Maybe Later

Maybe Later

by

Burt Sage

As usual, I am sitting on my favorite bench overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Carlsbad. It’s a little after 9 am; the surfers have already packed up and gone, but the tourists haven’t arrived yet.

Bill will be joining me soon as he always does these mornings—we both have been retired for about 20 years and we love talking about the good old days and spinning yarns. He was a fire fighter, I was a medical device research guy; we enjoy sharing the things that happened on the job.

Speaking of Bill, here he is now.

“Hi, Bill,” I say as he walks up. “Have a seat.”

“Hi, Vic,” Bill says. “Up to the usual things this morning?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s my turn; been thinking about what yarn I should spin for you today.”

Sometimes I start with something that really happened. And like fish stories, there’s usually a bit of embellishment. Other times I just make something up out of whole cloth.

“I got here early this morning,” I say. “Started day-dreaming about how my life might have been different. Not to say that I wish my life had actually been different, just supposing what might have been.”

“And?” Bill asks.

“Well, I got to thinking about Cupid.”

“Cupid?” Bill asks.

“Yeah, Cupid. You know, the little fat guy with the bow and arrow.”

“I know who you mean,” Bill says. “That’s weird. What about him?”

“We often talk about our jobs. What do you think Cupid’s job is like? I mean, his job is to find guys and gals he thinks ought to be in love. There’s got to be millions of such people. So how does he figure out who they are? How does he prioritize that list? How does he decide where and when to do his thing? And finally, how does he decide which kind of arrow to use? He must have a wide variety of arrows, because some couples are a ‘match made in heaven’ so to speak. But their marriage falls apart after just a couple of years. And other couples are in the ‘that will never last’ category. But they celebrate 50 years of contentment.”

“You think that Cupid has something to do with how long a relationship lasts?” Bill asks.

“It’s a day-dream, Bill,” I say. “Just speculating. Stay with me on this, OK?”

“Of course,” Bill agrees. “I’m sure it’ll get interesting.”

“Suppose that somehow my name has arrived at the top of his list when I am seventeen, back in 1957, in college. Suppose I have just finished my dinner at the student union with my roommate Ed. As usual, we have a deck of cards and it doesn’t take long to fill out a bridge table.”

“It’s like the third hand and Ed and I have won the auction. He is declarer, and my hand is the dummy. I don’t know it, but Cupid’s there, hovering overhead, watching.”

“As I am laying my cards on the table, there’s a burst of laughter from the table right behind me. I turn to see what’s going on, but all I see is the prettiest girl I have ever seen. I didn’t know such beauty existed. She has a huge grin on her face, and is wiping something off her chin as though she tried to suppress a laugh with her mouth full but hadn’t completely succeeded. What really holds my attention is her eyes. There is a light and a fire in her eyes that etch my heart. Cupid launches his arrow. I’m in love.”

“The next thing I know, Ed is shouting, ‘Hey Vic, you gonna play bridge or are you gonna just gawk?’”

“I turn back to the table. ‘Who is that!’ I ask.”

“Ed laughs, ‘For get it. She’s way out of your league.’”

“By now the whole table is laughing—at me. ‘OK,’ I say. ‘Have your little joke. But seriously, does anyone know her name?’ None of them know her name.”

“I’ve got to find out her name. I get an idea. Every application to enroll must be accompanied by a photograph. So I go over to the admissions office and plead my case to the office secretary. She listens politely, then smiles, and finally lets me look through the applications. Samantha Ann Jackson is her name.”

“I ask around, and finally someone I know knows her. An introduction is arranged. She’s introduced as Sam, I’m introduced as Vic. After the ‘pleased to meet you’s’ I ask her if she would be available for a ‘let’s get to know each other’ snack at the student union later that evening. She smiles and asks ‘Are you asking me for a date?’. ‘Well, kind of,’ I answer. She sighs. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t do that.’ But she adds, ‘Maybe later.’”

“You don’t give up, do you?” Bill asks hopefully.

“Of course not,” I say. “Cupid has used a good arrow.”

“After maybe three weeks I see her sitting alone at a table in the student union. ‘Hi,’ I say as I walk up. She says, ‘Sorry, but I have a class starting in five minutes. I can’t talk now.’ ‘How about joining me for dinner later?’ I ask. She smiles. ‘I can’t. Maybe later,’ she says. She hurries off. That’s twice she’s said maybe later. Maybe she really is out of my league.”

“So you give up?” Bill asks.

“No,” I say.

“‘Maybe I haven’t used the right bait,’ I think to myself. There’s a folk music concert this week so I get a couple of tickets and call her. ‘Would you like to go with me to the folk music concert Friday night?’ I ask. ‘Are you asking me for a date, again?’ she asks. ‘Well, yes,’ I say. ‘It is later, isn’t it?’ She laughs. ‘Yes, it is later. All right. We have a date for Friday.”

