What If

Through the phone I hear Heather’s giggle realizing I’ve not been listening. “I know I’m married. See? You think it’s all happily ever afters? Not so much, sweetie.”

Heather and her husband have been on the roller coaster for their entire marriage and I’ve taken to the opinion that some people enjoy that push-pull.

Break up. Make up. Break up. Make up. Heather has said on more than one occasion it’s as exhausting as it is exciting.

Her husband, Mitchell, is a criminal defense attorney and works a lot and quite frankly, Heather is a little needy and could use a hobby. She’s a stay at home wife with a black Amex and too much time on her hands.

But that kind of up and down relationship is not for me. I don’t like to fight. I want the fairy tale with all the trimmings. I’m a hopeless romantic; not only do I believe in love at first sight and happily ever after, it’s what I live and breathe every day.

Well, not live it, exactly…I write it. I’m a romance writer. I’m all growly alpha males, mad sex, and ride off into the sunset. Easy peasy, right?

Wrong.

I’ve always had the rule, never more than a kiss on a first date. And never, ever have sex on a first date.

The irony is, on only a handful of occasions has the kiss thing ever been an issue.

I watch out the window as the moisture in the atmosphere covers the glass and the cab takes a corner pulling out into traffic on Mack Avenue, heading toward Lucky Charlie’s.

In the window, I can see my reflection looking back and I don’t think I’m bad looking. I’m sort of the girl next door from the shoulders up and Mae West from the neck down. When I hit puberty, my body looked like it had blown up a couple balloons above and below my waist.

“You know that phrase about teachers?” I ask Heather.

“Which one?”

“You know, ‘those that can’t do, teach’? I’m beginning to think that’s me. I can write about love and lust and sex and romance, I just can’t do it.”

“Come on. It’s not like you’re a spinster. You’re only twenty-three.”

“Twenty-three going on seventy-two. I started knitting Heather. Knitting.”

“Oh, come on. Knitting is like the new clubbing. Okay, look, don’t take this the wrong way…but, do you think, deep down, you might be worried about the other things? Like, if you get close to someone, you’ll have to tell them?” The seriousness in her voice shifts the tone of the conversation, and I know exactly what she’s talking about.

“No,” I lie, pulling at the hem of my jacket and shifting around in the vinyl seat as the driver talks to someone on his phone about owing him money.

“Because if someone loves you, they’ll understand. Everyone has a past.”

“Not one that includes a felony. And a…” I check myself. I don’t even like to say the word. “A less than positive self-image and outlook on the future at one particularly dark time in my past.”

“You screwed up. Made some bad choices. But that’s not you anymore, Jessie. Don’t carry around baggage that doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve come so far. It was a bad time. A very bad time. I get that.”

“It could matter. You get involved with someone, they care about you, you care about them. Feelings start and then BAM. You’re in too deep to get out alive.” My choice of words takes me back and I blow out a long breath as the cab driver tells whoever he’s talking to he has two days in this Marlon Brando voice and I wonder what exactly he’s going to do if he doesn’t get the money.

Heather interrupts my thoughts about broken kneecaps and waterboarding. “You need to stop. You were taken advantage of at a rough time.” Her voice trails off.

“I know,” I agree, trying to wrap up the subject. It’s a trip down memory lane I could do without.

That time in my life is done with. The dodgy boyfriend, the cocaine in my purse…I do not want to even think about it, but every time it’s brought up it’s like I’m right back there. I made bad choices, I’ll own up to that, but the consequences of those choices were disproportionate to the stupidity on my part.

I fought the charges, with the help of funds from my mother and stepfather, but it still ended up with a plea deal and a felony collusion to distribute on my record.

Not exactly something you bring up on the first date.

And then, of course, there’s the blow to my already fragile mental state at the time. I did something else to myself I’d rather forget and never have to recount to anyone.

I’d been battling anxiety and depression since my early teens. You add to my usual struggle the humiliation of what happened with the arrest and let’s just say looking back I’m incredibly grateful I wasn’t successful at my attempt to make it all disappear.