Free This All Happened by Michael Winter Page A

and sew up a life together and be scared with her and silly and stupid and profound and come to some understanding some kind of substantial truth on this shaky ground of living near the middle of our lives.
    19      Maisie Pye has pressed her nose to the window in my porch door. She is wearing a blue-and-orange silk blouse buttoned loose to her chest. It’s freezing out. I often forget to look at her. I talk to her but never look at her. But now that she’s not with Oliver I give her a look. She is small, a little awkward in her elbows and knees. Sometimes her smile slides up the side of her face.
    We have a drink in the living room.
    Maisie’s confidence makes me shy. She’s intellectual and she’s a good laugh. I must gather evidence on how she tries to express herself, her kindness, her appreciation of other people, not confrontational but sharing.
    We have another drink.
    Maisie: What happened to us, Gabe?
    And I know she is talking about ten years ago. When everything was different.
    We were both seeing other people, Maisie.
    Maisie: I’m thinking now that it was a mistake. You should have been bold.
    Me: And hang the consequences.
    Maisie: We should not have been devoted to the idea of fidelity.
    Her face, a strong personal beauty. When I first met her, she had plump cheeks. But these have gone. As has her time with Oliver. Maisie is remembering her life prior to Oliver.
    20      Lydia suspects I’ve been drinking, but I’m just loose. I want to run at the mouth, I want to be free to do anything, say anything, have anything happen, accept all consequences, embrace possibility, ramble on into the night. Lydia is wrapped up in a red tam and scarf and gloves. She has left the car running and says, Youre late. I decide to ignore things that usually irritate me. I try not to be sensitive. I want to be big.
    I try coaxing her.
    I ask, just to be provocative, Am I inside you? In here? Heart.
    She says, I dont know.
    This does not stun me. It makes me even more relaxed. Honesty. Lydia feels distant, asks if I feel it. I’m thinking she means do I feel distant too, and I dont, I feel the immediacy of life ticking on around me she means do I feel her distance. Yes. She hasnt felt connected to me.
    She doesnt feel as sexual as she usually does, and this has never happened to her before, not to this extent. A general lack of sexiness.
    Me: Is it related to me directly, or do you feel sexual to others?
    Lydia: I havent let myself do that, so I wouldnt know.
    She wants to be good for me but feels she doesnt know what I want.
    I tell her how Maisie understands me, and I know her. We instinctively understand and accept each other. This, of course, saddens Lydia.
    Sometimes, I say, it feels like you dont understand me. You dont like how I behave. You wish I were another way.
    Yes, she says. I agree with that. But I also resent that you compare me with others.
    I say, I should be cherished every day.
    Lydia suddenly laughs, agreeing. And there is a melt between us.
    21      E-mail from Maisie: she woke up last night to singing. She went downstairs and found three sailors in her Lemarchant Road kitchen, with jugs of liquor and food. They cheered her. They were Portuguese. She had to yell at them and they were confused. She pointed to the door, but they would not go. So she called the police.
    Today, in court, she found out that the house she has rented used to be a brothel. The Portuguese come every year. They didnt know. Their ship was leaving port today and Oliver, who represented them, asked her to drop the charges. She did, on one condition: they make a plaque that says, in three languages, This House Is Not a Brothel. The men agreed.
    22      If I could hand deliver on this first day of spring. From my hand to Lydia’s. Hold her shoulder as I give her a simple message. If I could roll it into a thread and slip it in her ear as she