You Are Caring, Quiet Man

It was one week to the day, a Monday, that my mother was gone.

I felt a bit antsy or something like that. I was still not in the office officially. I felt like a wanderer, roaming about, listless and lifeless. My mind was racing and swelling with all my thoughts, my re-visits to the week prior and an angst that was causing me to feel displaced. In other words, I was looking for anything that would take my mind away from me and substituted it with something else. Anything else.

I had seen my friend Harry I believe almost each day since the killing. He was getting on my nerves. He was of the opinion I should be proceeding in a manner in which he saw fit. I guess he meant well, but the manner in which he provided his opinion, left me with a profound distaste for his thoughts.

If I was able to recant about Harry, I would. He is one of the oddities of men I seem to collect or interact with in my life. In the days before blogging, or knowing about blogs, I used to share with girlfriends via email about my experiences with Harry. They were so unusual in their existence, that I could not believe myself they would occur.

One particular girlfriend, with whom at the time I spoke with almost on a daily basis, would get the complete and most immediate update from the night before with Harry. We would squeal with shock and laughter, because I was able to laugh about it at least. This friend, unbeknownst to me, had used my experiences to entertain her monthly Bongo group [I can’t remember now the name of that stupid card game they played] about myself and Harry. She slipped one day and told me what a following I had, across the country none the less, about myself and Harry.

Harry and another, Dick, were topics of endless emails and conversations about their oddities over the course of a few years. Alas, I erased those detailed emails and I now I wish I had not. What has not been erased is either Harry or Dick, who despite my efforts to eradicate them from my life in the nicest of ways, pop into it on various occasions.

Both Harry and Dick are Taurus men who I have since learned that with them, even people are their possession. They are prolific collectors of material things they crave and love, which can take over a major part of their lives, at least to an outsider. But to each of them, it’s a normal part of who they are. I believe I have found myself in each of their respective collections.

These are two Herculean, protective Taureans, with big hearts but with the most suffocating control. I believe I also am at fault for continuing on with the lot of them, for I have always had an enormous soft spot for the beautiful (and they are), strong, masculine and protective bulls. It’s a Capricorn-Taurus thing.

I had read once in an Astrology book that with these two signs, that no matter what has occurred between them, they can find common ground to once again continue on harmoniously. It is true. No matter what screaming accusatory fits I have had, or what shut the door and ignore me things they have done [and oh, they are good at ignoring something they find unpleasant and good luck in trying to change their minds on anything at all] we have been able to overcome it, or ignore it, and be in each other’s lives again until the next round.

So back to Quiet Man.

That Monday, I had not spoken to Harry at all and he did not call me. I went to see Fred about something, just to give myself a break from dealing with that busy mind of mine.

Fred had told me Quiet Man was in his office and to go and see him about helping me with my low tire warning. I thought the tires where full, but being I was really looking for an escape, I used him as an excuse to help me.

“Fred, can you call him to make sure he is there?”

“Muse, he is there, just go,” encouraged Fred.

“OK. See you later, Fred.” I said as I was walking out the door.

I drove the two minutes to the office.

I pulled into the parking lot and the front window was blocked off by all the cars they had in the lot. Quiet Man and Fred are into antique and luxury cars. They were parked all over the place.

I sat in my car for a while. My heart was racing. I was nervous as usual. The last time I was here was they day I found out he was married. Ugh. I felt like I had a stone in my stomach.

Why was I here, I thought? I was lonely, sad and looking for human interaction and yes, it was my attraction to him that I know I should not have. I did not care. The urge to be in his company was compelling. I don’t know why. Yes, I think I do.

I have this compulsion, with anything, to satiate myself with whatever it is, a new love interest, a hobby, a project at work. I just do not rest or stop until I there is nothing left to know. The attraction to Quiet Man lies in my mind. I am mentally attracted to him far beyond the physical.

I get out of my car. I start to work the maze made by the oddly parked cars to the front door. The reflection on the glass to his office did not permit me the luxury of seeing what was going on inside while I approached. I hate that.

I was able to see in for a second and I see he is talking to someone sitting in front of him. I did not see him looking out, but I suspect he saw me.

I opened the door, walked in and saw that his door to his office around the corner, was closed. Oh geez, I would have to knock. This was becoming more difficult and unsettling. I wish Fred had called to announce my arrival.

I tip toed to the door as best I could to not clank on the floor. I reached and knocked on the door.

I heard a loud scramble for the door as if it could not be opened fast enough.

“Muse! Muse, how nice to see you!” I heard.

Ricky opened the door, with a smile. He said hello warmly. Quiet Man was up on his feet. He grabbed my hand as usual to kiss it and we embraced. He “ordered” Ricky to vacate his seat and to let me have it. How funny these two are.

I was very stiff with them, feeling out of place. I quickly told Quiet Man why I was there and he told Ricky to go out and check my tires. He jumped up and went out.

Quiet Man was just staring at me. I felt a bit uncomfortable, so I started to do what I do when I feel like that-blabber on.

I told him about the sulfur smell in the car. He knew about it since Fred told him. He leans over as a medical doctor would to tell me bad news.

“Muse, you need your whole exhaust system replaced.”

WHAT? I was upset. This was a brand new vehicle. The dealership never told me that was the problem.

Quiet Man then leans back and smokes his Marlboro, so I am now viewing him in profile while his chair squeaks.

Ricky came in and said all my pressure was fine in my tires.

