A woman with scrubbed clean hands
It was about 11 am when Dr J arrived for lunch. I was impressed.
She drove a 1967 Corvette. Silver, with the all fiberglass body. She said it was a hand me down from her brother and she kept it running because she loved the car. It's a lot of car to love. As much as any thing can make me look at a person differently its a 1967 'vette.
She was wearing Guess jeans and a soft off white blouse. It made her height seem more subdued, more human. Her hair was softly wrapped around her face, combed but not fretted over. SHe wore make up, not too much make up but enough to show she was trying. And she wore a light gardenia scented perfume, light enough to smell clean and sunny. Dry enough to not make me nauseous.
She came in and we shook hands . . . I led her outside and she asked me, "How are you feeling?"
I said, "Fine." I thought about it and said, "You shouldn't talk to me like a doc."
She laughed. "It's hard not to."
We just walked around. Dr J took my arm and for a moment, in the heat, the sun and the humidity it felt right. Like it was the kind of feeling you could get used to.
She talked about her life, her family, about the dogs she'd owned and the way she missed having a dog now. She talked about being a doctor and why she did it.
I like listening to people talk. I like listening to people tell me their life stories. I like the details and the expression on their faces.
Sometimes she would get self conscious about talking so much and try and ask something about me.
There's nothing to say at times like this. I enjoy just hearing words that people think are important, trying to understand why that's important to them and trying to see what they see.
She corrected me when I'd call women girls. That made me smile.
I told her that I valued friends more than girl friends. I've had gal pals for ten or fifteen years, (actually longer but I'm nto allowed to say how long) but except in two cases, I'd seldom had a girlfriend for longer than 6 months . . . seldom meaning that I could only think of one but there might have been one or two I'd forgotten.
We talked for 4 hours. She could have stayed the day but I think she got self conscious. She was always the tallest person in the room for most of her life. I guess that would make you self conscious about almost everything you did. Too self conscious to see that the goofy guy sitting there wanted you to stay.
It wasn't anything big, but it wasn't anything small either. I let her kiss me on the cheek. It felt sexy when she held her cheek against mine. I enjoyed hugging her and I think we held it too long for it to be only friendly.
I like that she squealed the tires when she waved at me as she drove away.
I liked a lot of things about the day. It wasn't magic but it wasn't the less for that.
One thing she said to me: I didn't realize it but she was explaining why she was interested in me. She said I was quiet and quick to smile but never seemed to laugh. That I turned out to be exactly what I seemed to be.
Which might be a way of saying I'm pretty shallow, which I am. I mean, I'm for sure not deep.
I did wonder about one thing. The goths, the living dead girls have always been attracted to me. I've never gotten why. I'm pretty much everything that goth isn't. I'm sports and surf and sun streaked hair, tan and sweating.
When I first got diagnosed I found out that there are women that are like death angels. They're attracted to guys with fatal diseases and such. I'm not to bothered by what turns people on as long as it doesn't involve hurting kids or animals it's all pretty much a non-issue to me.