We Need To Talk

I opened boxes, suitcases and other storage things getting ready for the move until I saw the coat . . . my god . . . still have it . . . and I tasted that steak . . . 49 years . . . as scalding tears burned paths through the dust on my face.

My body finally decided to solve its lack of air with 2 big, shuddering breaths. ”Dana!” A whisper that reverberated in my head, bouncing back and forth off the inside of my skull like a shout echoing in an empty valley. I finally blinked and raked sandpaper across my eyes. I don’t know how long I‘d stared.

Before I met, Paige, my wife of 45 years, I’d dated Dana. Lovely, sweet, Dana. We were a thing for 2 years and I’d expected we’d marry, have kids and grow old together. But . . . What was his name . . . doesn’t matter . . . came along. They worked together in an engineering firm . . . name . . . forget it. . . his father owned.

It was Wednesday. . . wednesday . . . yeah . . . she’d called, “Hi, Ian, how about dinner at Cattleman’s?”

“I hear it’s loud and noisy. What’s up? We have reservations at Alfreds Steakhouse, your favorite place, and the Mark Hopkins for the weekend.”

“Cancel the reservations, we need to talk.” It got very dark then, we need to talk is usually a death knell.

Dinner was a disaster, she fiddled with a pencil for 20 minutes then told me she was leaving me for what’s his name before laying it with the eraser pointing at me and left. I put the pencil in the breast pocket with the ring and never wore that coat again.

6 years later I heard he lost the business and they broke up. I got a letter from her but never opened it. I was happily married with 2 kids.

The pencil and ring were still there.