She looked out on the grey world outside her kitchen window, a wry smile on her lips as she considered that view a metaphor for her life.
It wasn't that her life was bad; it was actually quite good. She had married well. John was a good husband who had a great career. He had given her three children, but they were the only color in her world. When they were at school, she was home and her world felt empty. And all too soon the kids would be off to college.
She knew John loved her, but he no longer showed it. They had been so playful in the bedroom the first few years that she could hardly wait for him to come home each day. Over time they settled into life and intimacy became less frequent, more routine. Empty.
Joan sighed, then realized she had sighed out loud. Another grim smile.
For some reason she thought of Paul, an old boyfriend. She had fallen deeply in love with him. In fact, she thought they would marry. But then John came along and swept her off her feet, as the saying goes. She wondered idly what had become of Paul. It had been over twenty years.
Bored with the kitchen, Joan went upstairs to their bedroom. She stood in the doorway, taking in the view the way a stranger might. Tastefully decorated. All the outward signs of happiness. No substance. No passion. It could easily have been part of a hotel suite. Des Moines or Toronto or Singapore. They all look the same.
Not finding anything in the bedroom, she walked into her office. She called it an office, although it was just a bedroom where she had a desk, her computer, a TV and her books. A large easy chair with a floor lamp for reading. The window looked out on the same grey.
Paul. Paul Saltzinger. He probably wouldn't be hard to find. She looked at her computer, hesitating. She was only curious about him, after all, so she sat and started to search. She googled his name, but was surprised to see how many Paul Saltzingers there were. And no way to know one from the other.
"How can I find him?"
Facebook.
Of course! She opened here rarely-used fb account. She hardly knew how to use it, but poked around until she found how to search. Again, quite a few Paul Saltzingers, but this time she could click on them and see personal details and possibly photos.
The eighth Paul she clicked on. There he was! Her heart actually felt a little flutter at seeing Paul's face again. Older. Very distinguished. Single? Hadn't he married? She was sure he had. His page said he lived just a half hour away.
She closed fb and stood, looking out the window again. Grey. But for a moment her life hadn't felt grey, had it? Shaking her head, Joan laughed at herself. Here she was, forty-three years old, responsible, respectable, wife and mother of three, and entertaining thoughts of contacting an old love. Without even thinking about it, she realized that was exactly what she had been considering. The thought shocked her.
She went back to the kitchen and made a sandwich. Sitting at the island, facing the window, the greyness confronted her again. Even the sandwich tasted plain. Two slices of nondescript white bread spread with boring and topped with grey. She dropped the sandwich on the plate. Tears formed in her eyes.
Paul.
She stood and ran up the stairs. Without a pause, without even another thought about what she was doing or the dangers that could follow, she found Paul's page again and figured out how to send a message.
The open message window mocked her. "What do I say? For that matter, what do I want?"
She leaned back in her chair, thinking about her time with Paul. He loved to stand behind her, his arms around her. He would kiss her on the neck. So softly. It always sent shivers through her and made her tummy quiver. Joan smiled at the thought, then realized she had felt those very feelings just now. Memory is powerful. She began typing:
Hi Paul, this is Joan Petersen. Well, you knew me as Joan Olson. I came across your Facebook page and noticed you lived close by.
Now what? "Came across" was a stretch, but she could just as easily have found him as a friend of a friend. But what did she want?
I was wondering how you are.
Stalling. "Might as well talk about the weather", she thought, "Get to the point, Joan!"
Paul, I was wondering whether you would like to have lunch sometime. Let me know. Love, Joan.
"Love"?
"Is that what I am after?"
Joan re-read the message. She hesitated. Then she looked out the window again and felt the grey sink back into her.
She clicked on Send.
Back to the kitchen. There was the sandwich. One bite out of it. She stared at it, then threw it away. She gazed down at the sandwich in the trash, wondering whether it was a metaphor for all she wanted to throw out of her life. But what exactly did she want to throw out? Not her family. Not John, even.
No, it wasn't throwing something out that she needed. It was adding something. She wanted what she had, but she wanted more. Something special. Perhaps something exciting. Something secret.
She realized every day of her life was spent in providing something for others, making them happy, but no one worked hard to make her happy. Oh, her husband made a lot of money and they had things. But things one can live without. Things without soul. Colorless.
Desire. Joan wanted to feel desired. She smiled at the thought. Just the very thought of a man desiring her, holding her, kissing her, seemed to color her soul.
Although it had only been 15 minutes, she ran upstairs to see whether Paul had answered.
There was a message!
