Worlds Apart
Worlds Apart
By Daniel Kelley
Copyright © 2013 Daniel Kelley
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents and places are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, in whole or in part, without permission in writing from Daniel Kelley.
Cover design by
www.digitaldonna.com
First Kindle Edition: February 2013
Daniel Kelley is a short story author and a music arranger. Over 500,000 books of his compositions and arrangements have been sold worldwide. He also mosaics, makes candles, and enjoys spinning platters on his
Victrola
. He and his wife Cynthia have three children and too many fish. Adair, Darcy and Adele are the names of the children.
Chapter One
The first time it happened, neither Lonnie nor Laurie thought much about it. They almost didn’t notice. Though the second time it occurred, it would have been difficult for either of them to ignore.
How much exactly
does
a young couple experiencing fresh love perceive about the world around them? Not much. Except, of course, in regards to how wonderful everyone and everything suddenly appear to them!
They met at a circus. In the line for tickets that stretched half a block down the street. Laurie was buying a pair for herself and her ten-year-old niece, who was further up the line observing the camels and llamas that were displayed street-side to draw in the public. Lonnie was going solo.
“Excuse me, is this the line for tickets or to get in?” was the absurdly innocuous inception of their romance. And while the complete dialogue leading up to their sitting together during the circus along with Laurie’s niece Belinda could be recounted here, one’s imagination could easily construct a wittier conversation than what actually took place.
It was when Lonnie bought the popcorn that things truly began.
“Six dollars?
HA!” Laurie had retorted when the roaming vendor told her how much the small bag of popcorn was.
“We’ll take two,” Lonnie immediately said, handing over the bills in exchange.
“You shouldn’t. You
can’t
,” said Laurie, unsure of whether she should be indignant or not.
“I just did. And I didn’t buy it for you. One’s for Belinda, one’s for me. You can mooch off of both of us.”
And mooch Laurie did, although mostly from Lonnie. Each time she reached over and he would move the popcorn toward her so her hand didn’t stray too close to his lap, she
tried
not to meet his eyes. But meet them she did, and with a smile, too. By the time the popcorn was gone,
before
the actual circus started, Lonnie and Laurie were beginning to smile at each other even without the excuse of being polite while sharing.
Circus, Act One: Opening repartee, acrobats and jugglers, ponies and llamas, and three daredevils on motorcycles, defying death and common sense on the inside of a large metal sphere.
Act One, Audience: more smiles, the origin of touch as Laurie gently tapped Lonnie’s hand whenever she wanted to say something, the roar of the crowd being overwhelming.
Circus, Act Two: the magician and his exotic assistant, a dog act, a dance contest for kids selected from the audience for which Belinda refused to even raise her hand, and the grand finale, with confetti streamers.
Act Two, Audience: more of the same, with the addition of confetti.
And then the awkwardness.
Standing outside the tent amid the patrons pushing and streaming toward the street, both Lonnie and Laurie tried to come up with the right things to say.
“It was nice to meet you.”
“I wish there were more events like this here.”
“It’s too bad there aren’t any restaurants nearby.”
Who said what doesn’t matter. They both wanted the same thing: to see the other one again, and soon. It took Belinda to break the logjam:
“Come to my birthday party next week? I’m turning eleven.”
Lonnie hesitated. “Is it a – a big party?”
“Uh, uh.
Just my family and my best friend from school.
I don’t like big parties.”
Lonnie had been hoping for numbers. It was easier to remain unnoticed among the masses.
“You got me popcorn. I don’t need a gift,” Belinda added.
And then Laurie gained confidence: “Please come. My sister’s a fabulous baker. We’d love it –
I’d
love it if you came.”
Laurie’s hand had reached toward Lonnie’s as it had during the show, but she pulled it back before it bridged the gap between them. With an eye on her hand, Lonnie answered, “Yes. I’d like that.
Very much.
Thank you.”
And that was that, the ball set in motion, the action about to start. A week’s excruciating length stretched leadenly before them, but never more would seven days pass without their seeing each other.
Or six, or five, or four.
