Wednesday, February 24, 2010

3. Metamorphosis

That Thanksgiving was the most joyful, fun, and relaxed Thanksgiving I had had in a really long time. With Dave and Ellie sitting on either side of me, I felt complete in a way that I couldn't explain. It was just right. And I was so grateful. Imagine - gratitude at Thanksgiving! Dave, Ellie, and I went outside and played touch-football with the children of Ellie's brother and sister, we stuffed ourselves to the brim, we played cards after dinner - it was postcard perfect.

Dave left us the next day. He said he had something to do, but wouldn't divulge specifics. I had a feeling that it somehow involved his parents, but I didn't push him. 

Ellie and I spent the weekend in quiet, marital bliss. We cooked, we read to each other, we watched movies, we walked the dogs, I graded papers, Ellie cleaned up photos on her Mac from her last shoot - we made love as though we were making up for lost time - and we were. It made Monday morning all that much harder to face, though Ellie wasn't going to have leave again for some time. But face it I did. 

I woke up in a preternatural good mood. Usually Ellie was the one to wake me up, through a variety of different avenues (and not all of them nice). But today - nothing could go wrong today. I slipped out from beneath the sheets, covering Ellie's shoulders so she wouldn't get cold. I pulled on my bathrobe, started the coffee, and looked to see what I could make for breakfast. Eggs, bacon, cheddar cheese, onions, bell peppers - I started whisking eggs for omelets. 

Coffee done, omelets on the plate and (almost) perfect, sourdough toast hot and buttered, I walked back into the bedroom and put the plate on her bedside table. She moved her head a little, but didn't stir. I kissed her lightly - she groaned. I started nibbling on her ear...

"Mmmmm...what...time...?"

"It's 6:30."

"What are you doing?"

"Cooking you breakfast, you lazy bum." One eye flew open at the mention of 'breakfast.' It took her awhile to find the plate with one roving eye, but find it she did. Then both eyes opened, and she smiled. 

"I love you," she said.

"I love you," I replied. We ate our breakfast in bed. To any onlooker, I'm certain that vomiting would ensue in mass proportions. But it was moments like this that I never wanted to leave - that I wanted to stretch out for every hidden morsel of memory. I had never thought I could be this happy, but I received reminders all the time - and this was one. 

I kissed her one last time, and went to go shower. 
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I parked my car in the faculty parking lot with the thought of kissing Ellie good morning still lingering close by. I was walking with a slight grin on my face, saying hello to colleagues and students alike. I could actually be productive and get my grading finished today, I could - 

"Dr. Derrick."

I was arrested from my thoughts by the sound of Dean Warren's voice, her short legs clipping along, trying to keep up with my long ones. "Good morning, Dean. How are was your weekend?"

"Just fine thanks. My sister came over with my nieces. John and I cooked. It was lovely. How was yours?"

"It was fabulous. Ellie came home, and I found an old frie-"

"Lovely. Angela, I need a favor." My boss had an incredibly annoying habit of not listening and not caring, which lead to massively rude interruptions that no one on my faculty panel could stand. She would usually follow up the interruption asking for something that was bound to make the subject of her scrutiny groan in horrifying agony. She paused for recognition.

"Sure Sue, how can I help?" I was determined to grin and bare it.

"Phil was going to present the lecturer tonight at the campus convocation, but his son is receiving some award from the Elk's Lodge or something, and he can't do it. Can you?"

"Oh. Well actually I had plans with Ellie tonight, but if you-"

"Great. Thanks so much. You're a life saver." She also interrupted when she knew the answer was yes. She did that to me a lot. "I'll e-mail you the details after my morning class."

"Okay, great." I mostly said this to myself, and it was mostly sarcastic. By the time I opened my mouth to reply, her tiny legs were scurrying her off to places unknown, and people more unfortunate than I. 

I sighed, and kept walking, adjusting my leather messenger bag, and switching hands for my coffee. I pulled out my cell phone and called Ellie.

