Okay, Kiddies, gather up your blankies. I promised you another story. This is in the "Bad Dreams" appendix to "Short Stories and Nightmares". It's not quite a nightmare and, unfortunately, it's not fiction.
John and I met in March of 1988, a month or so after husband #2 and I had split. (You'll remember, this is the marriage about which the therapist said, "We've been beating this dead horse for two-and-a-half years now.) John had recently retired after 28 years in the U.S. Air Force. My friend who was to chair the auction for the Oratorio Society of Washington had experienced a falling-out with the OSW administration, so they were looking for a chair to step in two months before the auction and take over. Somebody said, "ask John, he's got time on his hands." Ever the bon vivant, he agreed, not realizing the amount of work that was involved. As soon as he agreed to the task, my friend said to him, "You'll want to talk to Jan. She wrote a database application that runs the whole auction. You can't do this thing without her." He called me and invited me to his first meeting with all the committee members. We had been singing together for four years, but had never met.
The meeting was being held on a Sunday evening in mid-March. That Sunday was also the day of my first year moot court competition. I was feeling anxious.
I had prepared my statements to the judge, had worked very hard to excel in this competition. As I stood before the judge, he asked me some question that I hadn't even thought about, that I didn't have the slightest idea of the answer. I stood there surrounded by classmates, teachers and judges, and dissolved into tears. I managed to extricate myself from the courtroom, walked into the hall, sank down on the floor and sobbed. Just sobbed. I was almost 38 years old, on my second divorce, and couldn't handle myself in the profession for which I was training.
Once the competition was over, I walked out to my car and drove to the auction meeting. You can imagine the state of my mind. I walked into this meeting and just sat down on the floor and tried to pay attention to what was going on. So this was John's first introduction to me — a little waif, overwhelmed by life.
A few days later, I understand, he asked my friend whether I would like it if he asked me out. I had already been invited to my friend's daughter's bat mitzvah, so when my friend called to tell me what he had asked, she suggested I bring him as my date to the bat mitzvah.
The relationship took off quickly. He was lonely; I was lonely. He was nothing if not a helluva lot of fun and the life of the party. We would frequently talk on the phone into the night, sharing stories and hopes and dreams.
He had a 1917 rowhouse in Adams Morgan and his friend and next-door-neighbor had just bought a fabulous 1912 rowhouse in neighboring Mount Pleasant. After spending $250,000 renovating this townhouse, the friend had been appointed consul to the U.S. embassy in Madras, India. The friend and his new wife were disconsolate at leaving their new home and all their antiques and possessions behind. So an agreement was reached — John would take care of this fabulous [three stories plus English basement] house in exchange for a minimal rent.
One night, feeling, I guess, especially lonely, he and I were talking on the phone. He was talking about this plan to housesit for two years. At some point in this conversation, he talked about how big and rambling the house was, how alone he'd be, and asked if I would come live with him. I said I'd think about it.
I thought and thought, weighed, measured, and finally decided, after 8 or 10 more dates with him, that this would be a most enjoyable experience. So I looked for a romantic way to respond to his suggestion/proposal. He had asked me over for dinner one evening. I dressed carefully and stopped at the store to buy a single red rose and a card. I don't remember the sentiment on the card — something loving and lovely, I'm sure — and inside I wrote, "Yes, I will live with you and be your love."
I thought it kind of odd that he looked a little perplexed. I expected a joyous response, with his arms wrapped around me in a bear hug. But I got a sort of "oh, okay" response.
In time we started planning for the move. I bought fabric and made curtains and a comforter for our bed. We put together a lovely home amid his friends' possessions, and we made a happy life together.
Only months later did he admit to me that he never remembered having asked me to move in.
Years later he was to say that it was one of the best things that ever happened in his life. But I never forgot the sting that I felt when I realized I made such a bold move on a — to him — inconsequential statement.
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