Romance
by Peter J. Ponzo
Chapter One
I fell in love with her the moment I saw her, at Jake's New Year's party.
She was surrounded by guys, she was talking and they were listening. I was
tempted to join the crowd, but I'm not that bold. In fact, I guess I'm rather
shy when it comes to women, but her animated speech, the huge smile, the
giggle and laugh–I was charmed, spellbound, bewitched. I couldn't get her
out of my mind. I was determined to contrive a meeting, somehow.
From friends, especially Jake, I learned that her parents had both died in
a car accident and that she lived alone. I also learned that she had inherited a
cottage on Lake Simcoe. One Saturday in June I drove by her cottage and
found that the cottage next door was for sale. I bought it without haggling
over the price. I'm sure I paid too much because the guy who sold it to me
was smiling throughout the whole negotiation. Nevertheless, it was now
mine so I spent Sunday there, hoping to see the girl next door. No luck.
The following Friday I arrived early evening and saw her car sitting on
the grass, roadside of her cottage. She was actually mowing her lawn with a
push mower. The lots are not that large, perhaps a quarter acre, but that was
hard work. I immediately turned about and drove to a Canadian Tire store in
Barrie and bought a riding mower. I was sure I had paid too much, but I
didn't have time to look around for better prices. I was worried that it'd
arrive some time in the following week, but they said they'd deliver it
Saturday morning...so I was a happy fellow. When I returned to my cottage
she wasn't mowing, but her mower was on her partially mowed lawn. I
parked my car, went inside with a case of cold beer that I had bought in town
along with a large pepperoni pizza and sat on the lakeside porch. I kept
looking across at her cottage, but I didn't see her that night.
First thing Saturday morning I drove again into town and bought a
pound of hamburger, some onions, some tomatoes, sliced cheese, buns and a
head of lettuce. I had thought about this for much of the night. I'd invite her
over for hamburgers. The riding mower arrived before noon and I let it sit
back of the cottage, roadside, so she'd see it. I didn't see her all day, but at
dinner time I started the gas barbecue that came with the cottage and began
frying my dinner. Every few minutes I look across at her cottage. By 7:30
she appeared, sipping from a glass. She didn't look in my direction, so I
shouted, asking if she'd like to share my simple meal of hamburger and
salad. She jumped up, gave me that huge smile, said to wait a minute, went
inside then appeared again with a bottle of red wine. I can't describe how
pleased I was. She was absolutely delightful: she had an charming gigglelaugh, her eyes twinkled, her hands flew up and down when she spoke. She
was gorgeous. However, she was a vegetarian and didn't want any
hamburgers. I gave her my salad and I ate four burgers with onions, tomato,
cheese and ketchup. I was bloated. When I pulled out the apple pie I had
brought from home, she ate three pieces. I couldn't understand how she kept
so slim, with such an appetite.
"I have a riding mower," I said. "You can use it whenever you want. I'll
keep it in that shed out back and get you another set of keys for the shed."
I leaned back, hoping for a sign of appreciation, for her eyes to light up,
the huge smile. She wiped the last piece of pie from her lips and chuckled.
"Why do you need two mowers?" she asked.
"No," I said, "I just bought that one out back. I bought it yesterday
and..."
"You mean old man Jacob didn't leave the mower in the shed?"
I coughed and spilled beer on my shirt.
"Uh, I haven't actually looked in the shed...yet."
"Let's look!" she said, jumping to her feet. She ran to the shed and
waited for me to open it. Yes, there was an old mower in there. I felt like an
idiot.
"Oh my," I muttered. "I...uh...would you like the old mower? Or the new
one."
She giggled and gave me a hug. "You're so sweet," she whispered.
It almost seemed worth the purchase of the extra mower just to have her
hug me.
By about eleven o'clock she left, just like that. She got up, grabbed the
empty wine bottle and trotted over to her cottage. She never said goodbye,
never said thank you, nothing. She just left. I turned on my porch light so
she could find her way across the lawn. I could see her open the door and
disappear into her cottage. Funny girl. I was about to go into the cottage
when her porch light came on and she appeared at her door.
She waved. "Hi there!" she shouted. "That was a lovely evening and I
thank you so very much!"
"Uh...we have to do it again!" I shouted.
"Yes, let's." Then she disappeared and her porch light went out.
