Stephen Dixon: Time to Go

“Not so.”

“Believe me, it’s so. And maybe you really don’t want, no matter what you claim, a longtime relationship — one ending in marriage and a baby.”

“How can you say that? I’d marry you today and conceive with you tonight if you wanted and we could.”

“You say you would but if I said yes, I’m sure you’d change your mind.”

“Say yes then. Go on, say it.”

“You know I won’t. Not to you or any man, as I said, for six to eight years or more. Not that when I get married a man will have to ask me to. I can just as well ask also, right? Or that person and I will just naturally slide into marriage, but a happy slide, without either of us asking the other. But what was I saying again? Oh yes. I really believe that deep inside you want to live alone for the rest of your life. That’s why you’ve lived alone all these years and all your relationships have failed, except for a couple of unsuccessful living arrangements with women — relationships which eventually failed because of the very living alone reason I gave.”

“Okay, say what you said is true. All of it, right from since we started talking. But now I want to stop that pattern for good.”

“Then do, but with someone else, not me. It will in fact have to never be me. Because when I get to that age where I only might want to get married, you’ll be forty-eight or fifty-two or whatever then and so still way too old for me. So you see, it can never change. There’s no reason in the world for you to think it can change. At forty-five I might not find a man sixty-six or so that unappealing, but that’s so ridiculously far away and I also, if I was going to have a baby, would have had one long before that age. So from this point on the relationship and everything we have to talk about it has to end, okay?”

“Not even as friends?”

“You know that’s not all you’d want, and besides, I really have more friends than I can deal with now, but thanks.”

“All right then, goodnight.”

“Goodbye.”

“Right. Goodbye, goodnight and the rest of the goods. I’ll see you.”

“Okay,” and hangs up.

I hang up, tell myself to stay calm, it’s happened before, though it hasn’t happened and hurt so much with someone in a couple of years, pick up the receiver to call her back, put it on my lap and think what am I going on about, because she’s right, I am too old for her though her reasoning against my age is mostly bull and my arguments against her reasons are just as full of it, when the phone starts making its off-the-cradle noise and I put the receiver back on.

I dreamt of her. That’s nothing unusual. Dreamt of her plenty of times before. About every four months or so since I last saw her three years ago. Since I walked out on her after she asked me to. “Walk out. I want you to,” she said. “Walk. Really. It’s no good. For too long it hasn’t been good. It’ll never be good.” Other things she said. I walked, got another apartment that day, a cheap enough place, hotel I still live in, residential hotel, so I didn’t have to bring or buy any furniture. Called her the next day and said I’d like to pick up all my things and she said she’ll send them to me with a friend, where am I? I told her. She sent them. Some things I wanted weren’t in the cartons and valises. I never called back and asked her for them. That phone call was our last communication. I’ve thought of her many times since. Haven’t pined for her though. I don’t mourn for her and never did. I was glad it was over. I loved her when I left her but knew we were never going to work out too. But tonight I dreamt of her. It was a good dream. She was very nice to me in it. She was nude too. Right from the beginning of the dream. Had a darker suntan than she ever got when I knew her. The white marks of a brief bathing suit’s top and bottom showed. It must’ve been summer. The windows were wide open. It was very bright in the room. We were high up, overlooked a river, in a bedroom I didn’t and still don’t recognize. She smiled, we talked, I forget about what. Something about how you doing, how are you doing, I’m doing fine, I’m doing fine too, “Why don’t you take your clothes off?” she then said and when I said “Well, I really don’t know,” wondering if the pleasure I’d probably get would be worth the problems I might have to go through later because of it, she took them off for me, or started to. I let her. I wanted to make love very much. Her body was smoother and stronger than when I knew her, though when I knew her her body was very good. Her body in the dream was exceptional. Smaller waist, larger breasts, firmer buttocks, longer slimmer legs. She used to say — said it several times, usually when we were naked on top of the bed covers—”If I’d been stretched on a rack when I was fourteen, which was when I stopped developing, I’d have a perfect body, one, not that I’d want to be there, good enough for a centerfold.” I never had any complaints. In the dream we made love twice. I was very satisfied in the dream. She seemed to be too. I woke up with an erection, played with myself, lost it. How many times have I had an orgasm in a dream? — forget two, which was how many I had in this one. Maybe once. A few years ago. I vaguely remember it. I forget who it was with but I don’t think it. was her.

