The Mare

Ginger

I didn’t go to the New York meeting to find him. When I did find him, I didn’t approach him. It was enough to know he was there, and that no harm would come, that goodwill lived between us. But, at the tail end of the meeting after the meeting, he came to me. He said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I was, everything.” I said, “I am too.” He put his arm around me, and without thinking, I put my hand on his heart. I said, “Can we go somewhere and talk?” His eyes thought off to the side and then he said, “Yes.”

As we walked out, my enemy-friend from a long time ago stared me in the face. But I didn’t care about her.

We walked for blocks looking for someplace quiet; every restaurant or coffee shop was loud and crowded. I talked nervously. I said that when I had met him I did not know how to be part of life. He said, So now you know? I said, I’m figuring it out. I’m married and I’m fostering a child. I felt this statement touch him, though I wasn’t sure how. He said he lived nearby, that if I wanted, we could go to his place.

I realized I was afraid like this: He offered to make us tea, and when he opened a drawer, instead of spoons, he took out a large knife and held it up in his fist. I stood and shouted, “Put that down now!” He laughed and said, “It was a joke.” I sat down and we had tea. His phone rang and he answered. I checked my phone; Velvet had called but left no message. He was talking to a woman; I could hear her angry voice. He was telling her that his plans had changed unexpectedly; he said, “Trust me.” She hung up on him. He said, “That was my girlfriend.” I stood and said, “I guess I should go.” He said, “No. Let’s go into the other room.”

The trapdoor opened and I went down the stairs.