The gray cat huddled beside the front door of my house while the wind lifted the fur of her scruffy coat, now covered with snow crystals. The children named her Vamp when she was a kitten, and she had lived up to her name. What went through her mind as she nestled in the door frame was something we would never know. What we did know was that whenever we opened the door, she streaked inside, setting off squeals and laughter because once again we had been duped by what was supposed to be a dumb animal.
Vamp dashed inside, raced up the stairs and found the most inaccessible corner to hide, away from hands eager to toss her back into the cold. Her hiding place was beneath my daughter's bed, behind stuffed animals and other toys. I lay on the floor and slid beneath the bed to find green eyes glittering back at me. The cat's head and face peered out among all the other critters that surrounded her, an image that always brought to mind E.T. hiding in Elliot's toy filled closet.
I reached for the cat and she pulled back, trying to escape my grasp, but my hands curled around her fluffy, resisting body. I felt a touch of guilt when I realized she was purring, yet I knew the damage she did to my carpet because she wouldn't use the litter box. With firm resolve, I pulled her from her hiding place and held her close to my chest, hoping to send the message that I did love her.
She purred contentedly in my arms as I took her downstairs, continued to purr as I tossed her back into the cold. She stood there looking at me as I shut her out, then resumed her vigil by the front door.
I touched my cheeks. They felt warm and I noticed my breasts rising and falling much faster than normal. Time to take a break. As I eased down into the soft embrace of my leather chair, I smiled. That cat would give me all the exercise I needed. And she did need love, like I needed love. I had needed love for a long time. Sometimes the pain was almost more than I could handle. It was as if I was lying on the floor and some heavy weight pressed in against my chest. I had a hard time breathing then. I wanted to tear open the back door and go running through the snow, screaming until the pain disappeared.
But, I knew the pain wouldn't fade that easily. It was my only companion now other than the children of course. The children were wonderful company. I loved them both. But, I wanted more. I wanted someone, that special someone to lean on and to share with. I wanted someone that felt warm and strong against me on the cold mornings. I imagined turning to him and feeling his strong arms around me.
I shook my head as I pulled myself up from the softness of the chair. Such a life was nice in dreams, I thought. Dreams and imagination had a way of being perfect. I wished I could stay in my dreams and never leave. But, my world was real, too real. A divorced single-parent knew reality in a way that few others did -- bills to pay, children to dress for school, snow to shovel, oil to change. I had even learned to fix the odd little things that kept breaking around the house. Last summer, I had replaced a few broken shingles on the roof. Yes, I knew the real world.
The next hour was mine. I had claimed it two month ago. I would let nothing interfere with my hour. Anna and Christopher wouldn't be home for a couple more hours and the house was clean. The freedom of a whole hour to myself was intoxicating. A couple weeks ago I started spending it at a bagel shop about a half mile down the road. The exercise was good and I might meet someone interesting. Magic was in the air as I headed down the road.
I slouched against one of the walls of the bagel shop when a man I had never seen before pushed open the glass door. As he held the door open for a blond woman, he plucked at his brown mustache. It was the same color as his carefully manicured hair. The woman slid by him toward the counter and he matched her carefully measured strides. As he walked, his soft gray turtle neck stretched across broad shoulders that accentuated his deep chest and tapered waist. He was no thoughtless dresser. Even his brown Dockers were so obviously casual and relaxed as to be intentional.
The man touched the blond woman's elbow. She didn't respond, but continued staring at the counter. Eventually, they gave their order and retired to a formica-topped table to eat their bagels.
When the man left for the restroom, the blond woman unfolded the Sunday edition of the Denver Post. She laid various sections neatly on the table and with minimal motion began reading. As she turned the pages, her scarlet and lavender fingernails caught the light shining through the glass windows. Her lips formed a pucker of concentration, revealing little lines radiating from them into the rest of her face. Her face had so little movement it could have been a stone statue. Her cheeks were touched with pink and a splash of blue rimmed her eyelids.
Finally she moved. She raised her eyelids revealing blue-green eyes. Then she lowered them again and continued reading. She was immaculately dressed with a gray and white checked suit. She was perfect in every way -- beautiful, slim, flawlessly dressed -- like glass.
The man with the brown mustache returned and sat down. He bit into his bagel and sipped at the vanilla hazelnut coffee. Abruptly, the woman stood up. Her chair slid backwards and hit another table with a soft clink. The man looked up and the woman swung her chin toward the glass door.
The man's eyebrows curled and he gazed down at his unfinished bagel. "I'm not done."
The woman grabbed his chin in her hand and pulled. Her lips were like a pencil mark on a marble statue. "Yes, you are! Now get going!"
She glanced briefly in my direction. For a moment our eyes locked, then she looked away. I felt as if cold fingers touched my shoulders and slid toward my neck. I arched my back and shivered. My hands were shaking.
The man slowly rose and gathered his bagel and coffee cup. His shoulders sagged as he dumped them into the trash bin.
I hardly noticed what the man was doing for something far more interesting had pulled my attention. As the woman turned to leave, I saw the back of her gray coat for the first time. Directly in the center of the back were several large white spots. It looked as though a bottle of bleach had been accidentally dumped on the coat. The perfect woman had a flaw. I felt like whistling or singing a tune. And that is what I did a few minutes later with swinging arms as I strode home. Snow had started falling and as I sang, I tried to catch the falling flakes on my tongue. Some of the notes must have sounded awful, but I didn't care.
When I finally reached my house, I was a little tired, but otherwise feeling quite wonderful. The friendly gray cat was perched by the doorway, waiting. I leaned down to run my fingers through the animal's soft fur. As she purred, I noticed the white snow on her gray coat. I thought briefly how familiar the white on the gray appeared. Then the cat sat down and stared at me before licking her paws and wiping them against her face.
I was careful not to let Vamp into the house.
*********************
The next day I slumped over a cup of French Roast, my thoughts in the clouds, when the glass lady walked in. She was alone this time and seemed different. Perhaps, it was just exhaustion, but she seemed older, more brittle. Watching her sit upright at a nearby table, I noticed small lines radiating from her eyes. Once, as she sipped her coffee, her hand trembled. At first I thought I was mistaken, but it happened again, just a small tremor, yet surprised me since she had seemed so self-assured the previous day.
Sipping my coffee, I wondered what had happened to her companion -- the man with the brown mustache. He had seemed so strong and handsome, and yet something had been wrong. It was as though he was afraid. I wished I had talked to him. Perhaps, I could have said something simple, a comment on the weather or a discussion about skiing. But, I had frozen and now my chance was gone. That was the way it was with me. I always missed those magic moments when I could choose to change my life forever. I always did nothing and that was a choice too.
Glancing up, I noticed the glass lady staring at me and turned my own beacons on her as well. Neither of us moved for several seconds.
"Where's your friend?" I asked breaking the strained silence.