So, we chatted for a couple of minutes about filters I should have the dealer replace or put in or something like that.

It was about 4:30 pm I would say at this point. I was like, OK, this is about all I can milk on this topic, and I should get up and leave.

I started to say something about leaving, and Quiet Man says to me, “Muse, would you like a drink?”

“A drink?” I said in disbelief, what was he talking about?

“Yes, a drink,” he said calmly.

“What kind of drink?” I asked.

“Wine,” he told me dryly, “Ricky, go and get some bottles of wine.”

Apparently they keep wine in the back. Ricky jumped up to get them.

“OK, Quiet Man, I will have a drink,” I said giggling, happy to have had an invitation to stay.

Ricky came back with about 4-5 bottles of red wine.

“Muse, I am so sorry,” said Quiet Man with sincerity, “I don’t have any glasses.”

“You don’t?” I said, “Well what are we going to drink out of then?”

Quiet Man had me pull out three plastic tumblers that had on them coffee logos. I pulled off the plastic and opened the tops. The lip of the tumbler had threading on it, and yes, we were going to use them.

Ricky was having trouble uncorking the wine. They did not have any corkscrews. Quiet Man told him to get a screw, drill it in, and yes Ricky used a hand drill, and then used pliers to pop out the cork. It worked magnificently.

As the night went on, we finished the wine, and smoked cigars. Yes, I do enjoy a nice smooth cigar, while drinking, with a man only. Quiet Man had to light mine due to my in ability to suck in the air from that particular cigar. He had his lit and hanging out of his mouth, so we exchanged. It reminded me of Dick, who introduced me to the cigar and liquor routine. It was more of foreplay of things to come between us, he is a Taurus you know, and very sexual. But with Quiet Man it was just fun.

Quiet Man and Ricky were telling me of their homelands. I had been there and recanted my travels with my then boyfriend at the time.

We were sitting in Quiet Man’s office. I before him and Ricky to our side. Quiet Man reached behind him and pulled out a map. A freaking map of his country. He had his birthplace marked with a dot. He did. He showed me with pride and told me something about his place of birth. Ricky, who was from a different part of the same country but was not of the same nationality as Quiet Man, showed me his part of the world, lower on the map. I mean who pulls out maps? I was roaring with laughter. They thought I was odd about the map. Like I carry around a map of the United States with my birthplace marked?

Quiet Man showed me a photo of his children. I thought the boy in the photo was his daughter’s boyfriend, but it was not; it was his son. I had seen that photo the last time I was there.

Quiet Man is drinking and drawing on his cigar, while looking at me as he usually does.

“Muse,” he said, in his thick accented drawl, “ you know who is this man?”

He motioned to a black and white photograph of a young man pictured in profile.

“Who, that man?” I asked.

“Yes. That man. You know him?”

I looked at the photo and was trying to think who it was. I badly guessed a few names. I failed.

“That,” he said, “is I.”

I turned to look again. The young man was extraordinarily handsome. Gorgeous I thought to be precise. I would not have guessed it was him, but then I could see it was.

We laughed for some reason. Then he pulled out an identical photo of what was on the wall. He handed me the younger version of himself. I could not help but to continue to gaze at him as a young man of about 21. I was thinking, if I knew him at 21, that boy would not be free of me.

“Muse, you want?” he asked me about his photo.

“Yes, I do!” I told him. He then took my photo and then handed it back to me.

I started to scream with laughter. He had autographed his photo for me. It was very funny.

That photo was mine for sure, with “Quite Man” signed in the bottom right corner in the most beautiful handwriting.

I looked at how he signed his name and examined it. I was once a student of graphology. I was pleased to see the signs of a good, kind and honest person. He was confident and strong, while generous and considerate. He was just Quiet Man.

Ricky was really pounding down tumblers of wine. We had nothing to eat. By about 12:30 am, Quiet Man sends him out for cigarettes and snacks.

Alone, Quiet Man and I continue to talk and banter and laugh. Ricky previously commented about our interactions with each other. It was a smooth and even flow.

“I can’t believe you two,” he would chime in once in a while, “ Look at you.”

“Look at what Ricky? Do you think there is something wrong?” I demanded of him playfully.

“Just look at the both of you,” he would answer, laughing. I knew what he meant. He noticed how Quiet Man and I interacted with each other, as if Ricky was not really there. The interest in conversing one took with the other. Seamlessly and effortlessly.

During our in depth conversations of whatever topic Quiet Man chose, Ricky would keep interrupting him to turn to me to translate what Quiet Man just told me.

I understood Quiet Man, he speaks English. What was it with Ricky? We could not get him to quit it, he just kept offering his United Nations services in translating what Quiet Man said in English to me in Ricky’s accented English. So odd. So funny.

By the time Ricky returned with the smokes and snacks, they eat some. Ricky kept announcing we needed to go. Why, I thought?

Ricky is declaring, “Guys, it's 1:30!”

“So?” was our response.

Eventually Ricky realized we were not budging. So he bids us farewell.

Quiet Man and I spend the next few hours together, talking and laughing. Sometimes the conversation was somber and I just listened. I found him fascinating. He was interesting. He was so attractive.

We continued on until we left our separate ways at 4:30 am.

That night, for the hours I was with him, removed any angst and anxiety I had felt earlier in the day, and he replaced it with the caring company of a friend. He did that for me and I did not realize it until I alone entered my home. For days thereafter, I drew comfort from that night of laughter and friendship. It was something I needed and he cared enough to give to me.