This is Part Two of a two-part story.
*****
When I saw Tina's number a few paragraphs before the end of her letter, I subconsciously reached for my phone even before I was done reading. I began crying when I started the letter, but by the last few paragraphs, I was bawling like a child. I don't know that it really mattered what Tina would have said to me, though it was such an unbelievably eloquent and emotional letter that I couldn't help but be moved by it. But since I hadn't ever gotten over her, if she had included her phone number and simply said, "Call me," I think I would have done what she was asking, without thinking, regardless of how terse or dispassionate the content of the message.
It took me awhile to compose myself. I cried for a good long time, cried not because the woman that
I
loved had told me that
she
still loved me, but because I now knew that she had suffered for six years on my account, and that suffering
proved
her love more than anything that she had said. It was such an incredible story, and I realized that Tina had done the only thing that she could have done. I certainly couldn't fault her for her handling of the situation. Quite the opposite, I figured that, in all likelihood, I literally owed her my life.
I wanted to call her immediately – to tell her that, of course, I wanted her to come back to me – but then reason and rationalism crept stealthily into my brain. This wasn't going to be as simplistic as I initially thought it would be. There was a multitude of issues that I needed to consider, and because I was at least a little more mature and forward thinking than I had been, there were complexities to any reunion with Tina that would never have entered my mind six years ago when I first lost her. I guess I had changed more than I realized. So I decided to wait until I was less emotional to make that call and until I knew exactly what I wanted to say.
When I went to bed that night – the last evening in May, I think I must have dreamed about Tina all through an unusually fitful night of sleep. Just prior to waking up, I must have been lying on my back, though I had somehow inexplicably turned my body 90° in my bed, so that my legs were dangling over the side. And then apparently while I was dreaming, I began subconsciously moving, mimicking the sexual act.
It was an incredibly vivid dream, and I simulated in reality every movement that I was making in the dream. Tina was riding me reverse cowgirl on the edge of the bed. She was standing with her feet on the floor next to the bed, squatting over my haunches and thrusting her fine ass so her pussy was sliding up and down my length while she was turning back to stare at me with an extraordinary look of sensuality decorating her gorgeous face.
She kept saying over and over again, "Keep fucking my pussy, sweetie; shoot your hot cum deep inside me!" And then I must have started thrusting my pelvis upward even more, tightening my butt muscles, and lifting my hips off the mattress to meet Tina's thrusts. And then I came, and Tina was screaming, "Oh sweetheart, yes, yes, I can feel you cumming!" When I finally opened my eyes and became fully conscious, I realized that the inside of my underwear was wet and sticky with a load of thick semen. It was only the second time in my life that I had had a nocturnal emission. The only other time was when I was 12.
After waking up, I realized that every muscle in my body was sore. It was like I had been fucking all night long. Thank god, I wasn't sleeping with Kendra that evening; I might have had some explaining to do!
Kendra – she was one of the first really significant complications that I knew I would have to deal with. There was no doubt that I liked her. During the time that we had been dating, she had developed as a kind of yin to my yang.
There was only one problem with Kendra. She wasn't Tina, and she would never become Tina, and so, despite my attraction, I had been hesitant to express myself to her emotionally. That might have been some advantage in my moving on from her, but breaking up with someone is never easy, no matter what the nature of your relationship.
I wasn't looking forward to telling Kendra about Tina, but I felt that regardless of how specific and detailed I would be in explaining my history with Tina, I owed Kendra an explanation of some kind. Even before talking to Tina, I started thinking of how I would approach Kendra. But I had a phone call to make first – the most important phone call of my life.
The next day was Saturday, and so after I had had a chance to plot out all of my talking points, I sat down to call Tina. I had actually written out what I wanted to be sure to say to her, considering that she had quite obviously spent a good deal of time phrasing her thoughts and emotions in her unbelievable letter to me. I dialed the number. But then, once I heard Tina's voice, everything that I had planned and hoped to say to her – all of my passionate, scripted thoughts – melted away like so much spring snow.
"Hello." It only took the lilting grace of that one word for every memory of her and all of my strange emotions and awkward embarrassment to come flooding back simultaneously, and I was again an immature kid, hopelessly enamored by a woman twice my age.
"Tina, is it really you?"
"Oh, sweetheart, I am so glad you called me. I have been hoping and praying that you would call. It is so wonderful to hear your voice. I have missed hearing it so much. Thank you! Thank you so much for calling!" For the first few minutes of the conversation, we were both talking through our sobs and tears.
