30. November 2016
Chapter thirty
November 2016
Sam
T he morning breeze blowing into my car feels amazing as I sit here waiting to go to work. Despite the change of season from fall to winter, the refreshing coolness of the air is a welcome addition as it seeps into the car. If nothing else, it’s definitely jolting me awake. I received a text from my office manager telling me that my seven a.m. patient canceled last minute, so I have some time to kill before I start this Monday morning. And by time to kill, you would think I should be preparing for my next patient or reading a book. Something else more productive. Instead, I’m sitting here in the parking lot, scrolling through Instagram.
Somehow, my eleven-year-old convinced me I need to be cool and join the social media app. I’m a forty-two-year-old man. Why in the heck do I need to be on social media? I refused for the longest time until I relented. Now I find myself looking at nothing and yet everything at the same time, scrolling along. A post about laying ceramic tile piques my interest. Something I’ve never done in my life. But this guy makes it look easy.
Hmmm. That’s a cool way to install…
Female laughter rings out catching my attention. I glance up to see a group of women walking toward the employee entrance of the office that sits next to the wing of the hospital where I work. It’s a physical therapy slash gym that opened about a month ago.
This same group of women always walks in together every morning. Carrying their coffee and all of their belongings they think they need for a day of work. I mean, seriously, why do women carry so much stuff with them?
I shake my head as I scroll through Instagram once again. Out of nowhere, a distinct voice grabs my attention.
“Hey, Richelle, you dropped your badge.” My head whips up because I’d know that voice anywhere. Then I see her.
Maria.
What in the world? When did she start working there?
I can't believe it's really her. It's as if a ghost from my past has reappeared to haunt me, uninvited.
She’s dressed in black scrubs, a gray hoodie hugs her body, and her blonde hair, still long, is up in a high ponytail, swaying with each long stride.
Dear Lord, she looks incredible.
Something else stands out as well. Something I can’t un-see.
She’s wearing my watch. Still, after all this time, she wears it. That has to mean something. Right?
Or maybe it means it’s a good watch, and she likes it. I need to stop reaching.
She’s trailing behind the other gang of women, and it makes no sense why I haven’t seen her before today if she works so close to me? With each passing moment, I watch her intently, my heart sinking deeper into my stomach. Ricky wasn’t lying. She looks … so good. She’s older now, but somehow still looks like she’s twenty. Which is very unfair to the other representatives of the female race. Her legs are a mile long, as I remember them, and her body looks amazing. Nothing about her appearance is making this easier.
Everything fades to black around me. The chirping morning birds disappears, and the only thing I hear is my beating heart hammering out of my chest.
“Oh, thanks, Maria,” the other woman, Richelle, I’m assuming, says as she grabs the badge from Maria’s hand.
“Sure. You’re welcome.” Maria flashes her the smile that I miss so much.
I can’ t take my eyes off of her as the two of them resume walking toward the employee entrance, which I now realize I’m parked right in front of.
CRAP! I scoot my body down on my seat and pull on my sunglasses. I can’t risk her seeing me. Not yet anyway. My head and heart are in no position for that encounter. So instead, I’ll eavesdrop and watch like a creeper. Good plan.
“So, how is your first week going so far?” Richelle asks.
Ah! Thank you for getting answers to my questions, Richelle. Maria has only been here a week. No wonder I haven’t seen her yet. My first patient is typically at seven every morning, so I’m in my office by the time she arrives for work. Unfortunately, it’s also the appointment that has the most cancellations. Like today.
“Great! Can’t complain. Everyone has been nice, and it works well with my kids’ schedule, so that’s a plus. And the pay is great.” Maria taps her badge on the entrance lock, and the door releases with a clank. She opens it, holding it open for Richelle as they enter.
“We should have lunch…” The door slams shut on whatever Richelle was going to suggest, which I'm assuming was going to be lunch. I exhale deeply, feeling a rush of relief, and then sit up straight in my seat.
This is the first time I have seen Maria since 2004. Twelve years and she still looks the same. She sounds the same. Walks the same. Does she still smell like coconut?
I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to compose myself. That was a lot of information and feelings to have thrown at me first thing Monday morning.
That day after the gym, over a year ago, when Ricky told me he spoke to Maria, it took every ounce of my willpower to not contact her. But Ricky was right. It wasn’t the right time. So gradually, I tried to force myself to forget. Well, not forget entirely. I could never forget Maria. But, I did begin to date.
Not only did I join Instagram, but Ricky convinced me to join a dating app. Total disaster and waste of time. I arranged to meet a woman for dinner that I was talking to, and shocker … she stood me up. I deleted the app the next day, vowing that my lot in life is to stay single .
Soon, that unreasonable outlook changed, and I did start seeing an old friend. It’s not serious, but it could be. We are taking it slow and keeping things casual, seeing where it goes. Honestly, when I’m with her, I forget about Maria in a way no other woman has ever been able to do. Even Erica.
