The Forging Read online

  Chapter Sixteen

  I looked down at my wife. I am being selfish. She is entitled to better than I had ever given her. Will my life be worth living after I say goodbye? I turned and looked down at my daughter. I placed my hand on her head. Moiraine looked up at me with such love and trust. Yes, my life will be worth living. My thoughts drifted to how Charlene and I met.

  She had saved my life.

  I am done with my weekly shopping at the supermarket. I placed my items on the conveyor belt and waited my turn. The woman checker is young but conveyed a more mature aura. She is also rather striking in both face and figure. I have been shopping here for some time, but I have never been in her line before. She is dressed in a baggie uniform. It is far too big. She must be trying to disguise her most fetching figure. On her face is a pair of big horn-rimmed glasses. Her name badge reads “Marge.” I don’t believe it. At her station is a coffee cup from the coffee house in this shopping center. It is one of those three bucks a cup places. I never frequent those establishments. I hate all coffee, even the super sweetened and extra caffeinated ones. My particular favorite liquid vice is Diet Pepsi. I have four six-packs in my mix of items. Her coffee cup had a different name than her badge. As I read it, I thought it sounded more like how she looked, beautiful and classy. I paid for the groceries. As she counted my change back to me, our hands touched briefly. The pit of my stomach fell, and my heart skipped a beat. I’d heard of love at first sight but never love at first touch. Is it love, or am I only randy? I didn’t know what to do. I took my change and said, “Thank you.” I walked to my car and loaded it up with my week’s worth of future sewage.

  Normally I would never approach a woman without an introduction. I tend to be a little old fashioned and have passed up other ladies who have caught my eye. This is different. I feel a tugging in my heart. It is unsettling. I had to talk to her. No other option even crossed my mind.

  I entered in her line again with a little something I didn’t need. When it was my turn without looking at me, she said, “Next, please.”

  I handed her the pack of gum I had grabbed. She looked over to me and smiled. My heart skipped a beat again. “Back so soon? Did you forget something?”

  “Um yes.” I haven’t felt this awkward since middle school. We finished the transaction, and I was about to walk away. A fire erupted inside me. “Marge, I would like to buy you a cup of coffee if I may. What time is your shift over?”

  “It is against the rules to go out with customers,” she said sternly, but she is blushing also.

  “As of right now, I no longer shop here.” After a moment of silence, I said, “Just coffee.” I waited what must have been an eternity, but was only the span of a few loud heartbeats.

  She looked around quickly then softly told me the time her shift ended. Good, I have enough time to clean up a bit. I promised her I would be back promptly when her shift ended. I hurried back to my car and rushed home to shower, shave, and shove off.

  I patiently waited at a spot halfway between the two entrances into the supermarket. I could quickly glance at either door, so I wouldn’t miss her. It is about five minutes after her shift ended and she emerged. Her hair is out of the ponytail she had during work. Gone are the ugly glasses. She had applied some make-up. It is a light application to enhance rather than to cover-up. After about three steps out the door, she removed her smock. She is wearing a pull-over top which fit far better than the smock. Her figure is even more alluring than what I had imagined was under her tent of a uniform. The neckline dipped a bit but didn’t reveal any cleavage. She is walking with confidence and purpose. I approached her and held out my hand to shake. I know on social occasions, such as this, you don’t offer to shake hands with a lady unless she presents hers first. But what I want to do is touch her hand again to be sure. She clasped my hand and a rush of endorphins coursed through my brain like a flash flood. I am rolling on an emotional white-water trip. Hope I don’t drown. After a long moment, she asked, “Can I have my hand back?”