Love came late for both Lonnie and Laurie. Lonnie was 34 when he met Laurie in line at the circus. He’d dated some girls here and there during high school and college, but nothing had stuck. Though to be forthright, Lonnie hadn’t stuck with the girls, either. Tall yet shy, lean and lank but unsure of himself both physically and emotionally, Lonnie possessed neither the bravado nor obvious sensitivity to which most women were attracted. Smart while not brilliant, decent-looking without approaching handsome, he escaped notice almost all of the time from everyone.
Which was exactly how Lonnie liked it.
Laurie had dated two guys, both seriously. From the middle of her junior year in high school until the end of her first semester at university, she and Randy
Willitts
were
a couple. She hadn’t loved Randy, nor had Randy loved her, but they had both
liked
each other an awful lot. They went to school dances, school games, and movies together. They did homework and science projects and marched with the band together. They didn’t email each other when one was on a family vacation, and they never went all the way, although Randy would have happily done so. Necking and petting had been enough for both of them until a longer separation had allowed Randy to explore being, well, randy.
Laurie had been disappointed with the termination of her friendship with Randy, but that was how it was. She’d missed him, but not as much as she thought she should.
It wasn’t until her final year at university that Laurie met Jake, with whom she
did
go all the way. It was a two-month disaster of a relationship, all the promise demonstrated by Jake evaporating the second he got what he wanted, which was Laurie’s virginity. Disinterest replaced intimate dinners and deep conversation. Texting other girls and heavy drinking became Jake’s primary occupations when Laurie would attempt to steer things back toward what they had been before. Jake belittled her, ignored her and disrespected her into retreat, and when Laurie finally believed the message with which she’d been browbeaten, she swore off men for good.
Which was why she was 30 when she shared a bag of popcorn with Lonnie, why she hadn’t been on more than five dates in the previous nine years.
Though less shy than Lonnie, Laurie’s shattered trust in the opposite sex had created a fear of intimacy that had bled into nearly every aspect of her life.
“Why were you at the circus, anyway?” Belinda challenged Lonnie as the birthday cake was sliced and passed out. “Were you the only person there all by themselves?” Surrounded by family, in an atmosphere she could control, Belinda was assertive and open. Her best friend, as well as Laurie’s sister and brother-in-law, stared at Lonnie with open curiosity.
“I… like circuses,” Lonnie answered. “They’re fun.”
The faces turned toward Lonnie waited for more, and he wondered briefly if he was really supposed to answer Belinda’s second question as well. Seconds passed, and the tableau remained inert.
“My… father and mother took me to the circus,” Lonnie continued, unsure of why he was relating this to an eleven-year-old girl on her birthday. “It was the best thing I’d ever seen.
Elephants and tigers and trapeze artists and clowns.
I ate cotton candy and ruined my shorts with it. My sister got her face painted like a lion but I was too old for that. There were animals and lights and amazing things to see just everywhere.” Lonnie paused, but nobody stepped in to save him, for how could they know where he was going?
“My parents died in a car accident a few days later. My sister and I moved to my grandmother’s house. The last, best memory I have of my mother and father is going to that circus with them. So every time I hear about one being in town, I go.”
And silence. Not an uncomfortable silence, but a warm one.
An amiable one.
“I’m so sorry,” Laurie was the first to speak. “That’s heart-wrenching. It’s terrible.”
“It’s been a long time,” Lonnie said. “It’s okay now.” And by ‘okay’ he wasn’t sure if he meant the loss of his parents, the abatement of the tension he felt he’d generated with his
answer,
or his life in general. It didn’t much matter, because within seconds the conversation had turned to the cake, and to Belinda.
“Why don’t we have dinner tomorrow night?” Laurie asked Lonnie as she walked him to his car. It was the first time she’d ever asked anyone out, and she anxiously plowed forward before Lonnie could answer. “We don’t live that far away from each other. I’d cook for you but I’m not nearly as good as my sister. Could I meet you near downtown? Would you like to?”
She reddened, but Lonnie didn’t notice.
