conversation

“I’m standing by the window.”
“You’re in the apartment?”
“Right. I’m in the apartment and I’m standing by the window. Looking out. Beautiful. Snow everywhere.”
“When was this?”
“Winter. It’s winter. December.”
“OK.”
“And it’s like a postcard or something. I mean the snow. I’d never seen snow.”
“You’d never seen snow?”
“Born and raised in Florida.”
“Right.”
“And the buildings. The architecture. Gorgeous.”
“What is that? Wouldn’t that be, what, like, European Architecture?”
“I guess. I’m in Germany. German. German Architecture.”
“Yeah.”
“And I can see up this little street in our village. Cars covered in snow. Nobody’s outside. And there’s this smell.”
“Smell?”
“Food. Some kind of food.”
“Sausage.”
“What?”
“Sausage. You’re in Germany. It’s probably sausage.”
“I don’t know, but I’ve never smelled it since. Anyway. I’m there. At the window. And I’m waiting.”
“Yeah, it’s probably sausage. Or sauerkraut.”
“It’s not sauerkraut.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t like sauerkraut. I’d know the smell.”
“Oh. Probably sausage then.”
“It’s not important. The thing is, is I’m there. And I’m waiting.”
“For her to come home?”
“Yeah. She’s at work. I guess. I don’t remember. Maybe she’s out. She must be. It’s dusk. It’s getting dark.”
“She gets off work at…”
“Three. She’s off at three. School gets out at three.”
“And now it’s dusk?”
“Yes.”
“She’s probably out.”
“Must be.”
“OK.”
“So I’m looking out this window. I’m on the second floor and I’m looking out this window and that’s when I make the vow. The decision.”
“Right then?”
“Right then. That moment.”
“While you’re at the window? You smell the sausage.”
“Some kind of food.”
“Why not before? The night before? When she said she’d slept with the guy.”
“I don’t know.”
“Huh.”
“Maybe it just didn’t hit me till the next day. When I’m at the window.”
“May be bipolar.”
“What?”
“Why it took a day. Maybe because of your bipolar.”
“Has nothing to do with it.”
“I was just saying…”
“It has nothing to do with it.”
“OK.”
“OK.”
“So you make the decision.”
“Right. Never again. I swear it. I make a vow. I actually swear it out loud. To God or somebody. Never again. When they said they loved me. You know, after a while, when they say they love you, I’d leave before they did. I wouldn’t give anybody the chance to do this to me again.”
“You were what?”
“What’d’ a mean?”
“What were you? 18 – 19?”
“19. I think. Maybe 20.”
“A kid.”
“Yeah.”
“Probably never should have gone.”
“To Germany?”
“Yeah. Followed her over there.”
“Yeah, well, hindsight.”
“20-20.”
“Right.”
“So what then?”
“When she came home?”
“Right.”
“I’m not sure.”
“You can’t remember.”
“Swear to God.”
“Gotta be the bipolar thing.”
“In this case.”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember spending at least one night in an airport. DC I think. Standby. It was Christmas. Everybody’s flying.”
“Right.”
“I remember that. I don’t remember going to the airport. Flying. None of that.”
“Wow.”
“Truth is, I don’t remember very much about being over there. I remember being at the window. I think we had separate rooms.”
“You weren’t sleeping together?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Ever sleep with her?”
“Before. Yeah. Before she left. Before she got the job in Germany. We did then.”
“Right, right.”
“I had never slept with a woman before.”
“No?”
“No. She was the first.”
“I didn’t know.”
“She was 24 – 25 at the time. Maybe older.”
“You meet her at Jim’s?”
“Yeah. Well, no. It was a show. I was supposed to do a show. The two of us.”
“A show.”
“Yeah. A show. A play.”
“Right.”
“So we were supposed to do this play. Community Theatre thing. Romantic comedy. Fluff.”
“Early Neil Simon.”
“Exactly. That kind of thing.”
“Although…Neil Simon is not fluff. I mean not really. His later plays have more depth, but his early work was still very funny.”
“Yeah. Didn’t mean fluff in a bad way.”
“Course not.”
“So…”
“So you guys were doing this show.”
“No. We were supposed to do the show. We were rehearsing the play at Jim’s place. I had met her before, but got to know her at Jim’s.”
“Jim’s the one who was married to Margaret, right?”
“That’s him.”
“Who you stayed with when you got home.”
“From Germany. Right. Margaret.”
“Jim had left.”
“Saudi Arabia. The job.”
“Margaret took you in.”
“I was a kid. Didn’t want to face my family after the Germany fiasco.”
“Understandable.”
“Margaret took me in.”
“How long?”
“Was I there?”
“Yeah.”
“Couple of weeks.”
“Anything…”
“No. It wasn’t like that.”
“No?”
“No. Margaret was crazy about Jim. Even after she found out about him and Ellen. She loved him.”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Go back.”
“What?”
“Ellen? Your Ellen?”
“One and the same.”
“Damn.”
“Right.”
“Jim and Ellen.”
“Small world.”
“No shit.”
“She loved him. Margaret I mean. She did save me, though.”
“She still with him?”
“Far as I know. Ran into them about three years ago and they were still together.”
“Ellen?”
“Don’t know. Married, I think. Not sure. Couldn’t care less.”
“No?”
“Why should I?”
“I don’t know…curiosity, where is she, what happened to her, that kind of thing.”
“Like the man said, ‘Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.’”