It’s Saturday, I think.  My eyelids feel like tiny bags of cement over my eyes.  Someone is beside me in bed.  I flop my hand over and feel a small arm laying atop a fuzzy stuffed fox.  Binky.  That’s right, it’s Saturday.  Binky spent the night.  We ordered pizza and watched a movie.  I force my eyelids open.  I really hate this drugged feeling I get from quetiapine.  Binky has claimed most of the bed over the course of the night, and I am one last push from falling off the edge.  

I roll out and go downstairs to heat up yesterday’s coffee.  I drink my coffee and survey the scene in my apartment.  The living room has been converted into a fox den, with blankets strung up from table to couch, pillows piled beneath, and the houseplants gathered in front of the den to shield it from wolves.  The table is covered in drawings, and popcorn kernels are strewn about the couch.  Yep, looks about right.  My small apartment is run over by Binky in just a few short hours, and it looks great.  Full of life and happiness.  I wonder again why I’m not sure if I want kids of my own.  I love it when Binky spends the night, it’s usually my favorite night of the week.  But I also feel ready to say goodbye when I drop her at Liz’s.  I feel energized and happy when she’s with me, but exhausted afterward.  Maybe this is how parents feel all the time.

I bring my third cup of coffee upstairs and settle with my laptop next to Binky to do some writing.  But first, I open my gratitude journal, which is becoming soft from regular use.  

February 29th – Leap Year!

I am grateful for –

1. Sleepovers with Binky

2. Coffee

3. My health

4. A warm place to live

5. A date with Jamal!!  

I smile and close my eyes, letting my mind drift to tonight.  I get to see Jamal again tonight, for a second date.  I’ve been trying not to think of him too much, not to get too excited, but that has proved impossible.  I feel like I’ve been floating about these past three days, humming, and periodically blushing when I remember his kisses.  I’m both eager and terrified to accidentally bump into him.  I’ve never dated a neighbor before.  I can see how living here could get awkward fast if things don’t work out.  Which they probably won’t, because statistics.  But still, those kisses, his smile.  I almost drift back to sleep thinking about him, but then my eyes fly open and I sit up.  I have to get my writing done now or I won’t get to it today.  

I try to write everyday.  Creatively, I mean.  One day a week is reserved for copywriting work, and four days a week are in the shop.  So my own writing happens in the mornings, and sometimes the weekends.  I’m writing what I hope will be a series of young adult books about an angsty teenager whose family keeps moving from town to town.  It’s fun, but more importantly, I hope it will sell.  My poetry notebook is gathering dust.  I actually haven’t seen it in a while and don’t know where it’s got to.  But nobody buys poetry.  If I want to be a real writer, make a living at it, then I have to write something commercially successful, I’ve decided.  Poetry can wait.

I click away, immersed in the story, and don’t hear Binky wake up.  I suddenly become aware of two large, dark eyes an inch away from the side of my face.  Binky scratches out her familiar greeting, meant just for me: “Poooooooop.”

I pretend to ignore her for a moment or two, and then I quickly slide my computer off my lap and pounce on her.  “Baaahhh!” I yell, eliciting squeals of delight.  

“Guess what?” I say.  “It’s leap year!  We have an extra day!  Nothing we do today counts.  We can do anything we want.”

“Ice cream for breakfast?”  Binky asks.

“Yep.”  I throw the covers off and she bounces out of bed behind me.

After an admittedly disgusting breakfast of banana splits, it’s back to the fox game.  I crawl around, burrowing under blankets at Binky’s command, pretending to hunt rabbits, hiding from the wolves.  Eventually, Binky wants to draw out the characters we’ve been playing, and I take the opportunity to pack things up for her return to Liz’s.  I hear someone on the basketball court and I force myself not to look.  

“That guy is back out there.  Let’s go say hi!” says Binky, who has moved to the window at the sound of the ball and is peering through the curtains.

“No!  Shhhh, get away from there,” I whisper-yell.  Binky gives me an odd look and lets the curtain fall, pointedly.  “Sorry,” I say, embarrassed.  “I had a date with him and don’t want to see him.  I mean, I do, but not right now.  I don’t want to see him spying on us.”

“I wasn’t spying,” Binky says.  

“I know.  I’m sorry.  I just don’t want him to see me before tonight.”  

Binky looks at me suspiciously.  Oh well.  I can’t set a good example all the time.  This is Mar the Coward, hiding in her apartment from the person she most wants to see.  When Jamal has left, I quickly usher us to the car.  Binky thinks it’s a game now and is running, crouched down, her sunglasses on.  We laugh and speed away to Liz’s.

