Chapter 6

I am no great philosopher by any means. All I am is a person who writes stories about people, places and things my editors think would be interesting to our readers.

Some of the stories are interesting. Others are better suited for the bottom of bird cages. So it’s not like me to expound on deep thoughts. I usually don’t have them, nor do I try to share the few I have with anybody else.

It’s not my nature. Plus, I figured everybody would say I was full of crap.

But I firmly believe, and have since I was a little squirt, that each person has one special friend in their life. The one person they can share their dreams with and not worry about being laughed at, or tell any secret and know it will never be repeated.

Most people’s best friend was the same sex. That’s just how the old ball bounces. For most people, it made things easier. They could do the same things like playing basketball or with dolls and that was okay. Plus, for most people, that meant a physical attraction would never develop.

There were some, of course, who had a best friend of a different sex. That was the way it was for me. Her name was Sandra Daniels, but I always called her Sandy. We were tight back before friends described their relationship that way.

She lived a block away, in the house I slowly drove past earlier. From the age we were old enough to walk until adulthood raised its ugly head and sent me in a separate direction, we did pretty much everything together. A lot of people thought it was a little strange. We didn’t care.

We were buddies. That’s all that mattered, the kind of friends who would do anything for each other. No questions asked or expected. Our mothers were good friends and used to spend a lot of time together. That’s how it got started.

It never got to the point where we spent the night with each other, as that would be pushing it. Not that we would ever do anything other than laugh and have a good time. The sex part or physical attraction was not there.

Until the night of our high-school graduation. We had both dated others and were okay with that, usually laughing at what turned out to be terrible experiences. But that night, after shedding our cap and gown and leaving Heavener High School behind, we drove out to Cedar Lake and sat down on the dock. We took off our shoes and socks, rolled up our pant legs and let our feet dangle in the cool water. For some reason, maybe it was the closure of our youth, or because it was something that was bottled up inside us for many years, we saw something different when we looked at each other.

Neither of us said a word. There was just something different. All we shared were a few kisses under a full moon with the wind whipping through the pine trees. No sex or groping each other’s young bodies. That just wouldn’t be right.

But things were never the same after that night. The feelings were different and neither of us felt comfortable walking down that path. We continued to stay in contact with each other, but I left for school the following fall and only came home when I had to. Sandy wanted to go to college but didn’t have the money and decided to try something else.

Over the last twenty years, I have seen her fewer times than I have fingers on either hand. Rarely does a day go by I don’t think about her. But she has her life, I have mine, and the paths never cross.

Until I left my father’s bedroom, walked into the family room and saw her talking to my mother, that is. She had changed a little, some aging on her face and a different hairdo and color. But Sandy looked as good as she had that spring night so long ago when my heart melted like chocolate left out in a summer sun.

In the years since, I have been through three failed marriages and some relationships that fizzled out for whatever reason bad relationships always do. I know a lot of that was because none of them measured up to her.

“Hello,” I finally managed to reply, after a very long and awkward silence.

A smile slowly formed on her face and I saw the corners of her eyes turn up, the way they always did when she was happy.

“I just came by to check on your dad,” Sandy said. She was wearing a pair of old jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. There was something written on the shirt but I couldn’t make it out. Her hair was longer as she used to keep it as short as her mother allowed.

No rings were on her fingers and I was glad to see that. It just didn’t seem right for Sandy to be married. From what my mother told me the last time the subject was brought up, she never married.

I dreamed that it was probably because she was waiting for her knight in shining armor, namely me, to ride back into town and sweep her off her feet, but knew that was not the case. Sandy was her own person and would not let anybody boss her around, especially a member of the opposite sex.

“Thank you,” I said, which sounded rather stupid. But I was not through. “I passed by your house.”

Duh, like that was big news. I always passed by her house when I was driving to my parent's home. I did the same thing when I left, too.

She waited, the smile fading a little, obviously waiting to hear the reason for my saying that. There wasn’t one, of course, so I let it fade away, much like the smell of an untimely body function in the midst of a crowded elevator.

“It’s good to see you, Michael,” Sandy stated. She never used to call me “Michael” or “Mike”, it was always “Mikey”, a name reserved for her use only. It bothered me that she was so formal, but I decided Sandy probably called me that, thinking I didn't want to be called by such a childish name.

I nodded, not knowing what to say. For a person who spends a large part of most days either talking or thinking of something to write or say, the sudden inability to communicate bothered me.

She stood, waiting for anything from me. I felt worse than I did my first date while waiting to meet the parents. A forty-two-year old man should not be this way. My mother was glaring at me like I had yelled an obscenity during an altar call.

“Uh, Sandra is a real estate agent now,” my mother tossed in, trying to break me out of my brain freeze.

“Great!” I finally managed to say. I cannot describe how dumb I felt.

“I hope your father gets to feeling better,” Sandy added.

Gosh, what to say? I labored over this for way to long.

“So do I,” was all I managed. Ever since the caveman strutted his stuff, man has always wanted to improve the ability to communicate. That is why we have cell phones, email, instant messaging, text messaging and all these other ways to tell somebody something. I was setting man’s effort to better communicate back into the dark ages.

Another awkward silence. My mother looked at me like I was a complete fool, a sentiment I was sure Sandy shared.

“I guess I better go,” Sandy concluded. She was still smiling, but it was forced.

“Thanks for coming by,” I said, then walked over and held out my hand.

Sandy raised one eyebrow higher than it should physically be possible as she stared at my hand. I stood there with my hand outstretched, hoping for some response. I quickly realized this was really stupid, but knew I had gone too far now.

Finally, Sandy slowly stuck her hand out and shook mine. As she turned to walk toward the door, I saw the smile had vanished.

Sandy paused at the door, acting like she wanted to say something, then decided to let it pass. She left and so did my spirit.

I turned to look at Mom, who was still glaring at me.

“Is that all?” she asked. “The girl makes a special trip to see you and that’s it?”

I didn’t know what to say. I stood there for several seconds, feeling like a Rod Serling voiceover should begin any second telling me I was trapped in the Twilight Zone.

All I heard was the sound of my heartbeat and the ticking of Mom's grandfather clock, which at one time was actually owned by her grandfather, making it a true grandfather's clock. Tick, tock, over and over it went. My heart was thumping too quick and loud enough I figured Mom could hear it. After a few more tick, tocks and thump, thumps, it somehow woke me out of whatever funk I was in.

I took off sprinting to the door and slammed into it as Mom must have just waxed the floor.

It felt like I broke something in my shoulder, but not even a little pain could stop me now. I was on a roll. I flung the door open and ran out on the porch, hoping she had not left. Sandy was in her car, backing out of the driveway. I jumped off the porch in a way I hadn’t since my teenage years, and ran toward her, amazed with my speed and that I had not broken any bones.

She saw me and stopped the car. I ran to the driver’s side and made several turns with my arm and hand, indicating I wanted her to roll the window down. Once again, I felt quite stupid and figured she shared that opinion. Sandy used the button to roll the window down and looked at me.

“Wait,” I said, which she already had. “Don’t go.”

She stared at me for several seconds, obviously wondering if I had gone psycho over the years.

“Get in,” Sandy finally replied. “I have something to tell you.”




Chapter 7