Perspective III Perception
- 2 years ago
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In FluxChapter 4 free porn video
Joanie kept her word, there were no further incidents. After that night, everything went smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that Mike began to wonder if there wasn’t something wrong, but he couldn’t see what it was. His attorney assured him the information he’d given her was valuable. It gave them leverage if Joanie decided to renege on the original agreement. She told him that her talks with Joanie’s attorney had gone well, but was quick to point out that many of her fellow lawyers liked to pull some last minute surprises. While she wasn’t expecting anything like that to happen in this case, it was reassuring to know they would have a hammer to wield, just in case.
The holiday season had a strange quality about it. Perhaps because he liked the Christmas time of year and this one was basically a sham. In order to keep up appearances they decorated, put up a tree and wrapped packages. They even went visiting friends, just as they had always done in past years. But there was a big difference; they bought their own presents to put under the tree and pretended to be happy at the yuletide gatherings. Mike felt bad about living out a lie. There was also a bit of sadness about the end of their marriage not matter what had gone on. They had been married eleven years and now both were feeling the uncertainty that comes with the prospect of living on their own.
Christmas itself was especially peculiar, perhaps because of the nature of the holiday. Christmas Eve, they ate supper with Joanie’s family, then went to Mike’s brother’s house to visit him, his wife, and their mother. Mike couldn’t help but think about all the other Christmases that they’d given preferences to Joanie’s family. He should have been taking the holiday meals with his own, or insisted they alternate the meals; one year Christmas Eve supper with his people, Christmas Day dinner with hers, then switch the order the following year. But it had always been the way Joanie wanted it. Those words were beginning to sound like a mantra running through his mind; what Joanie wanted, Joanie got. It summed up their whole life together, right to the end.
Christmas Day the whole thing was repeated; dinner with his soon to be ex-in laws, an evening visit with his family. He took a certain smug satisfaction in knowing that this was the last year for this ritual. Next Christmas things would be his way. It seemed even to him that it was a selfish thought, but he didn’t care. He’d done things her way for over a decade and it had gotten him nowhere, it was time he took care of his own wants.
New Year’s Eve they decided to stay home together, one last night to privately bid farewell to their old lives and toast in the new ones. They even had champagne. They watched the Times Square revelries on television and when the ball came down and they played “Auld Lang Syne” they clinked glasses, and offered each other a melancholy wish for a happy New Year.
“Good bye to the old, hello to the new,” she said. “I guess it has even more meaning this time, given the circumstances.”
“Yeah,” he replied, “but still, I wish you well, I really do. I want to part as friends, I’ll always consider you as a friend, I want you to know that.”
“That would be nice,” she agreed, “friends, but no longer lovers. I just wish it hadn’t ended the way it has, for that I’m sorry.”
He smiled and raised his glass, singing softly along with the music, “We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for days of Auld Lang Syne.”
With that he downed the champagne. He went over to the table and refilled his glass.
“Don’t be sorry,” he said walking back over by her, “we both knew things weren’t right, something was wrong, the whole deal was going to fall apart at some point. We could have wasted another eleven years pretending we were happy. At least now we can get on with our own lives.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “but still, it bothers me. Maybe I’m just scared, I’ve never been on my own before, you have, but I haven’t.”
“You’ll make out alright, you’re not a helpless woman, you’ve got a brain, you’ll be OK.”
She smiled at him, took a sip of her champagne, then stood up on her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. It was a non-sexual, friendly kiss, the type you get at Christmas under a sprig of mistletoe.
“You’re too good,” she said, “I didn’t know how good until all this. I’m sorry for everything, sorry I hurt you. I do want to be your friend. I still love you in a funny kind of way; happy New Year.”
They sat down, watched some more television as they finished the bottle of champagne, talking, exchanging memories. Their old life was dying hard, but dying none the less. When they finished the bottle they went to bed, separately. Tomorrow was a new day, a new year, and a new start.
