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From: "dai_wakizashi" <dai_wakizashi@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} REV Tales from an Unknown Corner 01/04 {Dai_wakizashi} (MF, FF, MFF, cons, rom, an, or, toys, pet)
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Date: Mon,  5 Jul 2004 15:10:07 -0400
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<1st attachment, "tfauc-pt-01.txt" begin>







Title: Tales from an Unknown Corner
Chapters: 01-05 (of 20)
Author: Dai_wakizashi
Universe: Tfauc
Summary:  Journey of a troubled young man looking for a path and 
people around him, who, at times, give shape to his journey.
Codes: MF, FF, MFF, oral, anal, toys, petting, romance, drama
Status: in progress
Revision: 2.0

Web Sites:
  ASSTR-  http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/dai_wakizashi/www/
  SOL-        http://storiesonline.net/home.php
  EWP-       http://www.ewpub.org/ewpub.html

Discussion Forum:
   http://www.ewpub.org/messageboard/viewforum.php?f=76

*****************************************************************

STANDARD DISCLAIMER

This piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment. It 
contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you are 
offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO NOT 
read any further.

All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to any 
persons, places, individuals or situations is purely coincidental. 
The author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the 
activities described in this story.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without 
the written permission of the author, Dai_wakizashi 
(dai_wakizashiAThotmailDOTcom).

This story may be freely distributed with this disclaimer 
attached.

Copyright (c) 2003-2004 Dai_wakizashi. All rights reserved.

*****************************************************************



              TALES FROM AN UNKNOWN CORNER  [Tfauc]



CHAPTER - 1: A Little War Game



_I don't need this shit!_

My anger was slow to rise but it sure was making steady progress. 
The same old argument... same discussions... it's always been the 
same thing.

_What the fuck I was doing in this God-forsaken place?_

_Helllooo! That's what I do for a living. It's my job. This is 
where I work._

But it wasn't as simple as that. It never was. At the back of my 
mind, I knew that. I couldn't even say what I thought. Just, 
"Yes, Sir. I understand your concern. Yes, Ma'am. I know you are 
worried, but there is nothing to worry about."

_Well... that didn't work this time, did it?_

How could it? All my explanations, and counter-arguments to 
placate them and still... they sounded hollow! Even to my ears.

I stepped in my office cabin, slamming the door shut. I felt like 
tearing something to pieces. As I stood fuming there, my gaze 
systematically going over items in the room, categorizing them 
for suitability, my mind was still busy with the telephone call 
and the source of my anger.

There was no way I could make them understand or convince them. 
Not with last week's attack.

_Shit! That's never happened before._

Oil rigs, and production stations were almost exempt from all the 
attacks; private sector stuff, but especially the foreign 
investments. With last week's attack that changed. Everything 
changed. Nobody knew the rules of the game anymore, or if this 
was an entirely new game. My parents knew that as well. If not, 
they must have realized the change in trend after that attack.

Why did I expect them to understand anything? They were parents! 
Of course, they were worried. Especially after this last 
incident. It was in the papers. Previously, it was soldiers 
ambushed, government officials attacked, civilians in government 
service killed. Now, an oil rig was attacked--private foreign 
investment. I didn't want them worried, but unless I packed and 
returned home, there was no way I could get them off my back. 
That was unacceptable. They had tried to run my life before, but 
not to this extent! That left several options; cut off my contact 
with them, or read them the riot act. Full confrontation; they 
could take it or leave it.

_Is it time... to burn my remaining bridges?_

I didn't want to contemplate that. Not now. It was too early for 
that, and a plunge I didn't want to take. Their health was not 
what it used to be, and I didn't want to be the cause of 
something else--as if I didn't carry enough with me! However, in 
my current frame of mind my anger was taking over me. I was 
dangerously close to releasing my fury, unchecked, on whoever 
happened to be in my way, parents or not, and the temptation to 
do something like that had never been so great as now.

I was trying to cope with it myself, trying to understand this 
new development; not that there was much to cope with it. After a 
while you get used to it, and don't think about it. And that was 
all there is to it. Nothing more, nothing less. You keep your 
eyes open, and carry on. Sometimes, there was a mild adrenaline 
rush associated with it, feeling alive, and pumped up. On very 
rare occasions I didn't care much, one way or another; when I was 
too tired to keep the anger burning, and my demons were visiting 
me, trying to invade the emptiness inside, but they were few and 
far between.

_Damn it! Enough is enough. Don't you understand? I need some 
breathing room! I don't need this shit from you. I already have 
enough on my mind._

I was almost tempted to say these exact words on the phone, to my 
dad and mom. Jeeez!!! I don't know how I managed to keep my 
temper in check. I was sorely tempted to utter those very words 
to make them understand...

_My job. My life. My decision. End of story! End of argument! 
That's the way things are!_

But, I knew that wouldn't help. They would never understand or 
accept it. They were worried sick, and in panic. They would have 
gone off the deep end. But, I had had enough of all the quarrels. 
How could they know what it was costing me every time I had to 
take their worries into consideration when I had to make a 
decision? When the hell was I going to be able to live my fucking 
life? When? It wasn't just frustrating, it was driving me nuts! 
And, it was very tiring, psychologically draining, as if I didn't 
have enough problems keeping my sanity. As if... as if I didn't 
feel like burning all my bridges.

_Don't! Don't go there! Therein lay madness!_

_If I hadn't called them..._

But that was wishful thinking, wouldn't have solved anything. 
Worse, they would have been even more worried. Now, I understood 
what fighting with one hand tied meant.

_Fuck! I've been fighting with both hands tied! It's been like 
that since the day I arrived here, three years ago. Uphill fight 
all along. Every bloody week the same question: "When are you 
going to leave that place and find a job here?"_

The problem wasn't finding a job back at home. I didn't fit in. 
Not there. Not in a 9-to-5 job, where people had regular 
schedules, regular lives, and socialized. There wasn't anything 
that could keep me busy, or challenge me to drive myself as hard 
in that world. Besides, I didn't want to be caged in an office, 
with harsh fluorescent lighting, stupid office politics, petty 
jealousies and the gossiping. I had too much excess baggage. I 
had too much hurt and pain. I just wanted to be away, far away 
from anything that had been familiar, away from the hurt and 
pain, anything that reminded...

I knew that. They knew that, even if they didn't understand it. 
And, there was just too much emptiness inside me. What little 
warmth left inside me was within a protective shell--too fragile 
to be exposed to the ravages of the past. I didn't know how to 
deal with that. So, I filled the emptiness with anger, to keep 
the pain, and hurt at bay. I wasn't angry at people, or the 
world, although from outside, it probably looked like that--
_Wasn't it what some friends said at the time; "Why are you so 
angry?"_--I was angry at myself. It was the only thing that kept 
me moving. Smoldering inside me, always under tight control, and 
never allowed free reign, unless provoked. But, keeping busy 
helped, using up all the untapped energy of my anger.

_Don't you get it? I have a job. One that I enjoy. Better yet, it 
keeps me busy, so I don't dwell on... past... history. It keeps 
me away from the pain and hurt. OK?_

_Do I have to spell it out?_

_You want to hear it?_

_OK! Here we go. Repeat after me, until you've got it crystal 
clear. I don't ever wanna set foot back there, not even at my 
beloved beach. Got it? It's history. I don't want any part of it. 
I just want to forget it all, forget it ever happened, erase it 
from my memory._

There was no way I was going to say it. Hell, they knew it. Well, 
parts of it, anyway. They saw some of it happen, but we never 
talked about it. Why talk about it? It happened in plain sight of 
most everybody. They just didn't know about the details... they 
didn't need to. Some things were better left where they are. 
Sometimes, saying "better leave some things where they are," 
hurt.

The point is, it happened. They were willing to act as if it 
never happened... but of course, they never really understood it, 
did they? They thought it would blow over. I once thought as they 
did. Otherwise, why did I tell them it was a temporary job when I 
signed the contract. I thought it would be a matter of months, 
and I would be back. I thought I wouldn't be able to stay far 
away from that beach--my beloved beach--or for that matter any 
beach, and the sea for so long. Just a little bit of a time-
out... to regroup.

But I did. I was here. It had been three years, and I didn't see 
an end yet. Sand, and rock, and dusty wind beneath an angry sun, 
and knee deep in snow, in icy cold. There was a stark beauty in 
this desolate, empty expanse, but I seldom noticed that beauty; 
perhaps only on those rare occasions when my subconscious drew 
parallels between this empty expanse and the emptiness inside me. 
Most of the time, I didn't care much for the place. It wasn't 
home, never going to be one, and I wasn't looking for one. 
Winters were more bearable; the cold numbing me, and my senses, 
giving me a brief respite from dwelling on the emptiness inside 
me, or my anger, or all the other hurtful things I tried to keep 
at bay. The hypnotic quality of the softly falling snow, slowly 
covering the rig with a white blanket; the sound of engines and 
heavy machinery muffled by the large flakes that kept falling 
like confetti, drifting down like Autumn leaves on an October 
afternoon. I would stand outside my cabin, and watch it for hours 
on end, finding some kind of peace in the serenity of the scene--
if only for a while. Still, it was nothing like my beach, like 
that particular shore. At times, I missed my beach, any beach, 
something fierce. Those times, how I wished I could say, "I 
hardened my heart and forged on."

_I just don't know how much of a heart I have. I don't even know 
if it would pass for one, or be called as such._

As my gaze kept looking for something to expel my anger and 
frustration, sadness filled me at the realization of how lonely I 
felt. Abandoned, even by the people who were supposed to...

_Can it ever get lonelier than this? If they aren't willing to 
listen, if they aren't willing to understand what I feel, what I 
want._

_Just leave me alone, let me do what I want!_

And yet, I had to comfort and reassure them.

_Why? Somebody, tell me why? It's their fucking job, not mine! 
Who's the parent, who's the child, anyway? Why in God's name they 
don't leave me be? Why do I even bother to talk to them when 
their minds are set?_

"Filial piety!" my inner voice whispered.

"Fuck off! I don't need this shit!" was my response.

I could taste my anger, bitter like bile...

"There!" my eyes said, locating something I could direct my anger 
at.

I reached to pull the big cardboard (with a bunch of 9-by-13 
pictures taped on it) from the wall, ready to tear it into 
pieces. Finally, I had something to take out my anger on. But, 
when I realized what I was holding, I just couldn't... suddenly, 
I lost my steam.

My eyes went over each picture; scenes from my beach at different 
seasons at different hours of the day. And, an empty spot for a 
missing picture--part of the past that I was still trying to put 
behind me. It had been there for a short while, until the color 
was indelibly etched in a small corner of my memory, burning 
bright as my anger at myself... my failure.

These were the pictures that--every so often--kept me breathing, 
when I wanted to recall the cool morning breeze rich with iodine 
and salt. They accompanied me from location to location, from 
mountains to deserts. They were the only reminders that there 
was, somewhere, a cold blue sea, spread like a satin sheet early 
in the morning... the feel of wet sand under my feet, as I took 
my afternoon run along the shoreline, cutting through the gentle 
waves that swept in and out. The blue waters of an ancient sea... 
rich in legends, and myths... keeper of secrets, and lost souls.

I didn't dare touch them. I'd never known when I would need their 
company. I gently placed the cardboard back on the wall. These 
pictures helped me remember the happiness. Whenever the anger 
started to overwhelm me, they had been there. Whenever I dared to 
check on that little warmth; to make sure it was still there, or 
to stroke and nurture it--like an infant--they had kept the 
demons at bay.

_I left behind, enough... more than enough._

_Why is it easy to recall painful memories, when I have to work 
to recall the joyful moments?_

As I pondered that, something else swept those thoughts aside.

_Why do I remember so much of everything, good or bad?_

The deadly silence of the cabin offered no answers. As usual. I 
knew I wasn't going to sleep. I checked my watch, and it was 
getting close to midnight. I decided to go to the bar cabin. I 
was off-shift for the next 36 hours...

_Nope... make that 29 hrs._

_Shit! That's what I need! As if all that happened was not 
enough. 29 hrs of doing nothing but brooding._

But, before I could get back to brooding, I needed to make 
another call.

_I hope he's not asleep. It's been a long time... since college. 
How in the hell did he survive the attack? If I hadn't seen his 
name in the paper, I wouldn't even know he had been there._

It took me a while to get connected, but I reached him. After 
wishing him a fast recovery, we went over the incident. I 
listened as he told me what happened. My anger returned. It 
didn't take longer than fifteen minutes to get the necessary 
details. As I put the handset down, my mind was already 
contemplating who was going to be the victim of my wrath among 
the assholes in the management.

_Fucking lying bastards! Assholes! Never mind the fact that it 
was another company that got hit this last time. We've been 
saying this was coming, for 2 months already. They even tried to 
hide the details of the attack. They still haven't arranged 
protection for some of the installations. What if one of the 
unprotected stations was hit..._

Competitors or not, most companies exchanged information on 
general security and safety. There was no way they didn't know 
the exact details of this attack. They must have had gotten all 
the details, but they had downplayed the whole incident as an 
unfortunate happening. Several wounded, including one foreigner--
that was by mistake--and three dead; two of them engineers, and 
the last one a student from the college--barely 19 years old.

_Jesus Christ on a fucking crutch! What a waste... 19 years old. 
Slaughtered like sheep._

Our rig was protected by a team of 30 heavily armed soldiers. 
However, the other facilities, like the production stations 
(where the oil was being collected), didn't have anything like we 
had, only patrols sweeping the area. I wondered what the 
management would do when the engineers in the stations got to 
hear the story I'd just been told.

_Those bastards better get their fat asses in gear, and do 
something before it's too late... before something similar 
happened to us... if they don't want to be hit by accusations of 
gross negligence._

I needed to think about this carefully, but I was too angry to 
think clearly. No wonder my parents were scared. If they had 
known the truth... Well, parts of the attack were in the 
newspapers, but the details were sketchy, or completely wrong. 
However, one thing was obvious whatever way you looked at it; the 
whole ball game just changed!



* * * * *



I walked into the bar cabin, and after closing the door, scanned 
the room looking for a quiet corner. It was almost empty. One rig 
hand was nursing his beer on a stool, and a grizzly driller was 
standing behind the bar drinking some mixed stuff. Rig move time, 
when most of the off-shift personnel enjoyed some drinks. The 
driller had 24 hours off, his counterpart taking over. I hated 
that period of a few days. I wasn't involved in any of it. The 
idea of going to town for a day or two at the office didn't 
appeal at all.

I picked up a can of Coke, and moved to the other side of the 
cabin; the entertainment center, with the TV, and the stereo. It 
was empty, and that suited me just fine. Finding a comfortable 
chair by a small table, I sat down. I wanted to ease my anger and 
cool off, before I got back to thinking about my options; with my 
parents and with the company. Well, I wasn't worried about the 
company. If I became too much of a headache, they could easily 
pay my severance, and cancel my contract. At this moment, I 
didn't give a damn about the money or the job.

_When the time comes, I'll cross that particular bridge._

But, I wasn't going to let them fuck the few people I cared 
about. Most of them sitting at this moment in those stations. 
They were not friends, not really, but colleagues, some of them 
good people. I didn't have friends here.

_That's a joke! You never tried to make friends with anybody 
here!_

_Yeah? Well, we both know why, don't we? So shut your trap! I 
don't need you bothering me with your stupid comments._

While I was lost in thought I didn't notice someone walking over. 
I heard the scraping sound of a chair being picked up. Then it 
was placed on the other side of my table. The rude interruption 
forced me to look up. It was the driller, and he sat down 
opposite me. Filling up two shot glasses from a bottle of whisky, 
he pushed one glass across the table, saying, "Drink up. It's 
celebration time. Rig move."

I hated rig-moves. It was always messy, and it took almost all 
day to get the camp cabins moved and hooked up with electricity 
and water.

_I would be better of at the office in town for a day._

I wasn't feeling like company, especially at this moment. I knew 
this guy. Big bear of a man, hard working, and sharp. He spoke 
very good English for a German. He had to, as everybody spoke 
English to varying degrees of fluency. He usually dropped by my 
office for reports, and discussed ongoing operations, and other 
details. I never socialized with him--well, almost with nobody--
so I was a bit ticked off and surprised that he sought my 
company. I always kept to myself when I was off-duty. Everybody 
knew that, and the new arrivals learned fast. Here, I could have 
that, but not when caged in an office somewhere in a city.

_Loner! Not a very good reputation!_

_Yeah? As if I give a damn. Shut the fuck up!_

I pushed back the glass. "Thanks, but I already have a drink," I 
said, pointing to my can of Coke.

He picked up his glass and downed it, and set his eyes on me, 
giving me an appraising look. I returned his gaze trying to make 
him understand I would rather be left alone. Ignoring my look, he 
filled his glass, and pushed the other glass back to me, urging 
me to take the drink. I was getting seriously ticked off with his 
attitude. I picked up my Coke, and sat back, telling him with my 
eyes to get lost. He wasn't drunk at all, I could see that, but 
he was ignoring the signals I was giving him that he wasn't 
welcome at the table.

_What an asshole!_

I shook my head internally.

He downed his glass, and setting it on the table gave me a look. 
"I heard you had a long phone call. Third call to home this week. 
Problems?"

_What the... It's none of your fucking business. Why don't you 
fucking get lost and leave me alone, instead of butting your nose 
into my personal affairs?_

I chose to ignore the question. "I registered the time. I'll pay 
it... as usual."

Long distance personal calls were always charged.

Laughing, he said, "Hell, son. I'm not worried about the phone 
cost."

Resentment flared up at his use of _son_, and I didn't even 
attempt to hide my displeasure--you could hardly call it 
displeasure, it was downright anger. There was no way he could 
mistake my look. He didn't even flinch... the _cocky bastard_! 
That made me more angry. Everything that had accumulated since 
the phone call was slowly coming up for a nice boil. I hadn't 
expelled even a bit of my anger up to now, only suppressed it.

I was starting to enjoy the feeling of it simmering, so I chose 
to let it come out to the surface very slowly. It was such a 
sweet sensation, like a good red wine that you roll on your 
tongue, savoring the different flavors of spices, appreciating 
the rich texture, noting all the little details about the whole 
experience. It was warming my insides with its heat, and I wanted 
to feel its searing heat when it boiled over.

"I think you should take a deep breath, and then take a sip of 
the whisky. That will ease your nerves," he said softly, taking 
me by surprise.

He knew very well I wasn't nervous, but angry. But, after his 
pointed remark, I took a moment to go over why he said what he 
said, the way he said. I realized I was contemplating violence 
against this guy... in anger. I should have known better. I don't 
usually direct my anger at people, well, not exactly... I don't 
use violence in anger. They are two different things. I do use 
angry words against people when they have it coming, but I rarely 
used violence when angry. Now, I realized I was letting my anger 
control me, instead of the other way round. I had let my guard 
down, not expecting an immediate danger. But, danger lurked in 
the most unexpected corners, and came out in different shapes... 
like anger.

_Has it been that long that I have forgotten the most basic 
lessons?_

Trying to collect myself, I thought off that beach... _my 
beach_... the water gently lapping between my toes, washing away 
the sand... a soft, cool breeze slithering across my chest, 
caressing me, giving me goose bumps where my skin was wet. As I 
felt each gentle sweep of the sea lap at my feet, I let it suck a 
piece of the anger that was welling up inside me. I could feel 
the heat inside me cooling off bit by bit. I didn't want to let 
it go, but I realized that this guy could make me do something I 
would regret.

With a cold voice, I said, "I don't remember inviting you to the 
table."

He gave me a long curious look, then filled up his glass. Nodding 
at my glass, he said, "I think you'll like it."

I took a sip from my Coke, watching him finish his glass and wipe 
his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

"What are you brooding about? The attack last week?" he asked, 
when I didn't respond.

I shook my head with an impassive face.

He gave me a quizzical look. "You're not scared of something 
happening here, are you?"

I almost laughed at that bit, the corner of my mouth barely 
curling...

_If I did care about it I wouldn't be here, now, would I?_

Suddenly I was saddened by that thought...

_Do I really not care? When did that happen?_

_Shit! I don't want to go there. That road leads to madness. I 
have other things to think about. If this asshole would leave me 
alone, maybe I could..._

"I thought not," he said, perhaps catching my amused expression, 
before he continued. "I was talking with the Captain, this 
evening."

That would be the 30-something soldier who spoke some passable 
English.

When I didn't respond, he continued, "He was impressed with your 
shooting. He told me you went with a few of his guys for target 
practice in the afternoon, after your shift."

That was the only fun thing here to do to kill time. Nothing but 
rocks... and tin cans to shoot at. I wanted to see if I still had 
it after my time in the service, a few years ago.

"Do you carry?" he asked.

I shook my head again.

_Why should I? Do I need it? I'm not as good with a pistol as I'm 
with an automatic rifle. What good is a pistol against 
Kalashnikovs?_

"I heard from your colleagues that it was easy to get a carry 
permit, and a pistol. I know some of them carry."

_Shit man! You don't know what you're talking about._

I couldn't ignore this comment.

"It's a couple hours work to get a regional carry permit and a 
handgun, but it's not worth it. In fact, you'll be making a 
target of yourself. If they know you're carrying, they'll try to 
get you. Probably when you're on a deserted section of the road, 
just to get your gun. And they would know who's carrying. The 
crew are all local people, and it's hard to keep a pistol a 
secret," I told him. "Besides I'm not good with a pistol."