"Wow, you can't get enough, can you? I'm having lunch with George, so I can't meet you at your office for a quickie. I'm sorry."

"Smart ass. I'm actually calling to cancel on you."

"What?! Why? It's only Monday - they can't have you jumping hoops this early."

"This is Sue Warren we're talking about - of course they can. She caught me first thing this morning, the weasel. I have to introduce the lecturer at the convocation tonight. Which means that I have to stay for the whole thing."

"Oh. Well that's not too bad. How late do you think it'll be?"
"It starts at 7:00 p.m., so I'll be home by 9:00 p.m."

"Well fine. I'll just have to call my other wife to see if she's available. Who's speaking? Maybe I'll come."

"I actually can't remember, and I haven't passed any posters yet, oddly enough. As soon as I find out, I'll send you an e-mail."

"Okay. Well have fun. Don't let the weasel get you down."

"Heh. Thanks. I love you."

"I love YOU! I'll see you later."
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I didn't go to my office before class. Even with my run-in with Sue, I was in too good a mood to punish my students with the curriculum. I told them to grab their bags and follow me. Puzzled, the followed behind, except for Wendy, who was pressing me for information about my weekend. I gave her the Thanksgiving menu in great detail until she seemed satisfied that I had not spent my weekend eating microwaved burritos and rice. 

I took my eight students out for coffee, and asked them to free-write for class; about their weekend, observations about Thanksgiving - whatever they wanted. At the end of the hour, I let eight seniors toddle off into the world, a little less stressed than when they had come to me. Wendy told me she'd be by for her TA hours, as per usual, and ran off to join a friend. I walked to my building. 

My office was in the same disarray as I had left it on Wednesday. I set down my bag, and powered up my laptop. No phone messages, thankfully. My computer finished booting, and I clicked into my Outlook account. Lots of generic campus safety - all campus warnings about locking doors, and not walking alone after dark, blah blah blah. Delete, delete, delete. Ahhhhh, finally. There was Sue's e-mail. I clicked it open.

To: Derrick, Angela C.
From: Warren, Susan J. 
10:04 a.m.
Angela,
Here is the information for tonight's convocation. Attached, you'll find Phil's introduction. See? The work's already done for you. Thanks again for doing this.
- Sue
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The Diana Robinson Lecturing Endowment presents it's 23rd guest lecturer, Elisabeth Hasselbeck, on the Wellesley Campus, Monday, November 28th at 7:00 p.m. in the Jewett Auditorium. This is a free, campus-wide event. Tea and coffee will be served in the lobby afterwards. 
------------------------------------------

I read it over a couple of times, racking my brain to recall Elisabeth Hasselbeck - but I came up short. I resorted to a google search, discovering that this person was on The View - a show I had never seen, let alone had any interest in. Why were we hosting this lecture? I couldn't glean any connection she had to the world of literature or writing. Must be a co-sponsored lecture with Media Studies. Why couldn't they do the introduction? I printed out the attachment and set it aside. Dance, monkey, dance! I forwarded the e-mail to Ellie. 

I grabbed the pile of papers in my messenger bag, opened up my grading spreadsheet, and started inputting the marks into my file. Three hours passed by completely unnoticed, when Wendy knocked on my door.

"Come in." I didn't look up.

"Hi Professor. How goes the grading?"

"Almost done, actually. What time is it?"

"1:00. Do you want me to file those papers in the cabinet?"

"Sure Wendy, that would be great." I turned back to my data input. Then I had a thought. "Hey Wendy, do you know who Elisabeth Hasselbeck is?"

"UGH!" A sound of utter disgust that only Wendy could produce. "Yes. She's speaking here tonight, you know. I'm not going." She sounded very decided.

"Why not? I don't know anything about her, except that she's on the view, and is married to a NFL quarterback? What's wrong with her?"

She thought for a moment,"Professor, let's just say that she wouldn't be your cup of tea, and leave it at that. Her ideas are ridiculously archaic, and a disgrace to the female sex. She's setting us back 50 years a television program that is almost solely watched by female viewers. It's a travesty!"