  Damn. I had forgotten to let go of her hand. I felt like an idiot; I would know. I’m familiar with the feeling. I released her hand and mumbled an apology. “Shall we?” I motioned to start walking to the coffee house. We strolled and chit-chatted about nothing important. I tried to sound calm and relaxed. I fear I came across like the idiot who forgot to let go of her hand. As we reached the coffee house, I opened the door for her. “Why don’t you grab us a table and I’ll place the order.” I made and paid for the order then sat down. Before we became too comfortable, the name “Charlene” was called out by the barista. I stood to retrieve the coffee. I returned and announced, “One iced vanilla latte with an extra shot for Charlene.” Out of my coat pocket, I pulled out an ice-cold Diet Pepsi. My only beef with establishments like this is they never carry anything but coffee and tea.

  “How did you know what I drink and how did you know my real name? Are you some kind of stalker?” I couldn’t tell if she is serious or a little impressed.

  “I noticed, at your workstation, the coffee cup had a different name on it than your name tag. I reasoned you use another name at work to avoid creeps from learning who you are. I like that. It shows you’re smart and cautious. I bet being as pretty as you are,” again she blushed a little, “a great many men approach you. I feel honored you agreed to spend this time with me.”

  She raised an eyebrow at me. “And how did you know what I drink?”

  “When I went over to the counter, I jotted down on one of their cups what was written on yours.” Her eyebrow is still raised, and the silence is deafening. I continued, “I hoped I wouldn’t have to explain this until after we have been going out for a while. Assuming you agree to go out with me again.” I started, “I have a unique memory. I can relive anything I have read, witnessed, or heard. Taste is different. I can’t remember those as well. It’s sad. I would give a great deal to taste some of my mother’s cooking again. She passed away about a year ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry about your loss.” A sad look briefly crossed her face. Then she was back to the issue at hand, “I find what you said about your memory a little hard to believe.” Charlene crossed her arms under her breasts and leaned back from the table.

  She’s closing herself off from me. It is not an encouraging sign. I leaned back too. I rattled off every in-store special which line the shelves of the market where she works; all 103 of them. She uncrossed her arms, and her face changed.

  “That is amazing. You really can remember everything?”

  “Every boring or gut-wrenching detail since about the age of five.”

  “Wow, music too?” I nodded in the affirmative. “So, you can replay songs in your head like one of those new things. What are they called? Mp3 players?”

  I gently slapped my forehead. I have been a little dense. “You know I have never thought of it that way. Thanks, I’ll never have to listen to songs I don’t like on the radio again.”

  She looked at the watch on her wrist and said, “I have to get to class. Thank you for the coffee.” She reached out and briefly, touched my hand. A casual gesture nothing at all, but it still made my heart skip a beat. I stood with her, and as we exited the coffee bean brewery, I opened the door for her. I walked her to her car and again opened her door for her. She turned toward me before she got in. She looked at me for a few seconds.

  This is my opening. “I would like to see you again.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have the time. I work full-time and go to school full-time.”

  “Three dates is all I ask. I have found by the end of the third date you know if there is reason enough to continue.” I was silent for a moment. She did not speak up. “And this coffee counts as the first date.”

  She didn’t say anything for a second and then said, “Okay, I will go out with you twice more as you’ve asked. Don’t read too much into this. I don’t have time for someone in my life with school and work.” She gave me her phone number, and we arrange
d to go out in four days on Saturday night.

  Before she sat in her car, “Here let me get that.” She reached out and plucked a piece of lint off my shoulder. She got in the car without further fuss.

  I watched her drive away as my heart soared. I didn’t understand. It is only a date. Yet, the anticipation is already building. I have plans to make. I went home to contemplate. On the short drive to my apartment, I had decided on dinner and a movie, a classic second date. Which restaurant? Which movie? I walked through my door and before anything else I booted up my computer. I need to perform some searches.

