What Being on the Road Can Teach You #2

The first afternoon on the road takes me north on Interstate 5 to a small campground that is scenic enough though within earshot of the Interstate's traffic. But it's far enough away and pitch my tent within spitting distance of a bush of poison oak. My head aches and the glands in my throat seem to be the size of plums, but the gin and tonic tastes good nonetheless.

Toward dusk, as I brush away families of mosquitoes, something happens: the cubicle calls. I try to ignore the phone, but it keeps ringing and ringing. "We're not supposed to talk," I said. We've recently started counseling, and we were counseled to take a break from one another so that we could work on what we need to work on, alone.

"I just wanted to talk," the cubicle said in that husky voice it sometimes uses to get its way.

"About what?"

"Us. Things. Whatever comes up."

"I don't know if I have anything to say at the moment," I said.

"Well, I've been thinking of things," it said. "I really want this to work."

I sipped the gin and tonic. "I know you do," I said.

"Part of the problem, I think, is that we spend so little time together. You're seldom here, and even when you are, you're looking out the window, or something."

"I don't have to be there to be there, you know."

"That doesn't make sense."

The cubicle was right--it didn't make sense.

There was a few moments of silence. "Is there someone else?"

"No, " I said. "There's nobody else."

"Were you like this with the others? I mean, did you lose interest after a certain amount of time?"

I thought about that. "I'm not sure how to answer," I said.

"I know I'm not your first, and we always feel something special about the first one.  But I've seen how you stare at others. I know I'm older and less attractive than I once was."

"You're beautiful," I said. "This has nothing to do with how you look. And I don't stare at others."

"I just wish you would tell me what you want," the cubicle said. "You have to be open about things, you know?"

I finished the drink. Above me, the sky through the pines was nearly completely dark. "I need to go," I said.

"Okay," the cubicle said. 

"Okay," I said.

Later, I wondered if I'd lied during the conversation. There certainly was not someone else, at least not formally. Had I been looking at others? This was more difficult to answer precisely, but I know there had been glances if not looks. That night I slept well.