Accident

I counted the days to my last fall semester final. I had known that date all these months, that events had caused me to count down, that it would be on December 10. That would mean a month with Eileen. The wait those last few days was interminable. My parents knew the closeness we had developed--some of it, anyway. Under the new circumstances, they strongly endorsed my decision to spend the break with her.

Now that I had my own secondhand car, I drove to her door on December 11. As I parked, I saw her at the window; I saw her holding the door open. That embrace at the door was immediate and long, comforting, I thought, more than simply compassionate. She held onto me, an extended time; it was a happy relief to reciprocate.

"You look good, really good. How do you feel?"

"I'm okay," she said.

She was off chemo. The breast cancer, fortunately, had been found at stage one. With the mastectomy and just concluded chemo, she was said to be clear. Was all this punishment from some paranoid and vengeful god, maybe the one who tortured Job? It was hard to gauge how tender she was right now. Physically, I could surmise and maybe soon know better. Mentally, I had no idea. Loyalty and love--spiritual love, most of all, I say--had rushed me to her doorstep.

"You have to be hungry after that drive. I've got some food--what you'll either like most or hate most."

"Subs?"

"And a bottle of wine."

We sat at her small kitchen table. As the last summer had progressed, talk had become so natural and easy. Now it was not.

"How was your semester?"

"It was my best, because of what you taught me."

"What? Kama Sutra?"

"If only! But you taught me something else. I have to take enough courses to satisfy a major. But I'll take courses in other areas mainly that I can't teach myself. If I can do it myself, I don't need to waste a course on it."

"How did that come from me?"

"Gravity's Rainbow."

"Fair enough."

That's one thing that cancer did for her. She had received three months leave. From her multiplying online subscriptions, she had read that Gravity's Rainbow was the modern American Ulysses, just as challenging and just as difficult. So, she told me in October, she was taking it on. "I don't need to be guided by some asshole professor." I received ongoing reports and remarks as she read through it twice.

The internet enriched her virtual life while desolating the physical one. On the one hand, it was an open door, a liberation from "this burg," as she called her town. Remote work, which covid had started and now looked to continue indefinitely, had freed her to approach that door. The gap between Eileen and her officemates had grown, to the point that she felt relief to have no personal contact. Instead, more and more, she had new contacts--at least a sense of them--in the new values and ideas she shared with indefinite others online. Not people--certainly not with anyone in town. Dating apps, I knew, were too uncertain, too scary for her, even before the mastectomy: too much scary uncertainty, people too far away, most likely incompatible, many probably liars. Ironically, the internet had killed the medium that would have served her so well, the once enormous personals section--seen by me as past relics on microfilm--in old back issues of the New York Review (thanks to Eileen for that stimulus), teeming with compatible people with compatible hopes for connection, what was then an exhilaration of possibilities. At present, on the other hand, came this scary thought: The internet would confirm, not heal, loneliness. On the one hand: this growing sense of personal fulfillment and growth, combined with judicious masturbation as needed; maybe that's not so bad. On the other: retreat into desolation, a damaged being--another thing altogether.

Presciently--was it that?--Eileen had employed Alexa to play some old Beatles when we had started in on the subs:

I have never known

The like of this...

But other girls were never quite like this.

Eileen: Now--especially now--I will never let you down!

***

We cleaned up from dinner that early evening and there was desultory talk.

"You must be tired from the drive," she said.

"I guess so"--not sure of what else might be better to say.

"We can use some rest."

We went to bed early. I lay supine, supine as I had to be all that summer, now only imagining how she would come to me then--might come to me now?--at night, night clothes thrown off, the embrace of her soft skin as she first knelt beside me at bedside, softly holding my face in her hands, to see if I was awake to say yes, as I would, as she pulled away the blanket, as she carefully lay next to me, then, with equal care, meticulously moving my encasted hands to either side, so as not to hurt them, then a caressing touch from face to chest to pubic mound, lovingly encircling my dick in her hand, finally reluctantly releasing it as it raised up, tracing her fingers along my thighs and legs, holding and registering each toe with her fingers. Finally, she would cover me with herself, lying atop me so gently and deftly that I was inside her all as if in one motion. Sometimes then she would just lie there like that, holding my face in her hands, gently rocking, enveloping warmth and wetness. It could go on this way for long uncounted minutes, or was it hours? Sometimes, when she came, it was instead intense and passionate, as she rode me and I responded. Sometimes, as she sat upright with me inside her, I would see her looking, looking at my face. Where was she now? I felt so lonely then, for her and for myself.

