Chapter Two – Turning Back the Clock by Shiloh
He thought he had been handling the delicate situation fairly well and then... like driving on icy roads, one small mistake and control is lost. If only he could isolate the defining moment, he could avoid it in the future. But there was no one moment; all he had to do was look at her, be near her, and he was at risk. He felt weary. ‘Thank God it’s Friday’ he thought. Emotionally drained and preferring avoidance, he tried putting everything out of his mind and set about doing the mundane. He succeeded up to a point. He paid some bills, heated leftovers for dinner. He washed the dishes, sat down at the computer and prepared some questions for a quiz. Later he removed students’ papers from his satchel. He glanced through them and shuffled Grace’s to the bottom of the stack, began grading them. He was nearly half way done when the phone rang. His heart raced. Grace?
“Oh... Chris, hi.”
“Hi.... You sound like you were expecting someone else?”
“Um, no. I was just working, on things.”
“Is this a bad time? I’ll be just a sec.”
He assured her that it wasn’t and asked what was up?
“I can’t find my gloves, you know, those absurdly expensive designer ones. I was wondering if I left them there. Don’t want to tear my place apart looking for them if you’ve got ‘em.”
August told her to hang on and he rummaged around until he noticed them on the shelf with the CD player.
“Got them.”
“Great!” Chris exclaimed. “I’ll try to stop by sometime this weekend and get them. Thanks August. See ya.”
Before he could raise an objection Chris had hung up. Right now he didn’t want company, at least not Chris’s. He returned to the student’s papers and even managed to read Grace’s with a detachment that he knew he should hone as a survival skill.
Late Saturday evening found him standing in the kitchen. Steve Miller’s Book of Dreams played loudly in the other room, something upbeat to keep him energized. He took a long and sweeping look around the kitchen. “Well, that’s it then” he said to himself, not another counter to clean or cabinet to organize. He’d even cleaned the refrigerator, throwing out several things no longer identifiable. The hazards of single living. Grocery stores didn’t cater to the single person, and if you didn’t want to eat a roast chicken for five days, well you’d better get used to throwing things away. Maybe he should get a dog. The original and never improved upon garbage disposal. He checked the kitchen off his To Do list, nearly the last item; tomorrow would be grocery and department store day. The car oil and filter had been changed, the leaky faucet repaired after the three required trips to the hardware store, and neglected correspondence caught up on with a forced cheerfulness. He had even re-potted some of his plants and added a systemic pesticide though he knew it was probably too little too late. He loved gardening but apparently his talents lay elsewhere. By busying his hands he had managed to occupy his mind for the most part, keeping her and the dangerous thoughts she carried locked away. But now, although he was physically tired, he could feel his mind starting to come to life like a dangerous animal. He poured himself a glass of wine to tranquilize it and grabbed a book on his way to bed. He didn’t sleep well that night.
Sunday found him sitting in the dining room watching striped bars on the wall as a stream of late afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds. Where to go from here? He was no closer to a solution than before. How could he have allowed the kiss to happen? How could he have not? And now he found himself someplace between right and wrong. The kiss, paradoxically so right and so wrong. ‘For God’s sake, I’m her teacher and old enough to be her father!’ he reprimanded himself. Trying to analyze his options, thoughts collided until he imagined his head would explode. He could talk to no one about it, no one except Grace. He made his way into the kitchen and opened a bottle of red wine. That brief moment of honesty in the car could not be rescinded. Pouring generously, he filled a wineglass. And he could not avoid seeing her in the classroom. He took a long swallow. The teacher needed to keep his distance; the man needed her near. He didn’t bother to put the cork back in the bottle.
By the time Sunday’s long shadows faded over everything, Dimitri was rummaging under a kitchen counter for a second bottle. The alcohol had started to work its magic and, if not reducing his anxiety, at least dulling it. But he wanted more; he wanted immunity from the pain. He searched for more wine. The front doorbell chimed a second round before he extricated himself from the cupboard brandishing some René Junot.
Winding his way to the front door, he opened it. “Oh, Hi. Chris.”
She stood in the doorway, rubbing her hands together for warmth. “Hi” hesitantly, “I dropped by for my gloves.” His former girlfriend eyed him appraisingly. “You’re drunk.”
“Yes. I. Am.” He conspiratorially leaned in closer to her. “Don’t tell anyone.” He pushed the flashback angrily into the recesses of his mind.
She laughed. “It’s not like you to drink alone.”
“I find myself doing a lot of things not like me nowadays.” She glanced at him questioningly but before she could ask he motioned her in. “Please. Come in.” Chris followed him into the living room and plopped down on his couch. “Have a seat” he said belatedly, his timing off. He waved the bottle in the air. He didn’t want company, but manners dictated “Would you care for a glass?”
Chris really didn’t have time to spare, needing a project tidied up for work the following day, but something was wrong. She hadn’t seen August this way since the last few months of their relationship, when the things they said to one another all seemed to have a hard edge. The August whose disappearance coincided with their mutual agreement to call it quits. “Sure, a glass sounds great.”
August rumbled off to the kitchen for the corkscrew and a glass. He returned handing the wine to her. She raised it to her lips and speculatively spoke, “So what’s up? Why...this?” gesturing at him.
Silent just a moment too long, he cocked his head and smiled wanly. Dangerous, she knew him too well. Stalling “What’re you talking about?” Best defense is a good offense. Throw her off the scent. Disjointed thoughts, random residents of his alcohol impaired and enhanced mind. He knew her well too. He sat down beside her, too close and turned towards her. Sliding his hand that held the wineglass along her arm he smiled and asked her if she ever thought about another try. He knew she was vain enough to believe all this was because he still carried a torch for her. And was quite sure it would make her uncomfortable, this unexpected advance, this educated gamble, uncomfortable enough to leave. She didn’t disappoint. Smiling largely while simultaneously shifting away and slapping his hand lightly “August! We’ve been through all this. Remember?”