  The days flew by at a snail’s pace. Early Saturday morning, I had my car washed, fueled it up, and went for a haircut. Well, I had them all cut. I spent the rest of the day puttering around my apartment. I watched as the time approached when I had to leave for our date. All is well. The only thing left to do is to pick her up. I arrived at her house about five minutes before our date. I waited there in my car until it was exactly the time to pick her up. I knocked on her door, and it was promptly answered. She stood in the doorway. She is dressed in a white blouse and black skirt. The blouse’s neckline revealed the hint of cleavage without showing too much. The skirt’s hemline is about mid-thigh, and she wore nylons. I tried not to get caught looking, but my eyes did flick for a second. Luckily with my memory, I can dwell on the mental image without appearing to gawk. It’s a definite benefit. I pondered her image in my mind for a moment. I must say if I were to try to judge which one of her assets is the most appealing, it would be a toss-up. I don’t think you could take either one alone without the whole being diminished.

  She turned her head back into the house. “I’m leaving, Dad.”

  I heard a male voice from inside the house. “Do you have money on you?” Charlene replied she did have money. “Don’t stay out too late. You know how I worry.”

  Charlene rolled her eyes a bit. “Yes, Dad.” We walked out to my car. My mother taught me manners growing up, so I opened the car door for her. She entered the car in a classy fashion by sitting down and pivoting her legs into the car. I received a libido amping long look at those legs. My first judgment was right. Those are some nice gams. I take it back. By all appearances, she is a classy woman. A classy woman isn’t a skirt, dame, babe, or chick and they don’t have gams.

  We had about a twenty-minute drive to the Gas Lamp Quarter. I had made reservations at a cozy little dinner house called The Amber Glow. It is a higher-end middle-class establishment with cloth napkins. Usually, cloth napkins are a sure sign the eatery is too pricey for my wallet, but I was surprised as everything is reasonable, but not cheap by a long shot. It is reasonable enough, so I’ll be eating Top Ramen soup instead of lettuce sandwiches without the bread. This will be my last real dinner until my next paycheck, so I started chewing slowly.

  We talked about little things like where we grew up, our families, and work. I was afraid a conversation about work would come up. I grimaced inside. “I don’t have what you would call a career. I hate to admit it, but I’m a rent-a-cop or a security guard, if you will, at a retirement community. It pays the bills. I’m still up in the air on what to pursue.” I don’t have any sense of how she feels about my admission. She has a great poker face. Yes, she has a beautiful poker face. “What are you studying in college?”

  “Well, I am majoring in Fine Art, and I minor in Education.” Her face brightened as she revealed this. “My ultimate goal is to become a teacher in a grade school. I love little children. They see everything with new eyes.” She talked about her plans all the way through the salad and halfway through the main course. “Listen to me talking this whole time.” I could listen to her talk all night. “Have you thought about going to college?”

  “I did start to go to college, but I was stupid.”

  “You don’t strike me as being stupid, in fact, just the opposite.”

  “Thank you. It’s a long story. The cliff notes edition would be I was accused of cheating by an intolerant professor with a small mind. Needless to say, with my memory, I scored perfect on the first three exams. He claimed I must be cheating because in over twenty years of teaching, no student had ever scored so many perfects in his class. I think the kicker was on one exam a question was incorrectly worded, so I turned in my exam with the correction included. It was his word against mine. Tenured professor against a freshman student. The outcome was he had me expelled with a note placed on my transcript. When I tried to enroll in another college, I was turned down and told as long as the note remained on my transcript, I would never be admitted to any college.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair. Education should be open to anyone.”

  “It wasn’t. I appealed the decision. I was told the administration would remove the letter from my file if I admitted to the cheating and made a formal apology to the professor. I know it sounds hokey, but I am trying to live by a code. I don’t lie unless the truth would hurt someone for no good reason. You know, like do I look fat in this outfit?” Charlene smiled. “If I had cheated, I would have copped to it. My pride blocked my way. So, here I am in a nowhere job, hoping an opportunity will present itself. If it doesn’t, I will make an opportunity.”

  Dessert arrived. We shared a slice of Black Forest cake. She only took one bite and wouldn’t take anymore. I had to finish the rest. I looked at my watch, and it is getting time for the next round of shows at the theatre. “I thought we could take in a movie. Is there anything playing you want to see? I am open to anything; I love movies of all kinds. I hate to admit it, but I even enjoy what most men would refer to as chick flicks.”

