Mountains Wanted (2 page)

“Or, you could come with
me to this house party I was invited to at the beach,” Rachel suggested.

The beach. Ugh, that’s a
three hour drive
. “I don’t know,
Rachel, that’s pretty far.  I have a lot of work to catch up on this
weekend. My senior seminar has their annotated bibliographies due on Friday.”

“Work, schmork,” Rachel
retorted. “I swear, Sarah, your girly bits are going to shrivel up and
fall off if we don’t get you some cock soon! Speaking of which, any cute
students in your classes this semester?”

Actually, Rachel might
be more blunt and open than I am
, Sarah recalculated. “How many times do I have to tell you that
my students are off limits?” She heard Rachel start to protest. “When is
this party?”

“It’s on Saturday
night.”

“I have a big lecture on
Friday night. Let’s see how I feel after that, okay?” Sarah conceded.

“Why are you giving a
lecture on a Friday night?” Rachel inquired, trying to envision what sort of
student would attend a lecture on the gateway to the weekend, which was, after
all, what everyone was “working for,” according to the song from the 80’s.

“Oh, it’s really more of
a panel discussion than a lecture. It’s part of the university’s fall
colloquium series: Current Issues in American Politics. This one is on the
military’s Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy. I’m going to talk about sexuality and
the military.”

“That sounds hot,”
Rachel laughed. “Sex and military men. Two of my faves!”

“Why am I not surprised
you think it’s hot?” Sarah retorted sarcastically.“Okay, listen, I’m going to
go clean up from dinner. Text me later, okay?”

“Will do, Sugarlips,”
Rachel replied. She was always coming up with cutesy pet names for her
friend which never failed to make Sarah smile.
A house party
, she
thought as she began to clear the dishes from the table.
It’s been a long
damn time
.

***

   
        
Sarah wondered what kind of turnout the event on Friday night would have. 
I
mean, seriously, how many students are going to voluntarily attend on TGIF?
she
pondered as she shuffled down the sidewalk toward the auditorium. The sun was
sinking in the west and the trees silhouetted against the glowing clouds
created a little stinging tear in the corner of her eye. Sarah was
generally optimistic but every once in a while just a bit of melancholia crept
in, no matter how hard she fought it. Beauty often stirred those passions
inside her, leaving her wanting someone to share it with.

She shrugged away the
tear, trying to clear her head to focus on her lecture notes. She switched
the heavy bag containing her laptop and heels from her left shoulder to her
right as she started up the stairs to the auditorium. She noticed several
uniformed military types milling around outside the hall where the lecture was
to take place. This was relatively unremarkable due to the proximity of
the university to several military bases as well as the topic of the lecture.
Sarah had more than a passing curiosity about military life, particularly the
sociological aspects of it. She’d never really been close to anyone who served
but she had studied deployment related post-traumatic stress disorder and as
part of her research into homosexuality and bisexuality she had examined the “Don’t
Ask Don’t Tell” Policy. That was the focus of the panel tonight.

Sarah would be covering
the cultural and sociological aspects of the policy, which had recently gained
a lot of media attention due to the fact that President Obama aimed to have it
repealed. There would also be panelists covering the historical and
political aspects, represented by faculty from those departments. In
addition, the chair of the fall colloquium series had invited officers from
each of the branches of the armed forces to participate.  Sarah hoped for
a lively but civil debate. It always surprised her how heated discussions
about human sexuality could become. 
Why did people care so much about
what others did behind closed doors?

She made her way down
the aisle toward the stage and remembered she was still wearing her bright pink
flip flops. She’d meant to stop off at the ladies’ room, adjust her makeup
and change her shoes.
Eh, whatever
, she sighed, feeling a little like
Mr. Rogers changing her shoes on stage. She dug through her bag searching for
her stylish open-toed navy pumps and suddenly realized she had brought one navy
shoe and one black which were similar in style but obviously not a match.
Oh,
for fuck’s sake,
she chided herself. 
I am such a mess!
 She
briefly examined the ramifications of wearing fuchsia flip flops with her
tailored navy skirt suit, and then she remembered she’d be sitting down. 
Oh
well. I’m going to dazzle them with my words, not with my shoes,
she
vowed.

