Gentle Reader…
This is a little riff inspired by the Joni Mitchell song, Down To You. With apologies to Ms. Mitchell, I hope you enjoy it..
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"Everything comes and goes, marked by lovers and styles of clothes.
Things that you held high and told yourself were true,
lost or changing as the days come down to you…"
Two years had gone by since the divorce; two years which felt more like two days if the constant pain that throbbed just beneath the surface of her carefully constructed exterior was an accurate measure. She wondered, sometimes, if the ever present pain would finally fade away, or at least subside a little. She wondered if the way she’d chosen to dull that pain was doing her any more harm than good. She wondered if it was even a matter of choice---she certainly didn’t recall making a conscious decision about it. It was as if she had been slowly drawn into a dream, and somewhere along the line, the dream had become flesh. She wondered about all these things, but still she found herself easing through the door of Bobby B’s.
"You go down to the pick-up station craving warmth and beauty…"
It was always the same in Bobby’s, but always a little different, too---faint music, soft light, the low hum of conversation occasionally interrupted by bursts of exuberant laughter. There were the obligatory regulars---mostly commuters stopping by for a quick one after work or some neighborhood types---and once in a great while, a mildly amusing stranger. She slid onto her usual barstool, ordered a drink and took a long sip before casually swiveling just enough to survey the evening’s prospects.
"Pretty slim," she thought, secretly hoping that her assessment would change before the night was over.
"…you settle for less than fascination; a few drinks later you’re not so choosy…"
As she gazed vacantly at the faces around the bar, she began to feel a little queasy at the growing realization that she’d talked, at one time or another, with every man in the place---even slept with a couple of them---and that not one of them had made enough of an impression for her to remember their names. A few of the men nodded and smiled at her, but their smiles were smug, not warm, and their smiling soon gave way to not-so-subtle whispered exchanges, knowing nods and poorly concealed snickers.
She raised her glass in their direction and thought, "Laugh it up, you grinning little pricks. Keep smilin’ and telling yourselves that tired old lie about how fantastic you are in bed. Lord knows, somebody has to."
She shook her head and chuckled wryly. "Christ, I sound more like a fucking guy every day."
"Did you say something, Mona?" asked Keith from behind the bar.
"Nah, sweetie, just amusing myself. But would you bring me another, please?"
"On me."
She turned ever so slowly toward the unfamiliar voice. Aside from the fact that he’d managed to slip unnoticed onto the adjacent bar stool, his appearance was what one might charitably call unremarkable, at least if one were prone to engage in the kind of instant appraisals at which Mona had become rather expert lately. She acknowledged his gesture with a dismissive shrug.
"Thanks, but it’s not going to do you any good," she said tersely, staring straight ahead.
Keith returned with the drinks, struggling to maintain his professionally detached demeanor in the face of an overwhelming urge to laugh out loud at the way she’d gone right for the poor bastard’s jugular.
"It already has," he replied evenly.
"Huh?" thought Mona, as she raised the fresh drink to her lips.
"Hmm," thought Keith, as he returned to his other customers.
She lowered her glass to the bar and turned to face the stranger.
"Hey look…um…sorry, what’s your name? I didn’t get it."
The hint of a bemused smile began to spread over his face.
"I didn’t give it. But since you’ve asked so sweetly, it’s Joel," he answered.
The mischievous sparkle in his eyes was mirrored in the good-natured tweak of his reply. She elected to ignore both.
"Ok, Joel. Great. I’m Mona. Look, Joel, what I’m trying to say is, thanks for the drink and all, but I’m not looking for anything."
His eyes narrowed a little, but the sparkle remained. He leaned toward her as if to pass along a strict confidence.
"And I’m not expecting anything, Mona. It’s just a drink; a simple little social gesture. Nothing more."
She began to relax. He moved in a little closer; close enough for his warm breath to flirt shamelessly with her earlobe.
"Of course," he continued in a husky whisper, "if you were to beg me to take you home and fuck you like an animal? Well, I’d have to give that some serious thought."
She stiffened; he sat back. As if on cue, they burst into simultaneous, howling laughter. At the other end of the bar some of the regulars looked up, puzzled, and Keith nearly dropped the drinks he was trying to deliver.
"Well, Joel," she managed, still laughing, "you’re nothing if not direct. I have to tell you, it’s kind of refreshing."
"Oh, Mona," he grinned. "I get that a lot. It’s either a blessing or a curse. I haven’t exactly decided which, but let’s go with "a blessing," shall we, at least for the moment?"
She ordered another round and they settled naturally into a long talk. She spoke of her job, her frustrations, her triumphs, her dreams, and then gradually began to describe the disintegration of her marriage. She felt as if she could talk to this man, and the feeling surprised her. After all, he was nothing more than a stranger in a bar and yet here she was, letting down her carefully honed guard to him in a way that made her feel both oddly relieved and extremely vulnerable.
