of knowing someone cared about you. In Gayle, I was beginning to feel this about her, both for her and in how she treated me likewise.

That evening, as I drove to her condominium, it did cross my mind once more that she was a lesbian, though I shrugged it off. But it was still in my mind, nevertheless. I knew she was and didn’t care. At least, I consciously told myself I didn’t. Deep down, however, down in my heart, I was beginning to develop feelings for Gayle. Not romantic or sexual, but not quite platonic, either. Somewhere in between were where those feelings and emotions hovered, probably as a result of being without both for so long and my heart not knowing quite what to make of the situation, finding itself in a dilemma and not knowing which way to go. It would sort itself out in the end, I reasoned. In the meantime, I didn’t care. I was happy again and that’s all that mattered.

Gayle and I walked throughout the mall, from one shop to the next, sometimes stopping to try on various clothes. At one store, as I stood in front of a mirror wearing a blouse, she came up from behind, placing her hand against my back.

“Looks really nice,” she said, smiling warmly at my reflection.

Then I felt her hand gently rubbing against me, and I blushed and grinned.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

My reaction must have been an unconscious signal to her, as from that point on, not always, but every now and then, Gayle would touch me; a hand on my back, my arm, my thigh as we sat next to each other and laughed about something. Had I been married or even dating someone else, I’m sure I would have thought it strange for her to do these things, after only knowing each other for a few days. But neither of these applied to me, so I simply enjoyed whatever she had to offer. Even an ephemeral, glancing touch of her hand was enough to fill my heart with joy.

For the next several weeks, Gayle and I tried to meet for lunch, as often as we could. Sometimes our schedules didn’t match, but most of the time, we were able to still find time to talk, either by way of the phone late at night or email during the day. And, with each passing day, with each conversation and email message I received from her, I wanted to be with her even more. Whenever the phone rang, I instantly dashed over and snatched it up, hoping to hear her voice. Likewise, whenever I checked my email in the morning at school, I was overjoyed to find a message from her, sometimes nothing more than to wish me a good day and other times it could be a link to an interesting story or website she thought I might enjoy. Invariably, her guess was always right, and this made me feel even better about how our relationship was blossoming.

Gayle wasn’t simply taking a stab in the dark, hoping I’d be impressed with some arbitrary conversation piece, like throwing darts at a target and praying you hit the bull’s-eye. She had made a concerted effort to get to know me, and this was her way of propagating and grooming our relationship. Her email and phone calls weren’t hollow gestures on her part. She actively engaged me in conversation about any number of topics, as I did with her. And the more information we exchanged, the better we came to know and understand one another, and the more we wanted to know and understand.

It had been nearly two months since I first met Gayle in the park, when she invited me over for dinner one evening. By now, we had become very close friends, and I felt comfortable being around her and discussing even personal details of my life that I normally wouldn’t share with anyone other than my husband. So, that evening, we talked.

Music was playing softly on the stereo in the living room, and the lights out there were turned down low, while we sat in the kitchen at the table.

As Gayle ate, she set down her fork and picked up her napkin, wiping the corners of her mouth.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, reaching for her glass.

I sat back and nodded, taking my own napkin and dabbing my lips.

“Mm hm,” I replied with a smile.

Gayle pushed her chair back and reached for my plate.

“Done?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah,” I replied, holding my hands back, as she picked it up along with her own. “Very good,” I added. “Thank you.”

Gayle grinned and carried our plates to the sink and rinsed them off. Then she placed them in the dishwasher and walked back to the table. She picked up her glass and nudged her head toward the living room, gesturing for me to follow.

We sat on the couch and were quiet for a moment, and then I spoke.

“So, what were you gonna ask me?”

Gayle was taking a sip from her glass, and then held it in both hands, looking down with just the hint of a smile on her face. She crossed one leg over her knee, rolling the glass between her slender fingers.

“It’s sorta personal,” she said softly.

I glanced down at my glass and shrugged.

“S’ok,” I replied. “You can ask whatever you want.”

She took a sip, and looked at me from the corner of her eye.

“All right,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Are you…” But then she paused and hesitated a second, and then turned to me saying, “Why aren’t you dating anyone?”

I was still staring down at my glass and slowly nodded my head.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I guess that’s sort of a good question.”

Gayle slowly turned her body so she was facing me and rested her arm on the back of the couch.

“I dunno,” I mumbled.

Then I felt her hand on my shoulder.

“I’m not trying to pry into your personal life,” she said.

I quickly glanced at her, and then back down to the glass in my hands.

“No,” I replied, slowly shaking my head. “I know. It’s ok.” Then I sighed again.

“I dunno,” I said, turning to face her. “It’s… I dunno… It’s been so long. I never thought I’d find myself dating again, after I got married. It’s just… Where do you start? How? How do you find the right person? I mean…”

My voice tapered off and, when I looked up, she smiled.

“I dunno where to start,” I whispered.

“Well,” she replied, taking a drink, as she leaned back. “Whadda you want?” she asked. “What’re you looking for?”

I sighed and pulled my legs onto the couch, crossing them, as I faced her.

“I dunno,” I replied. “I’m not really sure.”

Gayle was about to speak, when I quickly added, “Someone to be with.”

I looked to her for a reaction, and she slowly nodded and turned her eyes down to the empty space between us.

“Yeah,” she replied softly. “Me, too.”

There was a long silence, and Gayle leaned forward to the coffee table, carefully placing her glass on it. Then she sat back slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, and clasped her hands together.

I had told her all about what had happened with my husband. I told her how it tore me apart, how it destroyed my life, and how empty inside it made me feel. I explained in great depth and detail, crying as she put her arm around me, how desperately alone I felt every day of my life, how hopeless, even meaningless my existence seemed to be, even in light of still having my daughter at my side. Rachel would eventually leave our home and start a family of her own some day, signifying the end of all that was left of mine. No longer would I be a member sitting at the center table of my primary family, but relegated to being yet one more visiting relative from out of town. When my daughter left home for good, I’d be on my own and the thought terrified me.

So, as I sat there with Gayle on her couch, she told me her story.

She was still looking down at her hands, when she reached up and brushed the hair from her face, hooking it over her ear. Then she glanced in my direction, giving me a weak smile.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” she said. “But… I was married, too… a long time ago.”

Then she looked at me again, as if embarrassed, adding, “To a guy.”

She reached for her glass and took a sip.

“When I was seventeen, my step-father tried to rape me. I guess my mom told him about me… how I was a lesbian… thought I was, anyway. So… She was at work one night, and he was getting drunk, as usual…”