Toying With Fate

August 11, 1991|By Jill Morrow

We were destined to meet in October of 1983. I know, because I stayed home from work yesterday and figured it out. It wasn't really difficult to do. First I compared our horoscopes. You are an earthbound Taurean, slow to take chances and highly predictable. I am an idealistic Aquarian and can perceive the patterns of life more quickly than you can. There are few intersections in life where this combination can meet with any satisfaction.

Next I re-read my old journal entries. I know that you feethreatened by my journal. You assume that it presents a one-sided view of our relationship, and that anybody reading it would peg you as a cross between Simon Legree and Attila the Hun. Maybe, but I've tried to be very fair, and that journal certainly helped me retrace all steps back to the crucial crossroad that we missed.

Finally, I factored in the chaotic state of your life during thapplicable time period. Fate's intentions became painfully illuminated after that.

Back in October of 1983 we lived within a mile of each other. I'just been dumped by that pseudo-progressive guitarist that you still like to tease me about. As I sat on the bed and watched him pack his piles of black clothes, I suddenly realized that I was tired of pretty little boys. Scary. It meant that I was alsotired of unemployed twenty-five year olds, pretentious performance art, and loud music in trendy clubs. The very foundation of life as I knew it washed away as my guitarist gently set my housekeys on the table. After all, I didn't know any grown-ups. I didn't even know where grown-ups hung out.

I was clearly prepared to meet you at that point. I wadepressed, lonely, and highly impressionable. Even a simple "hello" from you could have started us off.

I understand the reasons why you ignored destiny that OctoberYou were so very occupied with Bambi-the-Bovine. How could you be expected to tune yourself into spiritual truth? How unfortunate that your tastes were so primitive! Had you acquired even a modicum of sophistication somewhere along your life path, you would have seen that her body was more plump than pleasing, and that her tinny whine never produced any comment worth committing to memory.

I've pinpointed several character flaws which accounted for youinability to arrive at the proper place at the proper time. (I've pinpointed that, too, by the way. It was the deli down the street from my apartment. Sometime in July of 1983 I began to stop there every morning for a cup of coffee on my way to work. Your office was merely blocks away. Fate was obviously hinting broadly to anyone willing to listen.)

But you ignored fate because:

1. You were controlled by an overwhelming weakness for womewith hair of colors not found in nature. My influence has since convinced you that these women are just downright tacky, but you couldn't see that then. In October 1983 you couldn't see anything past Bambi, and God only knows what kind of a bottle her hair came out of.

2. You and Bambi foolishly mistook lust for love and had a largegarish wedding. Five months later she had a baby. That's what you get when you so blatantly ignore fate. Whatever were you thinking?

3. You assumed that you'd never get anybody better thaBambi. This is the only explanation I can find for that whole relationship.

The fact remains: because you were unable to attune yourself tdestiny, I met you in January of 1988 instead of October of 1983. By then I had slept with two real jerks and one fairly nice man. You had been married for four years and were "sort of involved, off and on" with your son's baby-sitter.

Do you remember my cousin's wedding last month? You left threception early to pick up your son for his weekend visit. I sat alone by the dance floor and knew instinctively what our lives would have been had we met at the right time. The scenario:

We meet. We date, casually at first, but with an underlyinexcitement as we realize that we have finally met the RIGHT person. We spend long, leisurely dinners gazing with cliched sentimentality into each others' eyes. We hold hands in the movies. We enjoy ballgames, endure jogging, and explore bookstores for luxurious hours on end. We kiss in the park. I approve of your books and music. You meet my cat and admit that he is a lot nicer than most dogs you have met.

We spend our first night together in a breezy hotel by the oceanThe sound of the surf drifts through our open window as we make love. You are the best lover I have ever had. You are unhurried and sensual, and although I imagine that you have slept with other women, nothing you say or do conjures up the slightest image of them. We are quite alone in that bed. No memories of past relationships materialize to destroy the moment.

(I have, of course, eliminated that dreadful "first time" scenwhere we awkwardly made love in your master bedroom while your wife visited her sister and your child slept across the hall.)

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