Perfect Number Six

Taylor Swift shares her life experiences in the lyrics she writes and sings. In one of her songs she reveals that all love ever does is break and burn and end, but on a Wednesday in a cafe, she watched it begin again. It is that cycle of beginning and ending that I can relate to whenever I hear Taylor's song. Watching it begin again with all the hope, giddiness, fantasies, mystery, intrigue, and emotional highs were a part of falling in love that I thoroughly enjoyed. The part I didn't like was the ending. By age forty-five, I had fallen in and out of love five times, but that cycle was about to end with Perfect Number Six.

Falling in Love

Losing one's balance, tripping over an illusion,

careening out of control, sliding down a slippery slope,

 but, oh my, it feels sooooooooooooo goood.

                                                         --Mikidikipedia

When Love Number Five broke up with me over the phone (well, if you had met your soulmate on a Wednesday at a cafe, and you wanted to begin again with her over dinner that night, wouldn't you call your girlfriend right away?) The pain from the breakup was soothed by my own story of beginning again when Perfect Number Six asked me out. He was different from my previous loves. He was not controlling or manipulative or narcissistic or emotionally abusive or mentally unstable or a pedophile. Six was soft spoken and kind with a gentleness that I had never before experienced in a mate. He said he wanted to take this relationship slow and easy to allow it to grow in a healthy and mature way. Ding! Ding! Ding! Found him! My "watching it begin again" days were finally over.

Weeks turned into months and months into years and then one day, he popped the question and I said yes. Well, it didn't actually happen that way. It was more of an implied proposal. There were no knees touching the ground and professions of love, but I knew his intentions when he said, "We should buy a farm so when the Apocalypse comes, we'll have food and shelter," to which I said, "Is that a proposal?" and then he said, "Well, yes, I guess it is."


She hired a private investigator to follow me. For some time she had suspected that I was fooling around, but she needed proof. She cared too much for Six to allow such a despicable behavior to go unchallenged. The investigator proved her suspicions right when he, after weeks of tailing me, showed her the incriminating photos of my lover and me together.

It wasn't long before I received an envelope with no return address, and inside was a long, rambling letter that started with, "I know what you did last summer." Thanks to the private investigator, she did know everything: the romantic getaways to my cabin in southern Indiana, the quickie lunches, the rendezvous at his house and mine. She knew it all. After reading the letter, I had no choice but to meet with Six, show him the letter, and suffer the consequences of infidelity.

"What an unexpected surprise," he said as he held the door open for me. As we stood in the threshold with his arms squeezing me tightly, I was achingly aware that I was watching it end again. Every gesture, every word, every blink of his eyes were in slow motion. I wanted to remember every little thing about him. For a moment I thought about hiding the letter.  I could say, "I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by," and he would say, "Well, how lucky am I," and then I would respond, "Not as lucky as I am," and then we would go upstairs to his bedroom and talk about the farm we were going to buy and stuff like that.  I could keep the infidelity a secret, and we could continue on and on and on as if betrayal didn't matter.

Too late. He saw the letter in my hand, and so I handed it over to him. As he sat reading about what I had done last summer, his smile disappeared. I asked him if he knew the lady who had hired the private investigator to follow me, and he said, "Yes, she's a friend of mine." "Why would she have me followed?" I asked. And here is...

THE REST OF THE STORY.

She hired a private investigator because she suspected her boyfriend was seeing someone else. They had been together for four years, and lately he had been acting suspicious. When she caught him lying, she decided to have him followed. That's where I come into the story. It was me. I was the other woman. The pictures clearly show us together, so denial was not an option. Without saying a word to her cheating mate, she sent me the letter of discovery.

Six read and reread the letter. He was stunned. As the color drained from his face, he sat slumped on the couch, speechless. The happy-to-see-me smile that greeted me at the door was replaced by incredible sadness when he finally looked into the eyes of the bearer of very bad news.  He was sorry, he said, but the truth was he had been dating the both of us for four years. However, he wanted me to know, before I left, that it was me he loved, not her. Well now, isn't that special, I felt like saying as I stood tall and proud and walked through the foyer, out the front door, and down the sidewalk to my car. Before getting into my always faithful Jetta, I turned for one last look at number six. He was standing in the big picture window with both hands on the glass. His face was soaked with tears. Next to him was Moon, his dog, and she was whining (she always cried when I left). They didn't want me to go, so I didn't.

I gave not-so Perfect Number Six another chance. (You thought I was going to dump the cheater, didn't you?)  But, but, don't you see, it was me he loved. What about our friends, our history, our future, the plans, the farm? After he broke up with her, he remained faithful to me, until...


She rented the office right next to his, and, oh my goodness, was she ever a cute little thing. Young, too. I could have been her mother. Those legs went right up to her tiny waist and her skirt stopped just below her asset. It seems her assets were many and Six couldn't help but notice, considering that she was just right next door.

-to be continued Monday, August 12th.