He/She is Typing Pt. 02

[RECAP: Joanna is a married 34-year-old journalist, mother of two boys. At her son's school play she meets Alan, a rookie teacher of 27, and the two quickly hit it off, going on to establish a texting-based friendship fed by off-the-cuff jokes and an interest in theatre. He becomes for her an outlet of sorts in the face of a stressful job and a marriage strained by an episode of infidelity on her husband's part. The communication with Alan grows more and more intimate until it culminates one evening in an impromptu session of phone sex. Joanna and Alan are well attuned to each other's expectations, however, and are not about to let an incident that neither of them regrets make things complicated.]

Part 1: /s/he-she-is-typing

***

JOANNA

I'm at the mall, shopping for a present. There's a baby shower this Saturday for Pilar, one of the layout designers at the paper. She's the sweetest girl, about to have her first. I want to get her something she'll need, not just something she'll like. And here with me is Alan, holding up everything that he finds either cute or ridiculous, or both. At one point I figure he's had his hands on over half the store's merchandise. But in the end the suggestion that wins me over comes from him: a quick-trip diaper bag with magnetic closures and a translucent wipes case. That's Alan in a nutshell: at the core of the goofball there's a bubbling cleverness that's always ready for use. I wouldn't tell him this outright, but it adds to his charm. It's one more feather in his cap. Alan's a tall, burly young guy. Bearded, with smiling blue eyes and short, curly brown hair. Thick arms that fill up a short sleeve. A laid-back buddy-type who can be attractive when he wants to.

We've mentioned our phone session from that night here and there. We talk about everything and this has been no exception. It hasn't weighed things down. He does touch me more now; he's kissed my head to punctuate a condescending joke here, taken the liberty to arrange my hair in a casual manner there. My own hands end up on his arm or his hair every so often. There's a certain implicit promise that something could happen again at some point; and at the same time a certain peace with the possibility that it might not again, ever. It's my reading of it, at least. I'm fine with where the pieces have fallen and don't dwell on it any longer than I have to. With him, I get to feel like not everything is horribly unmanageable. I feel airy. It's been a while.

We get lunch. At 1 PM we're joined by Katie, my friend and coworker. She's heard plenty about Alan, but she doesn't know everything. Alan starts out trying hard with her, clearly hoping to make a shared friend out of her early in the game, but Katie's in a mood today and gives a challenge. A weird rapport develops. They enjoy trading jabs, but they'd find it hard to stand each other for long. If the lunch is fun it's because they communicate either with me or with one another through me.

At 3 PM Alan says goodbye, tell us he has grading to do. We don't schedule another meet-up right then. I know we'll later find an excuse for one.

"Take it easy, Katie. Smoking kills," he says on his way out, his jacket in hand.

"Bye. Have fun grading grammar or whatever," is Katie's retort.

"What's with the bitchy attitude today?" I ask in jolly tones once Alan disappears around the restaurant's corner.

"He gave me shit for smoking, he had it coming. Nice guy, though. Have you been out the whole morning?"

"Yeah, getting Pilar's present. Tough pregnant woman to shop for. But I also helped Alan pick out new shoes, first pair the guy buys in like a year. He was nearby for the farmer's market, so we met up." I get a mint candy into my mouth to stave off the cravings Katie's cigarette is giving me. "It was a fun morning. I wish you'd come earlier."

"Clingy dude?"

"Alan? Not at all, I was the one who asked."

"Huh. But he sure stayed past lunch."

"Well, that's the point of lunch. You have to finish it."

We bounce inbetween a variety of topics, as is our usual ritual, until we land on my marriage again. She's been a constant ear on which to dump my woes, so I feel I owe her details. Henry, my husband, has not made things easy. He'll drop hints that I'm not close enough, not present enough, and he'll succeed at what he's clearly hoping for, which is to guilt me. But when I do make myself available, his mode switches to cold, distant, dismissive. Sometimes offensive, in low-key ways. I can tell he's been feeling rejected and that the distancing that has occurred between us - a natural follow-up of my decision to stay after his cheating, and an absolute necessity on my end - has taken its toll. He must feel that I'm harboring resentment still. I can't say that he's wrong. But I've given as much as I've felt capable of. Often more than that. In the past Katie has understood that I need space and she's told me before, adamantly, that I should create as much of it as I need.

