The Way Back Home

The Way Back Home, Pt 1: Running Scared

By Henry Jekyll

*****

I accept all comments, including negative ones, even insulting ones, whether posted by an anonymous person or someone with a Literotica account. I have never deleted a comment and I've been doing this a long time. If you post a comment via your Literotica account, I will try to reply directly via Lit's email. Sometimes real life gets in the way and it takes a while.

Following my theory that sex can be the curse of sex stories, you'll have to use a magnifying glass for the sex in here. Just saying.

Many thanks to my wonderful editor, Bruce1971. And also to my beta readers who have given me fabulous advice and improved the story far beyond the power of your humble author: Blackrandl1958, Cagivagurl, Hooked1957, NickTee, and Stev2244! These folks have all written some fine stories. If you're looking for good stuff here, I strongly recommend them. Nick is, in addition, my "spirits" advisor (still looking for a "spiritual" advisor).

*****

Alfred Lord Tennyson said it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but I don't buy that for a second. What could be worse than the losing? There's the old joke that it's better to have loved and lost than to have spent twenty years married to a psycho. I guess that would be something, but I never experienced it. I loved Adrienne Coyle and married her and lost her, and not much is worse.

Addie had loved Luke James first, but I thought she was mine last.

It turned out I was wrong about a lot.

*****

Where to begin? Five years married, time for a first child. We'd discussed, planned. Then it all went to hell in a hurry.

Adrienne came home from work later than me, which was unusual by itself, and she had a look.

"What's up, babe?"

"We have to talk, Benji." I was "Benji" when she was being silly with me. I didn't particularly care for the nickname but it gave me a moment's hope that "we have to talk" didn't mean anything. Still, I must have winced because she gave me a reassuring smile and said, "It's nothing bad, but we need to talk about it."

"Sure. Right now?"

"Yes. We need to. It's just that Lucas has moved back to Carmel. He's with Ahriman, Baphomet, and Kali. He called a while ago, and he'd like to see me."

So, Luke James was back in town and wanted to see my Adrienne, his old flame. What could possibly go wrong? The old grandmother clock over the kitchen door ticked two or three or four times and I knew I should say something.

"Benji?" She looked worried.

"Yeah. Okay. Of course. So, should we have him over?"

"No. Just me." I must have stiffened. "No! Just dinner. To talk. To catch up. And to work though how we ended things. Stuff like that."

"Just" her and him and dinner? I heard those old Roy Orbison lines I'd played so often:

Running scared, What would you do

If he came back, and wanted you?

No, I wasn't scared, but I was sure he wanted her. "Just me," she'd said. I could imagine some possibilities.

They wanted to discuss how they'd ended things? Adrienneknewhow they'd ended things.Iknew how they had ended things.Everyoneknew how they'd ended things. Luke had simply dropped her and walked away, but now he was back and wanted to talk about it? Or didshe?After how many years? Eight? It sounded just like him, like Luke James, Adrienne's high school boyfriend, the rising star of our senior class and an arrogant son of a bitch.

I wanted to say something, but I had to be reasonable. I wasn't going to go all Neanderthal. That's not how our marriage worked. We were partners, full partners. After -- all told -- almost seven years together we were tight. Loving equals.Control yourself, Ben.We'd do what we did. We'd come to an understanding. This was just a dinner, and we weren't arguing, and Adrienne was bringing it to me in advance, to her husband, her love, the man who was going to father her children, the guy who won her fair and square after Luke James threw her back into the pool.

Just a dinner.

Everything had to be open, transparent. That's the word we always used. "Transparent." We'd discussed our old partners. Yes,thattransparent. So, I'd be transparent about my feelings.

"I have to say, Addie, that I don't feel comfortable about this."

Just runnin' scared, Feelin' low

Runnin' scared, You loved him so.

I ordered Roy to get lost.

"Oh, honey. It's only dinner and conversation."

So I was excluded -- why? Because at least one of them wanted to bring up things that I shouldn't hear. Okay. She was my girl. Seven years. Talking about kids. I trusted her. I had to trust her, or what's the point?

I finally thought,Don't stand in her way. Send her with my blessing. Let her see him and know she's over him and know what a great guy she has waiting for her at home.

