So it finally happened---in the recesses of my mind

She finally called after holding out for ten days. The phone rang. I saw her name on the screen. I let it ring five tines. I was tempted to let ring till the recording kicked in, but that would be cruel, and I am not a cruel person. That has been my problem, not being cruel when I need to be. I have this stupid compassion within me. And it is often misplaced.

Anyway, I picked up the phone. She said simply, it's me. And then, as I expected and wished, she sobbed uncontrollably for three solid minutes (I was looking at my iPhone's timer). Then she said, I missed you, why didn't you call? I said, I missed you too, terribly, but I was angry and proud. Why, she wailed. Then she sobbed some more. I finally sighed, please don't cry, I'm coming over. Hurry please, but drive safe, she softly whispered.

When I got to her front door about twenty-five minutes later, I didn't have to ring the doorbell. She swung the door open and flew into my arms. I held her close, very close, to me. She pressed her groin against mine, hard. We didn't make it to the bedroom. We collapsed on the sofa. She, fully clothed, was on top of me. Her lips were glued to mine.

I remember spending the whole night with her snuggling close to me, her head resting on my muscular chest, a result of decades of pumping iron. My shirt was open, exposing my massive pectorals, otherwise I was clothed. Her pajamas were on. I didn't take them off, nor did I ask her to do so. I wanted her to be completely comfortable and relaxed. I was a patient man.

The next day, I called in sick. I spent the morning with her in the park. We were lying on the grass, underneath a cherry tree. The winds wwre brisk.The cherry blossoms floated in the air and finally settled down onto our faces. I caught a whiff of fragrance, a mixture of her perfume and the cherry blossoms. I felt strong and serene. I closed my eyes, taking in the fresh air, the winds, the fragrance, the sensation of her lying next to me in the park, in full view of the public, her left hand holding my right, while asking myself if I was falling in love. Then all of a sudden, Laura surfaced from the subconscious. I felt chilled. The year was 1968, half-way through the school term. We were having a date in the Botanical Garden cum Museum and Zoo in Saigon. I was lying in her lap on the steps of a secluded area, outside the Museum. I also was feeling strong and serene. I opened my eyes. A few blossoms were left on the cherry tree. They looked perfect. And when they were really perfect, they fell. The winds picked them up and helped them in their vain struggle against gravity. That was when they were absolutely, breath-takingly beautiful, the way they floated here and there and then slowly descended upon the ground, some not far from where we were lying. The ephemerality of beauty, of love, of life. I turned to face her. She was still having her eyes closed behind the stylish Silhouette sunglasses. I wondered if there would be another woman after her. Would my search for love end with her? Or would I be damned in unfulfilment because of Laura?