Usually, Marc rode his bicycle for exercise―hard. It was the the one kind of fitness he did outside the gym. On this lazy Saturday afternoon, things were different. He pedaled apathetically through the August sun, which beat down through a sky of sparse cirrus clouds. It was almost a month since his girlfriend had left him for a lawyer. True, their relationship had drifted and Marc admitted to himself that it was probably his fault; he had never thought of her as his soul mate, his one and only; but one thing had led to another and they had been together for a few years. Why had she left him? Perhaps she saw the writing on the wall―there was nothing in it for either of them. And yet it still hurt. Had she left him for money? He wondered. Looks? Marc hadn't met the lawyer, but as a fitness instructor he didn't think of himself as ugly. Average at the very least. No, it must be something else. It hadn't been a good month at the gym. His concentration was bad and he'd considered requesting a few days vacation earlier than scheduled, but no, he'd persisted through the hot summer weeks, fighting to stay healthy and keep the demons away.
The newly cut hay fields adjacent to the road gave off a scent that made him want to stop, get off his bike and lie down to sleep in the sun, but there was no shade and his torso was naked. Better to keep going than fall asleep and get a sun burn.
He thought about the night before when he'd almost picked up a girl at a downtown bar. She had been attractive and had seemed willing enough to leave with him after some conversation, but when it came down to inviting her for something more, he hesitated and walked out, alone. He wondered why until, back at home, he'd pulled out his old high school yearbook. The nostalgia wasn't good for him like this, newly single again. He turned to where Kathy had signed it, his old girlfriend from the final year. He never should have let her go. Probably she had been married now for years. No doubt he'd find out sooner or later at some reunion. But oh that honey blonde hair flying in the wind, that laughter. That figure. It was years, but he could still taste her lips and feel her long fingers on the palm of his hand.
In the midst of his reverie pedaling through the quiet fields, a pothole gave Marc a jarring bounce and he landed unceremoniously on the pavement. He picked himself stiffly up. This never happened to him. He cursed his inattention. One of his knees was a bit scraped but aside from that he was none the worse for wear. Then he he noticed his front tire was flat. He looked up at the sky with his hands out in disgust. Nothing seemed to be going right lately. On the other hand, an occurrence like this wasn't completely out of the ordinary. He was an avid rider and prepared for this sort of thing, having with him what he need to repair the tire tube or if that failed, spare inner tubes and the tools needed to replace a damaged one. He took off his backpack and removed the tire to examine the damage. There was a rip in the tube all right, impossible to mend with a patch. He'd have to replace it. After a few moments of rummaging around in his backpack, Marc broke into a cold sweat despite the heat: there was no spare inner tube left. How could he he have let this happen? He was usually meticulous about having a spare and here he was in the middle of nowhere with a flat.
He pulled out his cell phone. Surely there was someone on his contact list who could pick him up and get him out of this mess. The phone was switched off. That was strange―he normally always left it on. He pressed the 'on' button. Nothing. The battery must be dead.
Here he was, miles out in the countryside and there wasn't a vehicle in sight. Had a pickup truck passed him earlier? Perhaps if he waited for a while, someone would drive by. Surely those who lived in a place like this would give him a helping hand?
Beyond the field was a stand of trees. Marc put a flat hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun and trying to see if there were any buildings there, since it looked like a good bet that a farmhouse lay behind the woods. Since it appeared it wouldn't take more than ten or fifteen minutes to walk, he set off, pushing the broken-down mount beside him. Not a car or a truck or any vehicle whatsoever passed by and he began to wonder how big the farms in this area were. To his great relief however, before long he saw his hunch was right: a building set back from the road became slowly visible behind the trees, and it was indeed a house. But would anyone be home? Surely there must be. There had to be. He quickened his pace, wanting one way or another to be out of his misery on the question.
As he hurried closer, a group of farm buildings behind the house came into view, and miracle of miracles there were three vehicles parked near the house―an SUV and a couple of pickup trucks. A side window was open and as he leaned his bicycle against the porch, he could hear music coming from inside the house. It wasn't country music as he might have expected but a female jazz voice singing something that made him stop in his tracks before he knocked. The thought of a weathered farmer having some afternoon delight with his wife came to mind, but was at odds with the music which undulated with smoothness as if silk floated through the air.
Finally, hearing no one and seeing no doorbell, he knocked firmly and suddenly felt self conscious since he'd been riding with no shirt and didn't in fact have one with him. After a few moments he heard footsteps and the door opened.
