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We held hands most all the time. One day, just three weeks after I first met Joan, we were sitting in the middle of a field, listening to the crickets chirping and the bees buzzing and, in the distance, the moorhens quacking on the river bank. Joan suddenly turned and looked at me and there was this strange expression on her face as I’d never seen before. She leaned forward and, pressing my shoulders back, laid me down on the grass. Without speaking she began to stroke my face, real gentle like and kissed me, as I’d seen them do in the movies. I took Joan in my arms and held her so close that her breath swept over my face. Then Joan moved and we lay there side by side, just kissing and holding each other and looking up at the sky. And, in that afternoon, I never felt closer to another person. Well, when the sun dipped on the horizon and evening came on I thought that afternoon had passed too quick for me. I felt different inside and I tried to tell Joan how it was and I found I. This was her third failure...and three was definitely not the charm in this case. As Long John’s vibrations rippled up through her like waves of pure heat she watched, through quivering, half-closed eyelids, as He stepped back once again. He stared at her through his dark glasses. After a long moment he gave a slight nod, as if satisfied with his work. Then he turned and went back into her apartment. And closed the door behind him. Oh my god, He’s just going to leave me here like this, Jenny thought, beginning to hyperventilate. She thought desperately. It was the middle of a weekday afternoon—her neighbors must be at work—she hoped—but even so they had to come home eventually. She didn’t know any of them well but she knew what they looked like and in an instant each and every one of them made an imaginary appearance at the top of the stairs, or made their way down from the floor above. How could she possibly explain? She closed her eyes in despair. She.
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