"But ... what does she do?"

"She doesn't do anything! She sits on television for an hour, spouting her opinions with idiotic volume. She's just a two-bit celebrity with blonde hair and pressed nails. She went to Boston College. She probably wasn't accepted at Wellesley." Wendy said this with an air of superiority which I was greatly amused by.

"So why is she speaking here?"

"I honestly don't know. The Women's Alliance tried to appeal to the the president, claiming that such a speaker was unfit for the leading women's institution in the country. She just told us that as the leading women's institution in the country, we had the responsibility of listening to all view-points, no matter the content. Bullshit."

"You didn't say that to the president, did you?"

"Of course not. But I thought it. Loudly."

"I have to introduce her tonight. Professor Holt had to cancel."

The look of complete and utter pity that crossed over Wendy's face was palpable. I could feel sorrow radiating in waves from her skin. "Oh Professor! I am so sorry!"

"Oh God, is she that bad? Shit. I had to cancel dinner with Ellie for this. I should have known they'd do something like this to me."

"I'll go with you."

"Wendy, you don't need to do that. Especially after that bolstering display of excitement. I'll be fine. I'll just sit by the door."

"Trust me, professor. You'll want someone there."

The message alert sounded ominously on my laptop. I clicked open a new e-mail from Ellie:

To: Derrick, Angela C.
From: Mason, Ellie S.
1:30 p.m.

Oh Boy. I'm sorry love, but you're on your own. Good luck. I'll have dinner and a stiff drink ready for you when you come home. 

Whatever you do, don't pay attention.
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I had a late lunch on campus, and mostly forgot about the evening's pending events. I graded more papers, prepared my lessons for the week, and put my office into some semblance of order. It no longer resembled massive hurricane debris. While I marveled at my own productivity, Wendy's knock was back at my door.

"Are you ready for this?" She asked with the enthusiasm of a Death Row inmate. 

"I have no idea what 'this' is. So maybe I have the upper-hand."

"Trust me professor, no one has the upper hand. This is a lose-lose situation."

"Again, you really don't have to come, Wendy. I'll be fine." I smiled encouragingly, belying my state. I was dreading this more and more. There were just too many omens that couldn't be ignored. 

"No way, Professor. You need a wing-man...err, woman. It's unfair otherwise."

Great. Way to lift my expectations, Wendy. "Okay then." I said. "Let's get this fiasco over with."

We walked down the stairs, and out into the crisp November air. Clouds were building, coming from the North. It smelled like snow. Oh swell; foreshadowing. I checked in with the staff members from the publicity department. They asked me if I was all set. I affirmed that I was. They told me that the student body president would introduce me, and then I would introduce Elisabeth. Dance, monkey, dance!

Wendy and I found seats by one of the side exits. "It's our only hope!" Wendy had said. Twice. By this point, I believed her. 

Then, Elisabeth walked into the room. She sat was talking with her handlers who were talking with the university's PR people. It was suddenly very Hollywood. One of the handlers pointed at me, and I suddenly felt awkward. I pretended to read my notes. Then, she walked over. 

"Hi Professor Derrick."

Technically it's Doctor Derrick. "Hi, how are you?"

"Thanks for doing this. I really appreciate it."

"Uh, sure. No problem. Happy to." I smiled akwardly. 

"Did you have any questions about my CV?"

It's not a CV - it's a paragraph about your life. "Uh, no. It seems pretty cut and dry."

"Great. Well thanks again." She walked away. Thank God.

Well that wasn't so bad. This might not be the train-wreck I thought! Just read it, listen for an hour, and you're home free!

Students started flooding in and rushing for seats. I stood against the wall, and made the mistake of glancing at Wendy, who was looking around nervously. It seemed we were both preparing for our executions. .Some of my other students caught my eye and waved - with just a hint of confusion as to why I was here. The more eyes I met, the more I understood that I had not been expected. Their's were looks of both amusement and shock, often blended with a side of incredulity. 

