Essay 4 – Draft 1 Marjorie Papa
His Plan
I had seen him before. Of course I had seen him before, we graduated high school together. I also have several distinct and vivid memories over the years of chance meetings. That morning wasn’t much different except that about a decade had passed. He looked the same, kind of. Maybe there was something different, but it was too early in the morning to be fully aware. It wasn’t too early to be aware of my mother asking him if he’d like to marry her daughter…or the fact that he said “Nah, I’m all right.” As if she wanted to marry him anyway... Vaya con Dios on your surfing trip with my brother, good to see you again.
My week went by as usual. Same grueling work schedule; same nightly routine of unwinding with some Twizzlers and a few glasses of pinot noir. Little did I know that I was with you in Barbados. Did my brother know you brought me? Of course not. Because I only existed in your thoughts. You taking a break from surfing, thinking if it would be ok for you to ask him about me. How? When? Forget it…just drink another Banks.
Two weeks later, here we are again. I haven’t seen you this often since freshman year English. And one more time, it’s on the account of my brother. Except this time, it’s not in your head: I actually am at this party celebrating my Irish heritage. And you really are walking alongside me on our way to the pub. Did I ever realize how funny you are? And cuter than I remembered too. Sure, you can have my number, sure we can have lunch. I never thought you would actually follow through.
And yet you followed through. Shit. Yesterday it seemed harmless to talk to you. Today is not the same story. Why did I give my number? And why did you use it? This is not the norm. But fine, we can meet for drinks tonight. That’s much easier than lunch anyway. And yes, I will definitely be imbibing in a glass of pinot while I get myself ready.
I can’t remember the entirety of this conversation with you. And no, not because of the drinks. They did help you steal that kiss from me later, though. But at this point, I don’t even remember ordering. True there was a bowl of New England clam chowder in front of each of us. And a fabulous smell of fresh popcorn coming from that old-fashioned maker in the corner. But exact words? No. Just a feeling of…of what? Uncertainty? Confusion? Surprise? To say the least. Or, more accurately, to not want to say –or think or feel- anything further…
You again. You left your keys in my car last night? Likely story. But yes, you can stop by and pick them up. Shit. I’m nervous again. Why do you keep using my number? I’m not ready for this. And you’re knocking already? That was too fast – I barely even had time to check my reflection. Yet here you are in my doorway…looking absolutely ridiculously attractive in your work clothes. And that smell…I can’t put my finger on it. I’m usually so good at the guess-what-I’m-wearing game. But all I know about this scent is that it’s yours and I could get high on it. What is going on? I’m slipping. I’m not myself. I need to get it together.
Flowers at work? From who? You. And for no reason whatsoever. Wow, you are good. What are your motives? Why are you doing this? Who told you I never got flowers for no reason? Who is behind this plan to sabotage me? Are you working alone? How much more of this am I in store for? How much longer will you keep this up? I really need to run from this…
And that’s exactly what I did. I ran. Away from everything I had ever known. Not exactly my plan…but exactly what happened. No matter where I run this will always catch me. You are my daily reminder of that. There was and is more in store for me. I probably couldn’t forget even if I wanted to…but I vowed to you I would always remember. I am convinced that was your plan all along. And I know now for a fact you weren’t working alone – that this wasn’t your idea. Your Accomplice has made Himself quite known to me. Better remember to thank Him in our prayers.
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