Margaret looked at Lou and tried to imagine an identical twin. Lou was solid: 5’10” with dark hair on a high forehead. Perhaps the openness of his face was from skin’s slow advance under a receding hairline; Margaret wasn’t sure. His best features were his biceps, unfortunately hidden most of the time beneath the white shirts he always wore to the office. Each time she saw his bare torso she was surprised anew.
Lou kissed well and he was an intelligent lover. The sex was good, the rhythms of possibly being a couple comfortable. They were reasonably well matched.
Their relationship had hit the point where she knew everything obvious about the man. Margaret knew the cliché: You don’t really know someone until you’ve been a dedicated couple for years and gone through life’s trials together. Blah, blah, blah. But after the first few months Margaret wondered if he were clever enough to hold her interest when they had their clothes on. The afternoon Lou confided in her that he had a dead brother in his past, and a twin at that, Margaret’s flagging interests revived.
Margaret tried to express this to her sisters when they met to walk around Scupper Lake. It was an easy route, and once they were under way they would talk, gossiping and trading stories. Lila had established the walks around the lake after she quit her gym. “Too much picking up going on there,” was all she’d said. Lila was really determined this time to lose the extra thirty pounds. If her sisters began going with her out of sororal solidarity, all three of them had come to look forward to getting together twice a week.
“You guys, Lou was getting a little boring.” Margaret unconsciously sped up with the admission. Her stride was the longest of the three of them, and her slower sisters had to walk faster.
“Slow down,” they commanded. “Are you dropping him?”
“I don’t know.” Margaret slowed down a little, her face with its pointy features closed as she thought about how to explain it. “There’s something about the process of getting to know another person that’s depressing. It’s always the same. You meet at a party or in a disco, or get introduced by friends.”
“That’s just normal. How else would you meet?” Lila asked.
Margaret went on undeterred. “Here’s the experience you go through. First,” she said, “you eye the packaging. Height, check. Weight, check. Body mass proportional to the first two items, check. Reasonable intelligence? Does your date make the effort to appear witty and ease with you and the others sitting at the table? Check, check, and check.
“A potential lover needs to register on the all-important eroto-barometer. If your arm hairs don’t tingle ever so slightly as he or she brushes by, hopefully just ever so slightly closer than is absolutely necessary, forget it.
“So there you are, in potential relationship territory. Taking it slow or plunging ahead. In either case you keep that mental shopping list close to your chest by your heart, surveying the items. Every so often you tick another off the list. A couple months into this your knowledge of the other person moves beyond the superficial attributes without which you don’t even consider someone as a partner, and you reach the Dead Zone.
“That’s when the hook enters the picture. A big hook, you know, like the one in old comedy routines? It reaches across the stage and drags off your luckless swain as the curtain drops on the relationship. Or, the hook lands in you. The hook gets in under your skin, tugging you in closer. Something’s become so intriguing or comfortable – or both – that you stick around to see what other tricks this magician’s hiding up his sleeves, what new rabbit she might pull next out of that big top hat.”
Margaret realized her sisters were staring.
“My God, are you blushing?” asked Ginny. Margaret had actually turned red, nonplussed by her own eloquence.
“Didn’t you say he’s a good lover? Is he good in bed? If he’s boring and bad in bed, dump him!” Lila carried hand weights and they swung rhythmically from side to side with her comment; her sisters kept a measured distance away from her arms.
“Keep him as a boy toy.” Ginny, the youngest sister, the peacemaker, was more diplomatic.
“Well,” Margaret qualified, “Lou is starting to talk about his family. And man, is he ever full of surprises!”
“Like what?” her sisters exclaimed at the exact same time.
Lila added, “I thought you knew everything already.”
Ginny added, “Two sisters, both a lot older, one in Washington State and the other up in Maine? And his parents live in a Sun City condo in Arizona, right?”
Lila stared at Ginny as the three walked on. “How can you remember all that?” she asked. “Do you go home afterward from these walks and write everything down?”
“You said you feel like you guys make a nice looking couple, brunette and blond, yin and yang, right?” Ginny persisted, ignoring Lila. “Did he say something to change things?”
“He was yin and yang with someone else first,” Margaret started to say, and abruptly she stopped. She wanted to keep Lou’s deceased twin a secret for herself just a little longer. “Ask me later,” Margaret stalled. “I don’t know yet if it’s worth reporting back.”
Margaret’s sisters observed her with looks that meant, We know you’re holding out on us. Lila laughed and Ginny said, “Sure, Sis. Just keep us posted when you’re ready to talk about it!”
NOTES: ©Jadi Campbell 2012. “Hit and Run” is the first chapter of my book Broken In: A Novel in Stories. This story will run all month. Broken In and my other novels are available at Amazon as paperbacks and eBooks.
Click here for my author page to purchase my books.
The café’s interior has exposed timber beams and archives date the building all the way back to 1566. I want to pinch myself when I am in both spots: I write here! How lucky can I get? Other days I’m more severe: If I can’t get inspired by views and surroundings like these, I’d better hand in my writer’s badge now.