“So you finally have a date with Sam,” Bill says. “Well done. That’s a mighty nice daydream. Cupid’s arrow seems to have done the trick.”

“It sure has,” I say. “And what happens next solidifies its position even more.”

“A relationship starts. There’s only one word to describe it. Memorable! For two years it’s like that. We can’t wait to be together.”

“You say that with a hint of nostalgia,” Bill says. “Are you saying that your marriage never had a time like that?”

I sigh. “That’s very perceptive of you, Bill. No, it didn’t. Now don’t get me wrong. My marriage has been very satisfying. But nothing’s perfect.”

“Like I was saying, for two years life was as perfect as it could be. But then one night, as we hold each other, she says, ‘We need to talk.’ ‘About what?’ I ask. She says, ‘Now don’t get me wrong. It’s been great. It really has. I’ve never been happier. There’s nobody else. But I’ve started to think long term.’ She pauses. Then ‘Is marriage the right future for us?’ she asks. ‘Of course,’ I say. ‘I’m not so sure,’ she says. ‘Our dreams don’t align well. You want a family and children. I want a career. We really need to slow down and think things through carefully.’”

“Is Cupid’s arrow starting to work its way loose?” Bill asks.

“Kind of,” I say. “She wants our relationship to slow down. And slow down it does. It slows down in frequency, but not in intensity. Our meetings are as passionate as ever. But as time passes, our meetings become few and far between.”

“About a week before graduation she comes to me and says ‘I want to spend one more night with you before graduation. My family is coming down and will be here from Friday through Sunday. So I want to be with you Thursday. Will that be OK?’ ‘Of course.’ I say.”

“It’s as passionate as it ever was. As we hold each other she says, ‘Vic, it has been a fantastic time together. But it’s over. I have a fellowship to study for a PhD in physics and I start in early September.’”

“I panic. ‘But Sam, I love you. You know how deeply I feel about you. It can’t be over. I want to marry you. So I’m asking you now. Please—will you marry me?’ I plead.”

“Tears well up in her eyes. ‘I love you, too, Vic. Yes, we love each other. But it’s not enough. I’m sorry, but the answer is No. Our dreams just do not align. It has to be good bye.’”

“‘Not forever,’ I say. ‘Please don’t say forever.’”

“She smiles through her tears. ‘Nothing is forever’ she says. ‘You never know what the future holds. So, let’s leave it like we did at the very beginning. Maybe later, OK?’”

“Well,” Bill says, “I guess Cupid didn’t use one of his best arrows after all. Kind of a bitter sweet ending.”

“It’s not over,” I say to Bill. “Turns out that the arrow is made of millennium, an alloy created by material scientists that can last a thousand years. As far as I know, it’s still there in my heart.”

“Really?” Bill asks.

“Really,” I say. “One day, after about 50 years, as I’m working on my computer, I stop and stare at the screen. There, in the Google search window, are the words ‘Samantha Jackson’. ‘How in Hell?’ I wonder. Memories boil back. There’s no way I’m not going to take a look.”

“So I start going through the hits. There’s a Realtor in Sacramento by the name of Samantha Jackson. Likewise a nurse in Baton Rouge. After an hour I’m about to give up when the next hit is SAJ LLC in Los Alamos, NM. It’s a small startup focusing on computer software for the analysis of high energy particle collisions. ‘Sounds like something a PhD physicist would do,’ I think. So I dig deeper. On the opening screen there is a drop down menu labeled ‘About Us’. At the top of the list is a Samantha Ann Jackson, CEO. And there’s a picture. All hell breaks loose in my head when I realize that it’s Sam. I’d never forget that smile.”

“So you found her,” Bill says. “And she’s started a company. Wow! Just like you.”

“Now that I’ve found her,” I say, “I dig deeper. I discover that she did get her PhD in physics, and has had a career in Government labs. She now lives alone on the top of a mountain.”

“I also learn that she did marry while she was getting her PhD, to one of the other students in her degree program. They divorced after 30 years.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Bill asks.

“There are so many options,” I reply. “So I seek a marriage counselor to help me sort it all out. I tell her my story. ‘I’ve seen this at least a hundred times,’ she says. ‘You really want to see her again, don’t you?’ ‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘Don’t do it,’ she says. ‘The only result is misery. Your family is more important than an affair. Forget that you found her again.’”

“I know this is excellent advice,” I tell Bill. “But there’s no way I’m going to just forget about her. I don’t know if it’s Cupid’s arrow or not, but the longing is irresistible.”

“So I send her a long handwritten letter. I tell her that I can’t believe how similar our career’s have been, and that I can’t think of anybody who would be more interesting to talk to. I finish the letter with ‘I’d like to get to know you again. Would you like that, too?’ I sign it, ‘affectionately yours’ and leave my business email address. I send it to her by overnight hand delivery.”

