Barry Jones' Cold Dinner. John Schlarbaum

at home with Linda. It was a feeling I’d rarely experienced during the past decade, and surprisingly I was now very glad I’d returned to Delta.

      A few minutes before midnight, Linda and I kissed one final time and I promised to stop by the library the following day. I made my way to my van and as I drove off the lot I was happy to see her waving goodbye to me from her balcony. I quickly returned the gesture and smiled a huge smile, even though I was positive she couldn’t see it.

      Heading uptown I thought that the evening had been perfect. The food was good, the company was great, and the dessert - ah, the dessert - was fantastic. (Linda’s homemade chocolate mousse was also quite incredible, I might add.) But as I turned onto Main Street, my assessment of the night began to darken ever so slightly. Two teenaged boys hanging about the bank sparked a memory I had long since forgotten. It was then doubts about any type of ongoing relationship with Linda started to take hold.

      The summer before Maria and I started to go out, I had met a girl whose family had moved to Delta during the first week of August. Her name was Michelle Fuller and I remember her being slim, with short brown hair and being blessed with the face of an angel. I don’t recall exactly how we met (possibly at the ball diamond or maybe when I was cutting grass in her neighbourhood), but I do know that we hit it off immediately. The problem was her father was very strict and didn’t want his sweet fourteen year old daughter going anywhere with a seventeen year old boy. I reluctantly kept my distance and didn’t force the issue with Michelle or her father. Then just before school was to resume, incredibly he changed his mind. Of course, stern rules were set in place. Her curfew was ten-thirty and as we were going into Kelsey Lake to see a movie, we were to keep the ticket stubs, to prove we hadn’t gone to a restricted show.

      To teenagers, parental rules always seem excessive, but Michelle and I didn’t care. We just wanted to have a good time.

      And that we did.

      At ten-fifteen I pulled into Michelle’s driveway and we both saw the slight movement of curtains in the front window. Being Mr. Responsible, I then opened Michelle’s car door and escorted her up to the front steps, where we were greeted by her mother who was all smiles. She invited me in and we talked in the living room for a few minutes about our evening out. Still there was no sign of Mr. Fuller.

      At ten-twenty-nine, I said I should be going and both Michelle and her mother walked me to the door. Sensing Michelle wanted her to leave (if only for a few moments), Mrs. Fuller said good night and left us alone.

      What followed was like a scene from the television show Happy Days.

      “I had a real nice time tonight,” Michelle said.

      “I’m glad,” I replied. “Maybe we can do this again.”

      “Sure.”

      Then the weight of the world was upon my shoulders. I was certainly glad that her first official date had gone well, but I was also aware that to kiss her might be just a bit presumptuous on my part. Yet as I looked into her eyes, I got the distinct impression that more harm would be done if I didn’t at least make an attempt.

      In the end she set the tone for our farewell when she slowly turned her lips away from mine, compelling me to kiss her lightly on the cheek. As I straightened up we both smiled and I told her I would call the following Monday. But as you may have guessed, I never made that call, even though I knew I should have followed my heart.

      In those days I wasn’t as cynical or as tough as I am now. So when two guys from school stopped my car in front of the bank and warned me to stay away from Michelle, I listened to their arguments instead of driving away.

      They told me Michelle was too young for me and that there was no way she would have anything to do with me once school started. They said she was already gaining popularity with the other Grade Niners in town and as soon as classes began, she would learn what a nobody I truly was.

      I remember telling them to take a flying leap, but as I tried to go to sleep that night, I kept hearing their voices in my head. Soon I began to agree with their assessment of the situation - if only on the issue of our age difference.

      By the next morning’s light, I had absurdly decided that further “dates” with Michelle were out of the question. What she thought of me in the days and weeks following that decision I can only imagine, as we never did talk about it once school started again. What her father thought of me though, I’m sure was much worse.

      All this soul searching made me turn my van around and drive past Michelle’s house. Today she would be in her late 20’s and I would be a very faint footnote in her memory. Of course, three years difference in age is significant when you’re in high school, as you have to deal with peer pressure. However, once you’ve flown your parents’ coop and trotted off to college or university, age suddenly seems irrelevant. Or so I thought.

      My current problem was that Linda was in her own right a woman. She was educated, independent, self sufficient, and even divorced, all by the time most of her former girlfriends were still struggling to graduate with a college or university degree. But she was still nine years my junior and for some reason that bothered me on some unconscious level.

      A short time later, I crawled into my bed at the motor inn and realized that a small part of me was still that easily intimidated seventeen year old.

      “You’re pathetic,” I chided myself.

      I tried to shake the feeling I was somehow doing something wrong or untoward when it came to Linda. I even recalled a song that went, How can something so right, feel so wrong? Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember if the singer was talking about forbidden love or robbing a convenience store.

      I finally came to the conclusion that Linda and I were both adults and we both understood the inherent pitfalls of one night stands (although I doubt she ever had a partner so whacked out on cocaine they tried to hang themselves from a chandelier using red shoestring liquorice). But I could be wrong.

      The fact remained that although I was genuinely attracted to Linda, being back in Delta somehow raised the stakes for us. As bizarre as it may sound, deep down I had the nagging feeling I was inadvertently cheating on Maria. That I should have waited to see what transpired during my dinner at Doogie’s before going out with Linda.

      As per usual, I was lost when it came to making love work for me, instead of against me. I couldn’t do it with Maria. I couldn’t do it with my wife. And I certainly couldn’t do it with a string of other women after my divorce.

      Drifting off to sleep only one thought continued to race through my troubled mind: You’re pathetic.

      And I was.