But her advice is different today. She asks me about Phillip from work. Has anything happened there? She's seen us flirt and I've told her about our risqué texting, which never went past that. There was a time when that felt like something we could joke about freely, and we've done plenty of that. Now she asks me bluntly... how far would I be willing to take it? Phillip is a non-issue for me at present, but as far as Katie knows, he represents the possibility of something from which there'd be no turning back. I know that if I were to tell her that I'm contemplating having an affair of my own, Katie wouldn't judge me. But she wouldn't pretend to approve, either. She's reached the point where she's worried about my decisions and hopes that I'll do the right thing for my family. Our rapport is often fun and games, goofy or raunchy jokes of the kind that we're too old for. But for this, she's perfectly capable of sobering up and allowing honesty to take over. That's something I have to appreciate.

...

ALAN

There was a time when I had to feel like a guest whenever I stepped inside the teacher's lounge. Now I get to eat yogurt and watch Youtube videos at full volume on my laptop while stretching my legs as far as they go. Also drink coffee from a randomly borrowed mug, which I'll wash after. Privileges of being a full-time staff member. Sergio, my coworker and roommate, is lying on the couch behind me, attempting a nap and failing because I'm making him talk to me. As I list my class's epic suggestions for the name of our new ficus ('Muchacho'; 'Sven'), the sight of one of Joanna's posts on my Facebook feed shuts me up. It's nothing extraordinary. Just her and a posse of coworkers posing in what I assume is the parking lot of the newspaper where she works. They look like a fun, intellectual bunch. I feel a quick pang of jealousy for anyone who gets to spend their working week with Joanna just a few desks away. She looks pretty and happy, second from the right, hand on her waist, her light brown hair ablaze with sunlight.

Overcome by a sudden thirst for more, I click on her photo album. I've been here only once before but couldn't bring myself to go through the whole thing. Her photos go back years, since her kids were newborns. Different hair styles, different hair shades of brown, but the same buxom physique, the same round face, button nose and long eyelashes, the same cute ears that slightly stick out. My eyes bounce quickly from one image to another, trying to absorb enough while not too much. I'm only looking for work stuff, friend stuff, and I don't want to be a creep. When I see her husband, however, I find it impossible to look away. Grey-haired but still youthful, handsome. The older pictures have her and him smiling together often. A hollow feeling has suddenly me wondering at the kind of man that Joanna would marry... the one that she did marry. With Sergio behind me, mumbling his sleepy words through closed eyes, I let what was supposed to be a quick glimpse into her pictures turn into click after click. I quickly regret it. A truth begins staring me in the face. I see, in so many pixels, that he's made her happy for years. It's easy to imagine how proud being her significant other would make him. Whatever connection I've believed she and I have... I see that their version of it is bigger, heightened, nourished by years together. They've laughed harder than we ever have, longer than we ever have. The memories they share mean more. I've been out shopping with her; he's given her children. It's tissue that will keep them connected for a lifetime. I feel tiny.

I close my tabs once a group of teachers comes bursting in. I've certainly had enough for today. Something comes to the forefront of my mind: a quick mention she once made, weeks ago, about the "walking on eggshells" she has had to do at home. I wish I knew more. I wish she had said more. If she were to touch on the subject again, however, I'm not sure what I'd want to hear.

...

JOANNA

Phillip's got his eye on me. We're at the sushi bar across the street from our office, along with a dozen coworkers. The spot was picked as the site to celebrate the birthday of Walter, sports writer extraordinaire. Japanese liquor soon replaced sushi as the main course. They've now gotten to their seventh round, just as I'm about to leave. Phillip sent me his first text before I even arrived - then a few more followed during the party, with me just seats away from him. I met his gaze a couple of times to acknowledge my being aware of him. I wait until a trip to the bathroom to finally read them.

PHILLIP: I'll be seeing you at Walter's thing, yes? [5:22 PM]

PHILLIP: It's been a while. [5:22 PM]

PHILLIP: Jo, you look gorgeous today. I know a stealth twirl for my benefit is too much to ask for. But a guy can dream? [5:53 PM]

I brace myself for the long, serious-looking one.