The ushers closed the doors, the lights went dim, and the Student Body President walked up to the podium. "Good evening, women of Wellesley. Before we begin, I've been asked to remind you to turn off all cell phones, and to point out the exits," she gestured to the doors on either side of the hall, "in case of emergency. And now, without further ado, I give you one of our esteemed English professors, who wins the award for owner of the biggest dog on campus, and the coolest poetry professor ever .... Doctor Angela Derrick!"

Shouts and hollers climbed over a sea of clapping. If nothing else, I could at least take solace in my students. We could suffer through this together. I put my notes on the podium, smiled at the students before me, and waited for them to quiet down.

"Good evening, and thank you for that sublime introduction, Jessica." A couple of chuckles. "Ladies, tonight we're in for a treat. The departments of English and Media Studies are proud to give you tonight's guest lecturer, Elisabeth Hasselback." Politely enthusiastic clapping. "As a native Rhode Islander, Elisabeth is a New Englander through and through. An alumna of Boston College, Elisabeth's prestigious resume includes graphic design for the Puma Clothing Company, a stunning and gritty foray on the reality tv show Survivor: Australia, and most impressively, the fifth female voice of opinion on the exceedingly popular op.ed. program, The View. She is the mother of three, and is the proud wife of Seattle Seahawk's quarterback, Matt Hasselbeck. She's incredibly honored to be speaking in front of you today, and would like to thank God; without whom, nothing is possible." PAIN!!! "Without further ado, I give you Elisabeth Hasselbeck."

She walked up to the platform, I shook her hand, turned, and went to my seat by Wendy. Somehow, in the shoddy skimming job I had performed on the notes earlier, I didn't register any of that. Not one fact. Not one reference to God. Wendy gave me a pained and pitied look. I must have looked shell-shocked. 

She had been well into her "lecture" by the time I was prepared to tune in, and I so regret that I did. She was denying the merits of public option healthcare, and calling Democrats socialists - clearly, her argument was coming straight from the ire of Republic pundits with nothing better to do than take bribes from pharmaceutical companies. I had my head in my hand, trying to find a happier place within me, calculating if I could escape the auditorium unnoticed, and then flee toward safety...

And then, it happened. 

As I sat in forced silence, trying my own patience to its max, I heard the words "lesbian activists" and "Wellesley liberal brainwashing." I dropped my face from my eyes, and I looked at her for the first time. 

My eyes were transfixed - as much as I couldn't look before, now I couldn't look away! I felt my heart thrum faster in my ears, blood rushing to my head. She was telling the women of Wellesley that they were being lied to - that the "lesbian administration" was trying to "brainwash them" into not only the ultimate liberal agenda, but was trying to turn them gay. We were, according to her, recruiting them for our own nefarious purposes, book by blessed book, lesson by dykey lesson. Her adivce? For the women of Wellesley to drop out! Find God! and "See the light of the world, the truth of the country before it's too late! Before you're completely brainwashed - until your parents don't know you anymore!" 

The blood rushed faster, the echo of my heart quickened and became a lot louder. The edges of my vision reddened, like my eyes had just been filtered over with blood - I was vaguely aware that Wendy had her hand on my arm - I felt my nails digging into arm rests of the seat, fibers finding their way underneath my nails - the world seemed to be getting smaller - everything felt small; except for me. I was growing, I was gaining strength. My eyes were still fixed on her, locked as if the importance of everything in the world depended on it ... I wanted to hit her. No. I REALLY wanted to hit her - slam her head into the podium, drag from the hall, and throw her through the glass doors, fragments of glass exploding everywhere - it was an urge toward violence I had never felt in my life! Then I felt Wendy pulling on my arm...

"Uhm, Professor ... we need to go. NOW." 

I couldn't move - if I moved, I would throw her through the glass doors - I would shove her face into the podium. I felt the armrests disintegrate underneath my finger tips....