“Yes,” he answered, looking at his keys, at the trees, at Laurie’s sister as she peeked from behind the living room curtains. “Yes,” he repeated.
And they clumsily chose a time and a place, and agreed to meet there as opposed to bungling their dialogue even further with the ticklish topic of who should pick up whom.
And so Lonnie and Laurie found themselves at dinner, in a restaurant where not a soul knew them, in a venue where neither of them would normally go, but where for the moment there was no place they’d rather be. Relatives,
sadnesses
, and even circuses didn’t exist except as brief springboards for more topics, more excuses to extend the meal, the evening, the conversation.
The waiters finally shooed them out of their chairs and into the night.
“Oh my, it’s quiet out here!”
And indeed, the downtown plaza before them appeared deserted. They began to walk.
Slowly.
“Are you parked in the Green lot?” Lonnie asked.
“Yes.
Level 2.
Try doing
that
at any time other than a Sunday night!”
Lonnie laughed, nervously. He was not only unaccustomed to dressing up a bit, he was entirely unsure what rules he was supposed to follow while squiring Laurie to her car. The dinner’s flowing discourse was on the ebb.
“Oh. Look!” Laurie pointed. “Free parking tonight!”
Lonnie looked, and Laurie was right. The parking attendant booths were empty, the red and white gates raised. “I suppose we
were
there a while,” he mused. “They must go home at ten. I wonder if we need to…”
“Oh, no!”
Laurie broke in. “We’re driving right out of here! They charge enough during the week!”
“Well, I forgot to ask about validation anyway,” said Lonnie. He glanced back at the restaurant as though thinking about getting stamped just in case, but the place looked closed.
“I had fun, Lonnie. This was a truly enjoyable evening.” Laurie looked over at him.
“Me too,” Lonnie replied. But even though they were both smiling at each other while walking, neither moved to touch the other. Their eyes were handling all of the caressing, just as during dinner.
“As I told you, it’s been a long time since I’ve dated anyone. You’ll have to forgive me for being out of practice,” Laurie said. “I can’t say I know how to do this correctly.”
“I don’t think there
is
a correct way,” Lonnie said. “And in any case, I’m hardly one to judge.”
They started up the stairs that led to the upper levels of the garage.
“Quiet out here,” said Laurie.
“It’s nice.”
Step, step, step, softly echoing in the concrete stairwell.
The night was silent but for the crunching of desiccated leaves underneath their feet.
“Lonnie?”
“Umm?”
“I want to see you again.”
But as they continued to rise, Lonnie remained mute. For that had been exactly what he’d been thinking about Laurie. He’d never felt this way about
any
female – a wanting, a yearning, an overpowering desire to clasp her to him, to meld with her and become part of her, to never let go.
Laurie was quiet too, not because she was worried about Lonnie’s response to her frank admission, but because she had not expected herself to be so
ready
for this, so eager and hungry for someone to enter her careful, cautious world.
Her sister hadn’t said a word or even chaffed her about the strange, tall, not entirely sure of himself man that Belinda had spontaneously invited to her birthday party.
That Laurie was interested in Lonnie wasn’t in doubt; that Laurie was interested in a
relationship
with Lonnie was an eye-popper. To Laurie, let alone her sister or anyone else.
“Me too,” Lonnie replied, repeating his answer of a few minutes before.
“Huh? I…” Lost in thought, Laurie had lost track of the meager conversational thread.
“I want to see you again too,” Lonnie said softly.
And so after a stiff hug by Laurie’s car, faces averted to eliminate even the slightest possibility of a kiss, Lonnie and Laurie parted, having set a date to go ice skating three nights hence. Lonnie watched Laurie back out of her spot and drive down the ramp that led to the first level before heading to his own car.
Ice skating! Lonnie couldn’t imagine it, not having ice or roller skated in over twenty years, maybe even longer. He smiled to himself; going to the circus had once been a harbinger of death for him, yet his nostalgic preoccupation with circuses had now brought him to Laurie.
Or Laurie to him.
Oh, lucky Lonnie! Lucky
lucky
Lonnie!