Three

“IT’S A SOULMATE CONNECTION, gifting you with that dream about him.” Crystal, wrapped in fringy scarves and tribal necklaces, broad beautiful face serene, delivers her truth. She channels her information from a ten-thousand-year-old deity, so it tends to reduce complications of ambiguity in her life.

Lindsey’s been doing some spiritual seeking herself since the cancer diagnosis, but isn’t quite ready to accept Crystal as guru. She refrains from a skeptical rebuttal as Crystal forks up some veggie salad and smiles, bathed in an appropriate halo of light. The sun’s broken through the cloud cover to shimmer off the marina ripples and in through the window of the Bayside Café.

Megan, across the table, does roll her eyes, short hair gleaming with new reddish streaks. “Lindsey, you dodo-brain! It’s no big mystery.” She cuts off a piece of rare steak and pops it into her mouth, talks around it as she chews. “I told you Newman moved back to town a few years ago. And how he ended up getting divorced a year ago. Remember? You were so wrapped up in the Nick stuff, I guess you weren’t listening.”

Megan’s an old friend of Newman’s from high school days, has kept in loose touch as he moved at large through the world, from living on an East Indian ashram, to selling Nepalese handicrafts at fairs from his hippie van, to now consulting in third-world countries, helping villagers set up self-sustaining cottage industries.

Lindsey pushes her empty chowder bowl away just in time for their server’s tattooed hands to whisk it onto his tray and slosh more water into her glass. “Thanks.” She shrugs at Megan. “Well, at least I got a good laugh out of it. Here I am in the hospital basement, thinking he’s some wacko out of the psych ward and can I get the door unlocked fast enough to flee.” She shakes her head, chuckling. “I think he knew all along who I was.” Was he laughing at her? It didn’t feel like it at the time.

Crystal, with the authentic warmth that shines through whichever New Age trend she’s on, reaches over to squeeze Lindsey’s hand. “It’s good to hear you laugh, Lin. Accept these gifts from the universe.”

“Tell you what, my dear.” Megan fixes her with a practical eye. “What you ought to take is the opportunity to give him a call.” She flips open her cell phone and taps at it, whips out a business card, and writes down a phone number on the back. “He’s one hot prospect for the right gal. Financially secure, and he’s into all those outdoors things you go for.” She gives a little shrug, unusual for briskly efficient Megan. “So, okay, those guys I tried to set you up with were geeks, at least it pried you out of the house. But Newman’s different.” Her voice sounds wistful. “He… he’s a really good man.”

Lindsey’s touched by their caring, but she’s jittering away from this conversation. She pushes her palms out, fending off. “Look, that’s not where I’m going.” She’s damaged goods, but not about to be an object of charity. She cringes at the memory of his eyes, that clarity seeing way too much. She’s not ready for that. And what could she offer a man? Anyway, he recognized her and didn’t say anything.

“One of these days, Lin, you’re going to look in the mirror and see how beautiful you are. Haven’t you been using that ylang-ylang essence I gave you? It’ll open up your heart chakra, help you balance your male-female energies.” Crystal is giving her the Earth Mother gaze.

Lindsey wishes she could find something that made sense to believe in, but maybe that’s the trouble–she both wants and is skeptical of easy answers.

Megan snorts. “What she needs is a close encounter with a big, hard—”

“Megan.” Lindsey waves her down, glancing over at the next table, where two men in suits have fallen silent, eavesdropping.

“Linny, I know you! What’s it been, over two years? You’ve got your juices so backed up by now, your teeth must be floating. Do you wonders to have a good, screaming—”

“Megan! Cut!” Lindsey slices crosscuts through the air with her hands. “You keep this up, I’ll be forced to use my blackmail material.” She’s come armed this time. Reaching into her purse, she pulls out a yellowed letter from Megan, dating from their twenties when Lindsey was in the Peace Corps in Honduras. She’d found it when she was going through some old boxes, tossing out reminders of Nick. Opening the folded paper, she reads from mid-page, “…and was he hot!! Honestly, we were so revved, and I’d never done it on a pool table before, but his frigging boot laces were in knots and we couldn’t get the damned things off him. So I grabbed the kitchen knife, and—”

“Lindsey Friedland!” Megan, face reddening, grabs at the letter as Lindsey pulls it out of reach.