Joel listened quietly, and said very little. He offered neither advice nor blustering proclamations about what a shit her husband had been and how he’d like to physically exact revenge on her behalf. When she confessed to trying to treat her emotional wounds by pursuing a series of alcohol-fueled affairs, there was no hint of judgment or censure in his manner. He simply listened as if nothing in the world held more interest for him than Mona and her all-too-familiar story.
Finally, she realized that she’d been babbling on and on for nearly an hour and her relief began to turn into embarrassment. This wasn’t her. She didn’t spill her guts to strangers. She was strong; she was always the one in control, and she felt an overwhelming urge to flee from the shame of her momentary weakness. She stood up and fumbled for her coat, stammering excuses about an early and busy day.
Joel reached out and took hold of her wrist, softly, and then gradually closed his fingers around it, holding it tightly, holding her in a way that was at once firm and tender.
"No, Mona", he said evenly.
His gaze was determined---confident, not arrogant or threatening. Normally, Mona would have reacted to such a gesture by delivering a round house slap to the offender’s face---but she didn’t. Instead, she stood there and allowed herself to be drawn into the eternity of his eyes, amazed by a growing hunger that felt as if it might consume her. She wanted this man, and she wanted him right now.
He loosened his grip, slid his fingers along the back of her hand and entwined them with hers. Hand in hand, they made their way into the chilly night.
"…when the closing lights strip off the shadows from this strange new flesh you’ve found, clutching the night to you like a fig leaf you hurry to the blackness
and the blankets to lay down an impression and your loneliness…"
She had barely locked the door of her apartment when she threw herself into his arms, grinding her way up to wrap her legs around his waist. He pulled her body close, forcing her breasts hard to his chest... pressing his fingertips into her back…moving them down along her spine…holding her up with his hands under her bottom…squeezing and kneading her luscious cheeks. He kissed her deeply, his tongue probing the dark secrets of her willing, wanting mouth. She arched her back and moaned as he rubbed her sex over his own, the sweet friction of their heat and clothing making her want to devour him or be devoured by him---she didn’t know which and didn’t much care. As long as she could have him…feel him inside her…plunge head long into oblivion…and make the pain go away, if only for a little while.
She let her purse slip from her fingers and spill onto the floor as he carried her into the bedroom. They tore at each other’s clothing, their mouths ravenously kissing and licking, sucking and biting at each new patch of flesh exposed by their violent explorations. They tumbled onto the bed. He pulled her hands above her head and pinned them to the pillows. She hissed and strained against him, heaving her breasts angrily toward his chest, only to fall a few maddening centimeters short of his flesh, thrusting her thighs upward---now imprisoned between his strong legs---to no avail, her frustration pushing her to the point of agonizing, insanely arousing desperation.
He took her, and she used him. Their passion grew in waves of heat and desire---blurring and distorting their surroundings until the bedroom walls seemed to press in on them from all sides, crushing and melding them into a single quivering mass and then, finally, exploding with a force whose reverberations threatened to shake the building to its foundation. They collapsed, exhausted and breathless, onto the lasciviously drenched sheets.
The room grew silent except for their breathing, which slowly dialed down from urgent gasps to more measured cadences. She stared at the ceiling, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t return---that razor sharp emptiness and the achingly familiar pain. But it did. It came creeping back like always, and she had to fight back the urge to burst into bitter tears. She couldn’t cry, and she wouldn’t cry. Not again. Never again. She’d die of this pain before she’d let it beat her.
"Written on your spirit this sad song, love is gone…"
She glanced over at Joel. The unfamiliar passion which had propelled them to her apartment was rapidly giving way to a more familiar feeling of resentment. Quite simply, there was nothing more he could do for her. It was over and she wanted him out of her bed and out of her life.
"You should go," she said coldly.
He remained silent.
"Seriously, Joel, I mean it. It’s been fun and all, but you really need to go now. I want you to."
He turned on his side to face her.
"It never really goes away, does it Mona?"
She was taken aback. How could he know that? It was as if he could see directly into her mind, and she didn’t like it.
"That’s none of your goddamned business. And I asked you to leave. Now please go," she shot back angrily.
She started to get up, but he caught her in a bear hug and pulled her back down to face him. She struggled wildly against his now unwelcome grip.
"Let go of me, you son of a bitch! Who in the hell do you think you are? Let go of me and get out of my place right now!"
"Aren’t you tired of it, Mona? Tired of living this way? Tired of always feeling bad?"
Stunned, she stopped struggling and looked at him, pleadingly.
"Joel, I…look, I appreciate your concern, I really do. But what I feel and do? That’s got nothing to do with you. Nothing at all. It’s about me," she said quietly.
The tone of deep resignation in her voice made him wince, and he pulled her even closer. His eyes bore more deeply into her psyche and she felt, at once, both comforted and uncomfortable.