"And you trust the protection we have?" he asked, now that he got 
me talking. "Did you go with them to see how good they are, or 
how good you are?"

_Oh, this is rich! This guy has ideas!_

I shrugged my shoulders, instead of answering.

"You know, I know that military service is compulsory in this 
country, so you must have been in the service," he commented.

"Yeah, I was. Nothing special. I know which end the bullets come 
out," I replied with another shrug.

That drew a short laugh from him, that turned into a chuckle. "As 
I said, the Captain was impressed, and that makes me worry about 
them. Are they any good?" he asked, meaning the soldiers 
protecting the rig and the camp.

Instead of answering him, I decided to rattle his cage. I was 
annoyed that he had drawn me into a conversation, when I wanted 
him to leave me alone.

"You asked me if I was scared... I'm wondering if you're scared?" 
I asked.

"Of course, I am scared. There may be very little chance of 
anything happening here, so I'm not worried... much! But, things 
happen. I've seen it happen at other places."

"You don't have to worry about it. This is not _other_ places. 
They might attack, and shoot people, and blow up things, but 
they're very careful about who they shoot."

"What do you mean?"

"They don't shoot foreigners... ex-pats... That's bad business. 
They have their political wings active in several countries 
across the continent, and they will lose any support there if 
something happens to a foreigner here. Their offices will be 
closed, and any political activities will be stopped. They 
wouldn't risk it. They never have. On the other hand, my 
colleagues and I... well, let's just say we are fair game... in 
fact, the intended target."

"That's bullshit," he flared.

"How long have you been working in this country?"

"Seven years."

"Then I suggest you get your head out of your ass, buy a 
newspaper and read about the facts. It started first, by 
targeting the police and military personnel. Five years ago that 
changed; it escalated to include the government officials and 
facilities. There were isolated incidents of attacks to private 
sector facilities, but nothing serious. Two years ago, it moved 
onto teachers, doctors, and other civilians in government employ, 
and more attacks to private sector facilities. This last six 
months, it's any civilian. Mostly however, the engineers, 
technicians are killed, not the crew workers; the bunch of us 
that come from the big cities, not the locals. And, when they 
have targeted any private companies, especially the foreign 
companies, they always made sure no foreigners were harmed."

There wasn't any reason to mention that one foreigner was wounded 
by mistake during last week's attack.

_Shit happens when bullets start to fly. The other three hadn't 
been that fortunate._

"So that's why you were brooding... and that's why you're angry 
with me? Because I'm a foreigner?"

"You believe that!" I exclaimed with an incredulous tone, losing 
my composure.

After giving me a long look, he said, "No. You resent me, because 
I came to sit without being invited."

I couldn't resist a quip. "You've got that right... pops."

His eyes flared for a moment, at my response, _pops_, before he 
chuckled, perhaps remembering how he called me _son_. He took a 
moment to fill up his glass, then giving me a deliberate look, he 
said, "I like you, sonny. Come on, drink up!"

I knew he was goading me with his _son_, and _sonny_, but I 
wasn't going to take the bait. However, he was getting under my 
skin. I tried to calm myself, visiting the beach, remembering the 
warm evenings with a cool breeze when I enjoyed a Bacardi-Coke, 
while I took sips from my Coke. Then, my mind got busy with 
another thought, and not the first time. Why did I recall 
memories so vividly, as if they were frames out of a filmstrip? 
But, this was more than that. It was a living, breathing 
experience. I could still recall the taste, the smell, the 
color... almost all the senses associated with each memory, each 
time I did take a stroll in the past, choosing a moment, a place 
or an incident. It was my curse.

He was not going to let up on me, so after a few minutes of 
silence, he broke it with another question. "What is it that you 
practice, late in the afternoons?"

_What the fuck are you talking about now?_

When I didn't respond, he elaborated. "I was checking the crown 
on the derrick, a few days ago. I usually have my binoculars with 
me when I go up the derrick, and take a look at the surrounding 
area when I'm finished. It's 120 feet up, so gives a good field 
of view. I saw you practicing. It didn't look like karate or 
anything."

_There's no fucking privacy in this place!_

"It wouldn't. Karate is Japanese."

"So what is it?" he asked.

"It's something Chinese. Tai Chi Chuan."

He filed this little bit somewhere, and then switched topics. 
"You were on another rig, as a student, couple of years ago."

That would have been 4-5 years ago, when I was doing my industry 
training with another company. I didn't remember seeing this guy 
around that time.

_How the fuck does he know me?_

"You had a run-in with one of the ex-pats, a tall Dutch guy," he 
continued, after a pause, to refresh my memory.

_Tall Dutch guy... that describes most of the Dutch guys._

I jogged my memory...

_Yeah! I remember that stupid asshole. Thought he could run 
shotgun over me, just because I was a student._

Seeing the recognition in my eyes, he leaned on the table and in 
a conspiratorial tone, he said, "Yeah, I heard the story. He was 
a serious pain in the ass, and stupid to boot."

I knew the German and Dutch guys didn't like each other; 
something that lingered from history, but nothing serious. After 
all, the rig floor was a dangerous place, and everybody depended 
on each other doing their part and doing it properly. If not, you 
could end up either crippled or dead, but when the shift was 
over, they wouldn't socialize together, and formed their own 
cliques.

"And you're not saying that because he's Dutch?"

"Sonny, let's get one thing straight. When it's work related, 
there's no place for politics and bullshit. That was work 
related. He didn't know his job, and he had given a hard time to 
most of the contractors, but especially to us. It was bound to 
catch up with him. It was funny to hear it happen because of a 
student. That's all."

_You fucking, asshole! Patronizing, ignorant son of a bitch. I 
should take your head--_

I'm not sure how, but I managed to clamp hard on my anger, when 
it flared again--dangerously so. For a short while, I let myself 
feel the cold breeze of the early morning by my beach, while I 
contemplated my response.

"You know you're very good," I said with an icy calm and 
deliberation.

I could see he was confused by my remark and tone, and I thought 
I caught something like unease on his part. After a momentary 
quiet, he said, "I know my job."

His slight hesitation confirmed my suspicion, and I drew a bit of 
satisfaction from the knowledge, and now, it was time to let him 
have a piece of my mind!

"I wasn't talking about how good you are at your job," I replied 
flashing him a cold smile. "You're very good at insulting people. 
First, you intrude. And then, you insult; with that quip about 
how funny it is that the guy got what was coming to him from a 
student. What you imply and meant was, 'a lowly student,' and 
_that,_ is not a compliment!"

"Sonny, I didn't intend to insult--" he was saying, when I cut 
him off, before he could continue further.

"That's enough of _sonnies... pops_!" I said softly, emphasizing 
my words. My voice might have been soft, but there was nothing 
soft in my delivery; a veiled threat--a promise of repercussions-
-was very much present. "You wanna revise _that_?" I asked, 
giving him a cold stare. If my eyes could shoot icicles, he would 
have been already laying in a pool of his blood on the floor.

_You must be really thick. You don't get any hints, do you?_

For a moment, I gave serious thought to giving my anger free 
reign. I knew better. That was when I noticed my fingers on my 
left hand were rigid, like a blade, in anticipation of something. 
I flexed and let them loosen up, and took a sip from my Coke.

_Violence is not a solution. It's a last resort, and even then, 
there usually is very little justification for it... most times!_

As I remembered those words--they carried the same solemn warning 
as they had had, years ago, when I had heard them the first time-
-I tried to let go of my anger. I just felt tired. I put my Coke 
on the table, and took off my reading glasses, laying them down. 
I could feel the beginnings of a headache coming, so I massaged 
the bridge of my nose, eyes, and temples. When I was finished 
easing the tension I felt, I turned my gaze back at him. He was 
watching me like a hawk, and behind his calm eyes, he seemed to 
be appraising me.

"You have _fire_, lad. I noticed that about you when you first 
arrived here, three years ago. When I heard who had signed on, I 
kept my eyes open--after that run-in you had had... Do me a 
favor, down that glass, and talk to me," he said gently, urging 
me to reconsider with a soft expression on his face.

_I don't like this stuff, what they call whisky... Johnny fucking 
Walker. He can walk the hell away from me for all I care._

While waiting for me to make up my mind, or respond in any other 
way, he filled his glass.

_Fuck it! You wanna play, then let's play, pops! And maybe... 
just maybe, my runaway mind won't bother me when I hit the bed 
tonight... and maybe, I'll be able to sleep... I might even thank 
you tomorrow--if I'm still drunk!_

I took the glass and downed it.

_Shiiiit!!! That's worse than I remember. What's this stuff 
anyway? Broken glass, or are you using tungsten carbide inserts 
from the used up drill bits?_

As soon as I put my glass down, he picked up the bottle and 
filled it again.

_Bastard! You have 80 pounds over me, and a couple of inches._

With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I remembered Sun Tzu's 
eternal words on choosing the place and occasion for battle--and, 
that feeling had nothing to do with the spreading warmth from 
this shit I just downed! To gain time, I lit a cigarette.

_No reason to rush it and get drunk like an amateur, is there? 
I'm not going to hand it to you so easy, pops. You're going to 
work for it!_

He downed his glass, and set it on the table, waiting for me.

_Forget it! I'm not going to let you set the pace. You wanna get 
drunk, go ahead, be my guest._

After I took a long drag from my cigarette, I took a long swallow 
from my Coke. He didn't fill up his glass yet, just stared at me, 
waiting, challenging. When I ignored his challenge, he went back 
to _sonny_.

"How old are you, sonny? 22-23?"

"24."

"You ain't gonna let me set the pace, are you?"

_Very astute, pops._

I was almost starting to like this guy, but not yet. Quickly 
checking my watch, I did some mental arithmetic. "I reckon you 
have about 17 hours off-duty time. Plenty, for whatever you have 
in mind."

That earned me another chuckle and an amused look. He sat back 
for a few seconds, looking at me, seemingly mulling something in 
his mind. Then, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the 
table. "Most guys your age would try to up the ante, relying on 
their youthful stamina. You didn't even give it a second thought 
to chase it with Coke. Nobody I know, young or old, would dare do 
something like that when they are being challenged."

Ignoring his comment, I picked up my glass, and deliberately 
finished it in a few swallows, slowly, taking a drag from my 
cigarette in between sips. Putting the glass down, I picked up 
the bottle, and filled both our glasses. The point was made, so 
he didn't try the 'down the glass' act. He got off his chair, and 
went to the stereo, going over tapes and CDs. Choosing one CD, he 
put it in the player, and set the volume low--we could hear the 
music, but keep a conversation.

I didn't recognize the song. The melody and the voice of the 
singer sounded disturbingly familiar, but I didn't have the 
patience to dig in my memory to recall the name, or the tune for 
such a trivial thing. It would eventually come on its own time, 
especially if there was a song that I knew on that CD.

When he sat down, he said, "You know, you never answered my 
question."

"And what question might that be?"

"Are _they_ any good?" he asked, returning us back to the subject 
of protective detail.

"What makes you think I would know something about that?"

"Why do you evade a simple question?" he countered, in a 
businesslike manner.

This was off-duty time, and I didn't have to answer any 
questions. But, there really wasn't such a thing as 100 percent 
off-time on a rig, not on serious business. Security constituted 
one such. I could still evade it; after all this was a personal 
assessment, and we both knew that I didn't qualify as a security 
expert, not in any way. I chose a middle ground.

"Most of them are young and scared, but it's the healthy kind of 
scare. They won't slack off during guard duty. Quite a few of 
them have seen light action, so they know what they might be 
facing."

"So you trust them?"

"I stated the facts as I saw them. I didn't imply anything else."

_They aren't bad. Not at all. Just young. Most of them. Younger 
than I was when I did my short spell. They'll probably be able to 
do what they are supposed to do. I'm not concerned about that. 
I'm concerned about mistakes, accidental shootings, and that 
usually happens at night. Sometimes shit happens, there's no 
avoiding it. I just need to be a tad bit more careful._

"Shit, son. What's your problem? If you don't trust them, why are 
you not scared?"

"It's a four hour trek to the mountains, at a good running pace. 
The army will respond with helicopters in 45 minutes at the max. 
I don't think they'll attack in this area. They don't have an 
easy escape route."

"And they had an easy escape route in last week's attack to that 
rig?" he asked, to which I nodded.

"But we are moving closer to the mountains."

When I didn't respond, he got pensive.

"You don't carry, you don't trust the protective detail; yet, 
you're not scared."

I took my glass and nursed on my drink, while contemplating the 
situation.

_What's your problem, pops? It's not that I'm not scared. I just 
don't dwell on it. I could be hit by a truck tomorrow, or have an 
accident on the rig floor, or die in a plane crash while getting 
a ride back home. When your time is up, it's up. Although I 
reckon, it will be a very long time before I get my ticket 
punched. If my curse is what I think it is!_

"Is there something that scares you?" he asked.

_Huh? What kinda question is that? Everybody is scared of 
something. I hate snakes._

"Snakes."

"Snakes?" his eyebrows went up quizzically. "I figured, you're 
scared of living."

_I don't like the sound of that. Not at all!_

"And how did you arrive at that?" I asked, the distaste at his 
quip clearly visible on my face. I filled my glass and his, while 
waiting for him to answer my question.

"As I said, when I heard you signed up, three years ago, and ever 
since then, I've kept an eye on you. The few people I talked to 
about the run-in, all told me that you were a good kid, and fun 
to work with. When you arrived, the first month, you were ill at 
ease. But, you had a fever burning inside you. You worked hard, 
but didn't enjoy it. No, I don't mean the work! The place. I got 
the feeling you'd rather be elsewhere. But, you kept at it, and 
over the months, settled into a routine. But, you never 
socialized much, always keeping to yourself. Once a week, you 
called home. It usually annoyed the hell out of you, and I did 
catch glimpses of anger hidden behind it. Now, the last several 
months, I just see anger after the calls."

"And your point is?" I prompted him to continue.

"My point is, you exercise a very strong control over yourself. 
Over your emotions, and perhaps thoughts."

_Bullshit! If I did, I wouldn't have that emptiness inside me... 
a big fucking black hole. I wouldn't work so hard trying to 
forget the past--_

"Sonny, I may be lots of things, but I'm not blind. You were 
ready to resort to violence a while ago. And I know, you didn't 
give a second thought to consequences... like losing your job or 
criminal charges. You're not the type to shy away from 
violence... when it becomes necessary. Yet, you chose to rein in 
your anger, and took it under control. It was as if somebody had 
just turned a switch off. You're a ticking time-bomb."

"If you think so, what the hell are you doing standing close to a 
ticking bomb?" I asked pointedly, but with deliberate calm.

He ignored my question.

"You're a hard worker, and have many skills. What are you doing 
here? You can easily find a job elsewhere, where you'll be much 
more happy. Two of your friends already resigned, and they needed 
the money. You don't seem to care or need the money. So, it can't 
be what's holding you here," he said.

"It's the job."

"It's just a job, like any other job. Unless..."

When he didn't continue, I rose to the bait to see where he was 
going with that.

"Unless?"

"Unless, it's all that you've got."

_Jesus! You're a dangerous man, pops. I underestimated you._

Instead of giving an answer, I shrugged noncommittally.

He took a sip from his drink, but his eyes never left my face for 
a moment. "You know, I've been working in this country for seven 
years now. I know there are some very nice vacation spots. I 
never took the opportunity to take a vacation at one of those 
beautiful beaches," he said in a conversational tone, changing 
the subject swiftly.

I was wary from the sudden shift, and perked up, which he noticed 
immediately. To distract him, I finished my glass, and filled it 
up. The bottle still in my hand, I waited to fill his half-empty 
glass. Taking the hint, he downed his glass with an amused smile, 
and set it down for a re-fill. That done, I lit another 
cigarette, offering him one and lighting it.

After he took a drag, he responded, the amused smile never 
leaving his face. "Very good, sonny, very good. Was it from _Art 
of War_?"

_Sheeesh! If I'm not careful, I might get to like you. You're one 
cool customer, pops._

"Sorry, pops, it's something else. From a Japanese book."

He raised an eyebrow. "I figured you would be sticking with Sun 
Tzu."

"Most of the time. But, a single school of thought doesn't give 
you flexibility."

"Like any single martial art style, or weapon," he finished, as 
if reading my mind, before moving back to the previous subject. 
"I've seen the pictures of the beach you have in your office. 
Beautiful. Is it a vacation place or your hometown?"

"I was born inland."

"You like the sea, perhaps any place near water?"

I shrugged.

"And, yet... you choose to work here," he said with a 
contemplative tone. After a pause, he gave me a long look, and 
continued with a soft, almost sympathetic voice. "When did you 
burn your bridges, sonny?"

I wasn't expecting the question. Not at all.

_I-I-I... I didn't burn... any bridges... except..._

_I have so few of them that are still standing. I wish... I 
hadn't, that one time..._

_But sometimes, I wish... I just wish I could burn all... then, 
there won't be anything to stand in my way. I would be free to 
make my own path. And, I wouldn't have to fight every fucking 
inch of the way to make my own decisions._

_But... that's besides the point. I don't burn bridges. I learned 
that lesson the hard way. Once was... more than enough!_

Calming my shot nerves, I replied, "I don't burn bridges."

But in my mind's eye I could hear the words, "not anymore," even 
if I hadn't uttered them. The thought burned my insides like acid 
eating away, like a flame burning bright, like the color of her 
dress in...

_One stupid mistake! One failure! How did I let her--_

I didn't want to dwell on it. Not any more. And definitely, not 
now. I had learned that lesson. It was in the past, and had to 
stay there. My thoughts went back to that beach, my beloved 
beach.

_At least, that's one anchor in my life. It doesn't matter if I 
did burn the bridges or not. That place will be there for me, 
always; bridges or no bridges._

As I ran through the whole gamut of thoughts, my ears pricked up 
at the melody that was playing...

_Is... Is that Chris de Burgh playing?_

_Who listens to Chris de Burgh these days? And, this song is..._

_Oh, God, no! Not now! Not that one!_

I tried to tune the melody out, but it was insistent. I couldn't 
switch it off. Worse, it was taking me to places I rarely visited 
these last couple of years.

_We never danced to that one song. Just because she was dressed 
in red at the time, and it felt... Well, it felt kinda awkward, 
as if making a statement. And she... the feel of her fingers on 
my arm... so hot, almost branding me, as we stood watching other 
couples. Clinging to me, as if she would never let me go. Ever. 
And I never thought I would let her._

_Well, we know different now, don't we?_

I felt the same heat as I had then, and I couldn't help but 
instinctively glance at my arm, expecting to see the hand that 
caused the sensation. That momentary slip into past filled me 
with an uneasy chill. I downed my glass hoping it would warm me 
up, and reached for the bottle to re-fill it.

"If you haven't burned any bridges, what are you running from, 
why are you running away?"

"I'm not running away. I was looking for a place, and I believe I 
found it here."

"Your place is where a home is, where your heart is. And I see 
that your heart isn't in this place."

I didn't have to respond to that. I watched him take a sip from 
his glass, and then a long drag from his cigarette. He exhaled 
the smoke slowly, his expression contemplative. As if coming to a 
decision, he leaned closer with his elbows on the table, and 
asked, "Does the missing picture have something to do with all 
your anger?"

Sitting back, he continued. "I saw it the first time I was at 
your office. It was sticking out like a sore thumb among the 
pictures of that beach. A few weeks later, it wasn't there 
anymore. My guess is she hurt you."

Instead of answering his question, I chose to respond to his 
previous comment.

"It's not a matter of place or where home is or where your heart 
is. It's a question of time."

"You mean you're taking time-off until you decide to do whatever 
you want to do?"

"Nope. I'm not talking about time healing wounds. Time has no 
bearing, none at all on healing wounds."

What I had said, to a large degree, was true. Waiting for my 
wounds to heal played only so much in my decision to stay and 
work in this place. There was so little left inside me, I didn't 
know if any healing was possible. He pondered what I said, while 
I caught the ending notes of _Lady in Red_.

For some things, you could be late and miss the chance. For other 
things, you could be too early, as they hadn't ripened for 
picking. Timing was... is... of the essence. Always has been. I 
should know. It formed the most basic tenet of my training. In my 
case, I had been... a heartbeat too early... and too late... for 
_her_. The cost... I didn't want to think about the cost.

What's more I was scared of... living an eternity.

It sounds like an exaggeration or a complete fabrication, but it 
was neither. The point was brought home by the death of that 19 
year old student a week ago. He had been at the wrong place, at 
the wrong time, like I had been, once, several years ago. And 
yet, I had survived it. Maybe it was luck, but I had survived 
several scrapes since then. When I thought back to those times, 
_charmed_ didn't even come close to describe it--I'm not adding 
the last three years to all that, because nothing major happened, 
but somewhere along the way, the ball drops on the red instead of 
black, doesn't it? It just never happened!