She sits back, pouting. “You better watch it, Lin! Don’t forget I’ve still got the photo negatives from that bicycle trip on Orcas Island. You know, the ones with you wearing nothing but sea kelp? Not to mention the topless hiking shots….” She makes another lunge and this time rips the letter from Lindsey’s fingers.

“Careful! That’s got historical value.”

“My God, I can’t believe you saved this.” Megan scans the page, laughs, flips it over. She reads on, sobering, fingers gripping tighter.

“No, not that part.” Lindsey tries to take the letter back.

“No, no. Wait.” Megan finishes the page and drops the letter into her lap. She looks up at Lindsey, her eyes brimming. “Hey, gal friend,” she says softly. “You were my angel, you got me through that shit with Brent and the….” She bites her lip and shakes her head, mutters, “To think I might have married that jerk just because I got knocked up.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean to rake that up.”

Megan reaches over and squeezes her hand.

Crystal is looking baffled, turning her face from one to the other. “What’s going on?”

Megan smiles, squeezes Lindsey’s hand again, and releases it. She turns to Crystal. “Lin got me through some kind of heavy-duty stuff back when we were roommates, finishing up college. Then she was off to the Peace Corps. That was before her river-rafting gig. Talk about Amazon woman! She was my hero.”

“Wow.” Crystal blinks, turns to give Lindsey a surprised look.

Lindsey’s shaking her head. “Megan’s never been known for exaggerating.”

“No way!” Megan slaps her palm on the table. “You saved my silly butt back then, my dear, and now I’m returning the favor. I think Newman’s got just what you need, give you a little jumpstart back into your sassy old self.” She reaches over to stick the business card into Lindsey’s purse. “So you’ve got his cell number now. No excuses!”

Dusting her hands, she briskly pulls out her daytimer. “Okay, Crystal, it’s your turn to choose the spot next month. But have a heart. Not that place with everything made from goat milk curds….”

April 23

Dear Diary,

Red and purple tulips up in the garden! April showers bring phallic spring flowers.

HighJinks brought in a black-capped chickadee—catch and release—for the morning’s entertainment. I managed to trap it in the livingroom curtain, the poor thing quivering so I thought its heart would burst. Put it in a paper sack and warmed it under the lamp, then held it in my hands on the back porch. I swear it looked into my eyes before it flew off.

Hunters and hunted. Where do I fit?

Lindsey pauses, tapping her pen on her teeth. She’s phasing out the SAD light, bundles up to sit on the porch for breakfast and catch the morning sun when it’s not raining.

Speaking of running like a scared rabbit…. Let’s list the fiascos. “Hot prospects” friends have sent my way:

MEGAN: BRUCE

Technically not a “date,” so she’s off the hook. Felt like I was the worm on it, wriggling away. Okay, he was funny at her family’s traditional July 4^th barbecue, hanging with Megan and Joe and me, but those clouds of his men’s cologne enough to choke you. So then he showed up at the house! Didn’t invite him in, figured I’d take him on the yard tour down to the creek in back, show him my native-plant restoration project, then I’d send him on his way.

“You’re so tense,” he said. “Let me give you a shoulder rub.” Therapeutic massage? Is this a sure-fire date tip they learn in the locker room??

I politely declined, edging toward the driveway and an appointment, “Darn,” I just remembered.

Then, cross my heart, he lunged at me, grabbed my shoulders, started digging in. By then I was tense all right. Jumped five feet.

So there I was, leaping away across the lawn like a scared rabbit with Mr. Cologne in hot pursuit.