I do some exercises, dress, make breakfast and leave for work. On my lunch hour I see her. It was sunny and warm when I left the office building and I took off my sweater and jacket and carried them. I took a sandwich and coffee I bought at a sandwich shop to one of the midtown pocketparks. All the tables and chairs were filled. I sat on one of the long concrete benches that run the entire lengths of the park. I’d finished half my egg salad sandwich and was wiping my mouth with the napkin when I saw her. She’s with a woman. They’re looking for available chairs it seems. I want to shout her name but then think wait awhile. If they start to leave, go after her and invite them to sit with you along the wall. That is, if they don’t find two chairs or don’t after they don’t find two chairs decide to sit against the wall. If they decide to sit against the wall, wave to her as they approach, if it’s this wall, and if it’s the other wall, go over to them without your sweater and jacket, and food if you haven’t finished by then, and ask if she’d mind you joining them. If she does mind, say sorry and leave. If she doesn’t mind, go back to where you were sitting, get your things and sit with them. If they find chairs, go over to them. If she sees you before they find chairs or head for one of the walls or start to leave, wave to her as if you just saw her and get up and start over to her. I wrap the second half of the sandwich in the paper it came in, just in case they want something to eat, though there is a small food shop in the turret at the park’s entrance, or if they don’t have food in their handbags.

Look at her. This morning I’m making love to her in a dream, five hours later I see her in this little park off Fifth. How do you really feel about her? She looks good. That’s not answering the question. She points to a table a couple are getting up from and she and the woman start for it. She hasn’t seen me yet. I don’t know the woman she’s with. Aline’s blouse is the one I remember from her closet when we lived together and which she never wore during those four years. I once asked her why she never wore it. “My husband gave it to me,” she said. “I don’t know why I kept it. I got rid of everything else he gave me except some of the books he didn’t inscribe. Besides, it’s not me.” They sit and both open their handbags and pull out brown paper bags. Containers come out of the paper bags first. The woman points to the waterfall at the far end of the park and they start talking about it it seems as they pull off the container tops. I look at the fall. It makes a nice sound, drowning out the surrounding traffic and construction noises. They take out wrapped sandwiches and half — or quarter — pound containers and plastic forks from the paper bags. Cole slaw, potato or noodle salad, something like that inside these containers. They unwrap the sandwiches and pull off the container tops. They eat, drink and talk. Her companion faces me. Aline has her back to me and I can only see a little of her profile now and then. She seems the same. Suppose she saw you, came over to you and said “Hey, let’s cab to my apartment and make love for a halfhour — a quickie like we used to do when we were in a rush,” what would you do? She wouldn’t do that. It’s absurd to think about. Though just thinking about it — well, that says something. Though we often weren’t compatible, our sex till the last month was usually very good. I don’t see a woman now, haven’t been serious with one since Aline, though I’ve gone with several women since. One for six months, another for three. I went to Europe with one for a month, spent two weeks with another on a Virginia beach. Suppose she said “Call me,” what would you do? I’d say I don’t know. I don’t think I want to be with her again. But she wouldn’t say that. Or maybe she would, just so we could later talk. “Let’s have dinner one night,” she could say, “or lunch, just to catch up on what we’ve been doing the last three years.” I’ve no idea what she’s been doing. I don’t see anyone we both knew from that time. I did for a year. Then the man we both knew moved to Utah and the woman we both knew died. I went to the funeral, Aline didn’t. In that first year after we split up, Aline had a lover both those people said. She might still have him. She might be married to him or to someone else and have a child. I’d like to know. I should go over to her. I wanted to marry her and have a child but she kept putting it off. Strange that I dreamt of her this morning and see her now. Stranger that I made love to her in the dream. Stranger still that we made love so much in the dream and I was so satisfied. If I speak to her should I tell her I dreamt of her this morning? Would she even believe me? She used to say I exaggerate too much, that it was one of my problems. Tell her, why not? It’s interesting. Somewhat, not very. It’s coincidental. It’d also be interesting to see her reaction. I wouldn’t volunteer that we made love in the dream. If she asked what were we doing and where were we in the dream — she liked to ask that after I said I dreamt of us — I think I’d be cagey. That I’d rather not go into it, or would I say I forgot? No, I’d tell her. What’s to lose? I’d say something like “Strangely enough, we were making love. That’s the absolute truth. I’m not saying it for effect or making it up. I’ve nothing to gain or lose by saying it. I know you used to say I exaggerated a lot, but I don’t anymore. I’ve other problems, but not that. So that’s why I mentioned the dream. Because it was only hours ago and first one about you in months and here we are now.” If she asked me to go further into it, I’d say we had orgasms — at least I did: two. “Never in my life have I had two in a dream — not even in any number of dreams in a month.” If she wanted to know what she said in the dream and what her sex was like, I’d mention her wanting me to take my clothes off and that her last words in the dream after our lovemaking was over were “That was very good for me, I’m sure it was for you.” That’s what she said. I remember it now. But I wouldn’t go that far in describing the dream. If I said we made love in the dream, she wouldn’t ask me anything further about it and I wouldn’t volunteer. I think I know enough about her to know what she wouldn’t ask. Though it’s been three years, I’ve changed somewhat, so I don’t see why I should be that sure about her.