I felt cursed with the Methuselah syndrome. Intellectually I knew 
that was impossible, and it was more like the ignorance of youth, 
talking with a big mouth. However, that never changed the way I 
felt about it. That didn't mean that I was completely unaware of 
my mortality. The point is, I wasn't overly concerned about it. I 
never understood that part about me. Was it because I was some 
kinda sociopath? But, sociopaths never felt anything. I felt... I 
feel, more than I care. No, I just wasn't obsessed about my 
mortality. Death came and claimed young and old without any 
discrimination. Here, in this place, it was part of daily 
reality, and I've just grown used to it. That was what it was. If 
I worried about it every waking moment, I wouldn't be able to 
function. So I ignored it. This place reminded me that I was 
alive, despite the emptiness inside me, which at times, made me 
feel like I was dead inside--perhaps, it was a subconscious need 
of affirmation... of my existence... that, I wasn't dead.

Did I care if something happened? Yeah. I did. I was careful. I 
never took risks. Was I suicidal? I didn't think so. I knew I 
didn't want to die.

_Not in this Goddamn place! And, not by the hands of a fucking 
sixteen year old toting an AK-47. Not when I still miss that 
beautiful beach and the sea!_

Since the very first day I discovered the sea, I was irresistibly 
drawn to it. Yet, I was here. Only rocks and sand and desert sun, 
desolate, empty of life. And water was life, where life sprung 
first.

"We are given a certain amount of time, and what we do with it is 
up to us. Sometimes, we miss chances, opportunities. It's no use 
crying over spilt milk; brood over past or worry about future. 
You have to be always in the moment and in the place. Not to miss 
life itself and what it offers to you," he said, taking me out of 
my reverie.

_Really? I guess, you're not a student of history, pops. History 
is what teaches us the lessons, so that they aren't repeated. 
History and past is what makes us, shapes us. I agree, there's no 
use to worry about future, except be prepared for any 
eventuality. And to your other point... Being in the moment... I 
think I know someth--_

Suddenly, my breath caught in my throat, when his words really 
percolated through my train of thought, reminding me of something 
else, forcing me to reconsider and reflect on what he said. I 
didn't agree with some of it, but still, I liked it, especially 
the last point. To my regret, I realized it left a sour taste. I 
just couldn't shake the feeling that up to now, all the offerings 
had been bitter, even though I knew better than that.

_Being in the moment... Is that the problem? Wasn't I in the 
moment? Why is that? Why couldn't I be in the moment? That's what 
I was supposed to have learned in my training. It was all about 
timing and being in the moment. Am I so lost to forget even the 
basics?_

I wanted to think about this, but I was getting agitated, and 
quickly downed my drink, re-filling and downing it again, letting 
the warmth spread. Slowly, I washed the taste with my Coke, and 
lit a cigarette. I took a second shot at the problem.

_Why was I not in the moment?_

I didn't have an answer.

_OK! Let's try something else. What did usually happen when I was 
in the moment?_

Every time I was in the moment... I collected detailed sensory 
data... sorting them, categorizing them, analyzing them, acting 
on them, and... I filed all that sensory input for later 
reference.

_Shiiittt! They made up all my... recollections. My memories!_

_Fuck!_

That's why my recall had always been so vivid. That's why some of 
the memories hurt so bad, as if it was the first time I 
experienced them. I didn't dare look at him. His last point 
sounded so simple at first, and I liked that simplicity, that's 
why I latched onto it. But, it was more than that. This wasn't a 
simple fatherly lecture about the challenges one faced in life. 
That short trip, as I worked around the idea, had been 
fascinating. My head was spinning with the implications.

_What kind of a path did you set me on, pops? What kinda ride are 
you taking me on?_

I pondered on that little bit I had worked out. In the end, most 
of it came in bits and pieces. There were gaps but...

_In a way, you're right, pops. This job is all I've got left. It 
kept me busy enough, so I didn't have to think about much, 
especially about the past. And, it kept me so physically tired 
that I could sleep at night._

I've known it all along. I just hadn't looked at it from that 
perspective. I didn't want to be in the moment, because it would 
add to the collection. And, I didn't want to have more painful 
memories in a growing list of recollections. I had more than I 
cared to carry around.

_If that's what you meant by being scared of living, perhaps you 
have a point you old grizzly bear. Perhaps, you have a point, 
after all._

I picked up the bottle and after checking his glass to find it 
half-empty, I topped it up, and filled mine. I had some stuff to 
think about, and I knew it would take time to find some more 
answers. Time, I had. Plenty.

_If nothing happens in the meantime!_

_I'll cross that bridge when the time comes!_

I felt relaxed. With a small smile--the first warm one, since the 
start of our conversation--I raised my glass.

"One last night-cap, pops?"

"Sure, sonny. Why the hell not?" he replied with a laugh.



* * * * *







CHAPTER - 2: Encounter and Requiem



"Sonny?"

I opened my eyes, blinking them to clear my vision.

"You better get a cup of coffee and a cigarette. This will take 
more time. I'll call when we're ready," said the driller.

_Yeah? Why didn't you say so? Like an hour and a half ago? All I 
heard was, "We'll be ready in ten minutes."_

It wasn't his fault. Sometimes, when something went wrong, it was 
followed by a flood of other problems. There's nothing you can do 
about that but deal with it. It just took time and effort, but 
when you've been on your feet for 30-something hours, even a 
minute delay seems like an hour. They had been busy with the 
high-pressure lines and the pumps for the last two hours. The 
pipes kept freezing or leaking. Then, one of the pumps broke a 
piston. We had a standby pump, but if something happened with 
that, we would be caught with our pants down. Not a good thing in 
the middle of a critical operation. By the time both pumps were 
checked and operational, the lines had frozen again. In the 
meantime, I had been standing in the cold, expecting to get on 
with the operation in the next ten minutes. I could have gotten 
at least a catnap. But, that's the way things went.

_You never know when Murphy would come for a visit!_

I chuckled at the thought. The strange sense of humor that was 
prevalent among the drilling bunch had grown on me from the first 
day I had stepped on a rig floor as a visiting student. And, I 
never lost it, even through my anger. I didn't feel like a 
chuckle let alone laugh--I was just too tired--but I could still 
appreciate the humor. Without that I wouldn't have lasted here 
this long. You can't run on empty or on anger only. I was dead 
tired. I just wanted to find a warm bed and crawl inside. Every 
joint was stiff from not moving and I was cold to my bones. It 
wasn't that cold, perhaps -8 C, but the lack of sleep, and the 
tiredness took its toll. I didn't think a cup of coffee or a 
cigarette would help. I've been going on that for the last seven 
hours, taking ten minute breaks every two hours or so. I just 
needed the sleep.

Instead of answering, I nodded, and tried to loosen my muscles. 
That done, I took a couple of tentative steps to test my legs. I 
had been leaning back against a wooden panel with my knees locked 
stiff and trying to sleep on my feet. Well, you wouldn't call it 
a sleep. I was resting my eyes, and had been following the 
progress with my ears; listening to the banging of hammers, and 
yelling and shouting. I walked down the stairs, and headed to the 
kitchen. Once inside, I grabbed a couple of chocolate bars from 
the fridge and a jar of honey. I needed some sugar. Filling up a 
large mug with coffee, I added five large spoonfuls of honey, 
stirring the mix. That was a trick I learned from the German 
driller. I used to dump 10-15 lumps of sugar to my coffee. I was 
young enough not to feel the effects of too much sugar, but it 
wasn't a healthy thing to do--young or old. Honey was a much 
better replacement. However, that was my only concession. 
Chocolate bars were non-negotiable, when I didn't have something 
to eat. If I hadn't forgotten to arrange some egg sandwiches and 
soup with the cook for the late night operation, I wouldn't have 
to settle for chocolate bars.

Back at my office cabin, I ate the bars, chasing them with the 
coffee, and lit a cigarette, keeping an eye on the rig floor from 
the open door. A few minutes later, I was feeling much better. 
The chair looked inviting, but if I sat, I wasn't sure I would be 
able to get back on my feet--not even with the assistance of a 
forklift--so, I kept pacing the small space. By the time I 
finished my coffee and half way through my second cigarette, 
there was a sharp whistle. When I looked at the rig floor, I saw 
the driller signing me, "We're ready!" Putting out my cigarette, 
I left the cabin, and headed for the rig floor at a brisk pace.

_Here we go. Come on, Murphy! Why don't you take a fucking hike 
and let us get on with it?_



* * * * *



Two and half hours later, I was sitting in my office. The casings 
were in place and cemented, and the crew was busy making the 
preparations for drilling the next hole section. There was some 
more work to do, such as changing the blow out preventers, and 
slipping and cutting the drilling line, and preparing the new 
mud, while waiting on cement to set. All I had to do was type in 
my report and fax it to the office. Easier said than done. I 
could hardly see the characters on the little five inch orange 
screen of the IBM portable. With a sigh, I put on my glasses and 
started to peck at the keyboard. Half hour later the information 
was saved and printed out. I checked my watch and was surprised 
to find it was already 5:30. Just then, the driller walked in.

"Shit son, why do you keep your door open? It's cold in here," he 
said.

I always kept the door open and the heater off when we had a 
night operation going on. Otherwise, I had to take off my jacket 
and the thermal coveralls every time I stepped inside--pain in 
the neck. What's more, it was easy to catch cold if you moved 
between cold and warm frequently. Besides, cold kept me awake 
when I was tired.

"Trying to stay awake, chief," I said tiredly.

"Report ready?"

"Yep."

"You look like hell, son. Catch some shut eye," he said taking 
the printout.

That was a nice idea, but not practical. In two hours time I 
would be on the phone, talking to the Operations guy back in 
town, going over the morning report. I was starting to feel perky 
again. That's what usually happened when I reached a threshold 
with all that coffee, sugar and nicotine. However, in a few hours 
time, I would be down--and I mean, really down. But, that was OK. 
I could catch 4-5 hours sleep, do the handover to my counterpart 
who will be arriving around lunch time, and then hit the road. I 
had a flight back home late in the afternoon. There was nothing 
special going on until late evening, when they would start 
drilling again, so my counterpart would have no trouble picking 
up where I left off.

"Later, chief. I just need some coffee, and a smoke. I can sleep 
after the report."

He gave me a disapproving look. "You're going to run yourself 
into the ground, kid, if you keep that up."

"Well, I know somebody who can scrape me off the floor," I 
quipped with a grin.

"Where is the fun in that? I'd rather wait until the rig move, 
and drink you under the table," he retorted.

That had been couple of months ago, when we were both off-duty 
during a rig move. It had been good. No, it had been better than 
what happened a year ago, when we had had our first encounter. 
After that little episode, things improved, and we had developed 
a certain rapport. I still kept to myself most of the time, and 
we weren't close, but there was a rapport. A few months ago, 
during another rig move, we didn't have to parry, and just went 
straight for the bottle. It had been fun, both of us letting off 
some steam, and trying to relax, taking some time off from the 
demands of the work, and other responsibilities. In the end, I 
had to concede defeat, before I lost my mobility to make my way 
back to the bed on my own. Back in the cabin, I had taken a few 
aspirins and chased them with four big glasses of water, so that 
next morning I wouldn't feel like a dish-rag. It had helped, but 
not much. I had to wear my shades all day long to keep the 
blaring sun away, and he would snicker every time he saw me 
rubbing my temples.

"Shit, pops! You know how to hurt a guy."

Despite my response, I was looking for a repeat of the drinking 
bout. It had been a nice diversion.

"Well, if you get your head out of your ass, and keep to your 
lessons, you wouldn't give me the opportunity, would you?"

"Ouch!"

"Come on, let's get a cup. It's freezing in here."

"I'll be right behind you, chief. I want to get rid off the 
thermals," I replied, standing up.

His office was usually very warm. After he left, I changed into 
jeans and a shirt, and checked the thermostat in the bedroom to 
make sure it wasn't too cold or hot. I wanted to have a decent 
four hours sleep at the minimum. I set the heater in the office 
as well, and closing the door, I went to his office. While he was 
busy with his paperwork, I quickly updated my handover notes for 
my counterpart, and then we faxed our respective reports to our 
offices.

"When is your flight?" he asked, as he took a sip from his cup, 
relaxing in his chair.

"Late in the afternoon."

"Going to your parents?"

"Yeah, for a few days, and then I'll pick up my car and hit the 
road."

"Somewhere nice?"

"I don't know. Somewhere along the coast I guess," I said, my 
thoughts going to that beach.

_I might drop by there for a few days. It will be empty, with 
only a few year-round residents. I want to see it again. I want 
to know if it's still there for me._

I realized--and not the first time--I had mixed feelings when I 
thought about that beach, _my_ beach. I had always believed that 
it would be there for me, but sometimes, there was an uncertainty 
associated with that belief, making me uneasy, however much I 
tried to ignore it. I had too many good memories in that place, 
and at times, when uncertainty crept in, I was scared I would 
lose one of my anchors--perhaps my only anchor. It was time to 
put the theory to test, and know for sure if that beach was still 
my beach. I also wanted to check out a few towns along the coast, 
where they had good bars, and perhaps, some chicks getting away 
from the big cities for the weekend or some tourists. In some of 
those places, there were always tourists, summer or winter, and 
it wasn't winter yet, _just_ mid-October. Here in this place, it 
was getting below zero at night, but day-time it was a 
comfortable mid to upper 20s. It would be slightly milder in the 
west coast, where my beach was located.

_If it's too cold for my taste I can always drive down to 
somewhere along the south coast. It's always warm there._

"When are you heading to town?"

"Around two. Depends on when the other guy arrives. I need to go 
over a few things with him."

"You ain't sitting in the office until your flight, are you?"

_Heh! You know me well, pops!_

"Nope. I want to get a haircut, and get this wild growth on my 
face trimmed. Then, some shopping for Sis; a nice silver 
necklace."

He nodded in agreement. "They have some good stuff in the town. I 
bought a pair of gold earrings for my daughter." After a slight 
hesitation, he asked, "Any reason silver?"

"She likes antique looking stuff, plus when she tans, she really 
has a tan, so the silver looks much better."

"Strange girl. Most women would go for gold."

I laughed. "Yeah, I know. But, she already has enough of that, 
and doesn't wear it much. We went shopping the last time I was 
back home, and I saw her look at silver necklaces. They weren't 
as good as what they have here, handcrafted, so I stopped her 
from buying it."

"She's also patient enough to wait," he quipped.

"Well... It's not the same thing if she buys it herself, or 
receives a gift from her brother, is it?" I retorted.

"You have a point there," he chuckled. "So, she knows you'll be 
bringing a gift."

"She's not really expecting something, but you know how women 
are. I think she sensed what I was planning."

He let out a groan. "Tell me about it! It gets worse when you're 
married. In a few years, they get to know everything."

We carefully avoided my parents as a subject matter. It wasn't 
because it was a sore point. He just knew I didn't like to talk 
about them, and he had seen the change--the telephone calls--it 
had gotten better. I had gone back home at the first opportunity 
last year. They had tried, but when I didn't respond, and refused 
to be drawn into any discussion, they eased up. After a few days 
of subtle prodding, they stopped all together. It hadn't been 
easy; for any of us. But, I guess they sensed the distance that 
was growing between us, and realized they were running the risk 
of pushing me away. I should have done that long ago, but I had 
too much respect for them, and didn't want to hurt their feelings 
at the time. This time, I just gave them the cold shoulder when 
they got insistent. It was better than a full confrontation, and 
that was the end of it. Over time, the uneasy peace turned into 
comfortable coexistence. I guess they had seen the subtle changes 
in me. At least, they could see that I wasn't so sullen, or my 
anger and hurt wasn't as obvious as before, and I kept visiting 
them more often despite my frequent travels to various places. I 
did a lot of sight seeing, and told them about the places I had 
been to, and they probably realized I was starting to enjoy life 
to a degree. They still worried about what might happen, here, 
but there wasn't much any of us could do about that. To have some 
peace at the home front helped a lot; I didn't have to be 
preoccupied with what was going on there all the time.

By the time our conversation came to an end, the sky was lighting 
up. I stepped out for half an hour to watch the horizon change 
color. That was one of the rare things I enjoyed. How the dim 
stars slowly disappeared from view, as the dark mass took on a 
lighter hue, the distant end looking like somebody lit a slow 
burning fire. First a pinkish tint, that slowly turned red, and 
the few clouds changing from orange to a translucent silver 
color, to eventually white, before the sun showed its face. The 
ground was still hard. It would take several hours before it 
would heat up and soften. I could almost hear the soft groan--the 
sky finally waking up from its deep sleep. I just let the 
feelings wash over me, as if floating somewhere beyond the 
horizon, getting warmed up, even though it was below zero as I 
stood in front of the cabin, without a jacket. I didn't stay long 
though. Once the sun was up, my sleepy eyes would start to hurt, 
and I knew I would hardly be able to keep them open.

When I stepped in the cabin, it was time for the morning report. 
The telephone wasn't working. Damn! We had to use the radio. At 
least, we had the reports faxed before the telephone quit on us. 
Sometimes that happened. Either the relay stations had problems, 
or our microwave antenna failed. When that happened, it was a 
pain in the neck to dictate the report over the radio, and then 
we still had to go through the details.

"You better go first, son. You need to get some sleep," he said.

"Thanks, chief," I said. Then, I saw the opportunity to get back 
at him, and with a wicked smile, I asked, "You sure you don't 
mind sloppy seconds?"

He let out a long, rumbling laugh, shaking his head. "The coffee 
must have helped more than I thought. You've been hanging with us 
too long, son. Save that energy for your vacation and the chicks, 
will you?"

The drilling bunch was a bawdy group. There were rarely any women 
around, so the jokes were always off-color, if not downright 
dirty. I guess it was no different than any other industry where 
women were a rarity.

"Whatever you say, pops. I'll be good," I retorted.

"I don't doubt that; just don't do anything I wouldn't do," he 
replied with a knowing grin.

He had once told me a story about one of the guys he had in his 
crew. An electrician, about 20-21, and recently married, working 
a schedule of four weeks on and four weeks off. After two tours 
of duty, the electrician requested his tour to be shifted a week-
-before or after his current schedule. When he was asked the 
reason, the guy couldn't give a satisfactory answer, so Pops had 
refused the request. After another tour, the electrician had made 
the same request. After a lot of prodding and pushing, the 
electrician explained his _little_ problem--with a lot of 
embarrassment. Every time he got back home, his wife was having 
her--well, I don't have to spell it out, do I? You get the idea--
It was funny as hell, but Pops understood the situation, and 
granted the request, making the young man a very happy man. When 
he had told the story, I was on the floor, laughing my ass off. 
With a chuckle, he gently admonished me; "Yeah, son. It sounds 
funny as hell, but not when you're on the receiving end of it... 
or not receiving, as the case might be... so, keep that in mind."

_Yep! It's an interesting mix of people and stories. There's 
always something, and that's what I like about this work and the 
people._

Before I could call the office, we heard the Ops guy calling us 
on the radio, so I took the mike, and replied. After covering the 
major points, he started to ask questions about the delays. After 
I explained the problems, he kept on it, mostly about the length 
of downtime. I got the feeling he was trying to blame the 
drilling contractor, and that was starting to piss me off.

_What part of frozen lines, broken piston don't you get? You've 
been on the rigs, waiting for repairs, because something is 
broken or something is frozen. It takes time to fix it. This 
isn't a lab where everybody works in lab coats, where everything 
is clean, and you have heating and air conditioning. I had to 
wait in the fucking cold, so don't tell me it's a long delay, 
sitting at your comfortable chair._

The last was a result of resentment rather than envy. I would 
have been the first to accuse the drilling contractor if I 
thought they were screwing around, since I was at the receiving 
end of the delays. He had no idea. In a way that was normal. The 
Ops guys--I was ostensibly an Ops guy, but had started to think 
and act more like a drilling guy--didn't really get involved with 
the tiny details about how a rig runs. They--well... we--were 
responsible for the technical side, the engineering calculations, 
and looking at the overall picture, and making decisions on the 
problems, and going over the operational steps, discussing them 
with the drilling contractor. The driller then went over the 
operational steps, and took care of the micro-details of each 
operational step. Ops guys were not involved in micromanagement 
such as ordering oil for the engines. That was the responsibility 
of the drilling contractor.

The point is I had gotten involved in the hands-on side of it 
more than I was supposed to be. About eight months ago, there had 
been a labor dispute. The crews went on a slow down. Each shift 
was missing a few guys--sick. Sometimes there were only one or 
two guys showing up for their shift. All the other personnel--the 
foreigners--that were assigned to the rig (like mechanics, 
electricians, etc) took on additional workload. I, on the other 
hand, didn't have much to do. First, because I wasn't qualified 
for doing anything on the rig floor, and the only help I could 
lend was dumping sacks of chemicals while preparing the drilling 
mud, measuring the pipes, and other simple manual labor. Another 
major problem was my contract. It didn't cover the other work and 
that meant I didn't have any insurance coverage in case I had an 
accident. I was covered in case some accident happened, but my 
insurance would be void if I did something like operating 
equipment, or working with the equipment on the rig floor for 
which I wasn't qualified. I was willing to learn and do the work 
on the rig floor. However I wasn't going to risk it. Rig floor 
work looks simple; just heavy labor, but it's potentially 
dangerous, especially for a rank beginner. I knew that.