She fired up her laptop
and watched the audience begin to file in. Most of the military type
people sat near the front of the auditorium. One young man caught her eye
as he chose a seat within spitting distance. He was nearly six feet tall,
sported sandy brown buzzed hair, broad shoulders, and piercing blue eyes. 
Well,
if he isn’t the quintessential All American, clean-cut Army guy
, Sarah
mused.
 I think I will call him GI Joe. 
Suddenly his eyes met
hers and she was busted for staring at him. Never one to shy away from a
social interaction, Sarah shot him a gregarious grin. He smirked a little in
return and then quickly glanced down at his program where Sarah’s picture and a
brief bio fell on page two.

The panel moderator
adjusted the microphone, initiating a bit of feedback which signaled the
audience to quiet down, then proceeded with the introductions. Each
panelist presented the findings of their research on the topic, taking fifteen
minutes or so apiece, a little less for the military officers, and then the
moderator opened up the floor for questions from the audience. There was quite
a bit of passion and fire in the voices of those who asked questions, but
civility was maintained. Sarah was relieved. She was particularly proud of
her response to one older, retired veteran who said that he wouldn’t want to
serve alongside a gay man in combat.

“With all due respect,”
Sarah remarked, “let’s say you’re on the operating table. Your life is on
the line. Would you rather have two gay male doctors who were the top
surgeons in their field or would you rather have the straight doctor whose mind
was on his golf game or the affair he was having with his surgical assistant? The
truth of the matter is, people have the ability to be professional and put
their recreational and sexual desires aside when needed. This ability has
absolutely nothing to do with sexual orientation. It has everything to do
with integrity and work ethic.”

There was applause.

The discussion wrapped
up around 9 PM and Sarah began to gather up her belongings. Some of the
panelists were sticking around to further debate with audience members, but
Sarah knew she should get home to her children, especially since Abby was the
one holding down the fort. She walked down the stairs and into the aisle
when suddenly the GI Joe she’d made eye contact with earlier stepped into her
path.  

“Dr. Lynde,” he said
formally, “I found your surgery analogy very interesting, but I wonder if you
have any personal experience serving in the military? I have found when
hunkered down in close quarters with my fellow soldiers that I don’t want to be
distracted by thinking one of them is checking me out. Not to mention the
problems that serving alongside an effeminate or flamboyant soldier would
cause.” He wasn’t trying to be argumentative; it was almost as if he was
prodding her for a specific response, testing her. As the corners of his lips
turned up into a fuller version of the smirk he’d given her earlier, she realized
how good looking he was. He was definitely older than her traditional aged
students, but still young, perhaps late 20’s? He projected an air of
confidence. A presence.

“No, I haven’t had the honor
of serving,” she replied. She honestly couldn’t recall his other points
she was so distracted by his full lips and straight white teeth, not to mention
a mischievous gleam in his icy blue eyes. She forcefully gained her
composure, “Please, call me Sarah,” she said, extending her hand.

He firmly shook it.
 
“I’m James McAllister, nice to meet you. I’m an instructor in
the ROTC program and I required my students to attend tonight. I was
interested in the research you did on homophobia among military personnel. I
have heard a lot of that bullshit throughout my years in the service.” He
suddenly looked a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry, please excuse my language,”
he added sheepishly.

She wondered if he meant
that her research was bullshit or the homophobia itself was. “No need to censor
yourself around me,” Sarah offered. “I’d love to talk to you about your
experiences sometime, not to mention hear your own thoughts about the Don’t Ask
Don’t Tell policy. I
t’s a hot topic these
days, and the media is having a field day with it.”
She gave him another
once-over which set her wheels turning, “Maybe over coffee or something?”

James flashed his
all-American grin, even more broadly than before.  “That would certainly
be interesting.”