PHILLIP: I'll come clean. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. Your desk is the first thing I take a look at when I arrive at the office in the morning. It seems like just yesterday that we were fantasizing together... and we both seemed game for the ride. Am I wrong about that? [6:35 PM]

These lines shed new light on the glances and attention he's been throwing my way all evening. I feel bad about not reading them earlier... but not excessively. With Phillip it's been clear what he's after from the start. He's a "his reputation precedes him" kind of guy. He remains single by choice, he's a player, drama is not his thing. Our texted conversations have remained strictly in a certain line ever since I first started encouraging them, and he's never made the effort to steer them away from that, even when I did. Still, I'm well aware of my part in leading him on.

I come out of the ladies' room and there he is. Leaning against the wall of this tight restroom alley, pretending to text on his phone. He then looks up at me with a smile, thus acknowledging the fakeness of his pose. It's charming. Getting chuckles from people comes easy to Phillip. It's the reason he's friends with everybody, and the reason I liked him.

"Hey. You look amazing today."

"So you've said. Thanks. We had a press conference in the morning and I kept the duds for the rest of the day."

"You didn't do the twirl I requested," he says, putting his phone in his pocket and making me the sole focus of his attention. "Imagine my heartbreak."

"It's a cramped restaurant, dude. Any twirling could have knocked a tray off a passing waiter's hand, and then where would we be?"

He knows that I'll just keep defusing his lines. He goes in for a big move.

"Could you feel me looking at you from across the table?" he asks.

"Phillip. I like you, dude. But nothing's gonna happen."

"Just hear me out, you don't need to promise anything. But I admit it, I came here today hoping for something. I came hoping we'd get to finish what we started, and that we'd leave this party together. A bit drunk... but not too much. Don't laugh! Just hear me out. We'd get in my car and drive to the best hotel we could think of." He takes a step closer, lays his raised elbow against the wall and adopts a softer tone. "And as soon as we walked through the door, I'd get to do what I've been dying to for months. You know what that is, Jo? I'd get to stand behind you. Move your hair aside. And kiss your neck. Kiss your ears. And the side of your face."

"Phil..."

"Then finally turn you around, lift you up and feel you wrap your legs around me. Lay you on that bed. And peel those pants off of you, and your panties after that. Bury my face between your legs. And finally fuck you, slowly but deeply... with you still wearing that white blazer."

He finishes his speech with a tremulous sigh and a flushed face. I hear Katie's strident laughter all the way from the group's table. Even with a few drinks on her, I know she'd come in the blink of an eye if she knew what was happening.

"I get it, Phil."

"Don't say anything just yet. I know that I'm making quite the request here. I don't want to smear this by adding pressure. It has to feel perfect, Jo, both for you and for me. But I'm confident, Jo. I know you want it too, I know you see yourself in that room with me. I'm betting it all on that."

"What are you betting exactly?"

"I might well be wrong, but I'm ready to eat crow."

"You don't have to eat anything. I know we flirted, Phil. I know I gave you hopes. This is on me as well. Believe me, at one point... I think I might have wanted it too." I let a deep breath inflate me with patience, the exact same thing I do when I have to lay hard truths on my kids. "It was hard not to be attracted to you. Look at you. You're one tall drink of water. That huge smile, that salt-and-pepper mane. You've got it going on, man. But Phil... I can't. I need to reign myself in while I'm able to. And I don't mean just with you."

"What, are there other candidates?"

"No. No. What I mean is, it's not because of you. I just have to take the high road on this one."

Phillip steps away, takes a quick look behind him and then looks back at me.

"Tell you what. Stay until after they bring Walter's cake, stay until he blows his candles. I'm gonna go wait at the paper's reception hall until 8. If I see you walking past me on your way to the parking lot, just head to my car and we'll leave together. It's ok. Just stay a little longer. Long enough to make up your mind."

He throws me a last smile before turning around and making his way back to the table. He barely stays any extra time at all. He picks up his jacket and says his goodbyes to the group. He doesn't look at me. Katie puts her arm around me and talks really close to my face, letting me smell the Sake on her breath. I'm happy that she's having fun, and glad that she remains clueless regarding my conversation with Phillip. I wait long enough to be sure that I won't run into him in the restaurant's parking lot. Then I get in my car and start heading home.

...