It was obvious that they could use an extra hand, so I had a 
quick discussion with my boss, and suggested they make an 
addendum to my contract for additional work (for which I retained 
the sole right to refuse anytime I chose to do so) with specific 
insurance and disability coverage. I wasn't going to let the 
Company use those additional work clauses to take advantage of me 
at a later date... especially if I ever had to take a position 
against the company for one reason or another. Later, I heard 
that some people didn't like that clause--me retaining the sole 
right to refuse the particular work added to my contract. Heh! 
Tough shit! I didn't have to offer the help I was offering. 
Instead of saying "Thank you," they were whining. It was probably 
the few assholes in the management--I had stepped on some toes 
several times--and the Legal Department. _Pricks_! A couple 
months after the labor dispute was resolved, I had gotten an 
extra check and a "Thank you," and I think the drilling 
contractor, and my boss might have had a hand in that. But, my 
offer had been attractive. I didn't demand extra pay or anything 
else; I just wanted to have proper coverage for any unfortunate 
eventuality. A few phone calls and faxes between the office and 
the family lawyer, and everything was settled. I worked on the 
rig floor, I worked on the pumps, I helped the rig mechanic and 
the electrician. Basically, I did a lot of the manual work that 
the crews did, getting my hands dirty, and I enjoyed it. Thus, I 
had a different view of things, and developed an appreciation of 
what was really going on. I didn't know everything, but I was 
very much interested in learning. I would never break speed 
records for changing gaskets, or driving a forklift, or handling 
other equipment, but I had done all those things, and more.

I was almost tempted to give the Ops guy a snappy reply, before I 
realized we were on the radio. Just then, the driller tapped me 
on my arm. I shook my head indicating that I wasn't going to do 
anything rash, and he nodded his understanding. In my tired 
state, my patience was wearing thin, and he had noticed that.

_You're a good man, pops. Every other rig in the vicinity that 
tuned into the frequency for their morning report are listening 
in! It would have been rather tacky to let the whole world hear 
the exchange. If we were on the phone... well, that would have 
been something else._

Taking a deep breath, I told him I would be in town in the 
afternoon, and suggested we go over the questions then. I 
followed it with a remark about not wanting to tie up the radio 
traffic discussing a non-critical item. Basically, I was telling 
him to quit nitpicking and move onto something important, like 
getting the reports from other rigs--in a polite manner. He got 
the hint, and since we had covered everything else, he signed 
off, and called up another rig.

"Sorry, chief. I almost blew my top," I said.

"It happens. I don't think it would have been that bad, just 
embarrassing for him. You don't go out of your way to embarrass 
people in public. You're tired, but still managed to remember 
that you were on the radio."

"Yeah, but thanks anyway. And I'll be patient with him when I go 
over the stuff."

"You do that, sonny. Maybe next time they'll be more 
appreciative, and won't start nit-picking."

"I hope so. Some of them think they aren't doing their job if 
they don't ask questions or try to make a point. It gets worse on 
the radio. Once, I had a real prima-donna on the radio."

He nodded with a tired but knowing grin. He had had his share of 
the same people. "I know what you mean. You give it a try in 
private and see if he gets it. Some do, and some don't. When 
you're working in the office, don't forget the field people and 
this experience."

"I don't want to work in the office. But, if I did end up there, 
do you think I would forget?"

"It's a matter of time and keeping in touch with the field hands. 
I doubt you'll forget it, after all you've seen and done, but it 
happens to the best of them."

Yep. More often than not, that was what happened. People forgot 
how it used to be in the field, once they moved to the office. 
The good ones kept visiting the field, and tried not to lose 
touch.

He was busy switching to another frequency to call his office to 
give his report.

"Well, I'm outta here. I'll grab a bite and then it's nap time. 
See you 'round lunch," I said, before leaving the cabin.

The first business of the day was to grab a quick shower. Next, 
the dining room. When I walked in, the cook was busy in the 
kitchen making some eggs and pancakes.

After the usual pleasantries, he asked, "Pancakes with honey?"

_God, no! I don't want any more sugar._

"Nope, just scrambled eggs and sausages. You don't have soup by 
any chance, do you?"

"So, you were the one who raided the fridge, last night?" he 
asked. Every time I raided his kitchen at night, the next morning 
I asked the same question, "Do you have any soup?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I had forgotten to ask for sandwiches and soup last 
night."

"Why didn't you check the dinner cabin? There was some cake, and 
rice pudding in the small fridge. Better than those chocolate 
bars."

_Damn! I didn't think of that. Rice pudding. That would have been 
great._

"What's for lunch?" I asked, as if I didn't know, receiving an 
annoyed look. It usually was steak with potatoes and some 
vegetables. There wasn't much variation. Sometimes he made an 
Irish stew or hot curry, but it was always meat. Well, that was 
to be expected, with a drilling crew. The night shift personnel 
usually had their dinner in the morning, so it was steak, fries 
and fried onions. I had that several times, too, when I had to 
work night and the following day, but it's not something I was 
used to. When you start working late at night and have to 
continue during the day, it was normal to have dinner instead of 
a light breakfast in the morning. I rushed through my breakfast 
and 20 minutes later, I was having a cup of tea. I didn't eat 
much, but that little bit of food eased my hunger, and I was 
getting sleepy.

_Time to hit the sack._



* * * * *



When the alarm clock went off, I barely managed to get myself out 
of bed. A cold shower did help, but I was still groggy. The short 
sleep wasn't enough, I could have gone on for an additional ten 
hours.

_Well, tonight, I could and would sleep better._

For the first three years, I was constantly fighting the memories 
and dreams, especially when I wasn't tired enough to fall asleep. 
Sometimes, I would stay up much of the night, reading or doing 
some paper work or studying. Night operations helped. I could 
catch on my sleep with short naps during the day. The last year, 
it was better. Most of the time I could sleep, but it was uneasy, 
mostly due to the fact that I would be listening to the heartbeat 
of the rig.

A lot of the drilling people suffer from that. Your brain 
recognizes a distinct pattern of sound that defines the 
activities that are taking place outside your cabin. After a 
while, these patterns are filed and catalogued, so you know what 
each means in your subconscious. If the pattern changed, it 
usually indicated a problem. When you're sleeping, your brain is 
still aware of what's going on, and notices the changes in the 
sounds, and wakes you up. Most often than not, a few minutes 
later, you'll hear the knock on the door. Problem! That also acts 
as a positive feedback loop, firming up the conditioning. The 
most distinct pattern is when everything suddenly goes quiet when 
you expect the regular squeak of the brake while drilling. Those 
are the times every driller and engineer hates. If you wake up to 
that, you better get your ass out of the bed, and start getting 
dressed. Mr. Murphy and a bunch of his relatives are probably 
paying an unscheduled visit that will turn your night into 
something of a major hell. No need to wait for somebody to knock 
on the door. The whole experience was Pavlovian, and 
unfortunately, it made for a restless sleep. I guess the only 
time I had a good sleep on the rig-site was when I was tired and 
dead to the world.

After the shower, I packed my suitcase, and stored my rig related 
paraphernalia (boots, coverall, thermals, etc) in the closet. I 
caught my counterpart at lunch, and gave him a quick summary of 
what had been done, and what was coming next while we ate. Back 
in the office, I gave him the handover notes, and answered his 
questions. Then we went over the well program and the progress 
made until now. There wasn't much. He just had to read the 
reports of the past few days, and he had plenty of time to go 
over them before they commenced drilling later in the night. The 
next few days they would be drilling, so basically he was ready, 
and I was ready to go to town to catch my flight.

After putting my suitcase in the car, I did my rounds to say 
goodbye to the people, and hit the road to the accompaniment of 
Chris Rea on the stereo. As he was singing _Looking for the 
Summer_ my mind was busy with my vacation plans, which route to 
take, what towns to check out and so on. I was planning to spend 
most of my time in the south coast, after listening to the 
weather forecast, with a short visit to the west coast to visit 
my beach. As I had expected there was quite a bit of temperature 
difference between the two coasts.

_It will be a welcome difference to drive along the coast. On one 
side the Mediterranean, and on the other side the mountains, the 
air filled with the smell of pine trees. After the dust and sandy 
roads here, and the desolate scenery, finally I will see 
something nice._



* * * * *



Back in town, I went to the town center, and checked out the 
jewelry stores. In one shop, I finally found what I was looking 
for. Instead of silver, I ended up buying a platinum plated 
necklace, handcrafted with a very delicate design. It looked 
great, and I hoped my sis would like it as well. My next stop was 
the barber shop. I got my hair cut, and my beard and mustache 
trimmed. When I looked at the mirror, I had the shock of my life. 
Around my temples there was a distinct grey and white strip. With 
the long hair I hadn't noticed it, but when the hair was cut 
short...

_Jeeez. When did that happen? I'm just 25. My dad had his gray 
hair when he was 37. Shit! Mom and Sis will definitely notice 
it._

I looked five if not ten years older than I was, especially with 
the beard and mustache. I thought about getting it shaved off, 
but that would have looked ridiculous with all the suntan I had. 
My eyes were bloodshot, and sunken from lack of sleep. I hate to 
admit it, but I looked bad. On the way to the office I 
contemplated postponing my flight, and getting a goodnight's 
sleep, before going back home to see my parents. But in the end, 
I just didn't want to waste my time here. I missed good home 
cooking--_All right!_ I miss Sis, and the folks back home as 
well--and I wanted to get on with the program, and have my 
vacation.

When I walked into the office, the secretary gave me a strange 
look. I knew what she was thinking after I had had a good look at 
myself on the mirror.

_Don't say a word!_

"You look... umm... tired. Was it that bad?" she asked.

_Heh! . I look tired? Understatement of the year... Lady, I look 
like shit!_

I felt like that as well. I was running on pure nerves, and the 
excitement of getting the hell out of here.

"It got busy frequently, and I had only four hours rest in the 
last 37 hours or so," I replied, trying to form a smile. I don't 
know if I pulled off a smile or a grimace.

"I better get you a cup of coffee. You look like you could do 
with one," she said with a sympathetic smile.

"Ah, thanks, but no coffee please. If there's tea or something 
cold, that's OK."

Few minutes later, she returned with a big mug of tea. We chatted 
for a short while and she gave me my tickets. That done, I went 
looking for the Ops guy, to go over the stuff he wanted to 
discuss. It didn't take long to cover the various points, and I 
explained the problems patiently without getting sarcastic. 
However, I hinted that he wasn't there in the office to nitpick, 
but deal with serious problems and give us technical support. I 
don't know if he got it, but I was hopeful. I handed over the 
electronic copies of the files on diskettes, so they could keep 
their computers updated with the information. Unfortunately, the 
com lines were not reliable to do it via modem, so every time 
somebody was heading to the town, they would have copies of files 
from our computer on the rig-site on diskettes, and drop them at 
the office.

He offered to drive me to the airport for my flight, and I 
accepted.



* * * * *



The waiting room at the airport wasn't crowded. It was a mid-
week, late afternoon flight, so that was normal. This was a small 
airport, with two strips, and the airplane was parked some 
distance away from the gates, with the fuel truck next to it.

I was starting to have a queasy feeling in my stomach, which was 
strange. I enjoyed flying and I wasn't afraid of air travel. At 
first, I thought something I had eaten was giving me the problem, 
but that wasn't it. This was more like a signal, a quiet alarm 
bell going off--little flutters in my stomach. I tried to figure 
out what exactly was causing the signals. The more I tried, the 
more evasive it got. I was giving serious consideration to 
skipping the flight, thinking perhaps, I shouldn't be on a plane 
that might... but that didn't help.

I let my mind wander instead of listening to what my body was 
trying to tell me, so I could take an indirect peek, and 
understand the nature of the signals, and the possible cause of 
them. After a few deep breaths, and loosening my muscles, I 
managed to get a better read. It was only little flutters in my 
belly, as if expecting a surprise. I didn't have the muscle 
ticks, or the tingling at the back of my neck, or the ants 
crawling on my spine. There wasn't a sense of unease, and I 
didn't have the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that 
told me something wasn't right. It wasn't a danger signal, just a 
small blip; sort of an expectation for something to happen--like 
a premonition.

That piqued my curiosity, but I couldn't figure out what the 
surprise might be. Every time I took a look at the airplane, my 
heart was skipping a beat, and that was strange. If there was 
going to be an accident, I would have the danger signals. My body 
was telling me, there was no danger. I had come to trust my 
instincts on those matters, as they had served me well countless 
times before. While I was busy trying to figure out this puzzle, 
they called the flight, and people started to head for the apron 
through the open doors.

As I made my way to the plane, behind the other passengers, the 
flutters increased in frequency, and that gave me a pause, so I 
slowed down my pace.

_There's something in that plane! What can it be?_

_What's usually in the plane?_

_The cleaning crew already left, so... the pilots... the flight 
crew..._

_Flight crew? Flight attendants..._

_Shiit! No... can it be?_

The last I remembered, she was a flight attendant and flying the 
international routes. She could be on a domestic flight, but...

_This isn't even a major domestic route. That can't be..._

As soon as I had hit on the thought, my flutters were replaced by 
a tugging feeling. As I slowed my pace further, I went to 
overdrive, checking everything I felt.

_Yeah. It feels like she's here! There's no mistaking that. I 
know this feeling._

I knew this feeling... spinning out of control... the tug... the 
pull... every time she had been around... ever since that very 
first moment I had seen her... it had been there... always... I 
had felt that in my belly... even when my heart ignored the 
pull...

_Jesus! Out of hundreds of flights, among major domestic routes, 
could she be on this minor route, on this particular flight? What 
are the chances of that? Why? Why now?_

I faltered. There were still some people walking ahead of me, and 
some on the stairs boarding the plane. I stopped, and taking off 
my shades, spent a few minutes cleaning them with the hem of my 
shirt, while trying to calm myself. If she was there, I didn't 
want to face her without being ready in some way. I went through 
my routine to center myself. While taking deep breaths, I 
imagined the beach.

_Stepping into the water, and feeling the cold on my ankles. My 
feet trying to get a good purchase on the soft sandy floor, 
becoming anchors. Sinking, sinking into the ground. The tug of 
water. Moving with the water. Fluid, swaying. The waves wetting 
the rolled up legs of my jeans. My jeans getting heavy, pulling 
on my hips. Feeling each wave tug at my hips. Sinking more to the 
ground. Catching the rhythm of the waves. Matching my breath to 
each pull and push. Empty and full. Deep in the belly. Pull and 
push. The fluid motion of water. The great mass behind it. Deep 
in the belly. The power in the mass. Absorbing and filling it 
inside my belly. Calm. Becoming one with the water. Calm. 
Becoming the sea. I am the water._

The flutters in my stomach ceased, being replaced with a warm 
feeling of energy. I resumed my walk with sure steps, feeling 
connected to the ground in some inexplicable manner.

_I hope she is not he--_

_Why am I lying to myself? I-I... I missed her. I still miss 
her._

That admission filled me with unease, and I felt the tug that I 
had always felt when she was around me, like the oceans felt the 
pull of the moon, like the tidal waves. It was there, and was 
getting urgent, insistent, threatening to overcome the calm and 
peace. It was very distracting.

_I guess it's been too long._

There was a certain comfort even in the chaos it caused in me, 
perhaps a comfort born out of familiarity. Worse, there was the 
longing; the longing to be sucked into the crazy maelstrom, 
swirling and spinning uncontrolled, letting go of all control. It 
had always been such a dichotomy: my struggle for control, and 
the influence she exerted on me, pulling me into chaos. How she 
felt in my arms, the feel of her body, her hot juncture pressed 
against my leg as we danced. Her fingers busy at my neck, with my 
hair, as we kissed. And how she had exerted the same pull without 
a touch, as if we were connected by an invisible cord. I had 
never been able to fend off her influence successfully. After all 
this time, those feelings were rising to the surface, trying to 
answer the call of the _Siren's Song_.

_God, it's been long... so long since I've felt this... I missed 
it... but she couldn't be here, could she? And, I'm so tired. I 
don't know if I could handle it. I've never been able to. Will it 
be any different this time?_

When I stepped inside the plane, I saw the first flight 
attendant, standing by the galley. There was another on my left 
towards the pilot's cabin. Taking off my shades, I turned right 
towards the passenger cabin. About mid-way, another flight 
attendant was busy with the overhead compartment, picking up a 
pillow for a passenger.

_There she is!_

For a moment I considered putting my shades back on, but decided 
against it.

_Why hide behind anything... we never had to before... did we?_

She hadn't seen me yet, as I made my way looking for my seat. A 
quick scan revealed that the plane was more than half empty, with 
most of the passengers in their seats in the front half, except a 
few who were busy placing their briefcases, personal belongings 
to the overboard compartments. As I neared her, she finished 
helping the passenger, and straightened up, turning to face the 
corridor to help the remaining passengers.

That's when our eyes met.

_She's changed. Why did she cut her hair? Short hair doesn't suit 
her. She... she looks old and... tired. Too much make up... She 
never used so much make up before..._

At first, she was surprised to see me there, standing and looking 
at her. Suddenly her face lit up with a smile--as if she was 
genuinely pleased to see me.

"What a pleasant surprise!" she said.

_Is it?_

"Hi," I said, not able to respond in any other way, even though I 
had prepared myself to face her. That warm smile, the look in her 
eyes, and the melodic sound of her voice cut through my carefully 
erected defenses. For a brief moment I wondered if that's how it 
felt when you were cut with a katana--at first no pain, then an 
intense searing heat that overtook all other senses.

"You look tired. Let's get you comfortable," she said, while 
leading me to the seats towards the very back of the cabin, away 
from all the other passengers.

I could see several heads turn in our direction, their eyes 
following us, wondering about the treatment I was getting from 
this pretty flight attendant, but I was too busy trying to 
collect myself to be concerned about such things.

She showed me to one of the seats, and leaning, she asked, "Once 
we take off, I have to help the others with the service. Do you 
need anything until then?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you. It's... it's nice to see you."

"It is nice to see you, too. Get comfortable. After the service 
is finished, we can chat... It's been too long," she said with 
another warm smile, before leaving me to help her colleagues with 
pre-flight preparations.

I found myself watching her departure. The almost sinuous quality 
to her moves in whatever she did, reminding me of things I didn't 
want to think about. I was losing the battle I had been fighting, 
and already felt as if I was falling into a deep abyss, pulled by 
invisible strings. The timing couldn't have been worse, when I 
was so tired. Now, this unexpected encounter was threatening me, 
and what little I had accomplished in fighting my past. I was 
hanging onto the last reserves inside me to keep myself centered, 
but it was a slippery and treacherous slope. As soon as I tried 
to recall that beach and the sea, other images started to force 
themselves in, breaking my concentration. The scenes when she was 
part of the beach, and of me... I picked the airline magazine, 
knowing I would not read a single word or pay attention to even 
the pictures. Once we were airborne, the in-flight service 
started and--since the plane was half-empty--it was over a half 
hour later.

Her colleagues took the two seats at the very back of the cabin, 
just few rows behind me, and I saw her making her way to me. She 
motioned me to take the window seat, and then moved into my seat.

_She's still beautiful... her smile is still warm as her eyes... 
how could she? Is this an act? And, she looks tired and old... 
older than her 23 years... Where did that 19 year old girl go?_

I didn't even try to give a comforting grin. I was just too 
confused. She gave me a long, inquisitive look, and hesitated 
before speaking up.

"Are you... are you angry at me?" she asked hesitantly.

_Angry... at you? Why should I be angry? Do I look angry?_

_Maybe I do... I'm used to being left alone, so I don't notice 
it. But perhaps, that's what people think or see... an angry 
young man. As your friends once said... angriest of all the angry 
young men... Yeah, I was angry at the time... angry at you, maybe 
a bit... but mostly angry at myself._

"You _are_ angry at me!" she said.

I had taken too long to reply, and she had drawn her conclusion. 
I wasn't angry at her, but didn't know how to tell her or make 
her see it.

"Do you remember how you trusted me? You know I never told you a 
lie..." I said.

She nodded.

"Then, please trust me when I say I'm not angry with you or at 
you. There was a time, I was angry at you... a very short time... 
but I wasn't really angry at you, and I'm not now... It's 
just..." I said. Then with a tired sigh, I gave up, "It's 
difficult to explain."

She spent a few minutes mulling it over in her mind, thinking 
about what I said and not said, but her eyes never left my face a 
moment.

"You've changed... changed a lot," she said, softly, her voice 
tinged with something I couldn't put my finger on... something 
like sadness, but not exactly.

_As you did, baby girl... as you did, apparently. Where is that 
carefree laughter, those bright eyes? The wild 19 year old? You 
look older than your years. Why? It was only a few years ago... 
four and a half years to be precise._

"You've not changed much. You've cut your hair," I replied.

"It's easier to keep. So, you are going home now?"

"Not really. Just a few days visiting parents and Sis, and then 
I'll take a vacation."

"Isn't it a bit late for vacation? It's mid October."

"I work an unusual schedule. A couple of weeks work, couple of 
weeks off. So you could say I work only half the year... 
roughly."

"It must be nice... but also tiring, if they allow so much time 
off," she said giving me a critical look.

"You don't have to mince words. I know how I look at the 
moment... Yes, it can get tiring at times," I replied.

_But I like to be tired... I like to be busy... It helped... It 
helps... most of the time._

"Ummm... don't have much time left. This is a short flight, so I 
need to get back to work. I have about an hour till my next 
flight. Would you like to catch a cup of coffee with me when we 
land?" she asked.

