A Mother and Father Reunion – Part 1

I stood anxiously waiting for him, pacing, debating if I should get in my car and turn around. Meeting him was probably a bad thing, surely something that would be frowned upon by others yet something inside me, an age-old longing, prevented me from moving my feet towards my own car and driving away.

I wondered what he looked like now. I thought about his front teeth and his rather prominent overbite.  I reflected on his glorious skin that would tan to a deep caramel color in the summer due to the small amount of Native American blood running through his  mostly Polish American veins.  Thinking of his skin, his body, brought images of our teenage sexual encounters to mind.  I can still feel the tree bark beneath my nude body as we made love under the tree at Lake Tagkhanic.

My stomach flips over. My breathing is shallow and I feel a bit dizzy.  I rest against the hood of my car to balance myself.  The warmth of the recently run engine comforts me. He is late.  Perhaps he also had second thoughts and decided against showing. It wouldn’t surprise me. He has a history of not showing up, standing up, speaking up where I am concerned, where she is concerned. And yet, even with that, here I am, once again, waiting, hopeful, excited to see him again.

Overwhelmed with anxiety, and feeling a need to distract myself, thoughts of my husband and my crumbling marriage come to my already stressed heart.  It’s been months, maybe years since we connected.  His business travel schedule combined with my growing resentment over it has brought us to a point where we hardly know each other. I resent when he is not home and I resent when he is home.  I resent when my sons cry every night for Daddy when it is Mommy, or the au pair, with them night after night, not the glorious traveling Daddy who swoops from the skies every now and then, gobbles up all the love and none of the work, and flies away again.

A pick up truck, a metallic cobalt blue Dodge Ram, pulls into the parking lot and I hear myself gasp for breath. More memories come to me.  As I watch the truck park, I see the two of us in our friends blue Chevy Blazer. I hear his crackly teenage boy voice express shock when he asks if he can “finger” me. I hear my weak teenage girl voice respond with a “go ahead” even though I protested such action for many months. I chuckle to myself and think I should have stopped at the fingering.

The driver of the Ram circles the parking lot and chooses a spot just across from my car.  The sun glare is preventing me from getting a good look at the driver.  The door opens and at the sight of construction boots and jeans I am confident it is him.  Some teenage immature part of me wants to run to him, hug him, throw him back in the truck and ask him to run away with me.  Fortunately, I am no longer a teenage girl but a mature; thirty-something married woman, mothers of two boys…and one girl…his girl.

He exits the truck and begins to walk toward me. His blue Oxford shirt, hanging outside his jeans makes me smile. I am confident he dressed for me.  It was an outfit combination I always liked on him. Levis, construction boots with the tops unlaced a bit, with a light blue Oxford. The blue Oxford always contrasted so nicely with his dark skin, chocolate-brown hair and dark eyes.   I debate staying in my location, making him walk all the way to me, and then I realize the immature teenage girl is back again. He smiles at me and his white teeth and slight rabbit like overbite sparkle in the sun.  My heart skips a beat.

As I walk toward him, I feel something I haven’t felt in quite a while. I am sexually excited.  It is as if my female parts sense him and have come to full attention despite having no conscious desire for doing so.  Once again, my body betrays me where he is concerned.  I am shocked and amused at the same time.  It’s been months since I have been sexually excited. My lack of libido made my husband question if there is something hormonally wrong with me.  As my teenage love, the father of my first-born child, walks towards me I learn there is nothing at all wrong with me or my female parts.  Relieved there is nothing wrong with me, I find myself angry that after all that has happened between us he can still elicit this physical response from me without even trying or being aware of it.

To be continued…

8 Thoughts.

  1. More please.I am completely intrigued.

    I enjoy your writing style, you paint with your words.

    • Thanks Liz. I really enjoy writing and in addition, it is therapeutic for me. I had started this piece as part of a submission I intended to make to an anthology. I did not finish it in time to use it but liked it so much decided to post here. I intend to continue.

  2. It is interesting that you write about this right now. I have had a very interesting development in my life in the past few months relating to this. I will be interested to see how this story goes (although I think I know some of it).

    • Hmmm. Curious about your interesting development. I think you mentioned something last year. I am guessing more has transpired?

      • Yes, much more. I haven’t said much yet to too many people. But I am very happy about it. I will send you an email and explain a bit. Worst case scenario, I feel like an incredible amount of healing has transpired. Which is huge to say the least.

  3. Ah, yes. We never forget the father of our child. How could we? Even if, as in my case, he did us wrong. Seeing my son for the first time (no, even before, the pictures I received in the mail, sent me reeling back into that time, how I loved that man, how he betrayed me and left me alone and pregnant to face my parents). Different situation from yours. I never saw him again, don’t know where he is, don’t want to. Even though I wish my son had wanted to seek him out. Or not, because I feared that he would reject him as he did me.

    I’m sounding a little jumbled here…

    I do understand the attraction, the connection, Suz. Maybe I would experience it too. I had other loves before my husband, men who came to mean more to me than my son’s father. Loves lost, opportunities gone. Just sayin’, I get it.

    I look forward to more of the story… XO D.

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