Time seemed to stand still when I was with Mary. I had quit jobs, taken jobs. There had been seasons. There had been moves. There had been life, and the life was larger than the time. All consuming.
We had cooked Chicken Tetrazenni, we had been to Memphis in May, we had slept together. We had listened to each other sleep. I had touched the beautiful bronze skin, her eyes, her nose, her ears, her toes, and marveled at the idea that she loved me.
Mary was my heart. My thoughts, my minutes. Every one I knew listened tirelessly as I recounted my complete infatuation with this Goddess, once again.
We made plans to sell a home I owned in a far away city. The home my children grew up in.
I could convert the home and the memories to cash now and start a new life with Mary. We talked about the grounds, the structure, which Realtor would we list it with?
We dreamed of our new home together. We made plans for our future.
I touched her body endlessly. I drowned my self in every moment, every expression of her face, her every word. We looked deep into each others eyes when we made love. We seemed to meld into one unit every moment we were together.
We never seemed to be two in love. We were one. Two individuals occupying the same mind, and same space.
We never lived together as an unmarried couple. Mary lived in her home with her two small children, I lived in my home, and her husband lived in his home. The one Mary had left to make a life with me.
There was never a doubt in our love for each other. It seems our souls were connected; we were enamoured with each other. We never tired of hearing the other speak, of going and doing together.
I finished at work early that Friday, had dinner on the stove, and was relaxing as I read the daily news.
From my recliner, I saw the maroon Lexus as it pulled into the driveway. I watched her step out of the car, and was flooded with the feelings of courage. The will to live, succeed in life, be someone important. Those feelings always flooded me when I thought of Mary.
I noticed her feet as she walked. They were in the most comfortable looking sandals I had ever seen. Dark brown leather bottoms and straps.
Funny how the smallest, most insignificant details get stuck in my mind. Her feet seemed to snuggle into the deepness of her shoes. Sandals on a bright and brisk autumn day. She had such beautiful feet. A person God had made for me. Perfection.
I ran for the door to meet her as she came in the back way, through the mud room. We embraced and shared the warmth and love.
We hung her goose down coat on the hall tree there in the mud room, as we started into the kitchen to see what was smelling like home cooking.
“I can’t stay. I only have a minute. Hold me again. I love you more than anything in the world.”
“You know that, don’t you?”
“I know I love You Mary”, I teased.
“What’s up? Where you going, this evening?”
“I have something to tell you. I know how much you love me. I am so sorry.”
“What?”
“I have to go back to my husband, Mike.”
I could feel the weight of her words. As they settled into my mind, uncoiled, made sense, the words became heavier and heavier.
I was being crushed by an invisible force. How could my knees be strong enough to stand?
I had nothing to defend.
“What happened?”
“I love you, but my conscious won’t let me go on.”
“He’s my husband.”
I had nothing to defend.