I grimaced at the thought of coffee.

_I don't want to hear about coffee. I had enough coffee to last 
me a lifetime!_

She must have taken my expression the wrong way, because she 
hastily added, "Unless you have other plans..."

"No, I don't have any plans. I was thinking about coffee. I think 
I had more than enough coffee the last few days," I said with a 
small smile.

"Oh!"

"I'd love to join you for a drink."

"OK. I'll catch you at the baggage claim area then," and with 
that she stood up and joined her colleagues who were getting 
ready for the last minute checks on passengers. Just then, the 
pilot announced that we would be landing in ten minutes.



* * * * *



Twenty minutes later, I was waiting for my suitcase at the 
baggage claim area when she showed up, pulling a small overnight 
bag on rollers. We waited for my suitcase to appear on the 
baggage carousel, both of us lost in thought. It wasn't uneasy, 
but it wasn't comfortable either. After an eternity of waiting, I 
had my suitcase, and we made our way to one of the 
cafeteria/bars, and found an empty table.

Even though I had had enough of it, I ordered coffee, which 
brought an amused smile and a raised eyebrow from her.

"One more or less won't hurt anymore than it already had," I 
said, shrugging my shoulders.

For a split second, her eyes tightened, and she froze, and with 
an effort she recovered herself. I didn't understand her reaction 
at all. Why would she react like that?

"Did I say something wrong?" I asked her.

My mind was running a hundred miles an hour, going over the scene 
from a moment ago, trying to figure out, and then I stumbled on 
it.

"I didn't mean anything... I'm sorry. I was talking about 
coffee," I mumbled.

"It's OK! I know you were talking about coffee," she said. Then 
reaching out with her hand she put it on top of my hand.

If I hadn't seen her move, I would have reacted, but even then, 
it took a lot to steel myself for her touch. I felt that 
invisible cord tug, tug hard to pull me into the abyss, almost 
turning my insides to water.

_You don't know what you're doing to me girl... or maybe you 
do..._

"I never wanted to... I didn't want to hurt you," she said, her 
eyes luminous, almost moist. "You were the best friend I ever 
had."

"I know. I understood that when you first said it," I replied.

"Maybe you did... maybe not," she replied. Her eyes kept 
searching my face, trying to determine if I did.

_And what friends we had been. Friends don't dance the way we 
did... or kiss... or make lo--_

_Don't go there. It's past! It's over._

"You always tried to tell me before I made my mistakes. Sometimes 
I knew it... sometimes I didn't, until later. But you were right. 
We both knew it. And you still tried to help. Unlike others. 
That's what I valued most... your friendship," she said gently.

"But..." I said, and then I changed my mind. I didn't want to get 
into what I knew was still going on. I knew she had changed, but 
not much. I could see it in her eyes. She just couldn't stay 
alone. She hated being alone. She always needed to be with 
someone. She always wanted attention, if she couldn't get love. 
Yet, she turned her back to the ones that really loved her.

"But..." she said, urging me to continue with an insistent stare.

_Don't make me say it... It's going to hurt you, and you know I 
don't want to hurt you. Don't you get it? Whatever you do, I love 
you. And I don't want to hurt you._

"People change. It's what happens given time," I said. That 
wasn't what I had in mind though. I just said it to keep her from 
pursuing that particular line, but she knew me well.

"You were a good friend. Are you not a _friend_... anymore? Was 
that what you were going to say?"

I know my eyes were almost pleading her not to go there, but she 
kept her gaze steady. I tried desperately another route. "You 
know how I felt about you. How can you trust my judgment, when 
it's colored by personal feelings, involvement?"

"Because that's not you," she said, giving a squeeze to my hand. 
"You can't protect me from myself. You think it will hurt me, but 
_this_... hurts more!"

_Damn you... damn you..._

With reluctance, I said, "Let me guess... Instead of the usual 
guys, you're with a pilot... Late thirties, early forties... 
perhaps still married or divorced?"

She lowered her eyes in answer.

"And you feel secure, because he clings to you. Now, you don't 
have to worry about being cast aside or being alone. What's more, 
you can keep him in line... with all the young guys around you, 
he has every reason to be jealous and pay attention to you, if he 
doesn't want to lose you. You stroke his ego, and he pays 
attention to you. He might even be in love with you."

She nodded.

"But do you love him? Don't answer me. I don't need to know the 
answer. You need to know the answer for yourself," I said, too 
tired to continue.

_You have hardened... some part of you is gone... you've changed, 
but now, you have become more of a user. And still, you let 
yourself be used even if you don't recognize that. What happened 
to that 19 year old who knew something about love? But you were 
already hurt, and lost some part of you even then, didn't you?_

_I was too early to be able to recognize it, and too late to 
help... really help, that time. I realized that later, but then 
it was... it was over!_

_And now?_

Her earlier wildness was just a show. When she was like that, 
people flocked to her, but it was a tiring performance. Now, a 
couple of years older, she knew she couldn't keep it up 
indefinitely. Not with the kind of work she was doing. It was 
already tough enough, the irregular hours, the different places. 
I suspected the usual nightlife and partying that went on with 
the flight crews gave more than enough opportunity to keep part 
of her wild ways, but I have my doubts whether she was as wild as 
she was at 19. I had made it my business to learn some things 
about flight crews and their lives when I heard she had joined an 
airline as a flight attendant. Her tired and older look hidden 
behind the heavy layer of makeup confirmed my suspicions, as her 
nonverbal responses to my guesses. She had never used makeup when 
I first knew her, just a little bit of lipstick or gloss. Still, 
in all that, I could feel the pain, and hurt, and the loneliness 
she felt. I could feel the pull of all her emotions, and I was 
losing my balance. I tried to take couple of deep breaths to 
clear up my mind and calm myself, but it was a loosing battle.

_The innocence lost..._

She hadn't been innocent then, not in any sense of the word--
including the biblical sense--but there had been a little piece 
of innocence. Now, I suspected that was gone, too.

_What a loss... what a waste... are you ever going to find some 
happiness?_

She broke the silence. "You're right on most accounts. This time 
it's different though. He loves me, and it's comforting."

_Oh, God! The question is, do you love him? Are you happy? You 
used to know what love is. You used to know how to love, if what 
I had seen wasn't an act... if what we did, what we had 
wasn't..._

I was stunned by her statement, and her ignorance. I looked in 
her eyes, trying to find some hidden answers there, and she 
averted her eyes.

_Why? What are you hiding? You don't really believe what you 
said, do you? Then, why did you say it?_

The sadness I felt was overwhelming me. I was too tired to be 
able to deal with it, or control my emotions effectively. I 
wanted to move to some distance and find a private place to pull 
myself together. Hastily, I said, "Excuse me. I think all that 
coffee caught up with me," and left to use the facilities.

I was ready to cry, and I hadn't cried in many years, even when I 
was a young child I had rarely cried. Now, I was fighting very 
hard the urge to cry. Once in the rest room, I washed my face, 
hoping the cold water would help, but it didn't. As I 
concentrated on my breathing, I tried to recall a good memory. 
Not of the beach, because she had been part of that beach for a 
while, and I didn't want her to intrude and break my 
concentration, but some place else, where I had found beauty, 
comfort, and peace; where she hadn't been a part of the scenery. 
I remembered a trip I had made to a small town by the 
Mediterranean coast, before I went to the boot camp. A couple of 
miles outside the town there was a beautiful picnic area with a 
small waterfall, feeding a large pond. It was one of the nicest, 
most beautiful places I had ever visited. I pulled the memory of 
that place; sitting by the pond, and watching the waterfall, 
listening to the sound of birds, and crickets, feeling at peace.

I started to calm down, but the urge to cry didn't leave me. 
However, I couldn't bring myself to cry, so I did the next best 
thing. I let the waterfall cry the tears I couldn't. I knew I had 
a hangup about crying... something about weakness. 
Intellectually, I knew it was a natural reaction of the body to 
extreme emotion or other stimuli, and the body needed to have 
some release. I wondered if this little episode would eventually 
catch up with me, later on. However, at that moment, I just 
didn't want to return to the table with any traces of having 
cried, thus I sought the alternative, and it helped.

Back at the table, I had a semblance of control. I took a sip 
from my cup, and grimaced at the taste of cold coffee. "I think 
I'll get orange juice or something. You want something?"

"Juice is fine," she replied.

After picking up the glasses, I returned to the table. She was 
lost in thought, her eyes distant, and I didn't like the way she 
looked. I just didn't know what to do to comfort her, so I took 
her hand in mine, and when she looked up, I tried a smile. "Where 
are you flying?"

"Tonight is my last flight. Tomorrow is Rome, with an overnight 
stay."

"Nice. So, you'll have time to do some sight seeing."

"Yeah. It will be my tenth time there. Well, with an overnight 
stay that is. We usually make a short stop there. What about 
you?"

"Nothing concrete. Few days seeing the parents, and my sis, and I 
need the car checked. After that, I don't know. Probably the 
South coast. I might drive up to the Aegean coastline as well."

"Have you been to..." she hesitated for a moment, then continued, 
"to the summer place?"

"Once. A few years ago. In November, when I had a week off after 
boot camp. Before I got transferred to my new unit."

"November? That place?" she asked, with a quizzical look.

"Yep. It was on my way."

"What did you do? It must have been cold."

"It was, when I arrived... late in the evening. I had bought a 
small bottle of cognac and some sandwiches, so they helped... 
with two heavy blankets. Next day was great though."

"Really?" she asked, curious and a bit skeptical, but somehow 
relaxed.

"Oh, yeah. It was sunny, and warm. Went to the town, and looked 
up a friend. We went to the little island for a bite and a mid-
day drink... Ouzo and some fresh fish. God, how I had missed that 
stuff, when I was in the boot-camp. The next day, I took a bus to 
my unit," I said with a laugh, remembering that beautiful day and 
how I had gotten tipsy with a small bottle of Ouzo.

"It must have been something," she commented, giving me an amused 
look.

I realized how we seemed to settle into the conversation, as we 
had done so many times before. For the first time, the uneasiness 
had left me, and I guess she was feeling comfortable as well from 
the way she responded.

"Was that too obvious?"

That earned me a genuine laughter, and she said, "Kinda," making 
me laugh again.

Then her expression softened, as if she was getting ready to say 
something, but then changed her mind, and kept smiling. For a 
moment, there was that girl from a few years ago... the same 
smile, the same laughter, the same soft eyes. My heart ached... 
something fierce.

_God, I missed this. Missed hearing your laughter, and laughing 
with you._

"I missed your laughter, and smile. You should smile more. It 
suits you," I said, instinctively.

"You always said that."

"But it's the truth. You don't believe me?"

"Thank you. You're still... a good friend," she said, then waited 
as if expecting a response.

_Don't... don't do this to me. What do you mean a friend? A 
friend or a lover? I can't be either. You've changed, and lost 
something, along the way. I've changed._

_I want that girl back. I loved that girl and still love her. But 
she is gone, isn't she?_

_I don't know if I love this woman sitting across me. Not when 
you're not sure you mean it. I'm just barely managing. I don't 
know if I can survive a second time._

"I-I... I try to be... but I know... I haven't always been..."

"Don't say _that_!" she cut me off heatedly, then more gently, 
repeated it again. "Don't ever say that."

_Why? In the end, I quit trying. Maybe I could have tried harder. 
Sure, you didn't listen, or help the situation, but..._

_I burned the bridge. Did I not?_

"Thank you, but--" I said, but she cut me off gently with a shake 
of her head, not letting me finish what I wanted to say.

"You did the right thing. At least, one of us knew it was the 
right thing," she said.

_Huh? Right thing? Breaking up was the right thing, instead of 
fighting for what we seemed to have?_

"I'm not sure if any of us knew what the right thing was," I 
replied, my mind taking a stroll in the past, taking an inventory 
of all the little things we had shared and done.

"I wasn't ready for a commitment, and you saw it," she reminded 
gently. "You saw... what I was like..."

"Why are you putting yourself down? I know what I had seen... 
what I felt... Was I wrong in assuming you felt the same?"

She gave me a pained look before lowering her gaze to the table, 
and picked up her glass. "I told you then, I wasn't in love," she 
said before taking a sip.

_You mean what we did was just a... fuck? Nothing more?_

_That cannot be. I had seen your eyes. How happy and content you 
looked. It wasn't just good sex. We were connected. I know what a 
one-night stand is. That wasn't a one-night stand or a casual 
fuck._

_Why did you take me to your bed? Why do you keep denying it? You 
denied it then, and you're still denying it._

I jogged my memory going over the times we had been together. 
Walking along the beach... the long talks in the evening... how 
we held each other as we danced... how she kissed and touched 
me... making love... and how she changed later, growing distant 
and pushing me away...

"I didn't know what I was doing. I'm sorry that I hurt you," she 
said.

_At least I had some happy moments. I could say I had loved. 
That's more than some people had or could say..._

"Why? I'm not sorry, and you didn't hurt me," I replied.

She gave me a sad smile. "You are kind... you shouldn't dwell on 
the past. One day a girl will be very lucky to find you. If you 
don't know that yet, I know it."

_Well... there was that girl, once... and... there's that woman 
who might find her way one day..._

As the thought ran through my mind, I knew it was wishful 
thinking, and when my eyes settled on her, she shook her head 
slightly, as if reading my mind--almost saying "don't go there."

"I didn't want to dredge up the past. It's just..." I tried to 
say, but couldn't continue.

"It's been a long time. I know," she said, with a soft, 
sympathetic smile. "I needed to talk as much as you did. I still 
remember how we used to sit and talk. I'm glad we had this 
chance."

I saw her check her watch, and surreptitiously checked mine.

"You need to go?" I asked.

She nodded, then reached out with her hand caressing my cheek. 
"Get rid off that beard and moustache, will you? It doesn't suit 
you," she said with an affectionate smile.

I caught her hand, and brought her palm to my lips giving a kiss. 
"I will... if you let your hair grow long," I replied, with a 
smile.

She laughed, her eyes bright with joy. She knew I loved her long 
hair, even when it was stringy with sweat, after we finished...

We both stood up, and she moved into my arms, hugging each other. 
Her hand moved to my neck, caressing, and playing with my hair, 
pulling me for a kiss, and I leaned in instinctively. At the last 
moment we both realized what we were about to do, and froze for a 
long second, our eyes locking. Then she gave a kiss to my cheek, 
and I tightened my arms around her. I knew she didn't want to 
kiss. Not because we were in a public place, but perhaps it would 
have been too much, at least for me, even though I longed to kiss 
her one more time... after so long...

Resting her cheek against my chest, she let her body sag, hanging 
on my neck. How I missed the feel of her, of her body in my arms. 
I don't know how long we stayed like that rocking each other 
gently, remembering happier moments. Reluctantly, she let go of 
my neck, and stepped back.

She tried to compose her face, but her eyes were big, and 
luminous. "Take care of yourself, will you?" she said.

"You know I will. You make sure you do too, OK?"

"I will. Don't worry about me... and... thank you," she said.

When I tried to help with her bag to accompany her to the flight-
crew lounge, she waved me away, saying, "It would be better if 
you stayed here." With that she took the handle of her overnight 
bag. Then, with a tight smile, she said, "I don't like 
goodbyes... Till next time?"

I nodded. "Till next time."

As she walked away, I whispered after her, "and I love you... 
too."

She had taken only a few steps, when she stopped and turned to 
take one last look, with a happy smile on her face. For a moment, 
I wondered how much of that smile was for my benefit and how much 
of it was for her. "Friends?" she asked.

"Always," I said, blowing a kiss with a smile I could hardly 
manage.

I watched her turn and walk away to the crew lounge, with a heavy 
heart. That invisible cord between us was pulling and tugging at 
me. It was still there. Suddenly, I felt drained, and sunk into 
the chair, not able to stand there to watch her disappear among 
the crowds. I knew this was the end. Maybe one day she would 
change, but it was already too late... Time had a way of bringing 
on the finality of a situation, and that was what I felt.

_Is this closure?_

I didn't know. If this was closure, why did I still feel her 
presence, and the invisible cord that bound us?

I lit a cigarette, not wanting to head home yet. I went over the 
conversation we had. There was still something, if I was reading 
her correctly. Yet, she was unwilling to pursue it or let me 
pursue. That was clear. She had made that very clear. I didn't 
hurt, not as much as I had a few years ago. I was just sad. We 
were like two celestial objects with different trajectories. At 
one point in time, our paths had crossed for a brief period, 
before moving away. The strange thing was, the gravitational pull 
was still there, as strong as before. It didn't feel like a 
goodbye. It felt more like I was attending the burial ceremony. 
Perhaps that was true; that 19 year old girl with the bright 
smile, carefree laughter, and soft eyes was dead. She had been 
already a victim of time and youthful stupidity then, and now...

Was she gone forever, or was there still a small piece left 
inside her? I didn't know, and I was too tired to be able to 
think clearly, so I let it go. Maybe some other time I would go 
over it, if ever. I just wanted to bask in the aurora she had 
left at the table, absorb and make it a permanent part of my 
memories. After all this was a goodbye--or a funeral. Right on 
cue, the soft music that was coming from the PA speakers changed 
to _Who Wants to Live Forever_ by Queen.

_Thanks Freddie! I owe you one._



* * * * *







CHAPTER - 3: Angels Watching Over



I don't know how long I sat there... a half hour... an hour. It 
was getting late, and I needed to head home, but I couldn't bring 
myself to leave the table--even after her presence faded away. 
Eventually, I marshaled enough strength to get myself off the 
chair. Towing my suitcase on its rollers, I walked to the main 
hall with the view of the aprons. For some reason I wanted to 
linger in this place. I didn't want to admit it, but I was 
scared; scared that if I stepped out of this building, I would 
lose my soul. Turn into just an empty carcass, wandering 
aimlessly... a mindless creature that would fade away... in time.

Looking out the panoramic windows, I watched the planes taking 
off and landing, but my eyes were not really seeing much. I was 
gazing at the past. Was it my stubborn side that didn't want to 
let it go, or was I not ready to come to terms with... with loss? 
For almost five years, she had been a part of me, however much I 
had tried to forget her... or convince myself that it was over. 
And now, this encounter brought home that I had never let go of 
her... she was, still, very much a part...

I was in a bubble, cut off from my surroundings, enveloped by her 
aurora, the past, and how she felt in my arms a while ago. What's 
more, for a brief period, the emptiness inside me had been filled 
with the warmth of her smile, her laughter, and all the other 
feelings she had evoked in me. Even the sadness I had felt during 
our conversation had been a welcome relief from the constant 
emptiness, or the anger that had been part of me for so long. 
Now, it was back to emptiness. I didn't have the energy or the 
inclination to muster anger, or any other emotion. I felt like a 
ship without any wind behind its sails, cast adrift, lost in the 
middle of the ocean, without a port of call.

This wasn't closure, contrary to any notion I might have or cling 
to.

"Excuse me... Excuse me... Sir?"

I heard a female voice far away, calling out, intruding...

"Sir? Are you all right?"

_Was somebody talking to me?_

Then, I felt a hand touch my arm, followed by an insistent and 
concerned, "Are you all right?"

As I broke out of my haze, I saw a woman in uniform, standing by 
my side. My mind was sluggish, but eventually I recognized the 
airline uniform. When my eyes settled on her face, she looked 
familiar, but I couldn't place where I had seen her or recall a 
name.

"I'm sorry... What did you say?" I asked, struggling to pull 
myself together, and get my bearings.

"Are you all right? Do you need a doctor or something?" she 
asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"I-I... I'm all right... Do I know you?" I blurted.

She hesitated for a moment, giving me a quizzical look, then 
decided to answer. "I was on the flight."

Drawing a blank look from me, she elaborated. "I was one of the 
flight attendants on your flight."

"Ahhh... That's why you looked familiar..."

My mind skipped a gear, and I was puzzled why she would be here, 
when...

"You don't have a flight?" I asked.

"No. My flight was cancelled, so I get to spend the night here."

"Aahh..."

_Your flight is cancelled... Is she..._

The wheels started to turn faster, and I debated whether to ask 
her about that. Before I could come to a decision, she asked, 
"Can we take a seat there?" pointing at the row of seats a few 
meters away from where we were standing.

Without waiting for a response, she gently guided us there.

After we took our seat, I remembered to introduce myself. "I'm 
sorry. Where are my manners... Mitchell Tanner."

"That's OK. You were, pre-occupied... Dana Conor," she replied 
pleasantly.

I was starting to feel a headache come, as if my tiredness wasn't 
enough. I closed my eyes, rubbing them, massaging my temples. 
When I felt the tension leave, I opened my eyes to find her 
watching me.

"I'm sorry... I'm pretty beat up... I guess it shows," I offered 
as a way of explanation.

She just waved it off as if to say 'it's all right,' but kept 
watching me. She waited patiently as I tried to gather a 
semblance of myself. Once I felt a bit more human, I was curious 
about her. A thousand questions rushed in, all at once: what was 
she doing here, why did she think I needed help, where was...

I guess it must have showed on my face, so she said, "I was on my 
way to the exit, when I saw you standing there, and recognized 
you from the flight. You know what happened on the flight... my 
colleague was paying extra attention to you, so it was kind of 
hard not to recognize you."