ALAN

I'm sure that Joanna's here tonight, her face one among dozens in the audience. Jack, her ten-year-old, is once again performing in a play, this time for the December talent show. The auditorium is fuller than I've ever seen it. Tonight's show is "Laika", about the dog sent to space by the Russians in 1957. Sally and I wrote the plot; the kids pitched in with their own ideas for the dialogue, adorned with thick Russian accents. Laika is played by little Lillian in a dog costume. Jack is one of the evil scientists. The play is poignant and funny, and the kids are all good in their roles. I'm very excited for the parents' response - but not as much as I am for Joanna's. I've invited her to come backstage after the show. I'm eager for it to be over so that I can see her. I haven't in a while.

While the crowd takes their seats, a squad of fellow teachers and I move in and out of the stage for last-minute prepping. I feel at times certain that her eyes are on me, just like mine would be on her if our roles were reversed. I know she'll be coming with her husband. I don't mind, as long as she's here. I find myself searching the crowd with my eyes without meaning to... until I find him. The husband. There's no trace of his Facebook smile tonight. He's by himself, Joanna hasn't arrived yet. I notice later that he's saving her a seat to his left. But by the time the play starts, she's still a no show. I swallow my disappointment and focus on my job.

From my spot backstage I get to see whenever the auditorium doors open and close. I try not to get distracted with it, but the play is a well-oiled machine at this point and the laughs from the parents come loud and often, aided by the adlib nature of the whole thing. I really wish she was here, watching her kid be brilliant. I know she'd love it more than anything - and having any kind of role in seeing her happy would have made my week. My month, for that matter. She's distanced herself from me lately and I haven't asked why. Having her here tonight would have been sufficient reprieve.

It's not until the last third of the play that I see her come in. Her outline was recognizable enough, but I'm sure it's her once she takes the empty seat next to her husband. I smile to myself. Another reason I wanted her to come: Joanna's a fan of a certain British singer. A big one; I used to tease her for it. Lillian, who's playing Laika in the play, does a pitch-perfect impression that would blow Joanna's mind, right down to the accent and even the omission of the T in words like "water" ("waugh-ah"). Creepily impressive for an eleven-year-old. I've told Joanna about it via text and have overhyped it to the point that it's become a running joke. She sounded eager to see it.

Some five minutes before the end of the play, Joanna's husband gets up from his seat and leaves the auditorium. He doesn't come back by the time the lights go up and the audience erupts in raucous applause. This was the last feature of the evening. An army of kids spills out onto the aisles to be congratulated by their parents while the other teachers and I pat each other on the back for a job well done. A set of parents comes up to me with effusive praise for the evening. They keep me occupied for a while... even while my eyes are on Joanna, who's hugging Jack with a broad smile on her face. She never looks at me. I soon lose her from sight.

Lillian's parents also come up to thank me with their daughter leading the way. She attacks me with a full-force hug. I ask enough to gather that they're planning to stay just a little longer. Will I be able to show Joanna what I wanted? All I'd like is a memory, just one more memory that we can bond over before we have to move on from one another. I search the crowd for Joanna, but don't find her. Nor do I see her husband, or either of her two boys. Almost an hour later, feeling hollow, I'm forced to conclude that she has left.

...

I'm washing the post-dinner dishes when my phone buzzes in my pocket. To my right, Sergio does the drying while Hiranur, roommate #2, types relentlessly on his laptop over the kitchen counter. He says he'll do his vacuuming of the living room when he's finished. That he allows work to follow him home to this degree annoys the shit out of me. I take my gloves off and pull my phone out, my hopes set on whose message I want it to be. I get my wish.

JOANNA: I'm so sorry.

Below that first line is the icon that shows she's typing more. It takes her a while. I put my phone away and continue with the dishes. I've waited for Joanna long enough today.

JOANNA: Don't think I forgot you were waiting for me, I didn't. I so wanted to go up to you and congratulate you for the play, which was absolutely fantastic... what I got to see of it. You should have seen Jack, he was so proud. I hope you are too. This sounds stupid, Alan, but I was proud of you myself. I think you're one talented guy. Everyone in that school ought to know how lucky they are to have you there. You deserved a tight, clingy, uncomfortably long hug from me, and it breaks my heart that I couldn't give it to you.