Before I move on with my story, I would like to thank Potty Mummy for the wonderful award she gave me and for her own upbeat and hilarious recounting of daily life. The award looks very nice underneath my roaring lion and I am grateful.
I went back to reading conversations for another couple of evenings before I dared to venture another comment. This time, instead of logging in as *A* - I logged in as Ani. I liked my character’s name and I felt emboldened by using it in a chat room. And, instead of just posting a comment, I made an entrance that made a statement.
“Ani descended the long curving stairway as the light from the chandelier reflected from her red sequined dress. She walked slowly across the room and sat at the bar where she ordered ‘the usual’ from the bartender. Her open-toed shoe hung seductively from her painted toenails as she crossed her legs and took a sip. Turning slowly, she surveyed the Parlor with her emerald green eyes. And waited.”
It became my signature entrance and I never went unnoticed again.
While I recovered from the fourth hernia repair I visited the chat room everyday. I was beginning to recognize the other visitors and got swept off my feet by Yak. Yak wined and dined me and twirled me around the dance floor, giving me that long seductive kiss as he gently bent me in our last dip. Every night, just as I logged on, I would put Michael Bolton on the cd player and advance it quickly to my favorite song. “I said I loved you but I Lied (‘cause this is so much more I feel inside)”. Ani would make her entrance and Yak would approach the bar, ask for my hand in the next dance, and twirl me across the dance floor. Behind me Michael crooned on – every word seeming to enhance Yak’s whisperings in my ear. Sometimes we went to a private room although in reality everyone just averted their eyes, or didn’t. Yak didn’t care who was watching or commenting. We were caught up in a world of our own.
As the nights progressed, Yak and I became closer and I ended up emailing him my phone number. The wind was blowing gusts of rain against the window on the afternoon he called and surprised me. The telephone call stopped me in my tracks and I sank into my chair as I heard the voice that went with my midnight dancer. We talked about our online personae for a bit before Yak got to the real reason for his call. In my ears I heard the story of a man going through a midlife crisis and inside I listened to my heart breaking once more. My tears were like the rain on the window, coming in furious bursts, leaving trails on my face. I tried to hide it from him but he heard my little sobs as they broke into our conversation. He said it didn’t change much for him, he loved our midnight meetings, but he loved his wife and children and would never leave them.
The next night Michael Bolton screamed in fury behind me as I tentatively entered the Parlor. I didn’t know if I really wanted to be there but I couldn’t help myself. Yak led me out onto the dance floor again and we danced slowly and silently, looking into each other’s eyes as we watched the tears seep down each other’s face. The world and the Parlor were a million miles away as we circled around and around. I felt like little pieces of me were flying off as we danced, and in my bedroom, sitting alone and staring at a white screen, I sobbed uncontrollably.