I nodded. "I guess... Pretty unusual wasn't it?"

"It happens, but not very frequently."

"So what made you..." I prompted, my curiosity getting the better 
of me.

She was reluctant to answer, and I could see she felt 
uncomfortable.

"I understand... We just met, and don't know each other. And I 
think I have an idea how I look at the moment," I said with a 
sigh.

"You... You were like a statue, cut out of stone... I couldn't 
see if you were breathing. I thought, maybe I should call for 
some medical help."

"That bad, eh?"

She nodded, concern written on her face. However, she kept her 
curiosity in check, not wanting to intrude. In a way, it was a 
strange situation. She might know I was a friend of her 
colleague, but she didn't know me.

"You seem to be OK now, are you?" she asked, breaking the 
silence.

"I guess... I was..." I tried to say, but my mind was preoccupied 
by the thoughts of _her_, if she was still here...

"Do you mind if I smoke?" she asked.

"Not at all... I'm sorry, I didn't ask, but I am not holding you 
up, am I? I am sorry if I caused you any concern," I replied, 
while lighting her cigarette.

"It's all right. Don't worry about it," she replied with a short 
wave of her hand dismissing my concern. Then, with a smile she 
added, "We help passengers, and you are in an airport."

I couldn't help but smile. She was good at what she was doing. 
"Thank you. I really appreciate it," I said, lighting a cigarette 
myself.

I was starting to feel more comfortable in her presence, and that 
was surprising considering we didn't know each other. Somehow, 
she had managed to create a relaxing atmosphere, and I was 
debating seriously how I could ask the questions I had in my 
mind... of a complete stranger.

"Umm... She has..." she said.

When I looked at her, she continued. "She left an hour ago on her 
flight. I was assigned to another flight, which was cancelled 
later."

"I see."

_Well, she's gone! What were you going to do if she was still 
around? Go after her?_

Could I have? Would I? I didn't know... She was gone, and the 
only thing I felt was desolation... a sense of being lost. 
Completely lost. I just wanted her by my side. For the first time 
in many years, I felt a desperate need for her presence--the 
likes of which I had rarely felt before. And that scared me. I 
had always been independent.

"Mitchell?"

"Hmm..."

"Mitchell?" she called out gently, trying to get my attention.

I tried to fight off the desperation, still lost in the 
troublesome maze of my mind, chasing endless thoughts and 
questions. I felt her hand on my arm.

When I looked at her, she asked, "You want to talk about it? 
About what's troubling you? Maybe it would help."

"I... I'm terribly sorry... I didn't want to be such a burden. 
I'm OK... You've been a tremendous help," I replied, the words 
coming out with a mechanical monotony, while trying to shake my 
mind clear of thoughts of her.

"Nonsense. I didn't do anything, and you are no trouble at all," 
she responded.

I felt embarrassed, and guilty of keeping her from doing whatever 
she was going to do. I took a long drag from my cigarette, trying 
to gather my wits.

She kept her gaze on me. She seemed to be mulling something in 
her mind. Coming to a decision, she said, "You two have a 
history, don't you?"

At that, the air whooshed out of me like a deflating balloon, and 
I slumped in my seat.

"I guessed as much..." she said, patting my arm to comfort me.

"How? Is it that obvious?" I asked after I caught my breath.

She took a long pause, considering her answer carefully.

"Is it that difficult a question?" I prompted.

"No, it's not. But... it's more complicated than that. I don't 
want to be the cause of further pain... to either of you... Maybe 
I shouldn't have opened my mouth," she replied, clearly disturbed 
at something.

_Either of--_

_What happened? Is something wrong with her?_

"Why? What's wrong? Was she OK? Did she say something?" My 
questions came out in a rush, the urgency unmistakable.

"She was quiet... lost in thought. I don't know her very well, 
but we have worked together on many flights. She's always been 
bubbly... But today, she disappeared for a while... I am guessing 
she visited the rest room. When she returned her makeup was 
refreshed, but her eyes were red. What happened between you two?"

"It's... it's a long story... "

_She was smiling when she left... Why did she cry? I didn't want 
to hurt her. I never wanted to hurt her. She knew that, didn't 
she?_

"I'm not going anywhere... do you have plans?" she said, taking 
me by surprise.

"Why would you do something like that? You hardly know me..." I 
found myself saying. I realized it wasn't a very polite thing to 
do, and I was abashed by my lack of self-control. I was at my 
wit's end, but that was no excuse to be tactless.

Before I could apologize, she gently patted my arm, trying to 
reassure me, and said, "Mitchell. I understand your concerns... 
Let's say I have a soft spot for... for lovers... I may not know 
her very well and you not at all, but... I watched you two on the 
airplane. I saw her when she came into the crew lounge. And, I 
saw you standing here... I think you need to talk, and I'm 
willing to listen. Where's the harm in that?"

That earned her a look of gratitude, because at that moment I was 
feeling like a drowning man, completely helpless.

"Thank you. You are very kind." Checking my watch, I found it was 
getting close to dinnertime. "It's almost dinnertime. Would you 
join me for dinner... here or in town? I don't know what your 
plans were, but if I have to take you up on your offer, I must 
insist. That's the least I can do."

"Dinner would be fine. In fact, the hotel I'm staying has a good 
restaurant, so we can share a taxi downtown and have dinner 
there. I don't have any plans, so don't concern yourself about 
that," she said. Giving me a gentle and sympathetic look, she ran 
her hand on my arm, and added, "I would really like to hear 
this... Mitch."

Now that the immediate course of action was decided, my mind 
switched its attention to details. I had people expecting me, and 
I was already late. I didn't know if I wanted to face them, 
tonight. I had to cover any eventuality, keeping my options open. 
Working on a practical problem was better than being 
directionless, feeling lost and helpless. It helped take my mind 
off the feelings that were plaguing me.

"Thank you. Ummm... I need to make a call. Some people are 
expecting me. They might get worried. If you excuse me for a 
moment, I'll be right back."

I was considering taking a room at her hotel to spend the night, 
and face the family next day, with a fresh face rather than the 
way I looked. I wasn't planning to sleep with Dana--come on, 
we've just met--and I wasn't over my encounter to jump into bed 
with a woman.

I went to the public telephones, and made a call to my sis. She 
wasn't at home, so I tried my parents. Mom answered at the third 
ring, and as soon as she recognized my voice, I was under a 
barrage of questions. Once I calmed her, I told her I ran into an 
old friend and we lost track of time trying to catch up, that's 
why I was late. Then I added that I might be held up until late 
at night or perhaps tomorrow, so they shouldn't wait on me. She 
wasn't happy, but she didn't make an issue of it. That done, I 
went back to Dana, and collecting our belongings, we headed out 
to the taxi stand.



* * * * *



In the taxi, Dana gave the directions to the hotel, and half an 
hour later, we were at its doorstep. At the reception desk, I 
felt a bit awkward. I was trying to figure out a way to get a 
room discretely, so that I wouldn't give Dana the wrong idea, but 
she noticed my unease, and pulled me aside.

"Mitchell, is something wrong? Are you having second thoughts?" 
she asked.

"It's nothing."

"Come on Mitch. Something's bothering you. What is it?"

"Ummm... I was thinking of getting a room... I wanted to take a 
quick shower, and get a good night's sleep before facing people 
tomorrow. I wanted to look fresh when I met them. I didn't want 
to give you the wrong idea. I just realized, I didn't even stop 
to consider whether you'd like to be seen with me in public... 
considering the way I must look at the moment," I replied, 
feeling very self-conscious.

When she heard that, her eyes widened, then she reached out with 
her hand and brushed my cheek with her fingertips affectionately. 
"You _are_ sweet, you know that? You look like you're ready to 
collapse... I can't imagine what kind of emotional stress you're 
under... and you think about all these things. I really need to 
get to know you," she said with a sympathetic smile.

Thinking over something, she continued. "I have a better idea. 
It's a bit unconventional and I don't want to embarrass you, but 
I want you to think about it. We are going to have dinner, and 
we'll talk and I don't know how long that will take, but we need 
privacy and a comfortable, relaxing place. You may not agree... 
but you need company. I think it would be better if we get a room 
with double beds--or a suite to share--rather than two single 
rooms. You and I both know we will not be doing anything, don't 
we?" At that last, she gave me a comforting smile.

She had a way with words, and a genuine sincerity that put me at 
ease, and make me see her point of view. If I had had this 
proposal from anybody else, I would have refused it offhand, 
unless it was part of a seduction, and I was willing to 
participate. I didn't know why, but in the short period of time 
since we met, she had my trust. I couldn't help but wonder who 
was watching over me, and had placed Dana in my path. Still, I 
was a bit uncomfortable, but before I could state any objections, 
she beat me to it.

"Mitch, really... It's no big deal. I could use the company 
myself, and I would feel better knowing that you are OK. You're 
not imposing at all. What's more, we wouldn't have to rush, and 
would have all the time we need to talk. My next flight is mid-
day tomorrow, so we can stay up late. What do you say?"

"Dana... I don't know what to say... I'm flabbergasted. I'm just 
wondering if this is a dream, or if you're an angel... I won't be 
shot by an angry husband or a boyfriend, will I?"

"No to all your questions," she replied with a laugh. "No, this 
isn't a dream, and no, I'm not an angel, and there are no 
husbands or boyfriends..."

"Umm... OK. It sounds like a plan. Maybe we should get a suite, 
so you will have some privacy. I'm an uneasy sleeper, and don't 
want to deprive you of a decent rest."

"All right. Let's do it," she said. Hooking her arm in mine, she 
steered us back to the concierge.

We asked what was available. In the end, we settled for a small 
suite--two interconnected rooms with a shared bath. The rooms 
were big and pleasant, and the bath had a nice big tub and a 
shower. I asked Dana when she would like to have dinner, and she 
suggested we call for room service, in an hour or so. That gave 
us plenty time to take a shower and clean-up. Dana went first to 
shower, then 20 minutes later, knocked on my door, telling me the 
shower was available.

I picked up my toiletries, and a hotel towel, and entered the 
bath. After brushing my teeth, I stepped into the tub, and pulled 
the shower curtain. Setting the water temperature to colder than 
lukewarm, I stepped under the high-pressure spray. With my hands 
on the tiles, leaning against the wall, I let the water beat on 
my tired body, washing away the grime of travel, and the stress.

I'm not sure what happened next, though. One moment I was 
standing, and the next I was shaking. It wasn't the cold water, 
although it was cold. It was more like after-shocks. I had that 
before, when I had survived my first serious scrape...

_Serious scrape? Really? You don't know how lucky you had been to 
survive... and without a scratch to show for it..._

Couple of years ago, I was driving on the country road to the 
rig-site, in a rush. The roads were bad: loose sand, gravel and 
compacted clay. Parts of the road were still wet and muddy from 
recent rains, and I was driving pretty fast, about 80-90 km/hr, 
because I had driven this road a few times and was familiar with 
it. I was approaching a curve, still on a dry portion and didn't 
slow down. I guess I was preoccupied and wasn't paying attention. 
I just felt the steering wheel getting a bit lighter, and took my 
foot off the gas pedal. The car slowed down, but because I didn't 
brake, it didn't slow down much, and what's more, I felt it was 
losing traction. By then, I was approaching the curve, and I went 
from DEFCON 4 to DEFCON 1. But, the damage had already been done. 
I didn't use the brakes, because the surface was muddy again, and 
I tried to steer the car gently from the middle towards the inner 
part of the curve, hoping the tires would sink in the soft mud 
and perhaps slow down the car a bit.

I distinctly remember the sinking feeling in the pit of my 
stomach, as the car failed to respond, and started to slip 
towards the outer edge. Beyond the edge, it was a pretty steep 
slope of 25-30 meters to a flatter but somewhat rocky surface. 
The whole thing had a surreal quality; time seemed to slow down, 
and I remember thinking, 'so, this is it... no chance to say 
goodbye... in a few seconds it will be over... so stupid... such 
a stupid way to go!'

The next thing I experienced was the slow tumbling and rolling of 
the car over the edge. I had my arms up trying to protect my face 
from the shattering window, and to keep my head safe from hitting 
the roof, and generally trying not to be thrown out of the seat. 
I remember the roof crunching down, and my head hitting it during 
the roll, my body held by the seat belt. I felt disjointed from 
the whole thing, despite the adrenalin rush... not exactly 
scared, but angry at my stupidity. The whole event was over in a 
matter of seconds. I remember feeling helpless, and caught in a 
violent whirlpool, the sound of metal being torn and buckling, 
and wondering when it's going to end, when death is going to 
claim me.

Then, suddenly, everything came to a stop. I was upside down, 
with a bump or two on my head, but still breathing, and still 
alive. I was dazed by the violence of the whole experience. After 
several minutes hanging still, frozen in shock, I did a quick 
check of my joints and extremities; luckily, I wasn't hurt or 
wounded. However, I was pretty much disoriented viewing the world 
upside down. I carefully freed myself from the seat belt, taking 
care not to get hurt. Since the roof was partly collapsed, there 
wasn't much chance of a fall down on my head. After I rolled over 
on my belly, I looked for a way out. The front windshield seemed 
to offer the best opportunity, so I kicked out the remaining 
glass, and carefully crawled out.

Once I was outside, I took careful inventory of myself, taking my 
time. Nothing was broken, and apart from the two painful bumps on 
my head, I had no injuries. That done, I carefully inspected the 
slope, curious to determine the path the car took while rolling 
down. I was surprised to see how it missed several out-cropping 
rocks and intrusions on its way down. If the driver's side had 
hit some of these, I would have serious injuries, and might have 
been killed instantly. Metal had torn, but mostly the rear doors, 
or the back of the roof.

_Lucky?_

_More like charmed!_

I don't remember how long I stood there, looking at the slope up 
and down in stunned silence. I know that I had taken a few steps 
away from the car and lit a cigarette, trying to comprehend what 
and how it happened, running the whole incident in my mind in 
slow motion replay. After a while, I started to walk to find a 
way to the road, and look for help. Several hours later, I was on 
the rig-site, being checked by the medic. Later, they had me sent 
to the hospital for X-rays, fearing concussion, etc. but they 
didn't find anything and I was given a clean bill of health.

Two days later, I was back at the rig-site, sipping my coffee and 
chatting with the guys about the preparations for an upcoming 
operation, when I had the shakes. It started slowly, and caught 
me with surprise. I didn't understand what was happening, and 
just managed to put my cup on the table, before the shakes 
intensified. One of the guys rushed out for the medic, and 
another pulled me to one of the benches, trying to calm me down. 
It just took maybe a minute or so, then it was over. Medic said I 
was having after-shocks. That was the shakes... and not the last 
time. I had several other scrapes since then, and every time they 
were followed by a delayed reaction...

So, here I was, standing under the running water in the tub, when 
the shakes hit me. I was caught unawares, because there wasn't 
any possible reason for this to happen. I hadn't had a life-
threatening experience. As the shakes intensified, I almost 
collapsed. Before I slipped and fell down, I dropped down to my 
knees with a thud, and kneeling, I grabbed the edge of the tub to 
steady myself. Next thing I know, I was sitting in the tub, 
cowering, and shaking... and... crying. Crying like a baby for 
Christ's sake... After a while, I raised my face up to the spray 
to stop crying, but I couldn't, although I was calming down, 
albeit very slowly.

"Mitch... Mitch, are you OK?"

Dana was calling from the outside of the bath, but I was unable 
to respond. She knocked on the door a few times, and when she 
didn't hear me respond, she knocked harder.

_Jeeez... Get a hold of yourself. You don't wanna be caught like 
this, do you?_

"Mitchell, is everything all right there?" Her voice was high 
pitched, worried.

_Shit! Come on... control yourself and respond..._

I heard the door open a fraction and she called out again, 
"Mitchell, are you OK?"

"Yeah!"

Luckily the running water was making a lot of noise, so she might 
think I hadn't heard her.

"Are you all right? I thought..."

"Almost slipped," I managed to get out, trying to control my 
crying.

"Uhh... OK... Sorry... Be careful," she said, then closed the 
door.

_Pheeeww! That was close..._

If she had walked in on me, I didn't know what I would have done. 
The scare she gave me, and the possibility of embarrassment 
helped me to gain a semblance of control. I sat there a few more 
minutes, letting out the tears that needed to come out. When I 
calmed down, I stood up, turned on the hot water tap more, and 
started to wash myself. By the time I was washing the suds away, 
I was functioning at some level of normalcy, and my mind was busy 
trying to figure out why it happened. While I was toweling 
myself, I remembered my trip to the rest rooms at the airport, 
and how I had fought my urge to cry. I had been successful then, 
but in reality, it was bottled up inside me. With all the other 
things that happened later, the realization of my loss and the 
associated emptiness, it had finally caught up with me in the 
shower. A part of me was disgusted with my weakness, but I was 
feeling much better than an hour ago, as if a heavy burden had 
been lifted off my shoulders.

_Maybe what they say is true. Crying cleanses the soul..._

When I looked at myself on the mirror, I was surprised to see 
that I looked much better than a couple of hours ago. My eyes 
were slightly red, and a bit sunken, but I didn't look like death 
warmed over. What's more, I wasn't feeling as tired or desolate 
as before.

Back in my room, I put on a clean pair of jeans and a shirt, and 
a comfortable pair of moccasins. Usually I go with socks or bare 
feet, wanting to feel the floor or ground. I never liked heels in 
shoes. Even my cowboy boots, which normally came with heels of 
more than an inch, didn't have much in the way of heels--about a 
quarter of an inch. I was feeling pretty good, and wanted to 
bring myself up a bit more.

I wanted to be ready for the dinner, Dana's company, and our 
eventual talk. I didn't want to break down as I had in the 
shower. I sat on the thick-carpeted floor, legs crossed in a 
comfortable manner--not exactly the Lotus position--resting my 
hands palm down on my legs. I went through slow breathing 
exercises, relaxing my muscles, and letting my mind wander. I 
didn't try to chase thoughts or hook onto a particular one. I 
just let them come and go. In about fifteen minutes, I was 
feeling rejuvenated, and ready to face the world again.



* * * * *







CHAPTER - 4: Opening Vaults



I knocked on the door interconnecting our rooms.

"It's not locked, come on in," I heard her call out.

When I walked in, she was putting her uniform in the closet. 
Finished with that, she turned and picked up the clothes on her 
bed to place them in the drawers. She glanced at me and faltered; 
almost dropping the bundle she had in her arms. She put them back 
on the bed, and took a few steps closer to give me a critical 
look, making me queasy.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

She ignored my question, and instead asked, "Are you using 
drugs?" with a serious tone.

_Huh! Drugs? Where the hell did that come from?_

"Drugs?" I was confused, and that was saying little.

Her eyes were critically examining me, but especially my eyes.

"You... You are looking good. Compared to a while ago, you're 
looking better than good. I just thought you had taken 
something," she responded in an apologetic manner.

I didn't have a response to that. I didn't think I was looking as 
good as she made me out to be.

"You mean I don't look like death warmed over?" I tried to joke. 
"A shower can do wonders."

"Yeah... something like that," she said with soft laugh. "Are you 
sure it was just a shower? You have to tell me your trick, 
whatever it is. I could certainly use it."

"You don't need any tricks. You're looking great," I replied.

She _was_ looking great, dressed in tight jeans and a form-
hugging sweater that accentuated her shapely body. She had her 
long blonde hair loose on her shoulders, making her look younger 
than her years--I estimated her to be around early 30s, but she 
didn't look a day over 25.

"A woman can always use help when it comes to looks, and I'm 
dying to know how you managed what you did."

_I didn't do anything... I just broke down and cried like a 
baby!_

The thought made me cringe and I searched for a probable 
explanation. However, before I could give her a reply, she moved 
in closer and looked up in my eyes. Caressing my cheek, she said, 
"It's all right, Mitch."

_Does she know--_

_Of course, you fool! Women always know things like that._

With that thought, I tensed up.

"Don't be embarrassed. You needed to get it out of your system. 
It's as good as any other way... and sometimes, much better. From 
the looks of it, it did a world of good," she said, trying to put 
me at ease and succeeding. She was a remarkable person. 
Especially, how she managed to appease my unease with her sweet 
talk and soothing manners.

"Shall we order?" she asked, changing the subject.

After we made our choices, I placed the order with room service. 
I prepared a gin and tonic for her, while taking a beer for 
myself. We talked about neutral subjects, trying to get to know 
each other, until the dinner arrived.

During dinner, we continued our talk, and I learned that she had 
been a flight attendant for 12 years. She had a brief, 2-year 
marriage--no kids--ending in an amicable divorce. Now, she was 
seeing a colleague in the office at the airport back in her 
hometown. She moved the subject to me; what I did for work, and 
other general things. I glossed over most of the details--they 
were pretty boring--and gave her a general outline. However, she 
was well aware of the problems in that region, and she had a 
fairly good idea of the dangers involved. That was to be 
expected. Hardly a day passed without an incident being reported 
in the papers or on the TV. Although she probed, she was very 
careful, understanding my reluctance to talk about it except in 
general terms, but I had a growing suspicion that she had learned 
more than I gave her credit for.