"Thank
you
for writing. I didn't think that I would ever hear from you again, but when I got your beautiful letter, I understood everything – why you had to leave, why you couldn't contact me sooner. Tina, I am so sorry I put you through all of that!"
"Oh, sweetie!
You
didn't put me through anything. Instead,
I
put you in harm's way, and I have felt so awful about that for the past six years. I'm sorry, sweetie; I'm so, so sorry." It was unfathomable to me that Tina felt guilt over having very possibly saved my life, but it was just so like her to think of me before she thought of herself.
"So, you've been living in North Carolina?"
"Yes, Chapel Hill. I've been working for the University here, in the Registrar's Office. How about you, sweetie? What are you doing now?"
I went on to explain about graduating from college, about my job, about teaching English, but I didn't like listening to myself talking. Instead, all I wanted to hear was Tina Roche's mellifluous voice. And then inexplicably and despite her declaration of love, I suddenly wanted to know if she had been with anyone else in the time we'd been apart. I don't know why I wanted to know that. It was juvenile of me to be curious. Besides, I hadn't planned to ask, and quite frankly it mattered naught, one way or the other. I was hopelessly in love with her. Still, for some inane reason, I asked anyway.
"Tina, if this is the wrong time to ask this question I apologize. I know I shouldn't be asking at all – it's really none of my business, so if you don't want to answer, you don't have to. But, I was wondering – has there... has there been anyone else, I mean, since you and I were together? I mean, if there has, I would completely understand, but I'm just curious." There was a long pause and a few muffled sobs.
"No, Evan, there hasn't been anyone else. I've more or less lived the life of a recluse for the past six years. I was deathly afraid that if I spent too much time in public, somehow, some way Justin would have found me. Besides, I saw no point in looking for somebody to love when I was still hoping I would be able to come back to you."
She paused for a long time, and the thoughts that ran through my head painted a mental picture that was hard to erase from my brain – a beautiful, voluptuous woman who was hidden away, suffering in silence and loneliness – a sort of Southern belle caricature of "Eleanor Rigby."
Finally, she spoke again. "What about you, Evan? Has there been anyone else in your life?"
Now, I felt like a complete ass, and I regretted prying into Tina's personal life, acting like I thought she somehow owed me an explanation that she clearly did not. I knew her question was a fair one, especially considering that I'd asked first, and I knew that she deserved an answer. I also knew that I couldn't lie to her. I cared too much for her to do that.
"Yes, I've had a few girlfriends, and I'm dating someone now, but, Tina, please, I want you to know this more than anything else in this world, and I want you to know that this is the God's honest truth – none of them could ever replace you; none of them have replaced you. I'm still hopelessly in love with you, Tina. I've never stopped being in love with you."
Then, Tina broke down. She cried uncontrollably for a good ten minutes, while I kept saying over and over again through our faltering cell phone connection, "Tina, I love you; I love you so much!" I must have said it a hundred times, and though I could not see her face, I knew that she was crying tears of joy.
I don't remember much about the remainder of the conversation. After that initial burst of emotionalism, the rest was all just inconsequential particulars – love meant so much more than all of that. I know that Tina told me that she would be arriving in Minnesota the following Wednesday morning, and that once she met with the attorneys in Rochester to iron out the inheritance of her husband's estate, she would drive up to Minneapolis that afternoon to see me. Seemingly, the timing couldn't have been better – that Wednesday was the last day of the school year.
We talked for perhaps a half an hour, and though I had failed miserably to deliver my calculated and carefully scripted declaration of undying love, I was more than satisfied with how my improvising had been received.
I was so incredibly excited to see Tina. After I hung up, I jumped in the shower, and just as I had done almost six years ago, the day that I first met her, I masturbated envisioning Tina's beauty. When I got out of the shower, I knew I had another phone call to make, and I decided that I might as well get the unpleasantness over with as soon as possible.
I called Kendra, and asked her if I could come over to see her later that afternoon. I offered to take her to dinner at the
Loon Café
, a modest, hipster eatery in the warehouse district downtown that featured a unique Minnesota take on Tex-Mex dishes, along with an assortment of sandwiches and burgers. She enthusiastically agreed, and that enthusiasm scared me just a little. Kendra was usually quite reserved and unemotional, so hearing the excitement in her voice made me think that this was going to be even more difficult than I had expected.
She lived in a posh, high-rise condominium downtown – a building called
Skyscape
