The Bridge Across Forever: A True Love Story

I put down the book. The wonder of her, and of our life together in the desert, was it corroding in acids from my

past? Can't I learn to forgive her thorns? She misunderstood, and she was hurt. I can be big enough to forgive, can't I?

No sound from the bathroom; the poor thing is probably sobbing.

I walked to the little door, knocked twice.

"I'm sorry, wookie," I said. "I forgive you. . . ."

"RRREEEEEAAAAAARGHHH! A beast exploded, inside. Bottles disintegrated against the wood; jars, brushes, hair-dryers hurled at walls.

"YOU GODDAMN (SMASH!) SON OF A BITCH! I (VLAMSHATTR!) HATE YOU! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU EVER AGAIN! I'M (THAKL!) LYING ON THE FLOOR PASSED OUT GODDAMNED NEARLY DEAD FROM HEAT-STROKE WORKING ON YOUR DAMNED GLIDER AND YOU LET ME LIE THERE WHILE YOU READ A BOOK I COULD HAVE DIED YOU DON'T CARE! (VASH-TINKL-THOK!) WELL I DON'T CARE EITHER RICHARD GODDAMN BACH!! GET OUT GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE AND LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU SELFISH . . . PIG!" (SVASH!)

Never; had anyone; in my life; talked that way; to me. Nor had I seen anyone act like that. She was breaking things, in there!

Disgusted, furious, I slammed from the trailer, ran to the Meyers, parked in the sun. The heat was relentless as ants swarming; I barely noticed. What is the matter with her? For her sake I've given up my Perfect Woman! What a fool I've been!

When I was barnstorming, my cure for crowdophobia was simple: get away from crowds at once, fly off and be

alone. So effective a fix was it that I began using it for per-sophobia, which it cured equally well. Anyone I didn't like, I'd leave, nor thereafter a word or thought of them.

Most of the time it works perfectly-leaving is an instant cure for whomever ails you. Except, of course, on the one-in-two-billion chance that the whomever that ails you happens to be your soulmate.

It felt like I was locked on a rack and stretched. I wanted to run, run, run. Jump in the plane start the engine don't check the weather don't check nothing just take off point the nose any direction, firewall that throttle and GO! Land somewhere, anywhere, fuel, start the engine, take off and GO!

Nobody has the right to shout at me! One time, you shout at me. And you never get another chance because I am permanently and forever gone. Slam-clank done and finished and through!

Yet there I stayed, fingers on the blistering handle of the airplane door.

My mind, this time, didn't allow running.

My mind nodded, OK, OK ... so she's mad at me. She's got a right to be mad at me. I've done something thoughtless again.

I set off walking into the desert, walking to cool my rage, my hurt.

This is one of my tests. I'll prove I'm learning if I don't run away. We have no real problem. She's just a little . . . more expressive, than I am.

I walked for a while, till I remembered from survival training that people can die, out too long in this sun.

Had SHE been too long in the sun? Had she collapsed not from spite but from heat?

Temper and hurt vanished. Leslie had fainted from the heat, and I had called it faking! Richard, can you be that much a fool?

I hurried toward the trailer. On the way I saw a desert flower unlike any we'd seen, quickly dug it from the sand, wrapped it in a page from my notebook.

When I entered, she was lying on the bed, sobbing.

"I'm sorry, wookie," I said quietly, stroking her hair. "I'm very sorry. I didn't know . . ."

She didn't respond.

"I found a flower ... I brought you a flower from the desert. Do you think it wants water?"

She sat up, wiped her tears, examined the little plant gravely.

"Yes. It wants water."

I brought a cup for the plant to be in, and a glass of water for it to drink.