We’re getting close to Liz’s house when I see something odd.  Someone is at her front door.  It’s a man, and he looks disheveled.  He’s holding clothes and saying something to Liz, who is at the door.  I slow down, watching the scene.  The man turns and I gasp loudly.  It’s Dr. Green!  He has clearly spent the night and Liz is rushing him out before we get there.  He’s holding his shoes and leans in to kiss her.  

“What is it?” Binky asks from the back seat, having heard my gasp.

“Nothing!” I say.  “There was a cat that ran into the road.”  I give a beep of my horn and put the car into reverse, slowly backing away.  Liz looks up and sees me.  Her eyes fly open and she shoves Dr. Green away from her.

“Where are we going?  Who are you honking at?” Binky asks, having seen nothing from the back seat

“I’m backing up so the cat can get away.  I gave it a little honk to scare it away.”  

Dr. Green, you sexy prowler cat!  Go Liz!  I give him time to get into his car and pull out of Liz’s driveway.  When he’s half a block away, I park in the driveway.  Binky hops out of the car and skips up the steps. 

“Binks!” I call, holding out her backpack.  She comes to take it and drags it behind her, dramatically, as if I’ve given her a steamer trunk to carry.  

I force us to take as much time as possible getting to the front door so Liz can prepare.  I know she’s going to be freaked out.  When we walk into the house she calls out, a little too merrily, “Helloooooo!”

“Mama!” cries Binky, and runs into the kitchen.

Liz is in her bathrobe, her hair up in a bun.  She has a huge smile on her face and her eyes are sparkling.  Her whole face is frozen in forced alertness, as if trying to look like she’s been out of bed for hours.

“Good morning!” I say.  “Did you have a good night?  Nice and restful?  Some alone time?”

Liz can’t look at me.  She dotes on Binky, who is unloading her drawings from her backpack, telling Liz about the cat we almost ran over.

“Big cat,” I say, pouring myself a cup of coffee.  “Black fur, green collar.  Looked like he’d spent the night away from home.”

“He did?” Binky asked, concerned.

“No,” says Liz, tousling Binky’s hair.  “Mar is teasing you.”  

I smile at Binky.  “He looked very well taken care of,” I say, then eye Liz.  

Over Binky’s head I mouth the words Oh my God!, and Liz silently screams, shaking her head like her favorite band has come on stage.  I look down and see that Binky is watching us closely.  “What is going on?” she asks.

I feel bad lying to Binky.  I know that she picks up on so much, and I’m sure she can tell when adults lie to her.  But this isn’t my news to tell, and I know that Liz won’t want Binky to know about Dr. Green.  Yet.  

“We’re excited about my date tonight.  With Jamal.”

“Oh,” says Binky.  “The guy we hid from.”

“Yes.  Him.”  

Binky sighs.  “Grown ups are weird.”  

“Binky, do you want to watch a movie?” Liz asks.

“Yeah!  It’s leap year!  Nothing counts!” Binky yells, running out of the room to fetch Liz’s laptop.  

“New leap year tradition,” I say.  “We had banana splits for breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Liz says, sarcastically.  I shrug.

Binky comes back and flips the laptop open at the table.  She starts rattling off movie choices but Liz interrupts her.  “I need to talk to Aunt Mar, honey.  Can you pick something to watch by yourself in the living room?”

Binky frowns, clearly unhappy with that option.  But she takes the laptop into the living room and settles on the couch.  Liz and I sit at the dining room table.  

“You should get her a pet,” I say.  I feel bad for Binky being an only child.  Liz ignores me.

When we are sure Binky is engrossed in her movie, with her headphones on, Liz fills me in on Dr. Green.  They went out to what sounds like a very romantic dinner, then for drinks.

“Did you know he would spend the night?” I ask.  Liz shakes her head and covers her face.  “I can’t believe you slept with him on the first date!  Was the sex good?”

Her eyes grow wide and she nods.  “Really good.  And why can’t you believe I had sex with him?  People sleep together on the first date!  You do it all the time.”

“Yes, but that’s me.  I can’t believe you slept with him on the first date.  Do you think it’s going to ruin things?”  I’m thinking about Jamal three nights ago, turning him away from my door, literally and metaphorically.  

“No, I don’t,” she says.  “It wasn’t like that.  We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well over these past months, at work.  We’re…friends.  It’s not like a dating website, where you literally just met someone.  Plus, it was really good sex!  It was like we already knew each other’s bodies.”  Liz’s cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright.  She looks ten years younger.

I quietly clap my hands.  “Liz, I’m so happy for you!  This is huge!  When’s your next date?”

“I don’t know.  It’s hard, with Binky.”

