Wordsley, Stourbridge, England: 6 degrees, bitterly cold, grey and overcast.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, today has been a day of revelation, shock and a slight disappointment.
During the day, I did my everyday things: writing, shopping for my mother, exercising, feeding the swans and ducks, walking, and visiting the two cafes in the village.
In the early afternoon, I shaved, cut my hair, showered, and prepared myself to go out to the cinema. The session was at 7:00 p.m. I was meeting my flirt, Julie, at 6:00 p.m. in the car park of a local pub not far from where my mother lives. I had arranged to meet her there because I wanted to kiss her without any inhibition and without being on display for others.
In front of my mother’s house, my mother, the neighbours, and so on, it would be impossible to do so. She’s picking me up, so to avoid any awkwardness or embarrassment, I suggested she meet me in the car park of a local pub. She found it a bit strange, but she agreed.
We had both built up a lot of expectation for this night; we had discussed kissing for the first time, something she had brought up and asked me about. It came voluntarily from her, and after all the long phone calls during the week, talking for over an hour each time, the anticipation was running high and causing its own problems.
I, who am aware of such things, fell into the trap. I should have known better, or at least been more reserved, with lower expectations.
Looking back now, I think we were in a helium balloon, rising and rising, going up into the stratosphere, and at any moment, it could implode or even be shot down to the ground in flames and ashes in the name of reality.
We arranged to meet at the pub at about 5:45. I bought a bottle of mineral water from inside the pub and waited in the car park for Julie to arrive. It was cold, but at least it wasn’t raining, and the sky was getting dark, although not completely yet, but it would soon be.
Julie arrived in her brown Mini Countryman a little before six. She pulled into the car park and parked right next to me in a space. She was beautiful, wearing faded tight jeans, a green suede jacket, and a flowery, pastel-coloured blouse, everything matched with extremely good taste. The musk green of her jacket highlighted her white complexion, complemented by her beautiful, long, curly, shoulder-length blonde hair; she looked divine.
I asked her to get out of the car; she thought it was strange, but she kindly complied. I put my arms around her, and I tried to kiss her as I wanted to, to show her how I felt about her and how important she was. We kissed, but her mouth was closed; she didn’t open it to French kiss like we did when we were teenagers, or in a passionate way when we are adults, or the kind of kiss in a movie.
I tried again to kiss her properly; we had discussed this, she had brought it up, but something was missing — a lack of feeling; there was no passion. No spark, the lights were off! Nobody was at home!
- Is it me?
- Have I lost the art of kissing, of holding a woman properly in my arms, and showing her how much I care for her?
- I know I’m getting old and a bit out of practice, but surely, I’m not already in the knacker’s yard?
I felt awkward, with so much anticipation mounting towards that moment, as we had happily confided in each other, and then suddenly, a slap in the face.
Suddenly, a flood of thoughts raced through my mind—ideas I had already considered. This woman in front of me, so beautiful and perfect, whom I have feelings for, is going through a divorce. How can she be ready for another relationship so soon? She isn’t officially divorced yet, and she’s already seeing someone else—a good man who would care for her. Still, it doesn’t really matter who that person is if she’s not truly ready.
Perhaps she’s trying, but even she doesn’t realise that it is too soon for her, and unfortunately, for both of us.
Usually, women who have been married for a long time and then endure a prolonged, torturous divorce, as if serving a prison sentence, do so because she filed for the divorce and her ex-husband refuses to accept the new reality; his pride has been wounded because she walked out.
All these women want is to run from men, or just a one-night stand, nothing serious. They have suddenly gained their freedom, out of jail—why give it up again? It is not logical.
All this I had considered before, but still, I put my hand in the fire; I exposed myself to a situation that could have been avoided. There were other signs I had read but again hadn’t listened to my intuition because, every time this small, beautiful woman is in front of me, I feel something I haven’t felt for such a long, long time.
The heart was commanding the mind, and it shouldn’t have.
After the slightly strange and uncomfortable situation, we got into the car and went to the cinema. We were early, and since it was cold outside, we stayed in the car and talked a little. Again, we tried to kiss, and although we did, it was missing something. She was not 100% with me. She was being very nice and kind, and probably in some ways she was enjoying the company, but not in the way people usually are when attracted to each other on a first date.
About 10 minutes before the film was due to start, we entered the cinema complex. She bought popcorn and a Coke for us, and we moved to the cinema room 3, where we were the only ones present. It’s strange to go to the cinema and find only the two of you with all those seats empty; it feels like being in a mix of both a morgue and a church, and this was supposed to be a new and important film, Dune 2!
We got comfortable in our seats, I put my hand between her crossed legs, and the film began after an eternity of commercials.
What a situation! After so much expectation, we now have a marathon film that’s over 2 hours and 40 minutes long, and she knew nothing about it. For her, it’s probably another slow torture, quite dull and stupid, not understanding anything; you really need to read the book first to watch such a film. I remember Nalva, who once watched the first Dune film by David Lynch, which she hated from start to finish.
To this day, she talks about how much she loathes that film.
The film was good, but not exceptional, and it felt like an eternity. I thought that this special woman, whom I like so much, was bored, bored to death, with the film, with the situation, and probably with me, which made it very awkward. It must have been torturous.
Relief washes over me as the film finishes, and we head to the car, where she takes me home—a peck on the mouth and goodnight. I have never, in all my life I can remember, having gone to the cinema with a girl and not done anything afterwards—no drink, no food, not even just talking until the early hours—because it’s nice to be together. That feeling where it’s both heavy and light.
Heavy because it is restricting you in that you don’t want to stop, and light because you feel so good, and you can say anything you want, and it will be OK.
Julie called me later, and we talked for a little while. I told her that I thought she wasn’t ready. That it’s a pity, a pity for me, for her and for us!
I made myself a sandwich, drank a bottle of wine and stayed a little with my sorrows!
In bed by 2:00 a.m.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.
Richard