Marc stared, open mouthed. The woman who answered the door was no farm wife. She was gorgeous, and he recognized her almost at once: it was Kathy, his old girlfriend from high school. His face flushed, but he noticed the same happening to her; she definitely recognized him too. The music drifted through the air as each stared at the other until she finally spoke.
"Marc! What on earth brings you here to the middle of nowhere? What's it been, nine, ten years? How did you know I was here?"
He gave her a genuine smile, trying to slow his breathing. They'd gone out together for nine months until the end of their senior year but had parted before college. What a mistake that had been, he thought to himself. She'd been good looking back then but now she was stunning. His mind reversed course quickly. Of course she must be married now or have a boyfriend. Look at her―she must. He wanted to glance down to see if she had a ring on the appropriate finger, but he couldn't break his eyes away from hers.
"I had no idea you were here Kathy. This is as much a surprise for me as it is for you. I'm here by chance. Cool place you've got, does your husband own this farm? I thought you were going into college for science."
"Actually," she said, her eyes roaming a bit, "I'm not married. This is my folks place. They bought the farm a year after I graduated. Don't you remember my dad always saying he wanted to sell his business and buy a hobby farm? What about you, you must have gotten hitched? Jeez you look good. I'm sorry, what am I keeping you at the door for? Come in, I'd love to catch up with you, but why on earth are you here?" Her voice trembled ever so slightly.
Marc slipped inside the door and removed his running shoes, leaving him in his riding shorts. Memories flooded back as he watched her lead him down a short hallway. Her dark-blonde hair waved back and forth in its ponytail like a wisp of nature.
"To be honest, my cell phone battery died, which I found out after I got a flat riding my bike in the area. I thought I had a spare inner tube, but no luck."
Kathy led the rest of way into a sitting area where the jazz sounds still played, and he sat on a comfortable sofa beside her. He felt self conscious about wearing only shorts and folded his arms in front of his chest. He did recall her dad wanting to buy a farm. He looked at her hair, the hair he'd touched so often. So golden and silky and still long. She wore a loose white t-shirt and very short shorts, accentuating her shapely legs, which were barefoot.
"You didn't answer my question about being married," she said, smiling.
"Oh―nope, not married," he said, looking into her eyes and remembering their grey blue depths. "But I did have a girlfriend for a while. Nothing at the moment."
"I can hardly believe anyone would let you go. Based on the shape your in." She smiled, but there was a catch in her throat and she seemed a little embarrassed. "I'm so rude Marc," she said, rising, "I guess you surprised me. It's so hot. Let me get you a drink. What would you like?"
"Just a big glass of water is fine, thank you," he said, watching her shapely derriere disappear into the kitchen. She reappeared a moment later with two glasses filled with water and ice.
"Kathy, you must have a guy yourself," he said, taking a large drink of the cool water, and then added, "based on the shape you're in now."
She pushed a fist into his shoulder and grinned at him.
"You haven't changed a bit, have you Marc?" The big eyes he remembered looked deep into him, those eyes he had kissed. The hands he had held. He remembered how much he had wanted her in high school, how much he had ached to go all the way with her, but had never dared. She was too intimidating and wasn't shy about telling him where she drew the line. Why had he ever left her? He watched her lips, remembering kissing them, remembering the fire they kindled in him.
Her eyes became a little sad, almost tearful and she took one of his hands in hers and played with it, tracing the lines.
"No Marc, I'm not attached right now either. I did have a boyfriend for a few years but there were things about the way he treated me that I wasn't happy about. Finally one day he pushed me too far and I ended it. I was sad. Angry too. You know what I mean. You feel like there's something wrong with you, not the other person."
"Yes. I know what you mean Kathy," he said. His old girlfriend had never treated him like Kathy did. So tender like this. His heart suddenly began to melt, remembering the old way Kathy used to hold him, to stroke his shoulders.
"It's hard to believe we parted after high school. I never forgot you, but after you got that boyfriend in college...", he watched her long fingertips stroking his palm, and smelled her hair, her skin, her hint of perfume. "That's a lovely scent you have on. How did you end up at your parents?"
"Thank you Marc," she said, "yeah, I've been really busy working on a thesis for my doctoral degree in biochemistry and I haven't been getting out much socially. Right now, staying at my parents is like an oasis where I can chill out, make some progress and take stock, you know? When they asked me to take care of their place while they went on a month-long vacation it was a great opportunity to get to work and really get something done. Three weeks later I've accomplished a lot." She looked from his hand to his eyes. "But never mind that. I've thought about you a lot over the years, Marc."