After dinner, she kicked off her shoes, and putting up the 
pillows, she got comfortable on her bed. I pulled a comfortable 
looking armchair next to the bed, and settled in. We were both 
feeling mellow with the food, and we continued with a nice red 
wine, enjoying the moment. At first, I was reluctant to drink 
more alcohol. But the wine was good, and I wasn't feeling sleepy 
or tired, strange as that might be.

She was really good company, and I couldn't help but wonder why 
she didn't have a man in her life--yes, she was dating somebody, 
but she gave me the impression that it wasn't yet in a serious 
stage. I was also curious why she had this interest in me. I 
wasn't satisfied with her 'soft spot for lovers' explanation. She 
was not only beautiful but a very kind and generous person, and 
very interesting.

"What's on your mind?" she broke through my wandering mind.

"You said that you have a soft spot for lovers, but the more I 
get to know you, the more I'm..."

"Confused? Curious?"

I nodded.

"That's really a question for another time, and is related to 
her. We can visit that later. However, I need to know something. 
How well do you know her, or do you think you know her?" she 
asked.

_What's she getting at?_

I pondered that question, going over several possibilities. After 
a while, I sensed what she was getting at... the men in her life.

"I figure she has... perhaps, a _reputation_?" I replied, 
choosing my words carefully.

She gave me a long look, trying to get a measure of me, and to 
make sure we were working from the same page. Satisfied with what 
she had seen, she asked, "_That_... doesn't bother you?"

_Does it? Did it?_

_I don't think so... No, I'm not jealous of her other men. If we 
were committed to each other, it would have been different._

_I'm bothered by her frequently indiscriminate and casual 
attitude towards her relations. I'm more concerned for her well 
being and about her general unhappiness._

"It does, but not in the sense you think. I'm not jealous of her 
men. I'm more concerned about her unhappiness."

"And you still love her?"

"I do," I replied. Thinking over about my feelings, I clarified 
my response. "Umm... I know, I still carry something inside me... 
for her... but, I've changed... and she's changed, too... I 
think..."

She nodded, and took a few minutes trying to digest what I said, 
and make some sense of it. I could see she had come up with a 
question, but was hesitant to ask, and I wondered what she had 
stumbled on.

"It's OK! Ask away. If I can't answer or don't want to answer, 
we'll skip it," I said to put her at ease.

"Mitchell, this is a very personal question," she said. "And if 
you can answer, then you have to be truthful... and that might be 
very difficult." The warning in her tone was unmistakable.

_I think I know what's coming... Did we ever..._

"I think I have a fairly good idea. You're wondering if my 
feelings are a result of..." I paused trying to find the right 
expression, and finished with, "an unconsummated relationship?"

She gave a tight smile and nodded.

"No, that's not it. We di--" I caught myself, rephrasing what I 
was going to say. "We'd been intimate... a few times."

She didn't respond, instead she waited patiently, letting me 
decide if I wanted to continue and elaborate.

_God, this is embarrassing. This is private stuff. I don't talk 
about it. Especially when it's related to her._

I started hesitantly, clearly ill at ease to talk about such a 
personal thing.

"We enjoyed it. She... she was happy. It's difficult to explain 
these things... I've been with a few girls before her... casual 
stuff. I know I'm not very experienced, not something special in 
bed. But, I think what we experienced was... more than sex. Don't 
ask me how I know. She was more experienced than me... it was 
unmistakable. I came to learn that she enjoyed sex--nothing wrong 
with that. I'm not scared of a woman who knows how to take her 
pleasure--I'm not talking about orgasms... women can fake that 
and fool a man easily. I am not going to claim I can't be 
fooled... what I'm talking about is the afterwards... what I had 
seen... what I felt... what we felt... and it wasn't just after-
sex glow or something. She was another person... It was as if 
there was only the two of us... no barriers... and for a day or 
two she would be much more... loving... closer, caring, happy, 
content..." I said, searching for the right words, and having 
difficulty expressing myself.

I took a deep breath, trying to clear the images that were 
trickling into my mind. "Am I making any sense?" I asked.

"I know this has been difficult for you, but I appreciate your 
candor. Not every man is willing to admit... Well... you know 
what I mean," she replied gently.

Giving an apologetic smile, she continued, "This is not really 
pertinent, but I'm curious... Do you have casual sex?"

"I'm not sure I understand the question... I've already said I 
had."

"Let me rephrase that. Do you just go to bed with a complete 
stranger, or do you first get to know them... at least to a 
certain degree... where you have some kind of connection?"

That question surprised me, and I thought about my answer.

"Mitchell..."

"Mmmm?"

"Mitchell, you don't have to answer that question. You already 
have."

"Huh?"

Seeing me completely lost, she gave me a sympathetic smile, and 
tried to explain. "From what you had already told me, and your 
reaction to my question, I know that you're not really casual 
about sex. You pick your partner and establish a connection. If 
there's no connection of some sort, you don't sleep with them. 
Isn't that right?"

"I-I... I guess... unless I'm intoxicated at the time."

She nodded her understanding, then followed up with another 
question. "And your partner's pleasure comes first?"

I nodded.

"If nobody has told you before, I'll tell you now. You have the 
right attitude... the attitude that women look for in men--and 
find infrequently. You care about your partner, even if you're 
not in love with the person. You try to make it nice for your 
partner. Now, if that person is somebody you are in love with... 
well, I don't have to state the obvious..."

"Thank you... but..."

"Mitch, don't try to sell yourself short. You may be young, and 
lacking some experience, but you care about your partners. As 
long as you make sure they're happy, you don't have anything to 
worry about. Experience comes with time, and opportunity. You may 
not have had too many opportunities, but you're way ahead of 
other players. Trust me. I was married and I've known some men." 
She gave me a look that said she would not accept any objections 
on her verdict, and I tried to accept it as humbly as possible.

"So, we know something... You really loved her, and still do. 
Now, I can answer your question... I know her. I'm sorry if I 
misled you when I said I don't know her very well. But in a way, 
that's true. I didn't say I don't know her at all. We aren't 
close or intimate friends, but we've been together on many 
flights, and it's a small world among the flight crews. So, I got 
to know her quite a bit. You are unlike any of her... friends," 
she said.

"You don't have to be diplomatic on my account. I saw it before."

She gave me a sympathetic smile, and continued. "She is pretty 
lively, which is normal. Especially on long hauls with overnight 
stays or longer. The crews get to enjoy the places and they like 
to party. That's what draws the young girls to the profession. 
Seeing different, exotic places, and meeting people, perhaps a 
potential husband or something. Once they get in, they realize 
it's also hard work, and some quit. Some stick around enjoying 
the work and the opportunities. She enjoys the work, but enjoys 
the partying as well. Nothing excessive, otherwise your work 
starts to suffer. And yes, she has a reputation. Not as an easy 
girl, but she goes through relationships pretty quickly. 
Sometimes it's a regular passenger on one of the routes, 
sometimes a pilot or somebody else from the crew."

"I guessed as much."

"Mitch, what I'm getting at is, you don't fit the pattern."

"What do you mean?"

"You are different from her other guys. Some of them were only 
interested in bedding a girl, any girl. You know the kind of men 
who are interested in _flight attendants_, and what they are 
really interested in. She knew their reputation, but she took 
them up." She gave me a pointed look, to get her meaning across.

"Then, there were the semi-serious and serious relations. A few 
wanted to marry her, but some dropped her when they didn't like 
what they had seen. Sometimes she broke it off," she said. 
Collecting her thoughts she continued. "She was never concerned 
about any of her relations. She was angry with a few, but they 
were assholes. From what I've seen and heard she never gave a 
second thought to any of the guys. She moved on. She doesn't fit 
any pattern I had seen before. She's not shopping for a husband. 
Some girls who go through frequent relations are really shopping, 
but... she's not."

"I know a bit about that... I think... She wanted attention and 
to be loved. She couldn't handle being alone. If somebody showed 
a bit of attention, she would be there. She said as much once, 
that her biggest fear was being alone. She was also a bit of a 
wild girl. Heart of the party... and people flocked. Somehow, I 
always thought that it was an act, perhaps to grab attention. I'm 
not sure, but I think she was hurt early on... before I met her. 
I know she went through some guys before me, and there were 
others when we were breaking up. In the end I was just another 
one on her list," I told her.

"What else did you do? You two must have had something going?"

"Well, at first we were wary. At least, I was. Compared to how 
quickly she became friendly with new people, she was very 
reserved when we first met. We were introduced by a mutual friend 
and, that first moment, I fell in love with her. Sounds corny, 
doesn't it?"

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't know. It's... It was something I never felt before. It 
wasn't because she was beautiful. No. I just felt drawn to her. 
Later, I would come to realize there was... umm... this is 
difficult to explain, and I don't know how to put it... but I 
felt a bond... sort of like an invisible cord. She had an 
influence on me. She didn't even have to touch me to exert that 
influence. It was something deep in my belly. Whenever she was 
near me, I felt like I was being pulled into a maelstrom, 
spinning, losing control... Does this make any sense?"

She nodded.

"Anyways... I tried to keep myself under control and fight that 
feeling. I don't like to lose control. We started to see each 
other, mostly within a group of friends, and over a matter of 
days we were talking, opening up to each other. This was before I 
started my senior year. I wasn't experienced enough to see some 
things. I didn't see she wasn't innocent, if you know what I 
mean. Part of my mind was busy trying to figure out how to finish 
school, the military service, and find a good job so I could 
settle down. I knew I wanted to marry her. That was another 
reason I held myself off from getting intimate with her. I didn't 
want us to be caught in a... situation," I said, with an 
embarrassed grin.

"It's understandable, Mitch. Your intentions were honorable," she 
assured me, then nodded at me to continue.

"There was also a vulnerable side to her. She tried to keep it 
hidden, but as we talked more I could see glimpses of it. 
Sometimes she would hint at things, and immediately move onto 
something else, never allowing me to dig deeper. There was some 
thing in her eyes; they were... misty... with... dark clouds... 
most of the time. From the first moment I noticed that, and 
later, it felt like... like there was an eternal sorrow, 
somewhere deep inside her. I know that sounds a bit melodramatic, 
or clich�, but that's what her eyes evoked in me... I didn't 
realize it at the time, but she had some deep wounds. I was just 
not experienced enough to read the signs. I did whatever I could 
to help, from what I could see, but... Anyways, we started to go 
out together, but still usually in a group with friends. After a 
while, we got pretty close. She started the intimacy; first a bit 
of flirting, and then the touching, kissing, and teasing. When we 
danced, it was really something. She was subtle, but very 
intimate. Necking followed. Then we had these long walks in the 
evening along the shore. We would talk, and make out. I could see 
she was no scared virgin. When she invited me into her bed... 
Well, then I knew it."

"You said before, she was another person after... you were 
intimate..."

"She was... When we were with friends, she would flirt and do all 
that stuff on the dance floor. Sometimes she would be slightly 
restrained. But, she always seemed restless, and at times would 
fall back into her party mode and get really wild. Sometimes I 
felt tired, just watching her."

As I continued, the memories started to trickle from the wells of 
past.

"When we had our long walks, she was reluctant to talk about her 
past, like high school and stuff. Sometimes she would be open, 
the next moment she would be reticent, moody. I didn't realize it 
till later, but she had masks she hid behind, and her party mode 
was one of them. In bed, she was passionate... but afterwards... 
that's when she was content, and perhaps really happy. The fa�ade 
or mask would be gone. Her happiness was genuine. She looked at 
peace and happy. And those are the moments I could see her forget 
whatever that was bothering her. And, her eyes would clear, the 
clouds gone... I could also see her fragile side; she didn't try 
to hide it... I don't know how to explain it," I finished with a 
tired sigh.

I took a deep breath, and added, "Perhaps, it doesn't apply, but 
I know how I felt. I felt like I was home, belonging to her, 
right there by her side. Somehow, that's the impression I got 
from her as well, in those moments."

The past was coming awake from its uneasy sleep, the old feelings 
stirring up, reminding me what was, once. I took another deep 
breath, trying to cleanse my mind, my soul, but... I closed my 
eyes, letting my mind wander instead of fighting the images. 
Somehow Dana's presence had a calming effect, giving me strength 
to face the past... what I had left behind.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Dana swirling the wine in her glass, 
giving me time to collect myself. Gathering my thoughts, I said, 
"For a while she would get clingy, if that's the right word. This 
was right after we had been intimate a few times. She would try 
to be with me all the time. We would be watching other couples 
dance, and she would be holding onto my arm... I remember those 
scenes very clearly... When we had our talks, she would cuddle. 
If we had some real privacy, she would sit on my lap, with her 
arm around my neck... things she didn't do before. She would be 
more loving and caring. But in a day or two it would fade away, 
and she would be back to wearing her mask, in the party mode, 
wild."

"What happened... later?"

"I'm not sure. I probed her a few times about her future plans 
and explained what I had to do; finish school, the military 
service, and then a job. She didn't want to talk about it, and 
over a matter of days, she started to push me away. She would be 
warm and loving, the next instant she would be cold and distant. 
We would still talk, or get together for a dance, but it wasn't 
the same. When we were going through that period--we'd been 
intimate twice more--the last times, and her response had not 
changed. We were still close on those two occasions. That really 
confused me. Her body and soul was saying something, and her 
mouth was saying something else."

"When did you break up?"

"Well... During that cooling off period, she was flirting with 
other guys, pushing me away or ignoring me, and then becoming 
loving again. I thought she was trying to make me jealous, so I 
ignored it. Since we weren't committed to each other, I didn't 
see a reason to make it an issue. I would still be there when she 
came for a talk, or for anything else. That's how she got me to 
her bed the last two times. But, I was getting tired of her mood 
changes, and she was getting more blatant, so I tried to talk 
with her. She ignored my attempts. One day I confronted her, told 
her I wanted to marry her, and asked what she wanted from our 
relationship. She replied she wasn't in love with me, but saw me 
as a good friend. I reminded her about our intimate moments, and 
things we used to do, share and enjoy... before things started to 
change. She just shrugged her shoulders, and replied she enjoyed 
our times together. We didn't have a fight, but I didn't want to 
play her game. It was getting pretty painful, and I suggested 
that we stop seeing each other."

The memories started to flood in, as I went back in time, to the 
days when things really took on a turn for the worse.

"We always had a lot of friends, so we would be in a group, but 
ignore each other. She would flirt with some of the guys, but... 
I don't know... I got the impression, she wasn't enjoying herself 
as much as before... I mean, it was as if she was stepping up her 
wildness... her behavior was beyond her party mode act... I don't 
know why, but seeing her like that saddened me more than our 
breakup."

"Do you think she was using the other guys?" she asked.

"I don't know. That's the impression I got. I'm not talking as a 
jilted lover. There was a definite step-up in her wildness, and I 
could sense she wasn't happy. After a while, I didn't stick 
around. Dropped from the group scene. I didn't want to see her 
like that, and... I don't know... I got the feeling she didn't 
want me around... as if somehow I was hurting her or making her 
unhappy just by being there... What I heard from other friends 
kind of makes me think that might be the case. They said she 
wasn't as wild as she used to be, and that coincides with when I 
left the group scene."

The trip down the memory lane had taken its toll, and I felt 
drained, but also restless. I wanted to stretch my legs, move; I 
didn't want to sit. Perhaps, it was a reminder from earlier 
lessons, teachings from a different era of my life.

_Death is in the stillness, life is in the movement!_

That was what Miyamoto Musashi, _Kensei_--the Great Sword Saint--
had written 400 years ago in his treatise; a book I had to study 
as part of my teachings in a martial art I hadn't been able to 
master completely. I didn't want to think about Musashi. But, as 
with all other memories, these memories got recalled, sometimes 
at the most inopportune moments. I stood up and picked the wine 
bottle from the table. After topping up her glass, I filled up 
mine and set the bottle on the floor next to the armchair. I 
realized Dana was watching me carefully, feeling my restlessness. 
Not to alarm her further, I sat down, and went through my shallow 
breathing exercises, while sipping my wine. From the outside, 
nobody would be able to see what I was doing, except perhaps 
another adept. I didn't want to draw undue attention from her. In 
a few minutes I was feeling better. For all appearances we were 
both in a contemplative mood. When I looked at Dana, she took it 
as a signal, starting the conversation again.

"She hasn't changed... it seems. She's still moving from 
relationship to relationship," Dana said.

"I know... well, I'm kinda guessing... It just doesn't make 
sense. It never did. Was she ever happy in these last few years?" 
I asked, curious how she had been the last four years or so.

"I don't know her that intimately, but if I have to take a 
guess... no, she hasn't been. You're right about that."

"I guess I was just one of a pretty long list. Later, I realized 
that she must have been hurt... badly, before she met me. I think 
she was using people, including me. I wasn't experienced enough 
to see that, and now, in hindsight, it's kinda obvious. I loved 
her other side, the loving, caring side, and the vulnerability 
she tried to hide. Perhaps, that was what made me fall in love 
with her... there was this fragile beauty, her vulnerable side, 
like a delicate flower."

I took a sip from my glass, collecting my thoughts. "For a short 
while, I was angry... at her. Angry that she pushed me away, but 
I got over that quickly. Much later--after our break-up--I 
figured out how much she must have been hurt. I didn't know how 
or by whom. That's when I got angry with myself... First, I had 
failed to see her hurt, and second, I hadn't been able to... 
help. Worse, I had given up, quit on her. That anger helped me 
over the years... to survive the emptiness..." I finished with a 
tired sigh.

I let my head rest on the back of the armchair, looking at the 
ceiling for a few seconds, then closed my eyes. Dana was quiet 
for quite some time, going over what I told her.

"Mitch?"

"Mmmm..."

"What happened this afternoon?"

"Huh?"

"What happened this afternoon? You two were together. What did 
you talk about?"

I ran the whole episode in my mind trying to recall every detail, 
before I answered her. I finished telling my little guessing game 
about her relationship with the older pilot and her response, and 
was going to continue with the rest of what happened, when Dana 
interrupted me.

"She said... _what_?"

"She said that 'he loves her and she finds it comforting'."

"Who loves her?"

"One of the pilots she is currently involved with? Somebody quite 
a bit older than her?" I replied.

I was going to get on with my tale, but Dana interrupted me 
again. "Mitch? Do you recall her exact words?"

"Is that important?"

"I'm not sure... humor me, will you?" she said, with a half 
serious, half joking tone.

"Ummm... I asked her if she loved him and told her that I didn't 
need an answer, but she needed to find the answer for herself. 
She ignored me and told me that I was almost right on my guess. 
Then she said: 'This time it's different; he loves me and it is 
comforting'," I replied, recalling the moment with an uncanny 
clarity.

How could I forget? It was the moment that brought the point 
home... that she hadn't changed!

"I remember it clearly, because it was the moment that made it 
clear she hadn't changed, confirming my suspicions. I was almost-
-" I barely caught myself in time.

"You were almost?" Dana insisted.

"It's nothing."

"Mitch, please tell me. This might be important. On this one, 
trust me... please?"

"It saddened me. I felt like crying and I didn't know if I could 
control myself. I didn't want to break into tears in front of 
her. So, I excused myself from the table and went to the rest-
rooms. There, I managed to control myself, and after washing my 
face I came back."

"You did not cry?"

"No. I did not. Is it important whether I cried or not? You 
guessed that I cried a while ago... Well, it caught up with me 
eventually... here in the hotel," I replied, getting upset.

"Mitch, I wasn't trying to embarrass you," Dana said, softly. "I 
was trying to figure out what happened, and both of your 
reactions. You're forgetting something... I told you that when 
she came to the crew lounge she disappeared for a short while, 
then returned with fresh make up and red eyes. I am pretty sure 
she had been crying."

"I'm sorry... It's been a long day..."

"I understand... I really do... I don't know how to ask this, but 
I need to ask something. I don't want you to get upset about it, 
OK?"

After taking a deep breath and letting it out, I nodded.

"Good, Mitch, try to relax. I studied nursing for a year--quit 
before I became a flight attendant--so I know something about 
trauma, extreme stress, and reactions. If the crying that caught 
up with you here was bottled up from that moment at the airport, 
you must have had a very significant emotional stress. How did 
you manage to keep it under control at the time?"

"I don't like to talk about that."

"Why?"

"I am sorry."

"It's a medical curiosity, not a personal one. I remember how you 
looked in the airport, and how you looked after the shower when 
you walked into this room."

"It's... something like meditation... Does that help?"

"I see... Yes, that does answer some questions. Thank you. So... 
what happened next?"

I wasn't aware of what I was doing. Almost on autopilot, I 
recalled the memory of the afternoon, and what we talked about, 
and the final point of our goodbye. While I went through the 
scenes in my mind's eye, I gave her an almost verbatim account. 
When I managed to pull myself from the past and return to the 
present, she didn't say anything. I looked at her, and found her 
taking occasional sips from her wine glass, while giving me 
curious glances.

"Is... is there something wrong?" I asked.

"No, nothing's wrong... It's..." She hesitated for a few seconds, 
before asking, "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"The things you told me... the afternoon, as if watching from a 
distance, and with so much clarity?"

_Ahh! My curse._

"It's... It's part of that meditation thing. I can recall a lot 
if I pay attention. Certain things are easier to remember... like 
hurt, or happiness."