“I can take her for more sleepovers!  I can even come stay the night here with her.  She loves it.  I love it.”

Liz smiles.  “What about you?  Are you excited for tonight?”

I’ve already filled her in on all the details of my last date.  “I am,” I say.  “And nervous.  I keep trying to figure out why he likes me.  Wait ‘til you meet him, Liz.  He’s handsome and funny, and kind.  And grown up!  He’s not like anyone else I’ve gone out with.”

“You deserve all of that,” she says.  And for some reason, I believe her.

Liz showers while I snuggle with Binky and watch the end of her movie with her.  As I’m getting ready to go, Liz leaves the room and comes back with a 12-pack of toilet paper.  She hands it to me.  

“What’s this?” I ask.  “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“So you don’t run out.”

I’m confused, and I eye Liz suspiciously.  She laughs.  “Haven’t you noticed the toilet paper hoarding?  Everybody thinks that, because of coronavirus, they’re going to be stuck at home with diarrhea for weeks on end.  Don’t hoard, but do take this.”

“OK,” I say.  “Hoarder.”

“Mar, Italy is heading into complete lockdown.  It’s not a joke.”

We’ve not spoken about this virus in a while, Liz and I.  I can see the stress move over her face as I take the pack of toilet paper from her.  Maybe I haven’t been taking this as seriously as I should.  I just can’t see what’s happening in Italy happen here.  America is too big.  

“Thanks, Liz.”  I smile and squeeze her shoulder.  “Have an awesome day!  I’m so happy for you.”

I can tell she’s remembering Gilbert Green as the stress shifts off her face and she smiles.

.   .   .

Jamal has kept it a surprise where we’re going.  He just said to dress “casual nice”.  I don’t know what that means.  To me, there’s dressed up clothes, regular clothes, and house clothes.  I choose my best pair of jeans and a dressier top.  I think “casual nice” must mean clean regular clothes.  I need to look these terms up.  He obviously cares more about fashion than I do.

He is picking me up tonight.  At six o’clock I hear his knock on the door.  I open the door and my heart quickens.  

“Hi,” we both say at the same time.  I’m standing in the doorway, not wanting to invite him in.  I’m not the world’s tidiest person, and the fox den is still sprawled all over the living room.  I see him glance past me, no doubt curious, as I am about his home.  

“Should we go?” I ask, closing the door before he gets too good a look.  We head to his car.  I wonder if it will be a police cruiser, but it’s just a car.  I climb in, surprised at how nervous I am.  A good kind of nervous.  

Jamal buckles his seatbelt and looks at me.  “Do you like jazz?”

“I do!  I do like jazz.”  I hope he doesn’t ask me more about it because I can probably only name two or three jazz musicians.  I can like jazz and not really know anything about it, right?

“Oh good,” he says and turns on the stereo.  It’s a hip hop station.  I consider joking that this isn’t jazz as we start to drive, but decide against it.  What if he really does think this is jazz?    

He asks about my day, and I tell him about Binky’s sleepover, and about Dr. Green sneaking out of Liz’s.  He laughs, delighted at the story.  Then I tell him about Liz giving me a big pack of toilet paper.

“I know!” he says.  “People are starting to freak out!  What is going on?”

“I guess I need to listen to the news more,” I say.  “I was totally out of the loop on this toilet paper thing.  But like, that’s not the problem with this virus, right?”

“I don’t think so.  I think people are more worried about not having essentials.  You know, for if things shut down like they are in Italy.”

“I think everyone is overreacting,” I say.

He nods.  “Me too.  Though someone died in Seattle yesterday.”  His eyes widen as he says this.

“Huh.  Wow.  Well, that’s one person.  I don’t think we need to be freaking out and hoarding toilet paper.”

“Exactly!  People are such over-reactors.”

We smile at each other, happy to be agreeing.  

Jamal drives us to an outdoor food cart pod.  We sit beneath big heaters that blast us with orange-lit warmth.  Before our food comes out he leans across the table to kiss me.  I have the same feeling of deep comfort, like I’ve known him for a long time.   

“So, let me ask you a question,” I say after our food arrives and I am trying to gather up the Thai Barbeque Mexican burrito that I am now regretting.  There is just no way I am going to be able to eat this without getting messy.   “What is your absolute favorite way to spend your time?  Like, a specific hobby or passion.”  I already know he’s going to say basketball.

“Just one?  Yeesh, that’s tough.  But, I mean, if you count watching and playing, it’s definitely basketball.”

“OK.  So God comes down and tells you that a person you’ve never met, on the opposite side of the globe, will die unless you give up basketball for the rest of your life.  What do you do?”

