Citrus

She was sitting in his new arm chair when he came through the door. It was seven thirty, work holding him over at the office longer than was healthy.
She said “I liked the old one better,” and startled him, like a child caught out during a game of hide and seek. He dropped a sheaf of work papers with a stunned jerk, and they mushroomed out over the foyer tiles.
James looked at her, she giggling like a naughty child. He sighed, trying not to laugh too. “Planning on causing that, were you?” He hitched his pants and crouched down to fetch the papers back to their pile.
He glanced at Lily as she gave a palm raised shrug. “I plead the fifth.”
He rolled his eyes, dumped the papers on the coffee table and sat down across from her. She still was just as beautiful as the last day they’d spent together. Long auburn hair the kicked in at the bottom, stunningly soft and intelligent grey-blue eyes, glowing skin which, as usual, came with smudges and streaks of paint. Her artist’s spirit was reflected in her clothes; black shoulder-baring Bob Dylan belly-shirt, tight paint smeared jeans, and well-loved Doc Martens. She smiled under his scrutiny.
“Still, I liked the old chair better.” She turned around a bit in the chair, studying it from ground zero, so to speak.
“The old one was thread bare and smelled like tuna.” He threw his feet onto the table, ever comfortable in her company, even though they had not been together for almost two years now.
She made a face at him. “Don’t be picky. It was comfortable. It had character. This thing is uniform and conformist.” She glanced up and saw him smiling. He could tell she was weighing up wether or not to say what was coming next. “It was our chair.” She dodged his suddenly sad expression, watching her long fingernails pick lint off the arm of the offending chair.
“I know.” He hadn’t wanted to swap it either. But every time he came through the lounge room, there it was. Sitting there depressively, a reminder of their years together. They had bought it from a rather suspect garage sale when they had moved in together into this same tiny apartment. It was paisley and cherry wood, and had always smelled like tuna. He had proposed to her while she was sitting in it. She’d covered him a billion times with the world map throw rug when he fell asleep in it watching CNN. He had gotten roaring drunk and slumped in it the day after she’d gone. Now, this living piece of his past, of his memories with Lily, was holed up in the storage room of the apartment building covered in a tarp, keeping his mountain bike company. He wanted to explain to her how hard it was to see the chair, but in a way that wouldn’t feel like he was casting all their memories aside.
She waved a hand dismissively before he could speak. “I know why it had to go. But... I’m just attached to it, I guess. I really don’t have a say in what you do here anymore anyway.” She suddenly brightened. “I saw you with that pretty little girl from the bookstore today.”
James’ heart stopped cold, like a watch with a dead battery. He struggled for words to form a plausible excuse. “I... we just...er, hang out. She’s ok, I guess.”
Lily laughed, and when she did so, it was with her whole body. “Oh Lordy. You are a free man, Jaime. Who you date has nothing to do with me anymore. But I like her. She’s smart, and she’s pretty. She wears strawberry talcum powder and she reads all the time. I like that. And she puts up with your near constant blubbering about losing me.” She gave him a stern look. “You seriously need to cut that out. Or you’ll driver her mad. Plus, your beginning to sound like a big sappy loser.” Her eyes twinkled with delight.
James feigned indignation. “I am deeply offended.” They laughed together, like two halves of an orchestra. The laughter died and gave way to simple silence, as they watched each other’s eyes. Ancient, beautiful history poured between, and it was at once familiar and comforting, and terribly painful.
“I miss you.” They said, in tandem. She raised a sad, feeble smile for the phenomenon that had been so common when they were together. Everyday back then, thoughts had no longer been individual, but shared between them. James felt his throat constrict with the threat of tears. He dug his fingernails into his palm and fought the salty intruders. Tears could only make her sadder.
She turned her head away quickly, not wanting to watch him struggle for her sake. “She’s nice, too. Don’t take advantage of that, using her as your personal counsellor. OK?” She was still facing away, but she very near felt him nod in reply.
“I never talk about us. You know, to anyone else. I guess its just that...” He bit back the rest of the sentence, knowing it would hurt her to hear that this new woman was comfortable, trusted, easy to talk to. He saved her from hearing the words, but he knew she knew, anyway.
She nodded slowly. “She’s good for you.” But she didn’t look happy about it.
“You think I can get it right this time around?” James got up briefly to pour himself a largish bourbon.
He heard her laugh behind him. “You? You are the king of relationship malfunction.” The humour left her voice when she continued, “But she’s a strong girl. Stronger than me. I think she’ll keep you in check. And if not...” Lily smiled wickedly, “Well, I wouldn’t want to be you, lets put it that way.”