_Especially if I had been in the moment!_

"And you also remember the times with her? The shared moments, 
happiness, hurt?" she asked.

I nodded.

"What a burden," she said softly, her tone sad and sympathetic as 
well.

If I didn't know better I would have agreed with her. But, 
nothing is simple; nothing is black and white. Yes, those 
memories had been a huge burden at times, but they had given me 
relief as well. The happy memories, they were treasures. The 
painful memories, they gave a meaning by contrasting the 
happiness. I have come to realize the duality of its nature. Yin 
and Yang. On the other hand, nobody needed that kind of recall--
including me.

"A rose is not a rose without thorns," I said to give her a 
different perspective.

She nodded her understanding.

"But you're right; nobody needs that kind of recall. I know I 
benefited from that as much as I got hurt. I don't know if I 
could do without the ability. It's very much part of me, and I've 
come to accept it."

"Mitch, how clear is your mind? How tired are you?" she asked, 
suddenly with a businesslike tone.

I perked up at the sudden change in her tone, and the question 
she posed. "I'm feeling all right. A bit drained, but that's all. 
Why?"

"Do you need to have some coffee, or a smoke to make yourself... 
I don't know... calm and alert?"

"I can do with a coffee and a smoke. I'm doing fine. Really."

"OK. Let me open a window while you order some coffee. There's 
something we need to talk about," she replied with a cryptic 
tone. I could sense her excitement at something, but I had no 
idea what it could be.

After I ordered coffee, I went to the bathroom to relieve myself, 
and brushed my teeth. I like red wine, but I don't like the way 
it stains the teeth. That done, I washed my face, feeling 
refreshed.



* * * * *







CHAPTER - 5: Revelations



When I returned to the room, Dana was by the window--smoking--
with a cup of coffee on the window sill. I filled a cup for 
myself, and lighting a cigarette, took a position next to her, 
watching the city lights, and listening to the traffic. After a 
few sips, I finished my coffee, and placed it next to her cup. 
There was something nagging at the back of my mind about Dana... 
That kept me coming back to why she was trying to help me, help 
us... But, it kept evading me.

It was Dana, who broke the silence.

"Mitchell, since you seem to have a very good memory, I want to 
check something. Are you sure she was talking about the present 
time, when she talked about the pilot she was involved with?"

"Well, I'm very sure she said 'He loves me'. There was no 
mistaking that... She meant, now. Also, she didn't talk as if she 
was talking about the past. At least that's the impression I got. 
Why? Is it important?"

At my question, she flashed a strained smile, and said, "Let's 
finish our smoke and coffee, then talk about it. There's no need 
to rush things."

I accepted her reasoning, and changed the subject. "You know, 
you're very good. Is it nursing training that makes you so good?"

"Partly, I guess."

"I think, you are a remarkable woman. You're kind, and you care 
about people. What made you quit?" I asked.

"You are an interesting young man, Mitch. You see things others 
don't. Why did I quit nursing school? I guess, I couldn't handle 
the misery and suffering. I wanted to help but... After talking 
to a few nurses, and spending time in the hospitals--observing--I 
realized the pay was lousy, the hours were long, and the 
emotional burden was overwhelming. I was too young to be able to 
deal with it. Now, I get to see the world, different people, and 
sometimes I'm able to do something nice, and help people. Best of 
both worlds."

"I have to say, you're doing a very good job of it. I don't 
talk... about things... and yet..."

As I was saying those words, my mind got busy with her words as 
they seem to ring a bell... the things that were nagging at me 
since the airport... There was a faint glimpse of something... 
but what?

"You are reserved. You don't make friends easily, do you?"

"I used to... well, to a certain degree... But in the last few 
years..."

"I understand... It must have been a difficult period."

"We all carry our own wounds..." I told her, and then on a hunch, 
I added, "You seem to cope with yours very well."

Her eyes shot wide open in shock. I took a step, and pulled her 
against my chest, gathering her in my arms, before she had a 
chance to react. I hugged her to me firmly, trying to make her 
feel safe, secure, sheltered. Leaning in to smell her fragrant 
hair, I whispered, "It's all right, Dana. It's all right. Tell me 
about it."

I kept rocking her, and after her initial shock was over, she 
relaxed into my arms. She looked up to ask, "How did you know?"

"I'm not sure. It was something nagging at the back of my mind. 
How things happened in the airport, then here in the hotel. Your 
apparent concern. And how you seem to understand and how we seem 
to connect... Little things that didn't fit. You are a very 
beautiful and caring person. Very kind and generous. And you 
don't hide those qualities. But, you don't seem to have anybody 
in your life. I couldn't see why, unless... you didn't want them. 
That made me think."

She seemed to accept my explanation. She laid her head on my 
chest, and wrapped her arms around me, relaxing herself into my 
embrace. It felt good to hold her in my arms, and I couldn't help 
but wonder about the differences between two women... and the 
similarities...

_Come on, pay attention. She's not here. Don't day dream! Dana's 
here and she needs you. Now! You know she's worth it. Be in the 
moment._

My inner voice was right. I needed to be with her, right this 
moment. After several minutes, she extracted herself from my 
arms, giving me a rueful smile.

"I think it's my turn to ask; do you want to talk about it?" I 
said, trying to lighten the mood.

Her smile was much warmer, but she replied, "Not yet." Seeing the 
disapproving look on my face, she added, "But I promise, I 
will... OK?"

"I will hold you to that."

That earned me a laugh, "Somehow I know you will, so I won't even 
attempt to evade."

I took hold of her hand and gave it a kiss, sharing a tender and 
special moment. Picking our cups, we took our respective seats, 
me on the armchair and she on her bed.

"You said she was hurt," Dana said, "and perhaps using the men. I 
think you are right. From what I had seen of her relations, she 
moved on without a second thought, but..." She paused to think 
about what she wanted to say next, and continued with a question. 
"Did you ever wonder if she was self-destructive, perhaps 
punishing herself?"

_Huh?_

I wasn't expecting that question, because it came from left 
field, without any warning at all. I could hear the gears turning 
in my mind to assess the question, looking for clues, trying to 
come up with an analysis.

"Stop! Mitch, stop. Don't rush it."

As soon as she had my attention, she urged me to calm down. "Easy 
Mitch, take your time."

"You caught me with that question. What made you ask that?"

"I'll explain, but you need to be calm. There's something you 
don't know. It kind of changes the picture. I don't want you to 
get worked up, and lose concentration or... get your hopes up."

_Hope? Get my hopes up? For what?_

I was getting agitated by her cryptic words, but remembering her 
warning, I tried to calm myself. I closed my eyes, and took a 
walk along the beach, doing my shallow breathing, and watching 
the sunset. Strangely enough, I managed to do my exercise very 
quickly, maybe because I was with a friend, and in a place where 
I felt comfortable, safe and secure. When I opened my eyes, I saw 
her watching me. She got off the bed, and knelt by my side. 
Taking hold of my wrist, she found my pulse... and measured it. 
When she was finished, she was chuckling.

"Strong and steady pulse. Lower than normal, as if you're 
resting. Is it difficult to learn?"

"The basic part isn't. It's a matter of breathing evenly, and 
conjuring a place you feel comfortable, relaxed, and safe. There 
are advanced levels of breathing exercises, and techniques to 
empty your mind, or help you conjure up a place. I haven't 
learned all the mental techniques, I just know a bit about how 
they are supposed to work. But, I have good memories of places 
that I can recall and concentrate on. I know some of the 
breathing exercises. You might want to pick up Yoga. It teaches 
you how to relax your muscles, and how to breathe."

I knew some advanced mental techniques, but I didn't want to talk 
about them. I had experimented when my training required, but I 
hadn't felt comfortable. I had put them aside long time ago, and 
never picked them up since then.

"Did you practice Yoga?"

"Uhh.. No... not really."

_Go, it was long ago! It had scared the shit out of me that first 
time, when I had touched 'it.' The second time hadn't been bad. 
At least, I had discovered its true nature..._

_But, what use is it to go there? Unless, I need the edge. 
Perhaps, Sensei was right when he said I would find it if I ever 
need it._

I had kept at it a few times more, practicing, getting to know 
_it_, but still, I had been reluctant in my forays, before I 
finally quit all together.

She gave me a quizzical look, but decided not to delve further. 
Picking up an ashtray, she placed it on the nightstand, where she 
could reach. She lit a cigarette, passed it to me, and lit 
another one for herself. I wondered if the gesture was to make me 
feel more comfortable. If it was, she was doing a very good job 
of it.

"Are you afraid of shocking me?" I asked.

"Was I that obvious?" she responded, amused.

"No, not really. I think I'm recognizing patterns."

"I see... Well, it isn't really shocking, though it might give 
you a surprise. Mitch, what I'm getting at is, she was lying when 
she said she was involved with a pilot. We've been flying 
together frequently over the last several months, and she hasn't 
been involved with anybody... definitely not anybody from the 
crews. She doesn't flaunt her relations, but she doesn't hide 
them either. With the amount of time we've spent together lately, 
I don't see how she could keep a relationship so secret. She was 
keeping busy with the work, and that didn't leave her much free 
time. Come to think of it, she wasn't partying as much as she 
did, and her last fling was almost half a year ago or so."

That was indeed a surprising revelation.

"So, what do you think is happening?" I asked.

"There is definitely a break in the pattern. She never went more 
than a month or two without getting involved with somebody. I had 
seen that myself, and I hear things. It's a small world. 
Everybody knows everybody."

"She might have one-night-stands in the meantime, but the general 
pattern seems to have changed." I was thinking out loud, without 
realizing what I said.

"Yes, I would say so. There is another thing," she said, grabbing 
my attention immediately with the tone of her voice.

"You remember that I told you she probably cried when she 
returned to the lounge?"

I nodded.

"I haven't seen her cry over anybody. She would shrug, and say it 
was fun while it lasted, and move on to the next relation. Most 
of the time, she was the one who broke off relations. Her 
reaction to you, lying about a non-existent relationship, and her 
later behavior in the lounge are contradictory, unless... 
Considering all I've heard from you and what I know about her, if 
I had to take a guess, I would say she has feelings for you, 
Mitch. She probably has had them for a long time."

"I'm not sure I follow your reasoning. I know I felt something 
from her, but her signals were clear. She wasn't interested in 
pursuing _us_, and she didn't want me to pursue _us_. I think we 
both know that she knew how I felt about her then, and still do 
now, even though we didn't talk about it."

"That's where it gets a bit... complicated. I think it has 
everything to do with her past, and your earlier history. You 
were correct when you said she was hurt, and that made her 
change, become a user."

"We agree on that, but how does that relate to what you said?" I 
asked.

"In the dance of mating, the male is supposed to be the 
initiator, the hunter, and the female is the hunted. In reality, 
the female decides whether she'll take a male as a partner or 
not. However this doesn't change the fact that male is the 
aggressor, so to speak, whether he'll be successful or not. Are 
you with me so far?"

I nodded.

"Now, in most cases the dance is more complicated. Both partners 
step forward and backward, testing the waters, and the chemistry 
between them, trying to find a suitable rhythm if there's one to 
be found. In her other relations, she allowed herself to be 
chased and captured. In your case, she was doing the chasing. 
 From what I heard about your earlier history, she was the 
initiator. She decided when to move to the next step. That means 
she was interested in you. Of course, you must have chased her, 
but you were taking a more passive approach, whereas she was 
taking a more active role. This happens, but not so regularly and 
consistently. There's always a role reversal along the way, 
sometimes several role reversals. In your case, that never 
happened, at least until very late."

"So you're saying, because I never took the initiative, she lost 
interest, and moved onto other men..."

"That could happen, but I don't think that's the case here. You 
are forgetting she was a user before you, and she continued to be 
a user. She might have used you, but I don't believe that. First 
of all, she seems to recognize that you two had some kind of a 
chemistry. Her mood change indicates that. Second, letting her 
take the lead, you forced her to take the initiative. She could 
have easily moved onto somebody else; give another guy a signal, 
then let him chase her. That was more her style. If she saw you 
as an interesting challenge, then of course, she would go after 
you, taking the initiative. The thing is, she knew you were 
interested in her, and serious about her. In a way, you were 
chasing her but not actively. Are you with me so far?" she asked.

"Yes, I see what you're saying. But, she changed as soon as I got 
serious, so in a way, as soon as I took the initiative she 
started to push me away," I said.

"Yes, she did. The thing is you never changed. When she was 
flirting with other guys, you didn't judge her. When she turned 
her attention back to you, you were there but letting her be. She 
initiated the intimacy and decided how you two interacted. That 
was one constant. The other constant is her reaction to you. You 
said, the very first moment you two met she took it slow, almost 
cautious, compared to how she was with other people when she met 
them the first time. I think she recognized the chemistry, and 
you both come to realize that. And, that _chemistry_ didn't 
change. You said that the last two times when things were cooling 
off were as good as before, and afterwards she was loving, until 
she put her mask back on."

"Yes. They were."

"I think she loved you, Mitch. She discovered that she could love 
and not be used. She was definitely not used by you. Whether she 
was using you or not, she was using the other men, but she was 
also letting herself be used. That's another thing you got right. 
And I believe she must have realized the difference."

"OK. I understand what you're saying. Let's assume she felt 
something for me. But she chose to ignore it, and she kept on 
doing what she used to do... until now."

"Think, Mitchell. I asked you if you ever thought she was self-
destructive," she admonished me sharply.

"You're saying... she wasn't ready for it, or she was scared?"

"Most probably, but there's another possibility. In fact, it 
complements what you said. You told me that she told you she 
wasn't ready for commitment. I guess she was also scared of the 
things you evoked in her... the chemistry. I think that's a real 
possibility. If I hadn't come to know you a bit, I would have 
discarded the description you gave about your intimate moments as 
a figment of your imagination. But, you seem to have a firm grasp 
of what's real and what's imagined. And you are very sensitive, 
however reserved you might act," she said, pausing dramatically 
to make her point.

When I tried to shrug it off, she immediately seized upon it.

"Don't give me that, Mitch. Give yourself some credit. I think I 
have an idea of what you're capable of. What's more, I suspect I 
might be only scratching the surface."

That last remark made me blush with embarrassment.

"No need to be embarrassed about something like that. Just don't 
let that remark go to your head, OK?"

I nodded.

"Where were we? Oh, yes. Scared... That's a real possibility. 
Complementing all that however, is her love for you. I think she 
loved you enough to let you go. When you broke up, she didn't 
chase you back. Do you think you could have resisted if she 
chased you?"

I shook my head. "Maybe I could have resisted for a short while, 
but I think she would have succeeded. Very easily. I loved her."

"And she knew that. She could have used it. Why didn't she?" she 
asked, making her point.

I went over all the things we discussed and what she told me.

"She loved me, and she wasn't ready for commitment. She let me 
go, because she didn't want to hurt me. Hurt me more than she 
already had," I replied.

"Precisely."

"She was already self-destructive, and she felt... guilty... 
about us. So, she kept on punishing herself... Is that what 
you're saying?"

"Something like that. If she didn't feel guilty then, she 
probably did later. I think in the airport, today, she must have. 
Why else would she lie, and try to keep you away, trying to make 
sure you are OK? She still felt something for you," she said.

"She may have broken with her earlier patterns. Six months is a 
long time for her... and the encounter today, brought things 
home?" I added.

"I think so. We might be wrong about some things, but I think 
it's safe to say she loved you and she still has feelings for 
you. Now, she had the chance to pick up the game, and play it 
again. She didn't. The question is, what could you do about it, 
and if she would be willing to participate. There's a real danger 
she might be scared of being hurt, being hurt worse than before, 
and unwilling to take any risks."

Then she gave me a grave look, mixed with apprehension. 
"Mitchell... this is very important! It carries an immense 
responsibility! If you decide to take the initiative... it might 
not only destroy her, but yourself as well," she said, her voice 
laden with sadness and sympathy.

"I know," I said, my voice reflecting the same heaviness. With a 
tired sigh, I continued, "But there's no helping it. I can, of 
course, walk away from it. Considering the alternative and the 
possibilities, that might be best. I have to think this through 
carefully and, now is not the right time for it."

I stood up stretching my legs, then held out my hand to Dana, and 
helped her to her feet. Picking our cups, we made our way to the 
table for a re-fill from the thermos. I offered a cigarette to 
her and lit it, and lit another one for myself. Taking a sip from 
my coffee, I left my cup on the table, and went to the window. I 
opened it wider to get some fresh air. A few minutes later, Dana 
was standing by my side, watching the lights of the city. Some 
twenty floors up, we had a good view.

Although I was watching the view, I was well aware of her 
presence. She was taking care not to invade my personal space, 
even though I could sense her need for contact-- a touch, perhaps 
a hug. She was a remarkable woman, and I gave a silent thanks to 
whoever was watching over me. I went back to the nightstand to 
pick up the ashtray, and returned with it. After putting out my 
cigarette, I asked, "It's cold, isn't it?"

"Not very," she replied.

I stepped behind her, and wrapped my arms around her belly, 
pulling her to my chest. "There. I think you'll feel better."

She sighed and relaxed. I waited until she finished her 
cigarette, but did not release her. "You know what's coming next, 
don't you?"

"I think I have an idea... Dr. Mitchell!" she retorted in an 
amused tone, making me laugh.

"Good. So, you know how doctor patient relations work. Now, this 
doctor prescribes a glass of wine. The patient doesn't complain 
and takes her medicine," I replied falling into the role.

When she turned and looked up, I gave her soft kiss on her 
forehead, and guided her to the bed. Once she was comfortably 
settled there, I took the bottle from the floor and filling her 
glass, I handed it to her. She patted the side of the bed, asking 
me to sit by her side. Then, she told me the story.

It was bad.

About six years ago, she had been dating a guy. Over a period of 
ten months they had fallen in love with each other and decided to 
get married. One night, while he had been away for a business 
trip, she was assaulted and raped by a burglar. Aside from the 
trauma of rape, the doctors had told her she had little chance of 
having a baby. At first, her fianc� had been very understanding, 
and helped her through psychological counseling and therapy. 
However, once she pulled herself through and managed to get her 
life back, he broke up with her, because he had wanted to have 
kids, or so he said. In actuality, that was only one of the 
reasons, because he hadn't touched her since the rape. After the 
break-up, she fell into depression for a while, but managed to 
gather herself again. Since then she had had a few relations, but 
none of them had worked out.

"What about your current boyfriend?" I asked.

"It's not serious yet. It's pretty new, and he knows about my 
past."

"How did he take it?"

"He took it better than most others. He's not concerned about my 
inability to have a child. We're getting to know each other, and 
I get the feeling he is serious, but I'm being cautious."

"That's understandable, Dana. Do you love him?"

"It's too early to say anything. But, yes; I have feelings for 
him. I think he loves me as well. He's been very understanding 
and patient with me," she said pointedly.

"You have not..." I asked.

She shook her head. "We haven't been seeing each other very 
long."

"Are you afraid he'll turn into one of those bastards? Is that 
why you keep him at arms' length?"

"Maybe... I'm tired of relations that don't go anywhere..."

She started to cry. I quickly gathered her in my arms, trying to 
sooth and calm her. Slowly, she quieted down to mostly sniffling. 
I laid her on the bed, and went to the bathroom. I ran the hot 
water and wet a towel, then squeezed the excess water. Picking up 
some tissues, I returned to the room. She blew her nose, then 
used the hot towel to wipe her face. When she finished, she 
picked up her glass, and took couple of sips. Taking the glass 
from her, I placed it on the nightstand.

"Dana, you're a wonderful woman. You are a gentle, caring, loving 
person. And beautiful. Any man worth his salt would die to have a 
woman like you. You've nothing to fear. It's their loss. If my 
heart wasn't already taken, I'd be the first," I said.

Looking at her in the eye, I added, "I might still do that... 
considering the options I am facing at the moment."

That earned me an slap on my arm, and a rebuke, "You don't know 
what you're saying."

"I do! And you madam, are getting feisty before I even proposed. 
No wonder..." I quipped.

"You are terrible," she said with a small laugh.

"Yeah, I know. What can I say?" I retorted.

Then, on a more serious note, I said, "You know what I mean. You 
are a wonderful woman. I'm not saying this just because of all 
you've done to help me. I'm glad I've come to know you."

Gathering her in my arms, I gave her a kiss on her forehead. When 
we parted, she looked relaxed and happy to have unburdened 
herself and shared with me. I was glad to have known her, but a 
bit sad that I couldn't do more for her. I didn't know how to 
help her. I hoped that what she had shared with me helped her.

"Thank you, Mitch. I'm glad to know you as well." Checking the 
time she said, "It's getting late. I think we should get some 
sleep."

"Will you be all right?" I asked.

"I'll be fine, Mitch, how about you?"

"Oh, I think I'll be asleep before I touch the pillows. You want 
to use the shower first?"

"No. You go ahead, get some rest," she replied.

Giving her a goodnight kiss, I went to the bathroom for a pit 
stop, and a quick shower. Finished with my ablutions, I knocked 
at her door, telling her the bathroom was available, and headed 
into my room. Wearing only my boxer shorts, I crawled in between 
the cool sheets.

_Finally! A comfortable bed, and sleep!_

Those were the last thoughts before I fell into an uneasy sleep.



* * * * *


(continued in next part, 3/5)
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