“A week passes. Not a peep from her. I’m sure she’s thrown my letter in the trash. Then an email message appears. ‘What a pleasant surprise to get your letter. Just got back from an Alaska cruise. Yes, I’d love for us to get to know each other again.’ The message is filled with enthusiasm and hope.”

“Have you told her that you’re married?” Bill asks.

“Again, very perceptive of you,” I say to Bill.

“In my response back to her I tell her about my wife and family. The tone of her messages changes. She writes, ‘I’m pleased that you’ve found me. But nothing can happen as long as you’re married. This is not good bye, it’s maybe later. Please stay in touch.’”

“All the while this is going on, I realize my wife is having memory problems. She comes home one afternoon crying her eyes out. ‘They say I have to stop driving,’ she says. ‘I’ll take you wherever you need to go,’ I tell her. And I do. But she starts spending more and more time in bed. Soon she won’t even get up to go to choir practice, let alone church. Soon I have to lift her out of bed to feed her. Otherwise she won’t eat.”

“This isn’t something you wish for, is it?” Bill asks, concerned.

“Of course not,” I reply. “I have to admit I’m conflicted. But there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make her as comfortable as possible for as long as possible. Soon I need help caring for her. On advice from my doctor, I place her in hospice. She lasts only one week.”

“My email to Sam is, ‘Yesterday, after a long and valiant struggle with Alzheimer’s, my wife took her last breath.’”

“Sam emails back, ‘Please accept my condolences. I know you have done your best to care for her.’ She concludes with ‘When you think the time is right, please book a flight to Los Alamos. I will pick you up.’”

“It takes about a month to handle my wife’s affairs. But all the while I’m thinking about going to Los Alamos. ‘Cupid’s arrow must really be made out of that millennium stuff after all’ I think. As far as I can tell, my desire to see Sam again hasn’t diminished one bit.”

“There’s a bright smile and a warm hug at the airport when we meet. But we’re both at a loss for words on the trip up to her home.”

“Finally she breaks the silence. ‘I don’t want to get married,’ she says. ‘Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt,’ she says. ‘I don’t want to do that again.’”

“I start to laugh, ‘What’s so funny?’ she asks, concerned.”

“‘I don’t want to get married, either,’ I say.”

“‘Then what do you want? I always thought you were the marrying kind.’”

“‘It’s real simple,’ I say. ‘I want us to be best friends, I want us to be lovers, and I want us to be life partners.’”

“A broad smile breaks out on her face. ‘I don’t think I can say it any better than that,’ she says. ‘That’s exactly what I would like.’ Then her expression changes. ‘But when it comes to intimacy, we need to go real slow. It’s been over 30 years since I last had sex. I’m not even sure I can respond any more. So not today’ she says, ‘maybe later.’”

“We spend the next couple of days getting used to the idea that there are two people in the house now. I find out that Sam is quite the photographer. She shares pictures of the places she has been. After what must have been her fourth session sharing her pictures, she closes the album, smiles and says, ‘would you like a rendezvous in the bedroom?’ ‘You know the answer to that question,’ I reply. ‘Of course I would.’”

“We’re fully clothed as we lay down on the bed. ‘Take it real slow,’ she whispers, ‘and be patient. Don’t venture below my waist. I need to see how I respond.’ We kiss. It’s tender. Her lips respond to mine as I hoped they would, as I remembered they did. Her blouse, my shirt come off. Then my T-shirt and her bra. The skin to skin contact is delicious. And the kisses get deeper and more passionate.”

“We go no farther. She breaks off a kiss and gives me a broad smile. ‘That’s enough for tonight,’ she says. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had feelings like this. They’re so strong that I’m kind of scared. I need to let these new feelings sort themselves out.’”

“Two days later we take a walk around her small community. Being from the San Diego area, I had forgotten how beautiful the foliage up here is in the fall. The air is crisp, and we can see our breaths. It’s enchanting. We hold hands the whole way.”

“The warmth of the house is welcome when we get back. We shed our jackets and I head for the coffee pot to make us a warm-up cuppa. But she blocks my way and puts her arms abound my neck. ‘The cold air makes me feel frisky,’ she whispers. ‘We have some unfinished business in the bedroom.’ ‘No more maybe later?’ I ask with a smile. ‘Nope’ she says, laughing. ‘No more maybe later.’”

Bill is smiling as I end the daydream. “I didn’t interrupt because it felt like you were telling me about something that really happened. Not just a made-up day dream. I hoped for a happy ending, and I got it.”

“Then you liked it?” I ask.

“Sure did,” Bill says. “One of your best. The only sad part is that life isn’t like that. An experience like that is too wonderful to really happen. I know it’s a day dream because that can’t happen in real life.”

“So you don’t believe something like that could really happen?” I ask.

“No way,” Bill replies.

“That’s too bad,” I reply. “Because I do.”