Cyber-love Affair (cont'd)
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Dr. Bob's office is inside his home, another one of these marvelous little houses built into the side of a luscious, vegetation-choking hillside. Outside, a steep stone path bordered by exotic flowers leads to a meditation garden, wind chimes hang from the trees, stone Buddhas and Indian gods sit strewn about the rigorously planned, natural landscape. Inside we enter a room, larger than I had imagined, pleasantly and comfortably furnished. We sit together on the couch, Dr. Bob behind his desk. He welcomes both of us and he and Marci chat a bit about his trip. Then he asks her to tell him what is happening in her life. Marci tells him how we has met on the Internet, our immediate attraction to each other, the intensity of our messages and the irresistible desire we both had to meet face-to-face. She reveals that she has lied about her age and how it has upset me. He asks me whether I am bothered by how old she is or about the lie. I tell him that I would like to say that her age doesn't matter but, in fact, the two are so mixed together that I can't tell for sure. When I feel comfortable about her age, the lie rears up to defeat me. When I felt comfortable about the lie, it is her age. I say that I feel exhausted thinking about it. He tells me that this entire experience will have to percolate through me until I can understand what I really want. He also tells me that for all the years he has known her, Marci has always shown the utmost honesty and integrity in every area of her life. It is only when it comes to her age that she experiences this terrible ambivalence, since she feels that it is completely unfair to be labeled and categorized so arbitrarily. "Especially," he says, "especially because Marci feels so young." I think about how painful it must be for her and how unfair it is for every woman who is disqualified because her wisdom and stature is marked on her face. When women no longer reflect the simian status that we, as men, demand from our consorts in this society, they are discarded or simply ignored. I have felt the pain of being turned down because I am small and some might find I don't fit the ideal image of a man. But this seems more relentless, every year growing older and further away from the bright-eyed child who inhabits you. Have I now become part of the brutish mass that favors the tight cunt and hard breast over all else, no matter the cost? We drive on to the airport and wait in the terminal for the flight to begin boarding. We kiss. We touch. We set a bad example, but we cannot stop caressing and filling ourselves up with each other. Four days have passed. It seems more like a short lifetime. I do not want to leave. I want to leave. I need to make sense out of what has happened and I want to understand and reach resolution about what I feel, what I want. I have loved this woman beyond by own belief to do so, she who was a stranger a fortnight ago. Now she is part of my life. But what part is that?
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