That's what I thought. I thought it for the next few hours.

"When?"

"What?"

"When will you have dinner with him?"

"We thought maybe tonight."

We thought?We?Tonight?Wecertainly weren't going to let me think about it too long, were we? That was when I first began to be concerned, not about Luke but about Adrienne.

I wouldn't have stood in her way no matter what. Work to control the things youcancontrol, beginning with yourself. My mantra. I got it from Marcus Aurelius. I'll come back to him. Don't let your emotions overwhelm you, and have rational dialogues with yourself. Work on what you can control.

You can't control her heart, nor she yours. It's impossible. You can coerce a person or guilt a person or even buy a person's actions, but you can't force anyone's feelings. I've read of husbands who've tried to "order" their wives not to see someone, and I've wondered how well that's ever worked out for anyone. It was Will Rogers who said there were two theories about how to argue with a woman, andneitherof them worked. Hah! Cute! Well, I wasn't going there.

What if I'd actually tried to forbid it? "No, Addie. You can't do that!" Sure! Do you really think that would make her forget her one-time lover and want me more? Youreallythink that? Fine. Think whatever stupid things you want. I can't control your thinking. See?

Anyway, forcing her wouldn't win her or keep her, nor in the long run would Iwanther like that. She might cancel with Luke, but her thoughts and feelings wouldn't evaporate, and she might just sneak. There's no secret love potion, so what was my recourse? Offer her my best possible self and try to make our life together indispensable. Stand aside and let her see what she has inme,the guy whodidn'tthrow her away.

"Wow. That's awfully quick. You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, tell him hello for me. What time?"

"It's an early dinner. He has 6:30 reservations at Roma."

Better and better. Healreadyhad reservations. At Roma Ristorante Italiano. He'd gotten them that quickly? That certainly concentrated my mind. How did he do that? I had a thought flash: how "new" was this new development? At least it wasn't alatedinner.

"About what time do you think you'll get home?"

"I think by nine. I'll call if it's going to be later."

"Addie, I want to be clear. I really don't like this. Not with him."

At that point, shehadto know what I felt and could make her decision.

"Don't be like that, Benji."

*****

Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me. When something comes up, it'll play back the things that led to it, that set the context. It'll set a story for me.

Like the one about Luke. Luke Fucking James.

Luke hadn't been a football player, the quarterback that girls drooled over. That would have been too tacky. No, he played a piccolo in the school orchestra, and he got top grades and was part of a team that won a statewide robotics competition. His test scores touched the heavens. On weekends, he played both bass guitar and piccolo in a garage band. He named it the Supérieurs, of course, but they were really just pretty good. He would sometimes stand on one leg while he played, like Jethro Tull's Ian Anderson played the flute. Quite the fucking showman. He was one ofthoseelites.

He and Adrienne were a hot item our senior year and had spent a lot of time -- I found out later -- fucking. My word. He recited poetry when he wasn't touching her body, and sometimes while he was.

He'd gotten into her pants by reciting Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress," about how if she didn't give in, ultimately worms "shall try / That long-preserved virginity." What girl who leaned toward the intellectual could resist? Certainly not Adrienne Coyle. Better to let Lucas take her virginity than chance leaving it for the worms. Lucas. Luke. He hated the name "Lucas" unless Adrienne used it. Anyway, he got her virginity with Marvel, and he got the rest of her with e. e. cummings:

i like kissing this and that of you,

i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz of your electric fur,

and what-is-it comes over parting flesh...

He introduced her to more sex than any high school girl who isn't a total street-whore would experience.

Me? I didn't get properly laid until college. I got improperly laid before that by a friend of the family, something I won't go into. Let's just say this was one of several areas where Luke was way ahead of me.

I was pretty good, just not in Luke's league. Adrienne and I knew each other. I had a crush on her that I hid masterfully. I asked her out a couple of times, but she was busy. I found out later what she was busy doing.

I didn't do poetry, which was a weakness as far as Adrienne was concerned. I was a rock-and-roll guy. My test scores were high, but my grades -- well, they were good enough to squeeze me into the top quarter of our class, based mainly on the extra grade points I got from advanced courses, where a couple of my teachers asked me why I wasn't doing better overall. I did well enough as far as I was c0ncerned, because at Carmel High School making the top quarter really meant something. Luke, though, was our valedictorian.