He slept late on New Year’s Day, tired from the previous night’s mix of wine and emotions. There may have also been some unconscious desire to delay what he had to do. It was the day he was moving out. He’d signed a rental agreement on a “studio apartment” several weeks ago that had gone into effect at midnight and he was determined to move in that day. They had let him start moving his furniture in earlier. Two days ago he’d taken some things his mother had put in storage after she’d moved in with his brother and partially furnished the place. It was pretty sparse, a kitchen set, a sofa, a couple of chairs, and two floor lamps, but it was a start.
He drove over with a load of clothes and assorted necessities; a set of pots and pans, alarm clock, toiletries, etc. Pulling into the complex, he looked around, he couldn’t help but think it was a high class housing project. Unlike Donna’s place, this was a purposely built “town house” complex, located, ironically, just outside of town. A large paved parking lot with four identical brick faced buildings; it was the ultimate in modern efficiency and convenience. It was also antiseptic and bland. It was a place designed for people like Mike, people who had no place else to go and who didn’t want to be bothered with conventional problems; no snow to shovel, grass to cut, or exterior windows to wash. Any problems with the neighbors would be management’s trouble.
His apartment was in the corner on the first floor of one of the buildings. These so called studio apartments seemed to be a way to use up extra space at the ends of the interior hallways. His was actually one large room, but the bathroom and some closets jutted out into the center, turning it into a U-shaped area; living room as you first came in, kitchen area in the center where to sink tied into the plumbing for the bathroom, and personal space on the far leg of the U for the bed. It really was an efficient arraignment. Since his was a first floor apartment, there were several casement style windows located about six feet up, similar to what he’d seen at Donna’s. He assumed it was to keep car headlights in the parking lot from shining into the apartment. It was alright with him, he had no great desire to sit and look out the window at a sea of asphalt and parked cars; it would remind him too much of Herring’s.
He made several trips shuttling back and forth. On the third and final time of the day, after he’d loaded the car he went into the kitchen. Joanie was sitting at the table crying. The reality of what was happening had finally hit her. To Mike it was a heartbreaking sight, the emotional part of him wished he could stop this, take back everything that had happened. He would have loved to dry her tears and tell her how everything was going back to normal, the way it had been. But his logical mind wouldn’t budge, call it off now and they would be repeating it again somewhere down the road. It was over and he was glad of it, but he still was moved by the sight of her. Walking over, he sat down by her.
“Don’t cry Joanie, everything’s going to work out. This isn’t the end of the world.”
“No, it’s not, but it feels like it.”
“Are you sure you want to stay here alone tonight? It might be better if you went to your folks place, came clean and told them and spent a couple of nights there.”
“No, I’ll tell them tomorrow. I have to stay here tonight, I have to get used to it. It probably isn’t going to be as bad as it seems.”
“It never is,” he told her, “trust me on that.”
With that he left, although the image of her sitting at the table, tears running down her cheeks, would continue to haunt him in the days to come. But he knew there was nothing he could do about it. It was not that he was unsympathetic or had hardened his heart, it was a simply common sense; it had not been his fault. Joanie had brought this all on herself with no regards to his feelings. It was a simple case of instant Karma, he wasn’t capable of fighting whatever cosmic forces might be at play here and he wasn’t about to try. Still, he wished her well.
On the way back to his new home, he stopped at a grocery store to pick up what he’d intended to be a few necessary items, but wound up being a full order. He hadn’t considered how much there was to buy when you were starting from scratch. In addition to food, the list seemed endless; soap, laundry detergent, paper towels, toilet paper, facial tissues, condiments, spices, etc. Every aisle revealed something else he had to have. It was a strange little adventure. Worrying about the cost, he decided to cut it short. If he had to do without on some things until he was sure what he needed, so be it.
He went to the apartment, unloaded the car, and began putting away his supplies. When he finished, he looked around, he didn’t have a bed yet, he’d be sleeping on the sofa, he wasn’t fully equipped to live on his own, and he didn’t know anybody in the building. That was the beginning of his new life, it was an inauspicious start.
Over the next few weeks he slowly began to get organized. No more impulse buying, he began making lists of just what he needed. The lists seemed endless, but there was a certain amount of excitement involved. Whereas previously he was concerned with big items, now acquiring a mop and bucket or a toilet brush gave him a strange satisfaction. He actually enjoyed it. Slowly, he was becoming acclimated to his change in lifestyle. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was hoping Joanie was too.