“Interesting good?
 Or interesting bad?”  Sarah questioned, her eyebrows raised. She
noticed she was leaning toward him expectantly, a posture that showed interest
and openness. Her fascination with nonverbal communication would often cause
her to stop mid-thought to analyze the position, angles and gestures her body
was exhibiting. She was always keenly aware of both her movements and
others’, and she couldn’t help but notice how closely together they were
standing.

“I think things are good
by virtue of being interesting. Being interested in something is inherently
good, even if the ‘thing’ itself isn’t,” James explained.

“I like the way you
think,” Sarah smiled and fished through her bag for a business card. She scrawled
her cell phone number on the back and handed it to James, this time studying
his hands as he tucked the card into the pocket of his uniform, his eyes never
leaving hers.

At that moment a flash
of lightning struck her mind...a brilliant image of those broad, tan fingers
gliding over her, gripping her...
Whoa, speaking of which, I need to get a
grip
, Sarah thought.  
This is my cue to exit. The ball is in his
court.

***

   
       
I stand in the shadow
of the mountain with my gear fastened securely. My eyes scan up the rock to the
point where the sun blazes like it might catch fire, its strong rays appearing
to penetrate the cliff. Every muscle in my body is ready and poised to
climb. I lift my foot to find my first hold, reaching my arm high above my
head....

Sarah slept restlessly,
in and out of dreams, awakening to the sound of Owen tearing through the house
with Abby chasing after him screaming, “Mom! Mom! He took the batteries
from my Wii remote and won’t give them back!!!”

Sarah sighed.
First
world problems. 
“Give your sister her batteries back, Owen,” she
called half-heartedly from her bed.

Suddenly both of their
young faces appeared in her doorway. “There aren’t any other batteries,
Mom,” Owen explained, his long-lashed brown eyes wide with innocence.  

Sarah shifted her gaze
to her daughter just in time to catch an in-progress eyeroll.  “Abby, are
you playing the Wii right this minute?” Sarah arbitrated.

Her daughter shook her
head slowly, her face scrunched up in a snarl.

“Fine, just let him
borrow the batteries until you want to play again, alright?  We’ll get
some more at the store later today.”

“Whatever,” Abby
retorted and slinked away. Owen beamed. Sarah hated the feeling of
choosing one kid over the other during a disagreement. She liked it better
when they could work out their own differences, but she was too tired to listen
to them bicker over something so trivial.

The green light on her
phone was flashing to signal a new text message so she stretched her arms high
over her head and swung her legs over the side of the bed, while simultaneously
reaching for her phone on the nightstand. It was from Rachel:
How did
last night go? You going with me tonight or what?

She glanced at the
clock. 
8:04
. She noticed
Rachel had sent the text at 4:52. That could mean a couple of different things:
insomnia or her friend had late night company that she kicked out before the
sun came up this morning. She decided to text back rather than call so she
wouldn’t wake Rachel up if she’d subsequently gone to bed.  
Last night
was great. Met an interesting guy. What time do you want to leave?

Sarah headed down to the
kitchen where she began to brew coffee and cleared cereal bowls from the
counter. Her phone buzzed to announce the reply from Rachel:
I’m thinking
like 3 pm? What are you going to wear?
And then:  
New guy?! Awesome,
gives us something to discuss on our 3 hour drive.

Fortunately Sarah had
given her mother a heads up about her potential plans earlier in the week when
she’d watched Owen while he recovered from that mild virus that had sent him
home from school. It was such a blessing to have her mother nearby. Kathy
Lynde had raised Sarah and her younger brother Adam back in the 70’s and 80’s
and she knew firsthand how difficult it was to be a single mother. Now her
daughter’s life seemed to parallel her own, and having retired from her career
has an elementary school teacher just a few years before, she insisted on
moving to Maryland with Sarah so she could help whenever she was needed
. 
Sarah’s children were her only grandchildren, and there was no
place she’d rather be than with her darling Abby and Owen.  

Sarah began preparing a
to-do list.
Call Mom and tell her the kids are coming. Groceries. Batteries
for Owen. Finish the laundry. Try to get at least a few of the annotated
bibliographies graded. Find something to wear to the party. Oh....
she
realized suddenly...
I have some...um...shaving to do.