Chapter Two
When I thought about the evening, the next morning, I realized that I
hadn't even asked her name. Then, she never asked for mine either.
However, we laughed a lot and told stories and enjoyed the wine and we did
agree to do it again. I couldn't wait.
I had given her the keys to my shed, the only pair I had, and later in the
morning I saw her mowing her lawn. Ah, but she was using my brand new
mower and seemed quite comfortable doing so. I had hoped to teach her
how, but she obviously didn't need my help. When she was finished, I was
about to ask her over for a drink or maybe breakfast or just to chat, but two
cars drove up. An old couple got out of one and a young woman got out of
the other. I didn't see her again that weekend. Although I went to my cottage
every weekend in June, I never saw her again until mid-July. As far as I
could tell, she never had visitors except that day in June. In particular, I
didn't see any evidence of a boyfriend. That was good.
I needed to get the keys to my shed in order to make a second pair for
her. She had forgotten to return them. It was getting close to noon, on a
Sunday, when she appeared, walking toward my cottage carrying a box.
"Hi neighbour," she said. "Lunch. Are you up for it?"
I opened the door and she came in and set the box on the table. In it were
grilled cheese sandwiches wrapped in aluminum foil, a large bowl of potato
salad, some nachos and melted cheese and two bottles of cold beer. I didn't
have a chance to respond to her question. Yes, I would definitely be up for
lunch. She pulled a couple of dishes, cutlery and large glasses from the
kitchen, as though she was well aware of where everything was. Had she
done this with the previous owner?
"Have a seat," she said. I sat–and we began to eat.
After lunch she washed the dishes and cutlery and I dried. She returned
them to their rightful place then collapsed on the couch with a glass of beer.
"Come," she said. "Sit here." I sat beside her. "I think we should get to
know each other, don't you think?" Before I could answer, with great
enthusiasm, she began to tell me about herself.
"My name is Sally and I was born and raised in Toronto, had a lovely
childhood, played mostly with the boys, moved to Waterloo to go to
university, got a job in Oakville with a travel agency, parents died six years
ago in a terrible accident. I was their only child and I bought a condo by the
lake with my inheritance."
She paused, then: "Are you Catholic? I didn't see you at church this
morning."
Now I was in trouble. I had never given much thought to religion, but
assumed I was an atheist.
"Well, no," I said. "Uh...I...I'm an atheist I guess."
"Well, we'll have to change that," she said, giggling. "I'll work on it.
Now, what about you? Your life story, please." She leaned back and waited.
I took a sip of beer, then:
"I was also born and raised in Toronto, went to the University of
Toronto for an engineering degree, then to the university of Illinois for a
graduate degree, then got a job teaching at the University of Waterloo. I
assume you got your degree there, in Waterloo. What a small world, eh?"
I paused, but she just waited for me to continue. I took another sip of
beer.
"I was there, at U of W, for years. Then I was offered a job in Burlington
in graphic design and have been there for about three years."
"Your name?" she asked.
"Oh, yes, I'm Harold. Pleased to meet you Sally."
I smiled, but she sipped her beer.
"Girl friend?" she asked.
"Nope."
"Boy friend?"
"Well, I do have male friends, but..."
"Well, I'm a lesbian," she said.
I spilled beer all over my pants.
"You are an atheist," she murmured. "I said I'll try to change that. I said
I'm lesbian. You have my permission to try to change that."
Sally giggled, set her glass on the coffee table, then began to unbutton
her blouse. I watched in astonishment. Was she suggesting some sort of
sexual encounter? By the time she was down to bra and panties, it was quite
clear.
"Harold, you spilled beer on your pants," she whispered. "Take them
off."
I barely remember the rest of the afternoon.
Chapter Three
For the rest of the summer and all the next summer we met, Sally and I,
each weekend. On Sundays, after we both went to a small Catholic church
not far from the cottage, she would bring lunch to my cottage, saying:
"Lunch. Are you up for it?" It took me a while to decipher that comment.
Between the grilled cheese and the apple pie we made love. Those were
memorable days of delight.
I knew that I could not live without this girl. She needed to be by my
side for the rest of my days. I decided to ask her to marry me. If she wanted
...needed an occasional female companion, a lover, I would accept that. It
was on a Saturday afternoon that I approached her. She was sitting on her
lakeside porch, sipping white wine, her eyes closed, immersing herself in the
perfect day. I knelt before her and coughed quietly, holding the small velvet
covered ring box. The ring was almost a carat and cost me a fortune. I might
have got it at a lesser price had I shopped around, but this was to be the day
and I was eager. She opened her eyes slowly, then she sat upright and
flashed that huge smile.