  “I am having a pleasant time sitting here and talking. Do we have to go to a movie?” She smiled as she said it. My heart soared again. I like this woman. She ordered coffee, and I asked for some hot tea, Earl Grey, of course. And we talked. We talked as though we had known each other all our lives. It is comforting. Finally, the manager of the restaurant said they are closing, and we had to leave. I looked at my watch and was surprised at how long this simple dinner had lasted. It is still too short for my taste.

  I paid the check and left an extra-large tip.

  “Are you sure you want to leave so large a tip? Our bill couldn’t have been costly enough for such a big tip. Don’t feel like you need to impress me.”

  “Impressing you has nothing to do with it. We sat in the booth all night long. Our server could have turned over the table at least twice more if we had left right after dinner. Waiters and waitresses live on their tips. It would be unfair to take a table all night and not compensate them for it.”

  “You’re a decent man, Nathan.”

  “You can call me Nate.”

  “I always call people by their full names. I don’t know why, but it’s a quirk I have.” She smiled again at me as we stood from the booth. “But you can call me Char.”

  The name Char brought a mental image of a man getting burned by her touch. Lord knows it put a fire into me.

  We returned to her house and talked a few more minutes sitting there in my car. Charlene said, “This has been a very enjoyable evening.” She looked at her watch. “Well, more like early morning. I have to rest. I have work and studying tomorrow.” She started to get out of the car. I started to open the door on my side when she said. “It’s ok, Nathan. I can make it the rest of the way myself.”

  I quickly considered what her statement meant. Is she trying to avoid an awkward moment at her door? Is she trying to let me know I don’t have to play the gentleman? Is she trying to escape? “I will enjoy walking you to your door. You can thank my mother. It is the way I was raised. And you don’t have to worry. I will not take liberties.” I had already decided on that course. This woman is special, and I want these dates to be special. I am sure most men would have already made a play. I wanted her to see I am different. She waited in the seat while I walked to open the door. I put my hand out to help her out if she needed it. She put her hand in mine and used it to help leverage herself out.
I rejoiced for a short infinity at how her hand feels in mine. Once she was out of the car, I released her hand, and we walked in silence to her door.

  At her front door, she turned towards me and said, “I have had a very pleasant evening.”

  Now to give her an out if she is only being polite. God, I hope I am reading everything right. “I know you agreed to go on another date, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to keep your word. If you don’t wish to see me again, I will trouble you no longer. Just know, I thank you for tonight and the chance to know you.”

  “Are you trying to squirm your way out of seeing me again, Nathan Alexander Embers?” The porch light is out, so I can’t see her face clearly enough to tell if she is playfully mocking or miffed at me. The light came on. Her expression changed immediately. She rolled her eyes.

  “Wow, a long delay for a motion-sensitive light.”

  “It is my dad in his own, not so subtle way, telling me to come inside. If I don’t come in now, he will open the door next,” she opened the door. Turning quickly back and looking in my eyes, she said, “Goodnight Nathan, I am looking forward to our next date. Call me.” She entered her house and closed the door.

  I don’t think my feet touched the ground once on the walk back to my car. All the way back home a song from “Oklahoma” played in my head “… I’ve got a wonderful feeling. Everything’s going my way …”

  I called her two days later. Her father answered the phone. “I’m sorry, but she’s not here. I’ll tell her you called,” he promptly hung up on me before I could say another word. But before the line went dead, I heard a grumpy “Humph!” Me thinks he is not happy. I’ll have to remedy that.

  Charlene and I finally connected and arranged our third date. I knew what I wanted to do. I had made a couple of calls and talked to the people I needed to talk with. All is set.

  I arrived early and waited in my car until the appointed time trying to drum up the courage. I rehearsed what I am going to do and say a hundred score or more. Well, ready or not here I go. I knocked on the door and as before it is answered right away by Char. “May I come in?”