James made a humoured noise. He sat back down and watched her pick at the armchair again. There was something on her mind. He just had to wait for it to find a way out. So he sipped his bitter drink and studied her. She still had the scar on her hand from a childhood accident. He used to kiss that scar whenever they had a fight. It was a kind of unspoken act of contrition. He remembered now, the fight that had come so close before the end. She had discovered all his infidelities, undeniably plain and garish. How many women had he found to betray her with? How many times had he lied to protect her from the disgusting truth? He never really understood why he strayed from her. She was his perfect woman, the soulful dreamer, artist, poet, swore like a sailor and sang Bob Dylan in the shower. He loved her still. But, things had ended once and for all, and all chances for a second chance, or more aptly a fourth or fifth chance, had long abated.
Her voice shattered his thoughts, scattering them back to the recesses of his mind. “I never... retaliated. So to speak. I never cheated on you, Jaime. I wanted to. To punish you. But...” She frowned with the air of someone trying to phrase a feeling just right. “No one ever came close to you. Every man I could have taken revenge with just wasn’t...you. He was too linear, too boring, too funny, not arty enough, his hands weren’t as nice. They just all had something missing. Something that you had.”
Unbidden, a large, joyful smile came to James’ lips. He gave the deep chuckle of a man profoundly happy.
She shot him a caustic look. “Oh, don’t give me that macho man bullshit. Your not that good. I’m just stupid.”
He smiled at her, a man with a secret.
“What?” She demanded. He smiled more, giving a little mocking shrug, causing her to exasperatedly throw her hands in the air. “Fine, keep your little secret. See if I care.” But she was fighting a smile.
“Ok, ok... I just...” He bit his lip and let his eyes wander as his mind was doing. “I always felt that way about you. Every girl I went with, she would be a distraction for a while. But when she asked me to leave you, I never could. You were everything they weren’t. I was constantly comparing. It was strange.”
She gave a weary laugh. “Very strange.” She looked at him now, dishevelled business suit and a glass of Jack Daniels. This had been their ritual in their time together. She had sat in the old arm chair, he’d sat in the opposite one. And they would just talk. Him sipping bourbon, her sipping jasmine tea. She’d wager he still kept a packet of her favourite tea in his kitchen. She hadn’t looked. She was already trespassing, in a way. Going through his things would have been a little over the line. It had been her home once, but it wasn’t anymore. “We really were a pair, huh?”
James threw back his head and laughed. “Oh yeah. Your archetypical pain-and-pleasure lovers. Hate you, hurt you, but can’t live without you.” He realized what he’d said, but too late. To his relief she just gave a little laugh, ready to not take her situation too seriously.
“I’m sorry, you know, for just turning up like this all the time....” She gave a vague hand gesture to signify the apartment. She looked suddenly sheepish.
James shook his head fiercely. “I love seeing you. I miss you so much, Lil. You being here, its hard, but when we talk, I feel at peace. You always did that for me.”
Lily ran her hands over her face. “I know. Oh God, I know. Its so hard being away from you. So far away. I only ever feel like I’m at rest when I’m with you. Being gone... not being with you... it feels like I’ve lost part of who I am.”
James nodded. He bit his lip, hard. His voice was hoarse when he whispered, “I love you.”
Her face collapsed into a stricken wall of pain and confusion. “I... I shouldn’t keep coming back here. You need to have your life, start it over again. I need to move on...” Tears skated down her pale cheek. “But its so hard, Jaime. I know what I’m supposed to do, but I keep coming back to you.”
He closed his eyes and breathed raggedly. “I know I shouldn’t be... but I’m glad you do.” He opened his eyes; deep, dark, watery, wells of pain. “Even when it hurts. Even though you make me cry every time you come here. I’m glad you come. Then you leave, and so much of me goes with you. But its like you leave a little of yourself here. Like a trace of you, written on me.” She was crying and he was crying. He laughed at that, a choking, heavy sound through his tears. “We are a pair. Why couldn’t we have figured this out back when we still had the chance to make it right, huh?”
She gave a lopsided, sad smile. “I figured it out long before I left. That was why I couldn’t ever really go away. I needed to know you felt the same why. Back then.”
“Always.” They locked eyes, hers tight with painful disbelief. He spoke again. “I always felt the same way. Then, now. I always will.” He clamped his eyes down in revulsion for himself. “But I never told you did I? I never showed you? How I hurt you. Oh Jesus, Lil... How could you ever forgive me?” He rested his head in his hands and sobbed.
