I-83.
The drive went quickly — at this time late Sunday night there wasn’t much traffic on the highway — and for a long stretch, we rode in silence. Then as the lights of downtown bloomed ahead of us, Alli spoke up. “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“Well, while you’re mending bodies and manipulating joints and muscles, I’ll be battling a class of middle schoolers.”
She looked at me, confused.
“I’m subbing. 7th Grade American History.”
“And you enjoy that?” she asked smiling, slightly sarcastic.
“Don’t you know I’m bent.”
“Uh huh, that’s what I like about you.”
“Not the average, young professional medical-type that you’re used to.”
“Definitely not.” She reached over and put her left hand on my thigh.
I looked at her for a moment. What was I doing? Did she have any idea that what I did to the waiter tonight was because I had to and partly because I enjoyed causing him pain?
Maybe I needed some therapy. Well, she was a physical therapist.
Alli lived on Montgomery Street, a sleepy, tree-lined cobblestoned road one block from Federal Hill Park. Years ago the city had bought many of the Federal-style row houses because they had fallen into disrepair, and then provided incentives for new owners to fix them. The results were impressive. The buildings had been renovated, keeping within the original styles of the masonry, moldings, shutters, and more. The houses had regained their aura of an earlier — much earlier — time.
I found a parking-for-residents-only spot across from her house and pulled in. I hung a guest parking pass from my rear-view mirror and then stepped out. Alli met me at the curb. She took my hand and we walked over to her doorstep.
“So, you’re a hero.” She turned and suddenly seemed very close.
I looked into her sky blue eyes. They were clear and vibrant. Mine were probably bloodshot from fatigue.
A young couple walked past us, arm-in-arm. I could hear them talking about the Afghani restaurant they must’ve just visited.
Alli was still looking at me.
I smiled, thinking about what happened tonight. “We all do what we can.”
“It was very brave of you.” She was getting even closer.
“You’re pretty brave yourself, going out with me.”
“Mmm.”
I kissed her. Softly at first, slowly...enjoying her lips on mine.
Okay, I wasn’t that tired. Still, how smart was this? Two months ago, there’d have been no qualms. I probably would have pinned her to the door.
I needed to go home. That was the smart thing to do.
But her lips were great. I moved over to the side of her neck.
She smelled amazing. Alli wore just a hint of perfume, but her own scent wouldn’t let me go.
Her arms went around me and I placed mine around her. My right arm — and I didn’t ask it to — slowly glided down to the small of her back.
Another moment went by. She was too young for me. I knew that. Energetic, exciting, but too young. She was in school —graduate school — but still school, and I was on the other side of life.
“Come inside,” she breathed into my ear.
“I would love to, but...I can’t.”
I pulled away from the embrace, ever-so-slightly. I kissed her again, very softly.
She looked at me.
“I really would love to,” I repeated, “but I’m old and I have things to do for tomorrow.”
She laughed at my mention of being old. “Are you sure?”
“Am I sure I’m old?”
“No, I know you’re old,” she smiled again. “Are you sure you have to go back?” She kissed me once more.
“No, I’m not sure.”
She kissed me again.
“I’m really not sure.”
If I stayed and we ended up where I knew we would, it might give her the wrong impression. Was that a problem?
I pulled away a little more, probably an entire millimeter. My right hand stayed on the curve of her lower back. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“It is tomorrow.” It must’ve been after midnight.
“Even better. I’ll call you later. Dinner?”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
I kissed her again and then waited for her to retrieve her keys from her small handbag. She unlocked her front door, then stepped inside. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I smiled. She closed the door softly.
I turned and scanned the street. All was quiet. I let out a breath and went over to my Jeep. I was excited to be with Alli, no doubt about it, but the relationship left me exhausted if I dwelled on it too much. Alli was fun and eager, and I was just...I don’t know what. I got into my Jeep and headed back uptown.
My modest house was tucked away behind Charles Street, just north of the Johns Hopkins Homewood campus. I made it in ten minutes due to nearly empty streets. The Homewood area was almost park-like and, thanks to the University, had an energy unique to college life: vibrant foot traffic, student activities, eateries, sporting events, and more. As it was after midnight, that energy was dormant for now, but would awaken with the day in six hours.
Once inside my house, I headed to the first floor office, pulling off my tie and opening my collar. I went over to my desk and flicked on the desk light. It cast the room in a shadowed aura that partially hid its periphery. The desk was a mess as usual with papers scattered all over. After digging out the phone and its base from a mound of magazines and catalogs, I flicked on the message system. As it cycled, I looked around the partially darkened study. An M.C. Escher print hung on one wall, a bookcase against another, an oversized chair — a chair and a half the saleswoman had called it — against a third. My scan came to rest on a long, scroll-length parchment hanging on the wall next to my desk. On the parchment was a hand-drawn Chinese poem that had been given to me more than a few years ago. In the flowing brush style of classical Chinese calligraphy with its thick and thin black characters, the poem told of dragons’ wings and the creation of heaven and earth.
The answering system clicked to the first message: “Sifu, this is Jon. The ten gis you ordered came today. Mr. Kenshi brought them himself. He sends his regards. He said the broadswords are on back-order, but he’ll make some