Is this what it’s come to?

CRYSTAL: RAVEN SKYWALKER

Past-life regression facilitator and repurposed plastics sculptor C. invited to her annual Capricorn-Aquarius Birthday Party. Tall with little silver ponytail (nice) but mostly bald (shiny scalps not my thing but trying to be open-minded, it’s luck of the genes for the poor guys.) Arrived on a Harley in serious black leather.

When Leon introduced us, I trotted out something lame like, “How are you?”

“For the primal how, you might ask my mother. For the rest, I always say, ‘When you play with God, it’s for keeps.’” All the while fixing me with a meaningful look.

“Oh. Well. But…. Is that true?” I fumbled. “Seems like God might have a heart. You know, give us a second shot.”

He laughed and cocked his head to give me another look. So then it appeared I was his designated partner for the evening. I got used to the Koan-flavored quips, even though I didn’t have a clue what he was saying half the time. I figured out that if I just answered something mysteriously illogical, he’d find a hidden meaning in it and nod sagely.

So then Crystal was taking us all on her garden tour—she’d made some new wire sculptures and bird houses—and Raven S. took this as his cue to guide me along, taking my arm, rubbing his hand between my shoulders. I eased away a couple times, figuring he’d get the message.

No. (Is this where Skywalker goes to the Dark Side?) He actually started jabbing me in the ribs!

“What are you doing?” I stared at him.

“You’re so uptight!” And then he shook my arm, gave me a bit of a shove. “Let your body move with it, instead of resisting. It helps you let go of your past-life traumas. I could help you with that, some deep-release work along the spine, and the groin area.”

I think I managed not to shudder. “No, thanks, I’m feeling perfectly adjusted. Now, if you’ll excuse me….” I tried to move past him without stepping on Crystal’s violets.

“That’s only denial talking.” Then he shoved me again!

“Stop it!” Now I was getting pissed off.

“I was just being playful. Loosen up.” He was drilling me with his eyes again. “You know I’m an expert at reading body language, and—”

“Good. Then read this.” I actually flipped him the bird! And then I was hightailing it out of there.

“Lindsey, what—?” Crystal, calling after me. “Where’s she going?”

The last thing I heard was Raven answering her, “Your friend’s holding a lot of latent hostility….”

MEGAN AGAIN: GERALD

From the terrorists to the timid!

Met “Gerry” at the student flute recital Megan tricked me into attending so I could help cheer on her Cathy. “Just happened” to see single-dad Gerry there, who “just happened” to really like hiking. “Isn’t that amazing? Lindsey does, too!”

He was decent-looking in a Clark-Kent sort of way, clean-cut and with a knife-edge nose and jawline, though almost nonexistent lips. But very polite!

We went on a couple of low-key outings, rambles on local trails. Talked books, gardening, and his son’s baseball league. At least he knew how to be quiet on the trails, and someone to share driving with is always a bonus. No chemistry whatsoever between us, so a relief to just relax and be casual friends.

On the third hike, we were sitting on a log with our water bottles, taking a break. Maybe we were talking about the latest logging outrage near the North Cascades forest preserve. Apropos of nothing, he cleared his throat and turned to me.

Another prolonged throat clearing, then he asked, “May I kiss you?”

CHARLOTTE: DENNY

For an ice-breaker, he announced, “Yeah, what I’m really looking for is a woman in her thirties who wants to make babies.”

And way way back, in the days when men seemed to fall off the trees like ripe apples at Lindsey’s feet, there was Newman.

By some arrangement of Megan’s—roommate with Lindsey in that funky cottage in the cedar grove while they both returned to Hometown U. to finish their bachelor’s degrees—her old pal was coming by on his bike after returning from a couple years in the East Indian ashram. Only Megan never mentioned it to Lindsey. And she never made it home from her hot date the night before.

Lindsey was out in the yard reading and sunning topless when she heard the “ting” of a bicycle bell.

