Creative Nonfiction by Carol E. Anderson 

Mike was a man-boy with scraggly brown hair that twisted into loops around his collar and a feathered mustache that trailed over his top lip like a walrus; horn-rimmed glasses always perched on the end of his nose; not a handsome man, but he had a certain charm; I’d met him teaching at a vocational center and lunched with him and others a few times but nothing outside of work, so it caught me unawares when he called one night and asked to come over for a drink—his wife was out of town, my mother was over—he brought wine for us and an iced coffee for her, then he called again—it was a sunny day, tulips bursting in red, yellow and fuchsia, smells of lilacs twirling in the wind, “wanna go for a ride”—in his big blue truck out to Kensington Park where the lake shimmered and small sailboats skimmed the water and the sky was so blue—and then he asked me out again–after class—his arm sliding around my shoulder on the bench seat, his eyes glancing in my direction as he drove, his fingers at my shoulder nudging me closer; the smell of English Leather permeating my senses; unhappy in his marriage—I was his confidant, a willing listener, so sorry to hear, how long had it been, what would he do—then it was a daily ritual—school ends, jump in the truck, drive around, find a place to park and talk, and then park and talk and kiss, then park and talk and kiss and touch—then wait for the phone to ring on weekends, sneak out all dressed up for dinner and dancing at the Fairmont downtown;  of course he’d leave his wife for someone more understanding, more sophisticated, patient, able to meet  his needs—someone like me–and then he did and confirmed I was the true love he’d been seeking because at twenty-six I was so wise and empathetic and available –-it was then we made plans for a six-week summer vacation out West and up to Banff with the promise of starting our life together; he traded in his old blue beat up truck for a brand new yellow one with the extra seat in the back and a cap to cover the bed; he traded in his old camera for a new Cannon Rebel to capture the memories of our beginning; he traded in his old solo tent for a double, for when we would sleep beneath the stars and marvel at the miracle of us—he even traded in his tattered tan backpack for a new black one with shiny gold trim—we were ready; the last task was to attend his brother’s wedding in Ohio; I stayed home and packed, made burlap curtains for the truck, planned our route, made turkey and avocado sandwiches for the road—we left the night he returned; it was a tortured silence all the way to Colorado—no excited discussion of plans, no jubilation to be on our way, no pulling me closer in the truck—until we arrived at a friend’s house in Boulder; he left me there after a day, said he needed time  to think in the mountains, then called from El Paso five days later—I got the last seat on the plane, first class to Texas; it was a rough landing, he met me at the gate and explained that he’d been smitten by a woman he’d met at the wedding; he’d driven to Arkansas to tell her; Now she was flying to meet him to take the trip we’d planned together—I was the last thing he traded in.                                                           

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Carol E. Anderson is a life coach and former organizational consultant whose passions are writing, women’s empowerment and travel photography. She is the founder of Rebellious Dreamers, a twenty-year strong non-profit that has helped women realize dreams they’d deferred. Carol holds a doctorate in spiritual studies, and master’s degrees in organizational development, and creative nonfiction. She is the author of the award-winning memoir, You Can’t Buy Love Like That: Growing Up Gay in the Sixties. She lives with the love of her life and their sassy pup in a nature sanctuary in Ann Arbor, MI.