"Wendy....what's.....happening to......me??" I was trying to speak as low as I could, through gritted teeth - but everything felt louder, thicker, heavier. People were moving around me, my arm was fully extended, Wendy on the other end, pulling for all she was worth. 

"PROFESSOR - NOW!" She tugged my arm hard, and I followed, still looking at the demon at the podium. I could sense activity all around me - every inch of my skin felt like it was on fire. I could feel the head radiating from chest to my face, every muscle in my body was tense and ready to spring. Wendy somehow managed to pull me into a back hallway - the door to the auditorium closed shut; my eye-contact was broken. I couldn't see her anymore. The heat, my hands, my skin, the redness in my eyes - vanished. I felt my pulse slow, and my blood settle. I was back. 

I looked down. I was drenched in sweat. I was shaking. I looked at Wendy. 

"Wendy ... what just happened to me?" I was very deliberate and cautious with my words, desperate for an explanation.

"I ... I don't know, Professor." Her voice was tentative, scared, worried, full of care and concern. "You ripped up the chair. You ... you were glowing. And growling."

"Glowing? I felt hot...like I was on fire. And growling??"

"Y-Yes." I furrowed my eyebrows and immediately looked to the double doors, expecting a mob to come through. I wasn't sure, but I was pretty sure it wasn't normal. Wendy saw my panic and said, "I don't think anyone noticed but me. The student body was ready to riot, they all went out through the main doors. I pulled you back here."

"Oh God. Thank you. Thank you, Wendy. That's never happened before. I promise that's never happened before!"

"It's okay, Professor. It's going to be okay."

"No, it's not going to be okay. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. Everything in me is different - I can feel it." I stumbled back against the wall - where I had felt so strong, not 5 minutes ago, I now felt like a new-born fawn - weak, stumbling, shaking. I started to cry.

"Professor, it's going to be okay. I have an idea. I'm not sure if it will work, but I know someone we can ask about ... about this."

"Wendy - promise me you won't tell anyone. ANYONE. Please."

"Of course not, Professor. I promise." She looked into my eyes with earnest, and grabbed my right hand. "Come on. I'm going to drive you home."

It wasn't until then that it hit me - Ellie

I sat in Wendy's car, tears silently rolling down my face in confusion and fear as we drove to the house.

My life would never be the same again. 

Friday, February 5, 2010

2. Home

I woke up after what seemed like hours later. I had visions of Dave parading in my brain; images from long ago, from a life that the both of us left behind willingly. Ellie later told me I was actually only out for about 30 seconds.

As I opened my eyes, two faces looked down at me anxiously.

"Sweetie, are you okay? No, don't move. Lie still." Ellie's voice sounded like it was coming from a mega-phone.

"Urrnnnnnn. What happened?"

"You fainted," Dave was looking down at me, grinning almost proudly.

"You're crazy, I've never fainted in my life. I'm fine." I went to stand up, my head protesting in about 30 different ways. I felt groggy and heavy. I tentatively touched the back of my head and applied a small amount of pressure. "Ow! Did I hit my head?"

"It kind of slammed backwards after you fell," Ellie had an arm wrapped around my upper back, supporting me. "Here, have some water." She gently pressed a pint glass into my hand. I had a vague awareness that our bartender friend had brought it to her.

I took a sip, and looked at Dave through one eye. "Dave, what in the hell are you doing here?" I was pissed.

"So you're not happy to see me?" He looked wounded and tired.

"Dave, I thought you were dead. They told me you were dead! Dead people don't just show up in Wellesley, Massachusetts unannounced, asking their ex-girlfriends if they're happy to see them! How are you not dead?"

"I was dead. Sort of. It's a long story."

