Unfinished Business

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Unfinished Business

about Faith’s intrusion into my life.  But the part that really worried me was that I also had admitted to feeling some of the old excitement and desire for her.  In case I didn't mention this before, the years have been exceedingly kind to Sister Faith, and she is one fine looking woman.

“Come and get it,” Faith called out, setting two steaming plates of food on the table.

“I’ll be right there,” I called back, and headed to the bathroom to wash my hands and to take a moment to clear my head.

“Would Faith read my journal?”  I asked myself.  “Does Ellen wear lip gloss?” was my snide mental reply.  I wasn’t sure, about the latter question, but I thought both answers were “very likely.”  Ellen is a Cover Girl, after all. 

Well, I couldn't stay in the bathroom all night.  So what if she read my journal?  It would be so like her to do something like that.  It just made it easier to “kick her to the curb,” as Autumn suggested, and tell her that she needed to get out by the time I left for work the next morning.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, I noticed that Faith had dimmed the lights and lit candles (which also had been in my bedroom), and placed them on the table.

“Bon appetite,” Faith said, raising a glass of iced tea as a toast, “here’s to old friends.” 

“And to new, absent friends,” I added, and we both drank. 

The food was delicious, and I am not proud to admit that I totally stuffed myself to the point where all thoughts of kicking and curbs went right out of my head along with the peach cobbler Faith had made for dessert. 

I helped Faith load the dishwasher, then we sat together on my futon couch, sipping peppermint tea.

“So, what are your plans?”  I asked her.

“I’m not really sure.  I have a cousin in Madison, Wisconsin I’m waiting to hear back from.”

“Madison is a great city.  They have a really tight GLBT community that will be helpful and supportive with your reentry.”

Faith looked confused.  “Reentry?  Into what?”

“Into the lesbian community,” I said.

“But Sissy, I’m not a lesbian.  You were the only woman I’ve ever been a lesbian with.  I didn’t choose a gay lifestyle; I chose you.”

She stared at me in that smoldering way that used to turn me to jelly.  In fact, at that moment, I was't feeling particularly solid.

“Do you remember when we got those matching ‘Lucky You!’ tattoos on our upper thighs?” she asked me.

“Do I remember?  It was only one of the most painful experiences of my life – physical experiences, anyway.”

“Do you still have it?” she asked.

“Of course,” I laughed.  “I can’t tell you how many women, when they read it, agreed and said, ‘Lucky Me!’”

She looked at me meaningfully, “a whole lot of women, I’ll bet.”

“Uh, well, not that many,” I lied.

“Can I see it?”

“No,” I responded, without hesitation.

“I’ll show you mine,” Faith said.

Before I could protest she had done exactly that.  I stared.  I hadn’t seen that tattoo, outside of a mirror, in  years.  It was just like mine, but Faith’s skin was a couple shades lighter, so hers stood out more.

“Lucky you,” Faith said, standing only inches away from me.

“Yes, I am lucky for so many reasons,” I agreed, “and you are not one of them.”

“Come on, Sissy.  I know it’s been a long time.  I know you still want me.”

Then I knew, for sure, that she had read my journal.

“No, Faith.  I used to want the woman that I thought you were.  I never wanted the woman you actually are.”  I stood up.  “And, now I’m going to bed.” 

“I could join you,” she suggested.

“Thanks for dinner.  Make yourself comfortable, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d be ready to leave tomorrow by the time I need to go to work.”

I went into my bedroom, closed and locked the door, then undressed and got into bed.  “Lucky me,” I told myself, proud that I had successfully made it past the first real challenge to my resolve to be monogamous.  And Faith had been a real New York, New York style challenge, too.  If I could make it there, I could make it anywhere.

I fell into the deep, untroubled sleep of the faithful.  However, I was really glad that I had locked the bedroom door before going to bed.  I woke up briefly at one point with the distinct impression that I’d heard the door handle rattle.