We Need to Talk

Dennis spread the checkered blanket out for their picnic. He scanned the river and the view of distant trees turning vivid fall colors. An arpeggio of birds soared over the water. The breeze was warm, a glorious day.

Sandra, his date, his steady, unwrapped the wine from its cloth. She smiled at seeing the label from the same vintage they’d shared for their first dinner together. It had been a glorious summer.

Dennis admired how she arranged things on their blanket, just so. She placed the glasses on paper plates for stability. ‘Wouldn’t want one to topple and spill precious wine.’

Sandra was beautiful, her face, her figure, her warmth. They enjoyed the same things. She often echoed his thoughts, or vice versa. But most importantly, she liked him. He felt she appreciated him for who he was, not who she wanted him to become. He could be himself.

With the wicker basket set aside, Sandra sat in one corner with her flower print dress fanned out. The river ran behind her.

“You’re beautiful! Hold it!”

Dennis took a picture of her framed by overhanging tree boughs.

“Let’s eat.” She patted the blanket.

Dennis sat, opened the wine and poured. They clinked glasses and sipped. They shared a sensual moment of wine shared and time with each other.

He thought, ‘Have I found it? Can this be love?’ He smiled at her. ‘If it isn’t, whatever it’s called, I’ll take it.’

Setting her glass down, she leaned toward him and looked intently into his eyes.

“Dennis, we need to talk.”

A drop of sweat plopped into his wine. He set his glass down and mopped his brow. Was it raining? Were ants swarming over their lunch? Had the river turned to sewage?

Dennis watched as the day curdled before his eyes. He grabbed his knees to stop twitching.

How many times had he heard that ominous phrase? Innumerable. But once was too many.

It was his déjà vu du jour. Every time he’d heard it, his life turned to ashes.

And he’d heard it too many times. But it was only the intro. Once said, the dam would break. A torrent of euphemisms always followed intended to cushion the impact of fantasy shattering against reality.

Phrases like, ‘We aren’t moving forward…’ ‘We’re going too fast...’ ‘It isn’t you, it’s me…’ ‘It isn’t me, it’s you…’ ‘We’ll always be friends…’ filled his head like a melody he couldn’t forget.

If he ‘only changed his hair, his clothes, his smell, his humor, his stature, clinginess, passivity, house, car, neighborhood.’ Then…

Uh huh…

How many girlfriends had said these very words before breaking things off? Anna, Becky, Colleen, Danielle, Evelyn… He could alphabetize them and have names to spare.

He’d dated a veritable United Nations worth of women over the years. Every ethnicity knows this phrase. Whatever the language, the accent, the inflection, it always means the same. It’s the lingua franca of the big dump.

‘We need to talk,’ means breaking off, ending, eliminating and annihilating communication. It’s just a long winded ‘shut up.’ Once said, nothing more needs saying.

One ex, Jade, never actually said it out loud. She’d tattooed it on her arm. She ‘opened’ the conversation by pulling her sleeve up to show it to him. It gave him small comfort knowing he wasn’t the only one to have seen it.

His mechanic… Ever take your car in for an oil change? You want to take that call?

Each of his former bosses… You know the drill.

His realtor. You think you’re going in to sign papers… Embarrassing.

His mother. Of course, his mother. Never mind. Don’t ask. Really. Trust me. You. Don’t. Want. To go there.

But the worst time (than all his exes), was when his therapist, Dr. Dheath, opened their last session with it.

Dennis said, “Of course we need to talk, Doctor... That’s what I pay you for. Why I’m here.”

The therapist leaned in. “You don’t get it. I quit. I can’t and won’t continue with you. Find someone else…”

“But…”

“Listen up, Dennis. There’s not enough money in the world to make me sit through another hour of your whining.”

Dennis was stunned. “That’s awful, Doctor. That makes me feel…”

The therapist laughed. His voice constricted as it rose in volume. “I don’t care how it makes you feel. Have you, even once, thought of how it makes me feel? Have you?”

Dennis hadn’t. His therapist’s feelings had never crossed his mind. After that, Dennis reminded himself the therapist’s feelings were not his concern.

Nonetheless, Dennis had to face a nagging realization. ‘In each of these, I’m the common denominator. What can I do? How do I change the dynamic? I’ve tried everything.’

The river murmured seductively.

Dennis rejected that option. ‘Nothing to panic about. Just another setback.’

Buying time, staving off the inevitable, Dennis popped a potato chip into his mouth. He savored each crunch and its sumptuous, salty flavor as long as possible.

Sandra looked at him expectantly. He swallowed.

He looked at her lovely, open face, eagerly waiting to stomp on his heart and leave him writhing in the dust.

He dismissed his negative thoughts. Dennis hoped to remember Sandra from when he imagined they would be together and happy.

He fought the urge to cringe from receiving this sentence. Forcing his face to relax, he steeled himself against the fall of the gavel and the slamming cell door. He knew how it felt to be alone. He wanted to hide under the blanket.

“Uhm, more wine?”

She shook her head. Bad sign.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I’ll be direct. I’ve been offered a dream job. But it would mean a year in Tierra del Fuego…”

Dennis’ felt his stomach churn. He emptied his glass and refilled it.

Sandra continued. “But it means we’d be separated. I’ve decided to pass on it. I don’t want to lose what we have. You mean so much to me. We’ve gotten so close. The distance would be too much.”

Dennis felt faint. Had he heard correctly? Was he hallucinating?

He said, “Y… you mean?”

“I love our process, Denny. I want to see where we go together. Because what we have is so good.” She gestured to their surroundings. “I mean, look at what we have. It’s the best. You’re the best guy I’ve ever known. I hope our futures blend. But obviously, no pressure. I hope you feel the same way…”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded with a teary smile.

Dennis fell back with a groan. Sandra crawled to him.

“Are you okay?”

He smiled. “Better than ever. Happiest I’ve ever been.”

She fell into his arms. They kissed. The wine glasses tipped and spilled. They laughed and kissed some more.