He actually hadn’'t expected her to get off the plane – deep down inside. It had been something in her voice that had made him waver and lose faith. Actually he hadn't lost faith; he had come to the airport, right? No, what he’d lost was hope.
Finally it was time to go. Some clock ticked inside him. It kept saying, “Don’t look back. Don’t look back.” He didn't. It was time to look forward.
The next morning was bleak. It was raining. He decided not to make any coffee at first – but he changed his mind. Staring blankly at the wall he decided to make a phone call.
“Joan? Is that you, Joan?” It was. Joan was not the woman he’d been waiting for at the airport. Joan was simply the friend that told him that he really needed to be at the airport for United Flight 666.
“Yes, so how is she?”
“Uh, she wasn't on the plane.” Silence.
“You mean she missed her flight?” They both knew that wasn't the reason.
“Nope. It’s like Marjorie.” That was code. They both knew the story of Marjorie. She’d been gorgeous when she arrived – early – on her wedding day at the church. Two hours later she had been whisked away. Crying. The groom had changed his mind. He never showed.
“Have you phoned her?”
“Nope.”
Joan asked, “Are you alone? Are you just sitting there alone?” He nodded before realizing she could not see him over the phone. “Yep.”
An hour later Joan was at his home. Two hours later they were making love. Three hours later she was frying eggs and he was dicing vegetables. Four hours later he was washing dishes as she sat silently watching him. Five hours later they were again making love.
It was a week later when she moved in. She never told him she’d made sure no one would ever get on the plane to meet him. She never told him she had contacted her competition to tell her he was already taken and wouldn't be at the airport to meet her. She lied. She was playing for keeps.
And a year later she dumped him. It never occurred to him to phone his former love. That was history. Everything was history.
The morning after Joan moved out he decided not to make any coffee at first – but he changed his mind. Staring blankly at the wall he decided to make a phone call.
“Phyllis? Is that you, Phyllis? It was. Phyllis was a friend.
She spoke quickly, firmly and clearly. “I told you the airport thing was fucking nuts. I warned you about Joan. You never listen!” He nodded before realizing she could not see him over the phone. “Yep,” he finally said.
She then said, “From now on, I make the decisions. You have fucking miserable judgment. I’m much better at running your life than you are! Don’t you agree.”
What could he say? He simply said, “Yes.”
“I’m coming over there! Meet me at the door. And have two drinks waiting! You know what I like!” With that she hung up.
An hour later Phyllis was at his home. Two hours later they were making love. Three hours later she was frying eggs and he was dicing vegetables. Four hours later he was washing dishes as she sat silently watching him. Five hours later they were again making love.
Six hours later he was kneeling beside the bed. He had made love to her, but she’d made it clear that his job was to make her cum – and to not cum himself. “I’m in charge now”, she’d said. “You suck at running your life, and I’m taking over.” He’d nodded. She was playing for keeps.
This all happened over nine years ago.
Phyllis is still quite happy at how things have turned out. For that matter so is he. He doesn't quite understand why. People frequently comment on the couple. One of the most absurd things they say is “They were destined to be together.” Destiny had nothing to do with it.
Bad judgment, stupid choices, and sheer blind luck brought them together. There are no guarantees they may not tear them apart. Life is like that.
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