At work, the word of his change in marital status caused a few eyebrows to raise in surprise, but not much else, at least as far as he could see. He was sure there were a few conversations behind his back about it, but he really didn’t care. Donna, while asking periodically how he was doing, showed no inclination toward repeating their night together. He wasn’t sure how to take that, a part of him was disappointed, but mainly he was glad; a relationship between them would not have been good for either. He could not, however, forget what she had done and would always be grateful. She would always occupy a special place in his heart; he loved her, but in a non-sexual way.
There was a sense of freedom that came with his new life that he enjoyed. He didn’t have to answer or explain himself to anyone. He could do whatever he wanted to, whenever he wanted to and he liked that. But there was something missing. He’d shared his life for too long a time to be completely happy living alone. Make no mistake, he was in no way in a rush to jump back into marriage, but he did wonder from time to time if he would ever meet somebody again who he wanted to commit to.
He had made the mistake of thinking of the life of a bachelor as one of an endless series of encounters with single women. It had always seemed to him that single men his age were like catnip to similarly aged available women and now he was finding out it wasn’t that simple. He knew it wasn’t hard to meet the party girls, the easy ones, a few drinks and they were ready for a good time, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He’d never learned how, or more importantly, where to meet “normal” women. Part of the problem, was that in his mind he was classifying women with terms as normal women, career women, party girls, or as anything else. There is no black and white way of looking at people; male or female, all are a blend of shades of gray.
He had yet to understand that there was no one place to go to meet the type of women he was looking for; straight laced prudes can be found in bars and the wild and crazy types show up at church socials. It was one of those things most men in his situation don’t understand. It’s better to meet women on their own terms when the opportunity arises, rather than purposely going out looking for specifics. There is no one particular right person for anyone, there are thousands. You can run across dozens of perfect matches on any given day and never even know it.
Added to the problem was his own nature; he was basically an honorable person. He’d been in the car sales business long enough to be familiar with the certain type of women who would gladly exchange their favors for a better deal on a car. He’d heard their subtle and at times not so subtle hints in the past and had always rejected them out of hand. In his mind he found these women to be troubled and somewhat pathetic. He was incapable of taking advantage of anyone that way; it would almost seem abusive even if they were willing. His one night with Donna bothered him enough, even though he viewed it as something that had just happened on its own between friends. To deliberately use somebody else for his own gratification was unthinkable. Some men are cut out to be players, most are not and Mike definitely was not.
While the thoughts of meeting another woman were often on his mind, they were vague and somewhat fleeting thoughts. He was still busy adjusting to his new everyday life. For now he was happy to be able to swig milk straight from the container, eat standing over the sink, or leave the toilet seat up, all without getting yelled at. Whatever was going to happen to him romantically would happen or not happen in its own good time. He hadn’t been alone long enough to be lonely.
One of the things he didn’t care for was the fact that life at the apartment complex was a solitary thing; neighbors weren’t neighborly. It was like living in a big city, residents might nod, or grunt a noncommittal greeting but there was no real interaction. Finally, one cold March morning, he had his first real contact with one of his fellow occupants.
It was one of those early March days that are so unpredictable, snow flurries the day before, then the temperature dropped below freezing that night. Dawn brought bright sunshine with the promise of a beautiful day. As he walked out to his car he heard the sound of a starter cranking an engine, trying unsuccessfully to start it. There was the unmistakable odor of gasoline, indicating a flooded engine. He walked over to the car, a Buick GS with a woman behind the wheel, he shook his head and waved his hands indicating for her to stop.
“Look, I think I can help. Pop the hood release and let me see what’s going on.” He spoke loudly so she could hear him through to closed window.
She nodded her head, then he heard the metallic plunk as the hood jumped up several inches. He went to the front of the car, one hand pushing the hood catch aside and raised it up. Removing the top of the air cleaner he looked down. The smell of gas was very heavy and the choke plate was closed; definitely flooded. She’d probably pumped the accelerator too much in the beginning. He moved the air cleaner body aside to get better access to the carburetor linkage. He came around to the side of the car as she rolled down her window.
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