"Oh, Harold, you're going to ask me to marry you!" she said, almost
shouting. Then she grabbed the box and removed the ring. "Harold, it is
lovely. Then she slipped the ring on her finger.
"Uh...I had a speech. I would like to ask..."
"Yes, let's do it!" she said with vigour. "Let's do it right away."
"But...but you are..."
"A lesbian. Yes, I'm aware of that," she said with that giggle-laugh that I
loved so much.
"If...I mean, if you feel you want a female companion, I am willing to..."
"Oh Harold. Don't be silly." She leaned forward and kissed me on the
nose. On the nose? I don't recall her doing that before.
"Please, Sally, I need you to be my wife. I don't care if you are...you
are..."
"Lesbian? Homosexual? Gay? What word are you after?" she giggled.
She caressed my cheek and I felt weak in the knees.
We had a small wedding ceremony. Three of my closest male friends
attended the small Catholic church near the cottage. Sally invited about a
dozen girls who, I thought, may have been past lovers. Everyone descended
on my cottage and there was an afternoon of great cheer, much laughter and
many good wishes...then they all left and we were alone, at last.
"Are you happy?" Sally whispered, grinning. "I said I'd work on your
becoming a Catholic, didn't I? This morning we married in a catholic
church." She paused, then: "You were to attempt my conversion from
homosexuality. Now look what you've done. We're married!"
She jumped up and began to dance. I was so happy it hurt. I loved this
girl more than I could say. Over the next few months we sold her cottage.
We kept mine because it was larger and more comfortable. I sold my
townhouse and moved into her condo. It was larger and more comfortable
than mine. The years that followed were filled with joy. We talk for hours
after dinner, telling each other the events of the day. We went out for dinner
each Wednesday: Chinese, Thai, German, Indian, whatever. We spent
summer weekends at the cottage and almost always had grilled cheese
sandwiches for lunch. She never once indicated that she lusted for a female
companion. As far as I could tell, our marriage was perfectly normal. In fact,
it was, I felt, better than normal.
Sally got pregnant the year after we got married and again the year after
that. Two delightful boys. We never had any more children. Two was
enough. We took them camping, to Disney World, they loved the cottage,
we bought a power boat and they learned to water ski. Both were good
students and finished a bachelor's degree at McMaster University in
Hamilton. When the boys were in their early twenties, they both moved to
the United States. We keep in touch at Christmas and the occasional
Thanksgiving. Other than that, we rarely hear from them. I understand that
girls are better at staying in touch. I wouldn't know.
Now Sally and I are retired and spend happy days planning vacations: in
a motorhome we would rent, cruises to the Mediterranean or Caribbean, all
inclusive holidays in Cuba or the Bahamas or Antigua or Barbados or just
pleasant weeks at the cottage. We live in the very same condo overlooking
Lake Ontario that we had many years ago. We've also taken an interest in
cooking special meals, things we have never tried before. These days the
grocery stores are filled with exotic foodstuff.
I was in the living room with a glass of white wine. I was watching my
beautiful wife prepare dinner. She was stirring some sort of stew.
"Sally, my dear," I said. "Could you come here for a minute?"
She turned the heat down and came with her glass of wine to sit by my
side.
"I have always wondered," I said. "Have you ever, at any time over the
years, wished you had married a woman? I mean, have you ever..."
"Oh Harold," she giggled. "You still think I'm a lesbian, don't you?"
"Yes, of course," I said. "Perhaps you have changed, but you were, at
one time..."
"No, no my sweet. I was never a lesbian." She leaned forward and kissed
my nose. I spilled wine on my pants.
"When I was a young woman I felt that I must have a man who could
ignore my frailties, my faults, idiosyncrasies. If you still wanted to marry
me, after I told you that I was a lesbian, then surely our marriage would last
and be happy and successful." She paused. "And it has lasted, hasn't it? And
we are happy, are we not?"
"Yes, my dear," I whispered. "We have been very happy."
"Okay then," she said, jumping to her feet and returning to stir the pot.
I could see she was smiling.
So was I.