Douglas Kennedy - Five Days

‘Everything has changed. Everything.’

After I remarked that the truth was occasionally rather extraordinary he then said:

‘When I showed you the apartment today this crazy idea was rattling around my head: Laura and I will move here together. Of course I didn’t dare articulate such a thought at the time. Because I had no idea then if you were feeling what I was feeling. And because—’

‘I’ll move to Boston with you tomorrow,’ I heard myself saying. As soon as that statement was out of my mouth I didn’t have a stab of regret. Or a moment thereafter when I thought: Are you insane, uttering such a drastic, life-altering comment like that. especially as you have only known this man a little more than twenty-four hours?

But the truth was, I now possessed the sort of certainty that I had never thought possible. This certainty was as bemusing as it was absolute. Just as the rational side of my brain was telling me: You are convincing yourself of a future after just a day together. But this ultra-cautious voice was trumped by an equally logical voice, reminding me: What Richard said is veracity itself — everything has changed.

I’ll move to Boston with you tomorrow.

That wasn’t wishful thinking. That was a declaration.

Love.

We were both so apprehensive at first. Once in bed, desire was initially checkmated by fear. Richard was so apologetic, clearly mortified. I didn’t mouth all the usual clichйs — It happens to all men at some juncture. the less you think about it the more likely it will happen. I just kissed him deeply and told him I loved him. And he told me he loved me. And we talked, in hushed voices, lying face to face, about how lonely life had been for both of us and how what we both wanted was a chance. A chance at love. Real love. It might not be the answer to all of life’s complexities, all the struggles within. But it would be. a chance. And what I have so longed for, what Richard said he has so yearned to find. That prospect of possibility. Of a happier life.

Then we began to kiss even more deeply and passionately. Within moments he was inside me, fear having been banished. The sense of completeness was so immense. I had only slept with two men prior to Richard. I so remember the initial virginal awkwardness with Eric, and the way Dan and myself were, at first, clumsy — and how our sex life settled into a pleasant routine, but largely devoid of anything approaching real passion, real intimacy. But once Richard had entered me, once we began to move together — our bodies immediately, instinctively, attuned to what became, at once, a shared rhythm — the delirious sensuality of it all was heightened by an even more overwhelming sense of fusion.

Love.

I buried my face in his shoulder the first time I climaxed. And was astounded when I climaxed again just a few minutes later. Richard was determined not to rush things (this too was new for me) — and held off for such a long time. And when he came the shudder that ran through him, through us, was accompanied by another declaration of love.

Love.

When we finally got out of bed, slipping into the hotel bathrobes, it was late. Dinner was needed. We ordered room service. Richard also asked for a bottle of champagne. Part of me wanted to say, ‘Isn’t this all costing a small fortune?’ Almost reading my mind, Richard tempered this with the comment:

‘You have to toast a new life with champagne.’

Over dinner we couldn’t stop talking. About how we had both thought such happiness was beyond our reach, outside of the lives we were living.

‘We are all so absurd, aren’t we?’ I told Richard. ‘Always slouching towards some sort of Bethlehem where we hope to find a measure of peace within which we can act out our lives.’

‘“Slouching towards Bethlehem”. My dream was to fall in love with a woman who could quote Yeats. My dream came true.’

‘And you have fulfilled every dream imaginable for me.’

‘Even if you have no idea how I live my life? As in, I could be a complete slob.’

‘And so could I.’

‘I tend to doubt that,’ he said.

‘You’re right about that. And I would be very surprised to learn that you are all over the place when it comes to things domestic.’

‘Would that be a deal breaker for you?’

‘Nothing would change my love for you.’

‘That’s a dangerous statement. I mean, say I was part of some strange religious cult? Or if I was an amateur taxidermist?’

‘Your imaginative flair is impressive. But even if you were stuffing gerbils in your spare time—’

‘Gerbils?’ I said, laughing. ‘Why gerbils?’

‘They’ve always struck me as a profoundly useless rodent.’

‘And therefore worthy of taxidermy?’

‘So you do have a flair for the absurd.’

‘Like you, sir. Just like you.’

And he leaned over and kissed me.

We ate the dinner. We drank the champagne. We talked, talked, talked. I learned all about his childhood. How his father insisted on him joining the Boy Scouts and forced him to attend a military boarding school for two years — a hateful experience — and how he had a nervous breakdown after a few months and was sent home.

‘This is something I never discussed with anyone — and even never told Muriel about it. I was so ashamed of it all. But that place — it was like a prison camp. I begged my mother to talk Dad out of sending me there — that is, after my father refused to entertain my pleas that I was not military school material. But my mother never went against Dad’s rule of law. “You’ll just have to get through it,” was her statement to me. But I knew I simply wouldn’t get through it. Before Christmas rolled around, the endless drill formations and six a.m. reveries and the hazing and mean-spiritedness of the place finally did my head in. I was found by one of my fellow cadets, crying uncontrollably in a bathroom. Instead of getting help he ran off and got six other cadets. They gathered around me and began to taunt me. Calling me a sissy, a baby, all that wonderful macho American stuff which idiots in packs perpetrate against anyone who is perceived to be different or weak.’

‘You’re hardly a weak man,’ I said.

‘The truth is, I have always been weak when it has come to the voice of authority. Had I not been weak I would have stayed with Sarah. Had I not been weak I would have quit my father’s business years ago. Had I not been weak I would have left Muriel. ’

‘But you’re leaving her now. And you were leaving her even before I came into your life. Just as you started writing again — and you got the first new story you wrote in years published. All that sounds anything but weak to me.’

‘But I hate the fact that I was so compliant for years.’

‘You don’t think I hate myself for being equally acquiescing — especially when it came to making decisions that were counter-intuitive? Trust me, I am the poster girl for weakness and self-sabotage.’

‘But look at how you got your son through his breakdown. God knows I wish I’d had a parent like you when I went under.’

‘How did you get yourself out of it?’

‘I had no choice but to somehow shake it off. My father threatened me with a psychiatric hospital if I didn’t, as he put it, “snap out of it”. But we were talking about your strength. And you conveniently changed the subject.’

‘I still don’t think myself strong, forceful.’

‘You’ve never trusted yourself, right?’

‘What makes you say that?’ I asked, a little unnerved by the accuracy of this observation.

‘It takes a self-doubter to know a self-doubter. And I have wasted so much energy, so many years, thanks to my own profound lack of self-assurance, of any belief whatsoever in my ability. Just like you.’