He didn’t jump when she touched his shoulder. He lifted his head, and came face to face with her. She was kneeling before him, a forlornly amused look on her face. “I forgave you long ago, Jaime.” She smiled softly.
Their faces touched and James whispered against her cheek, unintelligible words of love and relief. She laughed breathily against his skin.
She pulled back and gave him a careful smile. “I... I think I can go now.”
He started, shocked, scared, by her sudden desire to leave already. “No, but...”
She shushed him. “Come on, Jaime... its time. You know I always come back to you. Always come back to haunt you.” She wiggled her fingers at him in mock spookiness.
James gave a soft laugh.
Lily smiled, then bobbed her head sheepishly. “But... maybe... we could...one last time...” She didn’t risk a look at him. She was embarrassed to have asked, and it seemed like it would hurt her more to see him reject her with his eyes, as well as with words.
James stood up without a word. He walked to the opposite wall and leant against the cabinet. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. He pulled himself together and began to sift though a pile of their CD’s. It didn’t take very long to find the right CD. He slid it into the player, closed the lid, and pressed the skip button till it came to the right number. He held his finger over the play button for nearly an eternity before he pressed it. When he did, the CD started to spin, and there was silence for a moment before the song began.
“This time, this place / Misused, mistakes / Too long, Too late / Who was I to make you wait...”
He didn’t turn around as the Nickelback song began to fill the room. He felt her go to stand in the empty space in the kitchenette. It was the biggest open space they had in the apartment. And on painful, passionate nights long ago, he would put on this song, their song, and lead her out into that space.
James turned and looked at the woman who was once his wife. She was statuesque, in the way of a Greek goddess. But tonight, she looked radiant. Just as he remembered her, but glowing ethereally.
He went to her then, taking his perfect lost lady in his arms. They both sighed, fitting together beautifully. He took her hand, and like it was choreographed, they began to slow dance. It was a sweet, slow, sensual dance, and neither of them said a word. Nor did they need to. Their steps were perfectly in time, their bodies intimately and intrinsically knowing the rhythm of the other.
It was as though nothing had ever torn them apart. No anger, no hurt, no pain. There was no-one else, not in his life, or in their world. Just two people, deeply in love, and dancing to a rock song in their kitchen.
The door bell broke the evangelical moment. He felt her slip from him. He wanted to say something, wanted to say all the things he’d wanted to say for so long, but had neither the words nor the opportunity. She ran one cold hand along the side of his face and whispered, “I know, Jaime.” She smiled as the tears came again. She motioned toward the door with her chin. “Go. Be happy, for me, huh?”
He returned her smile and turned from her, releasing her hand. He never looked back. She had faded the moment he’d stopped touching her.
James wiped his eyes and opened the door. Shelly was standing there, fluffy purple hand-knitted scarf wiggling in the chill winter wind. She was smiling that bright smile she always wore, no matter the weather.
“Hey, sugar.” She said. He stepped back and let her in. She kissed his cheek lightly as she passed him. The she threw her scarf on the floor near the door and dropped her big canvas bag on top of it.
“Hey yourself.” James followed her into the lounge. She slumped into the chair he’d occupied minutes before. He sat in Lily’s spot. The chair was cold, even through his clothes.
Shelly started talking about her day. Some customer had thrown a whoop about the store not carrying some fantastically obscure French poet.
As she talked, Shelly looked around the room. It changed every time she came over. One day it would be reminiscent of some Harvard professor’s bachelor pad. A fad which had seen the old worn out armchair traded in for something more decorous. These fads, such as they were, never lasted long. He stripped the room of any traces of Lily, only to drag them back up from storage the very next day. He seemed uncertain wether he wanted to erase her from his world, or shroud himself in the memory of her life. Her pictures had made their way back into the room. Shelly was secretly glad. She hated it when Jim took Lily’s pictures away. It was almost like he was denying she had ever existed. The woman’s memory deserved more than that.
“So, we talked him into some T. S. Elliot and all but threw him out the door.” She smiled again, a smile which was always to big and too naive. “So what were you up to, before I popped up?”
He answered, completely uninhibitedly, “Dancing.”
Shelly raised and eyebrow at that. “Dancing? By yourself?”
Shelly watched him stand up and walk to the stereo, changing a CD of some angsty rock band to the local easy listening radio station. Then he went to her and kissed the top of her head. “No.”
She noticed his red rimmed eyes, and wondered if he’d been crying for his dearly departed wife again.
James smiled down at her. “No, I never dance alone.”