I played cello in the school orchestra, so Luke and I saw a lot of each other and were friendly enough, and I played lead guitar in a rival garage band, the Retrobates. We were better than them. Iknowwe were. It was one thing in which I surpassed the bastard. The Supérieurs might get attention for their one-legged piccolo player, but we were -- ahem! -- a superior band that just clicked. We got our name because we tended toward retro rock, which the girls liked because it is easier to dance to than a lot of newer music. That's where I picked up Roy Orbison's music. I'd sometimes go through the day with his songs going through my head like ear worms, and I'd play the stuff so much that my bandmates joked that he was my spiritual adviser.

And to be honest, Roy could make me feel what the guy in his songs feels, the kid who spends his time worrying about his girl or bemoaning his fate because he lost her. Oh, it wasn't only his weepy songs. After I started playing "O, Pretty Woman" and saw the movie, I'd imagine Julia Roberts as the girl in all the songs. When I wasn't imagining Adrienne.

The Retrobates got plenty of gigs and came in second in an all-Indy competition. I think we would have won if we'd been from Indianapolis instead of Carmel and had gotten all the homer votes, but I'm probably biased. Anyway, the rivalry with Luke's band was friendly enough until they didn't make the top three. Then maybe not so friendly.

Whatever. He got Addie, and I dated other girls and was happy.

*****

But all good things must come to an end and must have a beginning. Luke wanted to see the world so he applied to and was accepted by Cambridge University in the UK. He'd be there for a few years, so he told Adrienne it was best to break up.

It broke Addie up pretty badly.

It was like BC and AD: Before Cambridge and After the Drop. Ha! Cute. My little joke. Very little. But none of what happens would have happened if he hadn't left, because he'd had her. Completely.

His leaving wasn't by itself my opening.

Adrienne and I both went in-state, to Indiana University in Bloomington, where we'd say "Hi" from time to time. We still didn't date. I'd heard she didn't date anyone and mostly went home on weekends. She always seemed a little -- how to put it? -- not exactly sad, but somber. Not unhappy, but not happy. I figured it out but didn't try to take advantage, not openly anyway. I took a class in Classical Philosophy because she was in it and we could chat more often without my seeming too forward. Quite a plan, no?

Nothing happened with Adrienne. Chat? Hell, I was lucky to get three words out of her at a time. No, what happened was with philosophy. The material was interesting, and I discovered Stoicism. Most people think Stoicism means you bear hardship without complaining, or you become logical and unemotional like Mr. Spock on "Star Trek." That's not entirely off the mark, though it's the short, short version, suitable only for a multiple choice test. It was that and more. Don't tuck your tail between your legs. Take charge of yourself and don't whine over what you can't control.

It was basically a counterweight to Roy's view, and the contrast led me into a Philosophy major. I even wrote a senior paper, "Roy Orbison vs. the Stoics," which my prof, a Baby Boomer, thought was pretty cool.

*****

Stoicism came in handy soon enough because I had given up on Adrienne and was dating Alice Havermeyer. It was getting pretty serious until Alice suddenly decided she also liked two other guys, one of whom was one of my suitemates. I found out by walking in on the three of them having at least as much fun as she and I had ever had. In my room. Onmybed.

So, I was sitting in a local bar drinking illegally and playing Roy's lost-girl song "Crying." Occasionally I'd have a change of pace by playing The Byrd's "Hey Joe," about a man who killed his woman for running around with another man. Then I played them back and forth. Should I cry over her or kill her? Maybe both?

That's when Marcus Aurelius spoke to me. Who? Marcus was a long-dead Roman emperor and Stoic philosopher whose "Meditations" was my assigned reading for class. He wrote about being honorable and controlling yourself and all that Stoic stuff. Crap! He wasn't like Leonard Nimoy's Spock, who was usually portrayed as being all but emotionless. Nah, the stoic of Marcus Aurelius had the full range of feelings but used his (or her) logical mind to deal with the world, which of course required controlling those emotions instead of being run roughshod by them.