“What kind of question is that?  That’s terrible!”

“No, it’s not!  It’s just hypothetical.  Moral.  Like the people tied to the railroad tracks one.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know—a train is going to run over seven people who are tied to the tracks, but there is a lever, and if you pull the lever, you can make the train switch tracks where it will run over one person?  That question?”

“Well, that’s easy.  Pull the lever.  Save six people.”

“But then you will have murdered someone.”  

“Wait, what?”

“So if you do nothing, the train kills seven people.  If you interfere, you choose for that one person to die.”

“Oh, I get it,” he says, nodding his head.  “Interfering with fate.”  He says ‘fate’ rather sarcastically, which for some reason hurts my feelings.  “I would still pull the lever.  I can only assume that if I had time to ask that one person if they would sacrifice their life to save seven others, they would say yes.  I’d just have to think in the moment, decide who to save.  That’s it, Mar.”  He drums the tables with his fingers.  “You’re thinking about this like who are you gonna let die, and I’m thinking ‘who am I gonna save?”

“OK, fair enough.  For the record, I also choose to pull the lever.  But back to the first question.  Would you give up basketball—watching, playing, talking about it, anything—for the rest of your life in order to save a stranger’s life?”

“Who would say no to that?” Jamal asks.  “How can you weigh someone’s life against a hobby?”

“Is basketball a hobby to you?”

“No, it’s more than that.  But it’s not worth someone’s life, even if I’ve never met them.”

“OK.  What if you could know something about them, would that change your mind?  What if, for example, you knew they were a murderer sitting on death row.  Or what if they were incredibly old and not very nice?  Does that make a difference?”

“I mean, it might increase my resentment at giving up basketball, but no.  It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“Is there anything that would sway you?” I ask.  “What if they were a racist Nazi?  Or a serial killer?”

“This is almost a death penalty question.  But the death penalty is different because it involves a jury and a trial and careful consideration.  The thing is, I believe in the value of life.  I don’t think you earn worthiness through what you do or your character; I believe that just by being alive your life means something and is worth saving.  All life.”

I can’t help but smile at his beautiful answer.  It reminds me of Dr. Kim, my psychiatrist.  

“Now,” he says, crumpling up his paper napkin and tossing it onto his plate.  “Put me in a position of choosing between someone I love and someone else, and it’s no contest.  I will take you down if you mess with someone I love.  I don’t care.”  He puts his hands up in a position of innocence.  

We laugh.  

He glances at his watch.  “OK!  Come one, we gotta go!”  

We drive to a club I’ve never been to.  It’s small and cozy, but also new and hip.  The Portland Jazz Festival is happening, which is an annual event I always mean to get to but never do.  Jamal has timed it so we get a good table with a clear view of the stage.  

“Do you mind if I have a drink?” he asks.  I shake my head no, glad that he asked.  

We make small talk for a while, waiting for the music to start.  Our hands play with each other’s, intertwining and unraveling over and over.  Underneath the table, my knee has landed between his legs and he periodically slides his leg along mine in a slow, deliberate stroke.  My whole body is sizzling with heat and anticipation.  Once again, I feel myself becoming radiantly beautiful with his steady gaze upon me.  I’m surprised I’m not lighting this whole place on fire.

Drums start up, and we look over to see a young Black man at a drum set on stage, slowly tapping an increasingly elaborate rhythm.  Four other band members come out, pick up their instruments, and join in.

“They’re from New York!” Jamal says, and I can tell he knows I’ll appreciate that.  Watching them play, there is an edge to their presence that is lacking in Portlanders, a seriousness and determination.  I feel homesick watching them.

The music is incredible.  Dizzying.  The crowd is really into it, and people whoop and holler, which is more like New York than Portland.  I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes off Jamal.  He looks so happy, dancing in his chair.  He grabs my hands and moves them to the music, furrowing his brow and pursing his lips.  I so badly want to leave my chair and straddle his lap, moving to the music with him.  I know right then that we are going to spend the night together, and I relax.

We stay until I feel drunk off jazz and the sweaty air, off my growing fervor for him, off his glowing eyes.  We make out all the way to the car and back to my apartment.  By the time we tumble inside, rolling in and out of each other’s arms, I don’t care about my messy apartment, or that I’ve grown plump from quetiapine, or that my sexy underwear don’t fit anymore and I’m wearing borderline granny panties underneath my dress.  I feel perfect when he looks at me, I feel gorgeous and pulsing with life.  His hands, his mouth, his voice, everything about him feels vastly familiar and like exactly where I’m supposed to be.       

The post Chapter Ten: Leap appeared first on .