Ashleigh's Dilemma (10 page)

“Love,” Patrick explained, laughing; “Love will make you do it.”

Ashleigh, angry, exasperated – frightened, too, she later admitted - had shot back, “Please don’t say that! You know I have difficulty showing affection! At least wait until I’m on my death-bed, or some other more appropriate time!”

Of course, he had laughed.

Nor was the irony that the old growth could equally be described as a ‘virgin’ stand lost on Ashleigh; Patrick, being Patrick, had pointed it out; and, of course, Ashleigh had completely failed to see the humor. “So what?” she had said to herself; she was going to give up her virginity amidst a virgin forest, so what? The analogy is weak, a word game at best. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at but I don’t like it!” she had snapped back yet again. The physicality of losing one’s so-called innocence is merely the end result of penile-vaginal penetration, she had proceeded to explain after she had calmed down, but to no effect other than his barely concealed amusement. She was an endless source of amusement, it often seemed.  It is merely the physical act of reproduction exercised between the male of the species and the female she had persisted, pressing on, annoyed with him for being so… so like a man! Men, she continued to expound, pressing her point far beyond what was needed, have no compunction and virtually no restraint. Losing their virginity is more of a ‘Rite of Passage’. It’s not their fault, it’s their biology, she agreed. She would give mankind that much at least.

A
t least that was the theory… But Ashleigh was far beyond mere theory. Simply put, Ashleigh didn’t like the idea of being penetrated; if there was any penetration to be done, she’d
rather do it.

The
essence of the problem – the very core of the dilemma she now found herself entangled within, was that the upcoming trip was, well, the end of her tactical procrastination. In other words, she didn’t know how she was going to avoid having sex with Patrick… ‘Going the Distance’ or ‘The Full Monty’ as Patrick had once referred to the act, tactfully, but oh so transparently, brushing at his nose to hide his smile. “Itchy nose...” he’d said, standing up, turning away from her while dropping his head into his hands, his body heaving. “Just say it, Patrick!  Sex, Intercourse, Copulation! What’s your problem?!”

  She imagined the scene… same sleeping bag… not much room to maneuver
. Her hand flew up to her chest and the kayak almost tipped as the next wave swept by. She quickly returned her hand to the gunwale and slowly exhaled regaining her balance. But of course she could refuse; one should not promise things like that. 

She twisted about to find Patrick. He was far down the coastline
, but turning back. She liked the way he turned, his paddle nearly to the vertical as he expertly shifted his weight drawing the nose of his kayak about. The sea surged beneath him and he rode over it; he spun about on the crest and surfed, letting the travelling wave carry him forward until he cut back and let it pass. She wished she could do that.

The thought of g
etting it over with quickly had had some appeal. She could have invited him over for another movie and, at the end, dishes done, the leftovers packaged and put away, she could have simply made it happen – women had that kind of power over men: “Patrick, I’ve been thinking - eventually you will want to have sex with me, so there’s no sense beating around the bush. We might as well get it over with.”

“Right this very minute?”

“Yes.”

“Not even an opening kiss?”

“Nope.”

He most certainly would laugh. 

Actually, she knew exactly what he would
have done: he’d sit her down on the couch and look her in the eye. “You gotta be kidding,” he’d say.

But
she’d continue, blushing through it.

No
she wouldn’t.

The real problem with that plan, she realized, was that she’d yet to see a man naked; in particular, an aroused man. Under such circumstances would she be able to contain herself or would she run screaming into the safety of the bathroom
where she could lock the door from the inside? She didn’t know. In her mind’s eye, she could not quite see Patrick so… so exposed.  It would be so undignified. And the idea of he looking at her equally exposed? She blushed for both of them just thinking of it.

Patrick, knowing how all of this bothered her, wanted to talk about it. “
The time was come, the Walrus said,’”
he had said,
“To talk of many things: Of shoes – and ships – and sealing wax…
” It bothered her that, once again, she had to look up the source of his quotation. Was he always laughing at her like that?

“
What kind of marriage would it be if the joining was between two people that had never made love?” Patrick had asked once they sat down and began to talk. “The sex part… is about intimacy… To offer over one’s self to another… The love part is giving of one’s self.”

But s
he had quickly expounded on the idea of having a purely Platonic relationship – with some kissing here or there; there’s no harm in that; not yet, anyway - emphasizing he was a most excellent conversationalist, and furthered theorizing that the best kind of relationship might be one of unrequited love - love at a distance without all of the bodily fluids. She didn’t actually mention the ‘bodily fluid’ part. She might have thought it… in fact, she had… but she didn’t say it aloud… at least she didn’t think so. If she had, she was sure she would have been very sorry and would have taken it back - but she didn’t… she was pretty sure. But what she did say and, following her theme of unrequited love, was that  love should be pure, always faithful, an experience within which one could experience the best of love: the beating of the heart, the catch of one’s breath, the fascination and obsession with one another, where anything awkward could always be conveniently excised through the imagination.

Patrick seemed surprised by her sudden passion as well as her eloquence.
He said as much. “Well!” he’d said - and on his way out the door, not expecting an answer, not smiling, but thinking aloud: “Who knows what goes on within the heart of another, even those you love more than your own self?” He had not known how she had felt; as insightful as Patrick might be, he couldn’t see all and Ashleigh was therefore able to keep some aspects of her inner life to herself – and that was good. She was not the open book he sometimes claimed she was. Still, she had felt a bit unsettled about their discussion. She had the sense it had not gone all that well.

