Fourth date

I have mentioned in the last few posts that I had another business trip last week – different town, this time – and somehow D contrived to get away from work. By staying over the weekend, we got four nights together.

I don’t know that there were any grand themes dominating this visit, apart from a sheer delight in being with each other. Lots of little drama, though. It is becoming increasingly difficult for me to ignore my own depression, or just to pass it off as no big deal. One evening we were sitting in a restaurant and D made an idle comment about the dinner I had just ordered; somehow her comment struck me wrong and for several minutes I couldn’t answer her back or even look at her. Don’t ask me to explain this, because it makes no sense at all; and once I was past it, the moment looked silly to me. But in that moment, it seemed like even opening my mouth to speak was just the biggest job in the world.

The next afternoon I mentioned that I expected to be grumpy the following week, because I always feel rotten after a trip like this (what with jet lag, etc.). In fact, that is part of why I have long told Wife I hate to travel.

D said simply, “Isn’t it interesting that when depression becomes part of the scene, the first thing to go is truthfulness?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well Hosea, it is obvious to me that you love to travel. You like the excitement of visiting new places, the puzzle of figuring out how to get around, the challenge of making yourself understood in a foreign language ... all of that. And yet you tell Wife that you hate to travel, just because you find yourself afflicted by depression from time to time during and after a trip.”

I explained that wasn’t the only reason. A second is that Wife so obviously envies my work sending me to one place and another. I don’t appreciate the envy, so I play up the unappealing parts of the trip. A third is that while I do enjoy exploring new places, I am often too shy to go very far without company – so that travelling alone is a lot less fun than travelling with someone. Still, I think she may be on to something.

For her part, I don’t think D suffers from depression as such; but she is afflicted by a profound sense of unworthiness, and this contributes to a certain underlying insecurity about our affair. Late one evening, as we were about to turn in, I made some random comment about a trivial characteristic that she and Wife share in common, and she got very quiet. I couldn’t get her to say anything more to me as we fell asleep; and by the next morning she was upset because she felt that I had been distant during the night. We bickered some before going down to breakfast, and she soon admitted that she felt very threatened by the comparison with Wife, while conceding that I hadn’t actually said anything wrong. In other words, her insecurity was all her baggage and not anything I had inflicted on her.

Sometimes it seems like all I write about – when I write about my times with D – are the moments of emotional drama or arguments. Partly that is because I think those make the most interesting stories: I dare say nobody wants to read a detailed description of how long we spend staring into each other’s eyes, or saying inane things that all more or less mean “I love you,” or even comparing notes on child-rearing or books we have enjoyed. And I don’t really think I could do a good job writing juicy accounts of our fucking: I mean, it is exuberant and ecstatic – not to mention far more frequent than I would ever have expected based on my years of experience with Wife – but I have never quite mastered the knack of writing about it in an exciting way. That leaves the arguments.

The arguments are important for two other reasons, as well. One is that they happen at all – while we were chatting at the airport before flying back home, we agreed that all relationships involve (at least potentially) some kind of conflict, so it is in some ways a good sign that we are willing to express any disagreements rather than hiding them. For all the secrecy that we have to adopt by virtue of conducting an affair, we try hard to be open to each other. And that is a good thing. Moreover, we have both discovered that by airing our disagreements instead of smothering them, we get over them quickly because we’d rather get back to kissing. So far, every argument has been resolved inside of 24 hours, if we’ve been together in person. This too is a good thing, and it is a pattern that gives me a lot of hope for the future.

Since we had the whole weekend, we truly had a lot of time and there are plenty of other images that stick with me too. We went to the zoo. I dragged D over to the big cats; she insisted on seeing the bears and the insects – she especially loves spiders. We went out for an evening of Bach choral music – three solid hours and not a dull moment. And then there was the evening that we went for a walk through the empty streets after dinner, in the cold night air of mid-March ... and we started kissing as I backed her against a wall ... and even though I kept my hands scrupulously outside her jacket, I would swear she came right there, on the spot, out in the cold wind. Certainly she was aroused – she was flustered and embarrassed about wanting to get back to the hotel right now. But I have to admit I was trying for more than mere arousal, and from the intensity of her sighing I think I might have gotten it. Have I mentioned how fantastically responsive D is?

Finally it was time to go home. D’s flight, in particular, arrived very late and night, and then she had a long drive home from the airport. But she dropped me a note the next day that she had gotten home safely:

“Home safely, by the grace of God. I got lost, ran off the road half a dozen times and was simply uncoordinated and exhausted. Wow. Not like me at all.... I did sleep [on the plane], but somehow it's not the same as regular sleep, or I'm just trying to explain why I reacted so uncharacteristically to my late night demands. At any rate, I'm home, unpacked, drinking coffee and trying to think about how to get through a day without any sleep or lesson plans....

I probably won't call Wife, simply because I'm tired enough to slip up and refer to our time together, or know something I shouldn't....

But with you, I'll write, knowing you will forgive my lapses in grammar and logic, and only remember the laughter, walking, kisses and hugs, your reading to me...one thousand and one nights in the space of four real time evenings. I won't pretend that it doesn't feel as though a part of me is gone; the bright and beautiful part. But if I close my eyes and place my head in my hands, you are there, and I can see you, hear your thoughts. Mine are all loving, full of gratitude for the time together, but more for knowing you, for catching a glimpse, once again, of someone so remarkable that all my love and devotion can only be yours for a lifetime.”