She should swing

I don't make a habit of napping in cafes, but I have good reasons.

I had been on a walk through the forests between Bard College and the Hudson River with Kristina. I had not seen her in over a month and she is not the sedentary type. To hang out with her, one should strap on hiking boots to explore. She suggested a waterfall an hour away, but I had a timetable, beautiful though that might have been.

When I countered with Bard, I judged that she was disappointed. Who wouldn't be when the other option was a waterfall on a summer's day? Still, she rationalized that she had never been to Bard, so it still qualified as a new experience. She is a woman possessed of wanderlust.

Sarah T originated the plans, wanting to see a movie at 5:50. That was the star by which I sailed the rest of my day, if so there was some fixed point from which I should not vary.

We talked at length about her relationship with her on-again, off-again partner. I can't remember their status at present, only that he has been her only experience with romantic love. She needs to experience the rest of the world before she can know what she wants. Even she is uncertain she wants him long term. I have been in relationships where I echoed that attitude. I am only happy where I am because I have seen where I have been. I have tasted what it was to be with a few other lovers and prefer my wife.

Her mother taught Kristina that anyone who cheated was an irredeemable monster. When it one day (or more; I don't pry too much) happened to her, the fact that the guy wasn't a monster flummoxed her. She was accustomed to him, having only been with him, and so she forgave him almost by default. What else was she to do? The other option, no longer dating him again, was too intimidating. The cognitive dissonance of being with someone who cheated on her and not detesting him still bothers her. She was conditioned to want nothing to do with someone who would do that, but she doesn't know how to give him up.

I don't think she dated anyone else in high school, when I got out most of my monkeyshines. It was a better way for me, purging myself before it could count for much.

I tell her that I do not think cheating makes someone terrible. I cheated a few times as a teenager, when "cheating" meant kissing and not sex. A few women cheated on me, in our teens and in adult relationships, when "cheating" most meant sex.

That I can be friends now with people who cheated on me when we were in a romantic relationship confuses her because aren't they monsters? But, no, they made choices. At the time, it was horrible for me. I hated that someone I trusted could have done that to me, but they weren't doing it to me or against me. They were doing it because someone else gave them something they wanted more than monogamy with me. Now, I can let that go and focus on the people they are and what I liked about them enough to try for love with them. The cheating was temporary and, yes, ended the relationships. Who they are is lasting. I don't know if any of them cheated since, but it isn't my place to know. As I have had other relationships, I didn't have to forgive their cheating and stay with them. I could move on.

Kristina's mother also told her sex is gross. All sex, not just premarital sex, though Kristina's existence -- along with that of her brothers -- suggests that she had a bit of grossness in her life. Kristina never agreed with this. Sex was lovely and thrilling. It was never dirty, but she still had to think about what it meant that her mother could be so wrong. No one wants a "Santa Claus isn't real?" moment the first time they have sex.

I wish I could recondition Kristina again without sex and relational negativity. Had her mother not conditioned Kristina, she could have the context for letting go someone who isn't right for you. She doesn't think he is forever, that he will marry her, that they will have a family one day. They have been together so long. Neither likely wants to be permanently in this relationship, which is why they break up. She thinks he is insecure, but also that I don't know him like she does. She is right. I don't know him, except that he played with swords at a party I once attended. I only know Kristina, and I see that this is a part of her life that could be better.

Whenever she was single, she couldn't manage to make herself want to be with anyone else. She compared them against her on-again, off-again, unfavorably. Her mind might want to be with someone else, but her body always shut down. She couldn't get over the idea of being unfaithful to his memory.

I tell her I can relate, that I got nauseated and threw up a few times when I was still on the hook with an ex in college and someone else kissed me. She is horrified, but empathetic.

She mentioned going on a few dates with Daniel, but that it went nowhere because she couldn't let go of her ex. Daniel knew this, and a few other things that suggested it wouldn't be healthy to continue to pursue her, and he gave up the fight for a relationship. (They remained close friends long after and remain so on paper, as it were.)

I am still nursing a cold. I had taken a pill earlier, but it had worn off by the time I reached the cafe to meet up with Sarah. Absent a stimulant, I was drowsy. Kristina offers up some potato chips, but they do not do the trick.

Finally justifying my nap, Sarah and Kristina make quiet mention of something about oils or health. A woman across from us who had erstwhile been working on a laptop -- but who had interrupted us once before by saying she used a sage body oil that made her smell like a cooked chicken even though she is a vegetarian (as though her diet affects how her skin processes the oil into a delicious marinade) -- dives into a monologue about the rough synthesis of a cursory look at Natural News comments on Facebook; health related conspiracy theories and fad dieting. I curl up beside Sarah and drift off, looking up when this Russian woman loudly claims soup is a godly food because the vitamins cannot escape.

I whisper to Sarah that I know this woman. She once talked my ear off about how she could control lightbulbs with her mind (and hands) after I gave a talk at The Enchanted Cafe. Whenever she saw me afterward, she seemed not to have any idea she had detained me with her theory she was a powerful psychic (and not that automatic lenses close and open based on light). I did not try to make her remember me and I do not think she does now. I assure Sarah that Amber will remember this woman, though, as she refused to come to my rescue that night.

It is a good rest, because I feel safe here. Safe in Red Hook, my pastoral college town. Safe in this cafe where I pass some Fridays writing. Safe with these two women, who will not allow anyone to perpetrate mischief upon me because I am tired and want to rally my energy before the movie.

They soon decide that they have heard enough and suggest we return to my apartment to wait for Amber.

Animated by caffeine and cereal, I continue the conversation Kristina and I had been having. Sarah assumed that I had had more partners because I was romantically loose in high school.

"I guess a lot of your stories are about the same five women," she asserts, which is a fair accusation. I do like telling stories and I work with what I have. What I have are eccentric and diverse women whom I like still, which is never poor fodder.

I tell them that I wish things had gone differently with some of these women. Not that we hadn't met and not that we hadn't broken up, but that I could edit and revise our romance into a Good Parts Edition. I can fit each relationship into one to two amazing years by excising the declines. In those years, no one needs to cheat and we leave on great terms. I wouldn't want to pick at the threads that led to me meeting Amber, though. I can put up with some bad sex and emotional murkiness to end up with my wife years later.

When Amber returns home, I prompt her, "Hey, remember when I did that talk at The Enchanted Cafe?"

"Oh yeah, with the crazy woman who wouldn't stop talking to you."

It is a cold triumph.

There isn't enough time before the movie. Kristina cannot come, as her father needs her to drive him somewhere and she cannot be delayed, though she wants to be. She would far more want to be with us.

Soon in Xenology: Writing. Summer. The Sheet.

last watched: Reaper
reading: The Men Who Stare at Goats