She plodded through the
items on her list. First the phone call to her mother, then she took the kids
to the store and out for lunch, which much to her relief did not involve a
battle. Everyone seemed to agree on Mexican; a consensus was so rare. They were
angling to see a movie, but she knew she needed to get back in time to get
ready for the party. “We’ll see the movie tomorrow afternoon when I’m
back,” she promised. After they returned home from their errands, she struggled
through about five of her students’ assignments, growing more and more
frustrated by the cardinal sins of improper citation style, incorrect grammar
and spelling errors.

 
She noticed her shoulders had grown extremely
tense so she sprawled out on the floor to do a couple of stretches.
Mmmmm....downward
dog....that feels nice
, she thought, savoring the burn in the back of her
legs.
I should have gone to the gym today
.
Why is it so hard for me
to make time for myself? I’m supposed to be Super Woman. 
That was
her ex-husband’s nickname for her. The mere thought of him caused Sarah’s
head to start pounding so she scrambled to her feet and headed to her closet,
as if changing her activity would banish the thought of him from her mind, not
to mention ward off the threat of a migraine.

She sipped a long drink
from her water bottle and shuffled through a few dresses at the back of her
closet. She hadn’t gone out for a few months now.
 Ah, I remember
the last time...to celebrate the end of the spring semester. Holy
shit! I didn’t go out all summer? What the fuck is wrong with me?
She
recalled getting entirely too drunk when she had bar-hopped with a group of her
colleagues from the theatre department as if they were the students finishing
up their finals instead of the faculty who were grading them.
 Damn,
those theatre people sure know how to party
, she mused. Against her better
judgment she’d gone home with a man she met that night who later turned out to
not only be a lousy lay but a pretty big jerk as well. That sort of behavior
was against her code and she had punished herself for her indiscretion all
summer by staying in. She’d accomplished a great deal though: managed to plant
a garden and harvest a few edible things; knitted a baby blanket for her friend
Emily’s newborn; put the finishing touches on some articles she needed to
submit for publication.  

Still
, she rationalized,
it’s okay to have fun
sometimes. And I’ve punished myself enough over that incident. Wonder
who will be at this party?

Sarah had very liberal
views regarding love, sex, and relationships. She didn’t like to label or
pigeon-hole her beliefs, which was ironic considering she made a living
labeling social and interpersonal behavior. She had done an extensive amount of
reading on the topic, not to mention that she had studied various sexual
subcultures for her dissertation research, and she had found herself fascinated
with all of the alternatives to traditional one woman/one man relationships.

She’d always blindly
accepted society’s traditional ideal of one woman for one man, but the older
she got and the more she understood about herself and other people, the more
implausible this scenario seemed for a large percentage of the population,
including herself. She subsequently rejected the notion of finding her one
true “soul mate” and embraced the concept of “kindred spirits” instead, and it
was exactly those sorts of open-minded, like-minded individuals with whom she
chose to build relationships, whether those relationships included sex or not.
 

All of that research and
deep, deliberate thought about what she wanted from her relationships had
guided her choices in the past few years and had yielded mostly positive
results, which was probably why her regret following the one night stand she had
in May bothered her so much. While she didn’t philosophically see anything
wrong with a one night stand if that was the goal of all parties involved,
choosing to have one while inebriated with someone she never met while sober
and because she didn’t want to go home alone was against her code of sexual
ethics. But if there was one thing she had learned through embracing a
more fluid and dynamic sexuality, it was that risks sometimes have to be taken
to confirm what is and is not acceptable. Casual sex with strangers was not
something she wanted and she’d certainly had that reaffirmed. And best of all,
after examining why she made the choices she made, she could forgive herself
and get back on track. 
Kind of like when you cheat on your diet but get
back on plan right away,
was the analogy she used to explain it to herself.

So where did a house
party fit into this? It was likely she would attend the party, drink a little,
and socialize a lot. She didn’t foresee hooking up with anyone there,
particularly not someone she didn’t already know. However, she and Rachel had a
wide circle of like-minded friends, any number of whom may be in attendance. There
would definitely be people Sarah already knew and felt comfortable with. And
if there was mutual interest, well, anything could happen. Sarah was going in
with a little bit of hope, but no firm expectations, which was really the
requisite attitude for this type of event.