“Shit.” She rolled over, fumbling for her shirt.

A deep chuckle. She squinted against the sunlight. A dark silhouette split the rays, then shifted, walking the bike closer.

“Hi. I’m Newman.” He dropped the bike, stepped over to her blanket.

She blinked up at this sleepy summertime vision. Sunlight caught in his long blond hair and beard, gilded his deeply tanned skin. He was tall, shirtless in ragged cutoff jeans, a single strand of blue glass beads around his neck dangling some kind of medallion. He was grinning.

Lindsey got herself together and stood up, tugging her tank top down over her shorts. “I’m Lindsey. Can…. I help you?” The rehearsed line from her part-time waitress job popped out.

He tilted his head like he was thinking it over, then reached out a hand and took hers, but he didn’t shake it. He turned it over and gazed at the lines on her palm.

She retrieved her hand, brushed her palm over her hip. “Uh… are you lost?”

“I don’t think so.” Another slow smile. “You must be Megan’s roommate. Is she ready? We’re going for a bike ride.”

Lindsey shook her head. “She didn’t mention it. She… she’s not home.”

“Hmm.” He took that in calmly. “Well, Lindsey, how about it? I was thinking over to Mosquito Lake, take a swim.”

It was easy in those days, all the time in the world and life meant for exploring. Mosquito Lake was a leisurely ride. More a muddy pond, really, lined with rushes, shallow and warm in the summer sun.

Newman flattened a sort of nest in the tall grass, and they dangled bare feet in the water, watching the red-winged blackbirds flit around as he told her about his travels, and his studies with the “Teacher” at the ashram. Then Lindsey finally put it together: he was the one Megan had said was studying to be… what was it? A Buddhist monk?

“Here’s a good way to practice, you can learn to tune out bodily distractions. We’ll just lie here in the mud. Just feel it and let it pass over you, let the bugs crawl on you and be part of it.”

Okay, she was game. So they stripped and lay there in the mud and Lindsey almost thought she could do it, ignore the grit on her skin and the flies landing, and she tried to be serene and let time be only the moment. Like Ram Dass advised: Be. Here. Now. But then something wiggly was going on under her thighs, some creature burrowing. She gritted her teeth and kept her eyes closed, desperately willing it away, but there it was, some bug or crawdad crawling higher between her thighs and what if it bit?

She cheated and brushed under her leg, pushing the bug away. Then squinted to see Newman sitting up, caked with mud. He gently touched her hip, lifting a squirming worm off her. He smiled.

She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s working.”

He just kept smiling, shifting to lower himself onto her. He settled his weight carefully over her, pressing her deeper into the mud. She felt strangely disembodied, while completely aware of his chest against her breasts, the gritty slippery feel of the mud oozing along their joined skin, his penis settling soft between her legs. Some part of her mind was asking all the usual questions like what the hell was he doing? but it was all so oddly peaceful and nonthreatening. He didn’t move or grind against her, just lay still over her, not crushing her at all, and a new kind of light and warmth seemed to radiate through them both. Serene.

And Lindsey thought maybe she was getting it. It was about transcending physical desire, making a spiritual connection, all the things the hippie songs and poems talked about only she’d never understood really even though she’d smoked her share of pot and sampled the psychedelics. But now she couldn’t help feeling a hot twinge in her loins, wanting to pulse against him. He really was gorgeous and his hard bod on hers felt good, and how could he just lie there so still and not give way to it? Maybe that was what they learned, studying to become monks.

Lindsey felt her face flushing and suddenly she could feel the flies and bugs squirming again, and was that something else stirring, hard, between her thighs?

He sighed. She was too confused.

“I think that’s enough for me!” She pushed against him.

“Okay.” He smiled and lifted quickly off her, then plunged out past the cattails into deeper water, waving her in for a swim.

The next day Megan told her he’d left for India again. Lindsey chalked it up to Transcendence 101.