An Early Christmas

I had shook my head in amazement when I got an email from Mr. Big Woods of Wisconsin. I should have known the minute I began to reenter the world of the living something like this would happen.


The letter was friendly, with no 'old business' from the past being dragged out. I had last spoken to him July 4th Weekend, when he called and I lay on my big couch and cried after we hung up.
I was feeling so very lonesome, the roommate hunt was not going anywhere, a job negotiation had just fallen through. I went on a three day binge: not leaving the apartment, not eating, just staring at the walls.

This email found him in good spirits and mentioned a possible West Coast trip before Christmas.

We marked out calendars and things promptly unraveled. It started as an inability to coordinate face time via Skype. Then he announced he was running late to pick up his date for a monthly dinner club event, but oddly, and this was a good sign, I didn't wall up in tears when he said he had to go .

And that surprise trip to the Coast didn't happen--- which was no surprise to me.

December came, and with it,his birthday. He called me on mine, but could I stand the thought of having to talk to him, but neither did I want to blow him off. I sent an email, and in my own way began quietly closing the books on Woodman "Woodsy" McCarthy of Milwaukee, and this silly drain of energy known as party and play.
I could have gone to Madrid last year. He would gracefully fade into my past.

I received a rather ardent plea that we 'must' talk, and was told when and where to receive this call. (No 'Taming of the Shrew' jokes either, folks)

What could I do? I thanked Woodsy for making my day, as I was feeling mighty low, and for an hour plus enjoyed the most civilized conversation, with questions
"On the last night of my visit to Milwaukee, why DID you take me to the Supper Club where your father proposed to your mother?"
His reply: " It was?"
Laughter (I still call his old boyfriend 'Winston' which is the name of my cat. It's not deliberate. I'm still referred to as "That Man", which is.) Woodsy has a non-steady steady, and his description prompted me to quip: "He sounds like my twin'.
The reply: "He's a plumber; you're a writer." Ouch.

For once, I looked no further than the moment, turned off the sophisticated comedy repartee(might as well speak in Urdu), and just looked at him...he had fallen asleep on cam.

When I told Woodman  with my extended troubles I feared becoming Ava Gardner at the end of Show Boat, he asked 'Why not Howard Keel?'
I admit, I wasn't prepared for that one.

It's make believe in reality perhaps, but that call was the most marvelous Christmas present I've ever received.