So which of these
dresses maximizes my potential of getting laid?
she joked to herself, after reviewing her own
tried and true rules of engagement. She pulled out a red dress, a black
dress, and a purple dress and laid them on the bed. She started to slide her
yoga pants down when she heard her phone ringing in the bathroom where she’d
accidentally left it earlier.

She ran for it in case
it was Rachel with an issue about the evening plans and accepted the call
without even looking at the number. She was positive it would be her
friend, possibly confirming her wardrobe choice for the evening. “Hello?” she
managed, a bit breathily.

“Well, hello to you too,
Dr. Lynde,” came the smooth, deep voice, clearly amused by her breathy
greeting. He cleared his throat, “It’s James McAllister. We met last
night?”

“Oh, yes, of course,”
Sarah replied, taking in a deep breath, but this turn of events seemed to
decrease the air in her lungs rather than restore it. She nearly tripped
due to the fabric gathered around her ankles as she made her way to her bed to
sit.
Talk about getting caught with your pants down!

“I know it’s sort of
short notice but my afternoon freed up and I wondered if you might want to grab
that cup of coffee?”

“Oh,” Sarah replied before
really thinking, buying some time while her brain processed the four million
things competing for her attention. Fortunately, her intuition, which she often
nicknamed “Auto Pilot,” kicked in. “I’d love that,” she said finally.

“Excellent,” James responded
evenly, betraying the beaming grin that had spread across his face. “Is 4
o’clock too soon? There’s this place near campus...”

“Four will work fine,”
she said professionally. “Oh, do you mean Java the Hut?”

James laughed, “I take
it you’re familiar?”

“I’m an addict,” Sarah
admitted. I’ll see you there at 4!”  

Holy shit. What did I just
do? I better call Rachel and rethink my wardrobe options. 
She dialed Rachel’s number while she put the
dresses back in the closet and started to review her jeans and nice top
possibilities. “Uh, hey, Rachel, I’m not going to be able to go tonight
after all,” she confessed.

“Why the fuck not?”
Rachel protested.

“Well...remember that
guy I was going to tell you about?  He just called and asked me to have
coffee with him!” Sarah said a little too excitedly and then reminded herself
to rein it back in.

“You’re going to give up
a house party at the beach for coffee with some guy?” Rachel asked,
incredulously.

“Right. I know it
sounds crazy,” Sarah conceded, “but I also have one of my crazy feelings about
this guy!”

“Holy shit, I’m scared now,”
Rachel laughed. “You and your feelings are well documented! Okay, I’m not
happy about going alone but I had this feeling you might renege so I’d already
been in touch with Mark to see if he minds going.” Mark was Rachel’s
longtime friend with benefits, a young, good looking single man in “refuse to
grow up” mode, for which Rachel played “enabler” at every opportunity.  

“You know me too well,
darling,” Sarah replied. “Okay, girly, have a good time and we’ll have to
compare notes tomorrow.”

“Yep, sure thing,
Lovechop!”

Rachel hung up and Sarah
glanced at the clock on her nightstand.
2:42.
Yikes, only one hour and eighteen minutes to get dressed, get the kids to
Mom’s, and get to Java the Hut.
 She slid a pair of faded flare bottom
jeans up her thighs and hips while simultaneously reaching for a sleeveless
purple paisley blouse that would expose just the right amount of cleavage.
 A few dots of makeup, a brush through her thick brown waves, and the
product of a last-minute change-of-mind: she opted to ditch her librarian-ish
glasses and pop in contacts.

She loaded up the kids
into the car and dropped them off at her mother’s house with a minimum of chit
chat. She realized she didn’t actually need an overnight sitter now that she
wasn’t going to attend the house party, but she didn’t want to change the plan
and deal with questions, plus she was thinking about all the grading she could
get done without the kids in her hair that night or early in the morning. It
seemed like the prudent thing to do.