***

Sun was streaming through the windows that Sunday morning, the light resplendent, reflected in the fresh snowfall from the evening. Eileen had been up, busy in the kitchen, for some time. The smell of fresh coffee was invigorating.

"What will you have?"

"What have you got?"

"Hashbrowns. Canadian bacon. Orange juice."

"Sounds good."

We sat at the small kitchen table.

"Want to do something today?"

"Like?"

"How about The Isles."

"What's that?"

"It's an area near the creek with lots of islets, tiny islands. When it freezes over, like it is now, you can ice skate there."

"A few problems."

She looked on.

"One problem is that I haven't skated in a long time--wasn't that good when I did. The bigger problem is that I don't have ice skates."

"I have a solution. I have my own skates and I happen to have a pair in men's size nine. Your size; right?"

"How did that happen?"

"It happened because of the time of the year, and because I know your size."

"You really do want to see me in casts again."

"That's an interesting thought."

"So when do we go?"

"Too early now. Late afternoon. Not too many people then, and it's quite pretty in the late afternoon sun, if it's out"

"What to do in the meantime?"

"We will have a long, slow breakfast. I'll get a good look at you without any casts, at least for now. I'll look carefully to see if you've grown some more or if there are any other subtle changes. I'll listen to you tell me what you've done this last semester, and I'll listen carefully to see what changes there are in your views and comportment. I'll relax while taking all of you in."

***

We arrived at The Isles late in the afternoon. A golden sun earlier had given over to a gray sky, but we had the place all to ourselves. What had been flurries when we were enroute had become a steady snowfall. Now on skates, Eileen circled an islet deftly, gliding for the moment even on only one skate. I managed, workmanlike, to follow, without falling. Then I suddenly flipped over.

"Maybe you will soon be back in hand casts!"

"Nope. Sore ass, maybe, but no casts."

I would be as good as my words. However, it was wonderous to see just how good Eileen was. (Is that why she wanted to skate?) I had had no idea, but she must have been serious about figure skating at some earlier point. She would glide on one skate, the other leg up high, almost touching that blade with one hand. She did a variety of spins, on one skate or two. Mostly, though, she simply glided forward, effortlessly.

"Follow me!"

"I will as I can."

We circled one island, then another and another. It was an ugly duckling following a swan. Meandering the islands, she turned, skating backwards, watching and appraising me.

"You're getting better."

"I don't know about that."

I almost slipped and, instantly, she glided forward, her arms extended to hold me upright or, as it felt, to hold me.

"Close one."

"Maybe, but I know how to protect my ass."

"I'll have to protect it for you."

As we meandered, the snow fell more and more heavily. Dusk was already approaching on this very short day. Still, we skated on. Her strides were effortless. My ankles ached more than my ass but, witness to her radiance, the last thing I would want to do would be to cut this time short. Sometimes she glided forward; sometimes she skated backward and watched my every motion; sometimes she glided around me. I was attended to; she was at the zenith of her skills, luminous.

It was finally getting dark. I was dead dog tired and getting wet everywhere from falls in the accumulating snow. Still, I hesitated to lose one moment of this experience. It was up to Eileen to call time, as she finally did.

"It's getting dark. Time to go home."

***

"You're drenched."

I was almost too tired to talk, but she was right."

"We need to get these wet clothes off you and get you warm."

"Okay."

"You need a warm bath, asap."

She went to the bathroom in my bedroom to turn on the water.

"Let's get these cold, wet clothes off, I'll put you in a terrycloth robe until the water is ready. Now stand right here."

First, she unbuttoned the wet shirt, then pulling the drenched sleeves from my arms, finally dropping it on the floor.

"Now raise your arms."

She pulled off the wet tee shirt. Then she unbuckled the belt and the pants buckle.

"It's hard even to get them off, they're so wet."

It took tugging to get them down to my knees, then finally to the floor.

"Step out of them. You are soaked through and through. Even these underpants."

They, too, did not slip down easily.

"Now step out of them. Put out your right arm"

She worked the right sleeve of the plush white robe through it and wrapped it around me.

"Left arm."

The same. Now she wrapped it around my front and secured it with the belt.

"Right foot up."

Wet sock was worked off, then the same with left.

"Now you sit on the bed until the water is ready."

She carried the pile of wet clothes to the laundry room.

"Come to the bathroom. The water is ready."

She led me there, unfastened the robe, and hung it on a wall hook.

"Hold onto my arm when you climb into the tub. The last thing we need is for you to slip. How does that warm water feel?"

"Good."

"Good. That's what you need, some warmth coming into you. Lie back. Get yourself totally immersed."