"Well. We're in a bar. It's the night before Thanksgiving. What else are we going to do?"
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Dave, or David, Burch was my high school sweetheart. We grew up together playing little league, climbing trees, attempts at building our own tree houses, pooling money to buy comics and bubble gum at the liquor store around the corner. I beat up Will Rant in the 4th grade when Will told Dave he looked like a metal freak (he had head gear at the time). Dave beat up Will Rant for me in the 6th grade when Will told me that I was the ugliest girl he had ever seen. Dave was there for me when my parents divorced, and I was there for him when his sister was hit by a car and died of internal injuries. He was my best friend, and I loved him.

So when Dave mustered up all of his courage to ask me out in high school, it just seemed to make sense. There was no other boy I liked so well as him, no other boy that I ever really cared about. Dave was also really good looking - Jennifer Murietta, the most popular girl in school, had a well known crush on Dave. There was no way I was going to let my best friend date the likes of Jennifer Murietta, so I said yes. And we were together all four years of high school. Formal dances, home coming games, his wrestling matches, my basketball games - we were always there for each other. Our senior year, we were voted "Best Couple," a photo of us smiling happily in the yearbook.

When it came time to go to college, we decided that going to separate schools would be good for the both of us. Dave wanted to become an architect, and I wanted to become a writer. It would be best, we reasoned, to follow our dreams and love each other, regardless of distance.

And then I met Kitty. And I realized WHY no other boys held my attention, and why I was never attracted to any but Dave, and that even my attraction to him was based in a fraternal, platonic love, rather than a passion for him. I called him from school and told him about Kitty. He didn't say anything except, "Okay." He hung up the phone, and I wasn't sure what to think. The conclusion I came to was needing to give him space. So I didn't call, and neither did he, and I let the throws of first love envelop me to the point of forgetting anything other than what I was experiencing.

I came home for spring break, and went over to Dave's house, hoping that we could talk face-to-face, so that I could apologize and maybe even try to explain. When his mother opened the door, she looked surprised to see me. She said hello just as warmly as ever, but she was clearly confused. I asked if Dave was home, and she looked even more puzzled. Didn't I know, she asked, that Dave enlisted in the Marines?

No. I didn't. She wrote down the address of where he was attending boot camp. I wrote, and I wrote, but he never answered me.

Over a year later, I heard from Dave's father than he joined an elite division of the Marines, and had been sent off to the Middle East on a specialty mission. He wouldn't even be able to contact his family. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn't help it. My best friend was somewhere that I couldn't follow, and I wasn't sure what do. Six months after he shipped out, the Marines informed Mr. & Mrs. Burch that Dave was missing in action. Another year went by, and the Marines declared him deceased. No one else from his division had survived whatever mission they had been sent to do. There was a funeral, and I watched a flag-covered casket being lowered into the ground. I read a passage of Tennyson's In Memoriam; I said my good byes, and I started moving on with my life.

Until this moment, Dave had been my one regret.

And now, here he was, sitting in front of me; the only one of his squad to survive.
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"So, here I am."

I looked at him, pained and confused and sad and sorry. Then I wrapped my arms around him tightly. Finally, I said, "It's been years, Dave. You've been alive this whole time - where have you been?"

"I was in a vet hospital for a long time, but I didn't remember anything - I couldn't have told you my birthday, or my parent's names. And then one day, I did remember. It all came back to me, just like that. But I wasn't sure if I should come back. Everyone thought I was dead. The military showed me photos of the funeral - there was even one of you reading Tennyson and crying. And I looked at that photo and thought I'd be causing pain all over again if I came back. So I stayed away."

"What did you do? How did you survive?"

"I worked for the government for awhile, in a closed facility. But after what I went through - I was sick and tired of taking orders, and figured I had paid the government enough. So I took my pension and I traveled, worked odd jobs. I was a fisherman in Maine for awhile, I worked security in Cleveland for a couple years, and even made my way to British Columbia and worked as a lumber jack. That's where I was right before I came here."

"So why now? Why did you come out here after all this time."

"This is where the story gets ... interesting."

"Dave, you're back from the dead. What could be more interesting than that?"

"I had a dream."