"Exactly," he replied. "It is about you. You’ve fallen in love with your pain and sorrow and anger. But make no mistake about it; those feelings are yours, and it’s up to you to decide if you want to let them rule your life---or let them go."
"I can’t! Don’t you get it? Do you think I enjoy feeling this way? Do you think I want the bitterness and bile that twists in my gut like a hot knife…day after day after day? I don’t, but I can’t do anything about it. I didn’t choose to feel this way. I just do."
"No, Mona. You didn’t choose to be betrayed. You didn’t choose to be hurt, but you were. And now, instead of letting the wound heal, you’re trying to fill the emptiness with rage, and rage hurts."
"What do you mean ‘I’ve filled it’? It was nothing I did. That doesn’t make any sense…it doesn’t…"
She knew, in that moment, that it did make sense, and the starkly simple realization of it choked off her words of protest before they could leave her mouth. She knew that he was right; that accepting the constant pain kept her from confronting its source. She knew it, but it didn’t help. If anything, the truth of it only made her hurt more. She slumped against him feeling utterly defeated and utterly helpless.
He caressed her gently, rocking her in his strong arms.
"Are you ready to begin, Mona? Are you ready to try and release some of that pain?" he whispered.
Her voice was barely audible; her answer unmistakable. "Yes."
His reply was, to put it mildly, completely unexpected. Without warning, he brought his palm down hard against her fleshy bottom. The resulting slap was nearly deafening in the otherwise silent room.
"What in the FUCK do you think you’re doing? Are you insane?" she screamed.
His answer was to pin her more firmly against him and bring his palm down again. She flailed and kicked, trying desperately to break his grip.
"It hurts, doesn’t it, Mona? It hurts and it’s unfair and it makes you angry, doesn’t it?" he asked, punctuating his questions with several more hard swats to her wriggling bottom.
She gasped and cried out in pain, fighting even harder to get away from his unexpected onslaught.
"Yes!" she howled. It hurts! You bastard! It hurts! Of course it fucking hurts! Stop it, please! Stop it!"
Her mind reeled. His hand came down again and again, reigning fire onto her squirming flesh. It was as if he was possessed, and no amount of logic or pleading could exorcize his demonic will. Suddenly, the swats stopped.
"Tell me, Mona," he said. "Tell me that it wasn’t your fault that he betrayed you. Tell me that you didn’t deserve to be treated that way."
"No! No, no, no! I can’t…I won’t!"
He began spanking her again. Her ass was burning now, and each searing blow drove her closer to some kind of forbidden precipice.
"Say it, Mona. Say it out loud. He betrayed you. He assaulted you, he hurt you so deeply, and you’re still covering for him. You’re still taking it all unto yourself. Admit it. Get it out in the open and out of your heart, once and for all."
His hand landed on her throbbing, reddening flesh over and over. She bucked and howled, but her cries and struggles only seemed to heighten his resolve. And then it came, like a wave that could no longer be contained; a flood of hidden resentment and pain and anger that spilled in an unstoppable torrent from her lips.
"Yes! That motherfucker! How could he do that to me? He took what we had and threw it aside like so much trash. He betrayed me like it didn’t mean a thing to him! I hate him! I hate him! I didn’t deserve that, and I hate him for…"
She dissolved into incoherent sobs as Joel gathered her trembling body to his and whispered, over and over, "Yes, baby. He did. You didn’t deserve it, but you were wounded. It’s time to let all that go now. It’s time to be rid of all of that hurt. It’s time to forgive yourself for something you didn’t even do. Yes, Mona. Yes, baby. You can do it. You’re doing it."
He held her for a long, long time; comforting and caressing her. Finally, her quaking subsided and she looked up at him.
"Ouch," she giggled through her tears.
He laughed and held her until she drifted off into the deepest, most peaceful sleep she’d known in years.
In the morning, Joel was gone, but a note left on her pillow made her smile:
M, darling.
I had to leave for an early appointment, but make no mistake about it: I haven’t left you. You have a lot to deal with---we both know it---and last night was an important beginning. But most of the work that lies ahead for you is work that only you can do. I hope that you will--- for your sake and, yes, for ours. I want that, and I want you. I’ll be around whenever you need me. Call me at-----------------.
J
She folded the note carefully, tucked it into the bedside table and then went to the window and threw wide the curtains. Outside, the sun was shining over the city and its warmth made her feel alive and new. It had been a long time since she’d felt that way, and she liked it.
"Everything comes and goes;
pleasure moves too early and trouble leaves too slow.
Just when you’re thinking you’ve finally got it made,
bad news comes knocking at your garden gate.
Knocking for you, constant stranger,
you’re a brute---you’re an angel---you can crawl---you can fly, too.
It’s down to you. It all comes down to you"