I did, and she sat at the side of the tub, attending to me.

"I can't say that you're dirty, just that you're chilled. You need to lie and relax, for a good long time."

Too tuckered out to talk, I lay in the warmth while she sat beside. My left arm was resting on the side of the tub. She took that hand and held it in her hands. This lasted for what seemed a long time. No words were exchanged. Finally, she broke the silence.

"We need to get you out and get you to bed."

She held out her arms for me to hold while I climbed out, onto the towel placed on the floor. She placed another large one around my middle. Now, with a smaller towel, she began to dry me, first head, then with gentle touches, my face. Holding one side, she applied the other surface to my face, touching and tracing each part. Then she continued downward, similarly, tracing and drying neck, then shoulders. She took one arm and extended it, touching and drying from shoulder to wrist, then taking my hand in hers, drying each finger carefully. She did the same with the other arm, then hand. Now, spreading her arms around me, she reached to my back, then circled forward to my chest, gentle, touching strokes, strokes going down to the small of my back and then belly. She unfastened the big towel and hung it on a wall hook. With the smaller towel, her strokes now continuing down to my buttocks, limning each curve, she dried me there; her hands, over the towel, tracing each shape, then drying between my thighs, separating them slightly to access and similarly touching either side of my scrotum with gentle strokes. She moved to the front, pressing gently on pubic bone, then cupping by balls on either side while she held and dried them. With one hand she took and held my dick, forward, then circled and enveloped it in the towel. Moving further down, she encircled first one thigh, then the other, drying to the knee and then down to the instep.

"Now sit for a moment on the side of the tub."

She took one foot in her hand, wrapping it in the towel, then separately holding and drying just the toes, then the same with the other foot. She held out her arms for me to hold as I stood up, as I did, now facing her.

"You're dry now."

She moved forward, pressing her front against my front. Her arms encircled and surrounded me.

"Now let's get the robe back on."

She led me to the bed.

"Pajamas--yes or no?"

"No."

"Then let's get you between these warm sheets."

She pulled back the covers. I got in and lay supine as she prepared to cover me. She looked down upon me.

"Right now you are so white, white against the white sheets. You are quite beautiful."

She pulled the covers forward to my chin.

"Now you get the rest you need."

She put her lips to my forehead. Then, still bending over me, she brought them to my lips."

"Goodnight."

She switched off the bedroom light and closed the door.

***

The next day, Monday, was a remote workday for Eileen. Whether through pretext or necessity, she made clear at breakfast that most of the day would be spent in her home office.

"Meanwhile, Sander, something you can do while I'm working. There's a great movie that you have to see, one I saw only recently. 'Le souffle au coeur.'" As the title implies, it is from the heart, but also incredibly funny. The look on the father's face when he thinks his son has destroyed his priceless painting is priceless."

I did find it, and she was right. The "refined" father's anguish was priceless when he saw the destroyed counterfeit of his painting. But was Eileen really up to something else, defter and more indirect? Was it only coincidental that Laurent, the kid in the movie, had that loving, one-off sexual experience with his mother, that it was great, though one-off, that he came off none the worse for it?

I procured the subs we had at lunch and mentioned I'd seen the movie.

"Great, wasn't it?"

That's all she had to say.

When her workday was finished, dusk already approaching, we resumed our late afternoon walks of the summer. It was cold, but we were dressed for it. We walked two abreast, her left arm hooked around my right, Suze Rotolo style.

***

I lay in my bed that night, thinking about Eileen. She was not coming to me. But I was free of casts now; I was coming to her. I walked silently and approached her bedside. She was very quiet, asleep. I knelt closer, so that I could study her face. It was peaceful and beautiful. I leaned forward and clasped her face, gently, in both of my hands. I kissed her forehead, then above and around her eyes. Nearly imperceptibly, I could feel that she was awake. I continued to kiss and caress her face; I felt a peaceful acceptance. My kisses continued; I could feel her acquiescence and, I felt I sensed, her comfort in it. I kissed her face entirely, then neck, then the very top of her shoulders. Though it was nearly imperceptible, I then sensed a stiffening. I then caressed her whole face, kissed her once more on the forehead, then left for my own bedroom.

She was up early, way before me; I could smell the big and ambitious breakfast she was making.

"Sander, I hope you slept well. I thought it would be nice to make a big and sumptuous breakfast."

"That sounds great."

We ate, slowly, the bagels, the ham and hashbrowns, drinking cups of the aromatic coffee she had brewed.

"Sander, you have so many good qualities that I admire. But the one I like the most of all is that I know I can trust you completely."