I don't know where Marcus came from that night. I was sitting at the bar drinking rum-and-cokes when he began whispering behind the music, and ultimately we had a long conversation, really a three-corner one, about crying the night away versus getting revenge versus being the better person. I felt he was sitting right beside me, right there, talking, discussing everything -- in English, not classical Greek or Latin -- telling me about being the guy who didn't give into sadness or vengeance. Roy and The Byrd's Roger McGuinn, who were sitting at the next table, disagreed. They surprised me, not because they disagreed but because Roger is still alive and I wondered how he'd gotten here. The drinks must have played a role in the conversation because the bartender was as helpful as he could be, disguising my drinks as pure cokes, and I got so wasted that afterwards I wondered who had actually been there and what they'd said.

I really didn't want to be the good guy. I told Marcus, "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to," which made him laugh.

"I know that song."

"You're dead."

"Doesn't matter." He turned to the barkeep. "My friend will have another coke."

"I love that song," said Roy.

"You're dead too."

"Good songs live forever."

I looked around.

"Does anyone else have anything to say?"

Silence.

I didn't want Marcus to win. Revenge led the way for the longest time but the others grew quieter. At some point Roy disappeared, and Roger McGuinn just nursed his drinks, and Marcus wore me down by reasoning with me. I finally decided I could face the world honorably, with him and Spock to guide me.

About that time, the bartender brought me a glass of sparkling water. His meaning was clear. I drank it down and missed seeing Marcus and Roger leave. I almost fell getting off my barstool staggering into the men's rooms, hit a couple of seats on the way, and had to lean my head against the wall to line up with the urinal. When I came out the place was empty. It was just me and the bartender, who was stacking chairs.

"Go home, Ben. We'll settle your tab later."

The next thing I knew, I was lying on my bed and felt like shit. I don't know how I got home, but I knew what I had to do. I took Excedrin and drank coffee and -- headache and all -- I opened the "Meditations" on my laptop and read it through in one sitting.

At some point my suitemate came in to apologize. He looked so hangdog that I'd have thought it was funny if I hadn't wanted to cut off his junk, but I merely stared at him until he left. We'd settlehistab later, and do it "reasonably," whatever that meant, but by the next day two things had happened: he'd moved out and I had given up on violence as anything but a fantasy. I cornered him in the cafeteria later on and told him I accepted his apology but that he had to realize you don't screw another guy's girlfriend and he wouldn't get another chance from me. I ended with "Capisce?" Which at least sounded tough. He thanked me, looking relieved and even grateful, and apologized again. I still would have liked to destroy him, but Marcus whispered that I'd done the upstanding thing. I guess.

Alice apologized too, and I -- the new me -- accepted it. She asked if we could still see each other, but when I asked what she would do if she had caughtmelike that, she got meek and apologized again and walked away.

Believe it or not, we're friendly. No, we never -- ever! -- talk about "it." She is married and has two kids, and as far as I know she's faithful. I hope for her husband's and kids' sakes she is. And for her sake. Alice Havermeyer. God, I liked her. She would have made a wonderful wife, and maybe she has.

Frankly, Alice was part of why I became an attorney. Law seemed suited for applying Stoic practices. There are rational rules, and it pays dividends to consider situations logically and to control yourself. And frankly it pays better than most things you can do with a philosophy degree. I chose Family Law because most of the other specialties seemed over-focused on making money -- for clients and for yourself -- or playing God with people's lives: either getting guilty people off or railroading people you might not actually be sure were guilty.

People sometimes call me a "divorce lawyer." Okay. I get it. The only people with lower reputations in the profession are personal injury attorneys, and they make gobs more money than us. But Family Law is the area where you can help people who have screwed up their lives by not controlling themselves or by acting dishonorably, or of course both. Sexual affairs are prominent there, if not dominant, and those folks can use rational guidance. I'm not a shark. I try to stay away from cases where the two are simply out to destroy each other. I've personally guided people through separations and divorces, but there have been cases where -- working with a Marriage and Family Counselor -- I've helped patch up a marriage that neither partner, once they've taken a long, hard look at it, really wanted to end.

The Way Back Home, Part 1

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