T
he next day Patrick had stopped by on his way to work, catching her as she was backing up out of her garage. She lowered the window annoyed at being held back, but worried too that something might be wrong. He had handed her a paperback copy of
Dante’s, La Vita Nouva,
reaching in and opening the book to where he had marked it. He had then proceeded to read aloud a few lines in what sounded to her ears like the original Italian which was silly because neither one of them could speak Italian, never mind medieval Italian. Even so, the way he had read it had sent an unexpected shiver down her neck and up her back and she did something she rarely did: she had kissed him – on the cheek as he was turning toward her to see her reaction. As their faces brushed up against one another, she immediately put up the window, catching him off-guard, and then had backed down the driveway her eyes glued to the rearview mirror, weaving about his truck, onto and over her lawn, and onto the street before heading off to work without once looking back at him - but thinking only of him. 

Of
course, she had to study up on Dante and read a good part of both the
La Vita Nouva,
as well as the
Divine Comedy,
before she felt she understood why, perhaps, he had gone to such trouble.

He loves me like that; he doesn’t think I love him as much, she
thought.

Patrick suddenly
reappeared. He slipped past her without warning, the hull of his kayak at the tip of her paddle. He spun about cutting immediately across her bow and then up the other side parallel to her. He stopped beside her, grinning.

“Hey!”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that!”

“If you could only see how beautiful you look!”

“I’m not beautiful!”

“You are
… Look in the mirror, Ashleigh! Just look at you – you are at one with your kayak, beautiful in bright blue Gore-Tex, a match for anywhere in Barkley Sound!”

“Hah!”

“Hah, yourself!”

He nodded indicating the shore.

“This is the best approach.  You okay with it?”

“I told you
before - I’m going to die here. You will have to wrap my remains in the sleeping bag.”

He laughed, “
Sleeping bag? Our sleeping bag? Oh no, no, nothing like that!” He drew forward and turned about so that he was again parallel to her but facing the shoreline.

“That’s funny.”

“What is?”

“The sleeping bag.”

She shrugged but remained silent. He nodded again toward the shore.

“
A piece of cake…”

“
Not a piece I can eat.”

“Just watch what I do. I ride the wave in and before it goes back out I jump out high and dry.”

“As simple as that?” 

“Pretty much.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Patrick shrugged and smiled; “We’ll sit here for a moment, then.” He sat back, relaxed, and trailed his hand in the water.

“Maybe we’ll go for a swim later
?”

“Hah!”

It was better now. She understood him better.
Their third kiss, an important one, and one that helped her decide – and, yes, she counted! – occurred while sitting on a large boulder in the middle of the Patapsco River. He was such an outdoors enthusiast, and just because she liked to hike – a little; on nice comfortable trails - he imagined she liked to do everything he liked to do – but not so. Anyway, it was another hike. Not much of a challenge, Patrick was careful to say, but a good outing. It was the same trail they had taken the previous year, although she hadn’t recognized it immediately – hardwood forest, mostly oak, some maple, lots of beech, the odd pine except for where they had been planted as a stand. She had made a point to identify each one. “Maple… sugar, I think; oak… basket, I do believe; another oak... it looks like a red.”

Patrick
had laughed, “You’ve been studying.”

“Nope.”

“It just comes natural?”

“Okay, I admit it; I did some reading. Given that you’re such an expert, I thought it was the least I could do. Also, I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of you.”

“That’s more like it. T
hat’s the real reason.”

They ate lunch on a large boulder in the very midst of the Patapsco
as Ashleigh removed her boots and poured the water out.

“See? Not so bad,” Patrick
had laughed. 

She directed her usually effective, ‘I hope you will be very d
ead very soon,’ look toward him, but all he did was again laugh. It was only her pride that had been hurt, she realized; but next time, if there would be a next time, she’d come alone and practice hopping across the stepping stones with their white heads poking just above the dark and swirling river until she had it right. She would never embarrass herself like that again.

Patrick arranged the lunch as she laid her socks on the sun-warmed rock
. It was warm for spring, the sky blue, the sun bright, and the leaves just new and freshly green.

“Ashleigh?”

She turned.

“Have you ever been kissed on a boulder in the middle of the Patapsco River, in May, with the river running wild around you and the sun warm on your face after
a meal of crackers and cheddar and dried cranberries and apple?”

“No… Don’t even think
!”

T
hat’s when he kissed her for the third time. She had felt stupid afterward - but, and as she had admitted later, she had kissed him back.

It was a great puzzle. She would sometimes glance at Patrick when she thought he wasn’t looking to see if she could somehow catch him out. She never could. Eventually he would feel her looking at him, he would turn toward her, and smile - and eventually she had found herself sitting on the edge of her bed with her heart beating many hundreds of beats per minute.

“I can see you’re not ready,” Patrick had said.

“I’m not.”

“We’ll just lay here, then.”

“Promise?”

“I do.”

They made themselves comfortable, her heart slowly settling as he breathed next to her, his arm wrapped about her. He kissed her forehead and her hair and lay with her.

“I hear you breathing,” he said minutes later.

“I hear you breathing.”

“Like lovers after making love.”