I paused, waiting for more. Realizing he wasn't going to give it, I pushed him further. "A dream ... as in Martin Luther King? As in ... Don Quixote? What kind of dream?"

"It was about you."

"And....anything else, Dr. Cryptic? Am I the anti-christ that my aunt predicted?

"No. You're a super hero."
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I thought that perhaps Dave's medication was mixing with his glass of scotch, so I let it drop. He didn't have any place to stay in Wellesley, and Ellie insisted he come home with us. Throughout the entire reveal of Dave's missing life, Ellie sat right next to me, her hand on my knee in quiet support. Ellie drove home, which given the condition of my head, seemed like a wise idea. I looked over at her, beaming gratitude from every pore of my skin. I wanted to get home and kiss her until we fell asleep.

We pulled into the driveway and put the car in park. I picked up one of Ellie's bags, and was stopped by her hand. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm grabbing your bags!"

"No you're not."

"I'm not?"

"No. You're going to go unlock the door, and then go lie down. You shouldn't lift anything in your condition."

"My 'condition?' What condition is that? You'd think I was pregnant." I gave Dave a wry smile, knowing he'd smile in a sign of solidarity.

Instead, he remained neutral, if not slightly worried and took Ellie's side. "She's right, Sluggo. Concussions are nothing to mess around with."

"Concussion? What concussion? I have a tiny bump on my head. I'm fine."

"Regardless, Angie, you're going inside." I didn't move. "Now, please."

I gave them both a scowl, then walked to the front door. The rhythmic thuds of dog tails pounded against the wall as I worked the key into the lock. "Okay girls, I'm coming." As soon as I opened the door, two black masses rushed toward me, throwing me against the wall. "I know, I know. It's so exciting! Mommy's home! Just wait till you meet Dave."

"Just wait till who meets - mmmmph!"

"Dave, meet Gertrude and Dame Maggie."

"These aren't dogs, Angie, they're horses!" Gertrude, the Newfoundlander was wagging herself around him in circles, while Maggie, the border collie was trying to herd him to the couch.

As soon as Ellie walked in the door, the over-joyed, over-grown horses pounced over and licked her up and down. "Hi babies! I'm home!"

I made up the spare room for Dave, while Angie fixed some tea in the kitchen. Dave was looking at the pictures and pieces of art hanging on our walls, as though he were looking for traces of me and who I had become. He walked into the spare bedroom as I finished tucking in the comforter.

"It's a nice place you have here, Angie. A nice life."

"Thanks Dave. I'm awfully fond it."

"I've missed you Angie."

"I've missed you too, Davey. I've missed you a lot." I wrapped my arms around him, feeling the actual-ness of him, the reality that he was alive. I started to cry.

Ellie walked through the door, holding two mugs. I backed away from Davey slowly. "Hi," I sniffed.

"Hi," she said. she handed Davey a mug, and then gave me mine. "We should go to bed, we have to be up early."

"Speaking of that, what time are you leaving? I'll call for a cab to pick me up."

I was about to protest, when Ellie said, "Don't be silly. You're coming with us to my parent's house for Thanksgiving."

Dave smiled, and nodded slightly. "Okay. Thanks, Ellie. It's been a long time since I had a real Thanksgiving."

"Good night, Davey. We'll see you in the morning." I said and grabbed Ellie's hand and started walking out of the room.

"Good night, Ladies."
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Ellie and I lay in bed, arms and legs entwined. My eyes were closed, my lips kissing hers softly.

I stopped for a moment. "Are you okay with all of this?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well ... my only ex-boyfriend and best friend, who's supposed to be dead, shows up out of nowhere, at a bar we've never been in before, that we just happened to stop into on a random Wednesday. This was not a run-of-the-mill day."

"No, it certainly wasn't. But there's nothing for me to be okay about. He's important to you, so he's important to me. It's as simple as that."

"Are you sure?"

She kissed me.

I stopped worrying, and fell asleep in Ellie's arms.
 
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