Just When You Think You Know Her

I was always the first to bed. I would ask if she’d like to join, but she’d always have late night things to take care of, things she couldn’t get done during her busy day. Tabitha had a tough job, and I often commended her on how well she was able to balance work and home. I knew she loved me. It was our mutual respect for each other’s space that had kept us so close, for so many years.

Or, so I thought.

We met at the fundraiser. She was part of the production, and I was, well, a benefactor. Don’t get me wrong here: it wasn’t a black-tie affair or a $200-a-plate gala. It was more a drop in, with light hors d’oeuvres. Indeed, I saw her from across the crowded room, and our eyes did meet (gag, I know). She was with her friends, and I didn't feel right singling her out. Besides, it wasn't the right time. I pointed her out to one of the other guests —I’d gone solo, me being single and all, without many guy friends as they’d all been married off— and he agreed that indeed she was a cutie. He then slid away from me, mingling a bit. I guess it was awkward for him, me asking his advice like we’d known each other since then.

Something deep within knew this was a bad idea. Every single time I’d committed myself, I was let down: they’d smother me with attention, and allow me to do the same; they'd let me to spoil them with gifts and fine food and trips, and then…they’d bail.

Evidently, I was not good at this. It is difficult recovering from betrayal.

After inquiring a bit, I learned that her name was Tabitha. What a gorgeous name. Perfect. I was instantly reminded of my little-boyhood wonderment over Tabitha Stephens from Bewitched, that fantasy sitcom with Elizabeth Montgomery and Dick York, how she could wriggle her nose and things would magically happen. And, Stephens. Minus the spelling, coincidence? Methought not, and whenever something would not go my way I would, in Tabitha Stephens fashion, wriggle my nose…and I think I remember, now, that there was always something about the outcome that was most certainly affected by my magical intervention.

Tabitha Stevens, my little-boy mind entertained. And now, my adult-mind’s eye recalled the visual of me sitting three inches from our black-and-white television with the two dials —VHF and UHF— and the aluminum-wrapped bunny-eared antennae, wishing I could be Tabitha’s boyfriend so she could teach me how, say, to put someone in a cage, or to make myself disappear, or make a stuffed animal float across the room.

I’d never again heard the name Tabitha, until now, seeing her across the room. And I knew it had to be.

I’d be lying to you if I said I didn’t take Tabitha home that night. I did.

And we’d been together ever since.

****

It was such a wonderful feeling, waking up to her snuggles. She’d always been so good at reading me, probably sensing how lonely a bed can be when you’re alone. I’d be sleeping, deliberately on my left side, facing her side, so she didn’t get the sense that I was ignoring her, pouting like a child because she didn’t come to bed when I first asked. Quietly, so as not to wake me, she’d sidle up close, and rest her head on my outstretched arm; or sometimes, she’d snuggle herself within my spooned position, shifting a bit to let me know she was there, waiting to be caressed.

We’d fallen into a comfortable routine, my Tabitha and me, just the two of us. Admittedly, at first, I was gun shy, given my previous…encounters, because that’s all they really were. Love forms with nicknames, and I began to call her Tabs. She didn’t seem to mind, like, can we choose a different nickname? That one brings back too many memories, and calling her Tabs made me feel more special, to her.

And a bit more gradually, I began loosening the reigns. I began to trust her, not inquiring where she’d been or why she was, gradually, coming home a bit later each evening. She was an adult, I was an adult…and no one likes to be confined. I silently applauded myself on my “letting go,” on my growing up. On my acceptance that not all females are alike.

It wasn’t until she began coming home and falling directly asleep on the couch, without touching the dinner I’d prepared for her, that I began to wonder. I’d wake her up, Tabs? Come to bed, sweetie, but she’d ignore me, turning her head to a more comfortable position and pretending like she was sleeping. I began to snoop, while she feigned sleep, and I noticed that her coat would have different smells and foreign fibers, like she’d lain on a stranger’s bed. My sleuthing and Google-searching deduced keratin. I would have to take a sample for a lab.

But until then, lockdown. I had my suspicions, and there was no way I was letting this tramp out again until I knew for sure what she was up to.

With pointed finger, the next morning before leaving for work, I told her as much. I told her how betrayed I felt, and that she would not see the light of day until she could understand the terms of this arrangement. She appeared contrite as she cowered at my admonishment, to the point of fear, perhaps of my striking her. I then felt guilty. I’d never gotten physical, in any relationship. She’d evidently been abused before.

We’d talk when I got home.

But as I was leaving, she pushed past me. I gave chase, as far as I could in my suit and suede shoes. But it was raining, and I had an 8:00 appointment.

Tabitha never came home that night. I left the door unlocked and I woke up every hour to pat her side, to check the couch. To even check the guest bedroom, my office with the fold-out couch. I was in a panic. Why had I gone so crazy over something that was probably nothing at all? This was why I was alone, and so lonely. There’d always been a reason why they’d left.

After a week, I’d given up hope. She was gone. I padded down to the end of the driveway in my robe and slippers to get the paper.

“Jeremy.” It was my neighbor from down the street. He was walking his dog.

“Hey Dave. Good morning.”

“You’re looking rough, man. Big night?”

“Not much sleep. Tabitha…you know, I told you.”

“Yeah man, you did. Saw her not too long ago. Yesterday, I think. I went to tell you but you weren’t home."

I was stunned. “You. You saw her? Where?”

“She was eating out of the Grierson’s bowl. Not trying to tell you your business, me being a dog man and all, but you might try putting some cat food on your own porch. She’ll come around.”