But seeing Maria now … is this the universe or God telling me she and I should talk? Can we give this another go? Is that what I want? Could I trust her again? And would she even be interested? Especially after the last email I sent her.
Baffling how quickly my current relationship gets tossed out the window with only one glance at my past.
Maria’s little encounter with both Ricky and this Richelle gave me some insight into her world. I make a list in my head. She’s divorced (best news ever), she’s working again (and I assume as an exercise physiologist since it’s the rehab gym), she seems to be surviving since it pays well, and she looks incredible.
I bite back a smile because these are good things. Not only that, she looked happy and healthy. These revelations make me wonder if she took the advice I gave her years ago. To put herself first. I hope so.
Without warning, a thought pops into my head. Is she on Instagram? In a rush, I grab my phone as if it’s going to walk away from me, and I open the app. I hit the search button and type in ‘Maria Connelly.’
Nothing.
Clearing it out, I type in her maiden name ‘Maria Bryant.’ The results stare back at me. Of course! There’s a thousand Maria Bryants. With a moan of frustration, I toss my phone into the console.
I check my watch and roll my head back against the car seat head rest because it’s time to go in and start my day.
As I gather up my stuff, I walk the opposite direction to my building. Away from Maria. I haven’t made any decisions yet whether I will approach her. Eventually, I’m sure I will. But for whatever reason, I don’t feel ready. For the moment, it’s comforting to know that she is so close.
The usual Monday morning work buzz is going strong as I make my way to my office. Beginning my usual morning routine, I sit my stuff down and check my emails and patient schedule. But my mind keeps wandering back to the leggy blonde I saw fifteen minutes ago. A smile crosses my lips as I swivel in my chair and look out the window.
I really hope my seven a.m. cancels again. I wonder what she will wear to work tomorrow?
The next morning
The appointment canceled, so I decide to park a little further away, under a tree shaded from view. Today, she is wearing pink scrubs, and her hair is down. I saw her pull in, and she drives a blue Honda Civic.
The following week
She’s rushing today and is later than normal. She’s talking on the phone, and it sounds like she’s arguing with Nate about the kids. I can see her frustration as she hangs up before she walks in and wipes a tear from her cheek. My heart drops seeing her upset. I miss being the one to wipe away her tears.
A month later
It’s pouring rain, and she doesn’t have an umbrella, so she’s running into the building. Water splashes up onto the bottom half of her scrubs every time she stomps on a puddle of water. How she made that look graceful and beautiful is beyond me.
After the new year 201 7
She’s taking her time getting out of the car today. She arrived earlier than normal. Just like me, hoping I could catch a glimpse. Her head is down, and she’s scrolling on her phone. She lets out a laugh but doesn’t look up from whatever has her attention. I try to rub away the pain that I’m feeling in my chest, because I really hope it’s not another man.
The next week
It’s the pink scrubs again. Pretty sure these are my favorite.
Two weeks later
She and that Richelle are walking in together. The cold is bitter today. Her puffer jacket is back, and she has the cutest hat on. One with the fuzzy ball on top. Her hair is cascading from underneath it. Richelle’s hands are waving in the air, gesturing with anger. Maria is listening kindly, bobbing her head in agreement with whatever Richelle is in a huff about.
The next week
She isn’t here today. I overheard Richelle tell the other girls that she has the flu. I hope she’s okay.
The next day
I watch as she drags herself out of her car, holding a tissue in her hand. Her nose is red, and she’s coughing as she walks slowly into the building. I remember she likes soup when she’s sick. I hope she’s eating soup .
Friday the next week
I woke up this morning with a renewed sense of purpose. I’m going to approach her today. Sitting and stalking her is now becoming too much to bear. I need to talk to her. Plus, it’s creepy, so there’s that.
Mikey couldn’t resist poking fun at me for taking so long to do my hair, playfully imitating my careful movements.
“Why do you keep messing with your hair today, Dad?” he asked while I ran my fingers and combed through my mop a hundred times this morning as he copied me, laughing along the way. “You’re going to work. It’s not like you have a date.” He thinks he’s so cute and clever.
If you only knew, Mikey. If you only knew.
Now I’m sitting under my tree, waiting for her blue Civic to pull in. On Wednesday, I decided it was time to approach her. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? She’ll be nice, of course. We will exchange a few pleasantries, maybe a hug, and catch up on our lives. Then be on our merry way.
Easy.
So then why are my palms clammy? On instinct, I rub them down my dress pants as I see her car approach and park in her usual spot. She gathers up her things, finishes up a phone call, shuts her door, and points her key fob at the car. The horn beeps to let her know it’s locked up as she turns on her heels and walks toward the building.
With my stomach in knots, my mind racing, and a heart full of hope, I step out of my car and call her name.