Macy Portela, Part One: Compulsion

I had already been on the patio once. Not smoking; decompressing, watching a couple of guys with acoustic guitars set up on the far side, getting a weird look from Derek (Party’s on the other side, dude.) and taking deep breaths. The cook, smelling like the kitchen, walked to me, greeted me, shook my hand. I put my hand in my right pocket.

I rejoined the party after a few minutes, sat between Cecilia at the head of the table to my left and Macy to my right, her husband further down the table to her right.

The first panic attack that led me to the clean air of the patio was unprovoked, just the usual dissolute anxiety.

I should be working. The Bee Gees countered on the jukebox with You Should be Dancing.

I had prepped for the evening, laid out a game plan. Watched two hours of Jim Gaffigan, took notes, wrote a few original jokes of my own. Made sure I had enough cash to carry whatever Cecilia asked me to carry. Wore an undershirt for the inevitable moment when I took off my tie and button-down.

What I was unprepared for, didn’t expect, was Macy’s low cut dress and push up bra. After the fourth beer, I became unconcerned that her husband Mack could easily catch me staring at his wife’s cleavage, legs. Trying to inch my right knee close to her left thigh.

Then she got up and walked out of the room. My eyes traced the backside of her short black dress until she disappeared behind the wall separating the dining area from the bathroom. Still, I was okay. Talked to Cecilia, tried to work in some Gaffigan jokes, acted interested in her friends’ banal conversation across the table. Five minutes. Ten minutes.

Then she walked back in. I looked at her as she re-appeared from around the wall and she looked at me. In that moment, eyes locked, the past—all innocent flirtation—ceased. I wanted her. I looked to my right, past her husband, anticipating her walking by. I was compulsed. Macy Portela was no longer the laughing girl Cecilia and I hung out with, sneaking in drinks before the end of the day. She was a woman, dead serious femininity, as far away from me as any fantasy would ever be. You can look, boy, dream if you must—but you can’t touch. She touched the back of her husband’s neck and began to sit next to him, between us. He ignored her, engaged in loud conversation with his friend across the table.

She was next to me.

 I exhaled but I could not inhale. I cupped my hands around my mouth and leaned back, each second pressuring me more urgently to WALK and I’m growing more determined, no, I got this, I can’t leave the table again, but I feel my leg start to bounce and—-shhh—-breathe, don’t talk, no one notices, you’ll be fine, breathe, calm, short inhale / and / then

her hand on my shoulder 

“Are you okay? Do you want to go outside?”

I stand up and start walking and I say, “Yes.”

I’m outside on the patio before I turn around to see if she’s followed me, the breaths coming heavy, like the end of a run. Coach would have us either bend over or lift our hands above our heads. I do neither. She joins me a few beats later,  slightly confused. (I said yes, let’s go outside but there wasn’t much “let’s” to it.) She touches the side of my shoulder, what are we doing, she is asking. I’m still trying to catch a regular breath, looking around the patio for a landing, when I say, “Let’s sit at that table.” We walk through the crowd to the outdoor table and each take a seat, facing the music. She is looking at me. She smiles. I guess I’m entertaining. I relax.

The acoustic guys are still at it and I’m Sam again. Derek appears and asks what we need and I say we’re  good. After he walks, she says, “I can only stay a few minutes. My husband’s inside.”

“This is a good song,” I reply and she looks at the two guys at the stage area, the South Texas evening heat setting in, the detritus of the sun behind them.  I’m Sam again.

The song ends. A red-haired girl puts money in the tip jar on the ground in front of the band. She says something to the lead singer and he laughs. "We can do that," he says, slightly off microphone. I glance at Macy. She is looking at him across the patio. The girl walks away.

“Oh, thinking about our younger years,” the lead singer starts the next cover. “There was only you and me.”

“Barrios,” Macy says. “My husband is waiting.” I’m Sam again.

“We were young and wild and free.” I put my arm around the back of her chair. I sing along, “Now, nothing can take you away from me,” and move my arm around her bare right shoulder.

“Baby you’re all that I want.” Her phone screen lights up. “I have to go back in,” she says. She leans over and kisses the top of my forehead. We’re in heaven.

After that song, I rejoined the group. I realized I shared a moment with Macy, one of many more to come, I hoped. Now, looking back on it, I see how good it was. Cecilia was juggling multiple boyfriends; Macy was firmly ensconced in her marriage and her only child. The group was not gathered to make Steven Samuel Barrios feel good about his life. Regardless, I did feel better about my life.

I had a Gatorade in the console in my truck. I popped the pill the cook had given me earlier, the first time I was on the patio stressing about my stress. I drove home.

I only wanted to strip down, get under the covers and dream about Macy, the past and the future Macy.

I did strip down. I did get under the covers. And I did dream.

I slept on my left side looking out over the end of the mattress. Three quarters of the bed behind me was unused. Amber knelt down beside the bed. She was not on her knees; she was crouched down, her hind quarters on her ankles. She reached out her hand. "Steve," she said. I was fully awake. My eyes were open. "Your hand," she said.

She only had on a dark blue blouse. She had on no bra and no panties. I could see her legs, her knees.  But her eyes were recessed, too far away.

"No," I said, "I can't."

She retracted her hand.

Her dark hair shortened as she took her hand back and, as her hair was recessing,  it grew white. Her blouse fell open. She shifted her weight on her haunches.

"Steve," she said. Then I reached out my hand to hers. She took it.

"Macy will hurt you," she said.

I moved toward her. I wanted to kiss her, even as she was growing older in front of my eyes. Before it was too late.

I laid my head back on my pillow until the morning came.