Late Arrival
                          
The Network Security class which I'd been trying to attend
for over two years was finally a go;  I'd faced so many
cancellations locally that I was able to justify the travel
budget.  The bad news was that it was all the way up in New
York City.

I hadn't been to New York City for more than short visits
with family (and funerals) in over twenty years.  I still
had some family up there but they weren't much of a "draw"
for me.

My travel arrangements were pretty simple;  with my class in
midtown Manhattan I was booked for a nearby hotel with no
real reason for me to rent a car.  I could have rented one,
of course, but I chose not to.

I'm also pretty cheap, so instead of getting a taxi into the
City from JFK, I took the recently finished AirTrain to the
"A" train's station for Howard Beach.  I felt it was a point
of pride that I was comfortable with the subway system.

Monday's class worked out well, I was able to walk from the
hotel despite the frigid blast of air.  Coming from Florida
to New York in late February was not the best timing for my
comfort, of course, but at least I was here and the class
was here...  and it was an intense class, too.

On Tuesday evening I went to visit my brother and his family
down on Staten Island;  I chose to use the subways to reach
South Ferry.

Now I'm a former Staten Islander and I used to take the
ferry every week day to work, so I had my own set of
expectations.  They got blown away completely.

I'd taken the 4 all the way down to Bowling Green and found
myself navigating around a construction site which blocked
access to the ferry terminal.

Everything I'd known seemed to be wrong today.

The ferry terminal that I'd known was almost completely
gone.  Instead I saw some kind of monstrous boxy thing being
pieced together in its place.  Working my way around the
construction site to the current entrance and finally to
what was left of the waiting room was not reassuring.  The
waiting room, though, surprised me; some of the changes
weren't all bad, even if the building was less than 25%
complete.  We now had big windows overlooking the actual
slips providing us with the ability to watch the boats dock;
this certainly helped to satisfy some curiosity.

To those of you who haven't ridden the ferries but heard
about the one ferry crashing, there had been only two of the
"large" new boats in service before; now only one was still
operating.  Since the ferries were still running pretty
frequently, I had only a small chance of ending up on the
surviving "big" boat, the Newhouse.

The older boat we were loading on to as the previous one
left was the old 'American Legion' which I'd ridden often
enough so many years ago.  It seemed like old times;  many
of my old habits and preferences came back.

Now I'm one of those folks that never did go nuts over being
at the front of the boat, so I went up to the bridge deck
and sat down facing the top of the stairs at the "back" of
the boat.  It was also, as I recalled, one of the warmer
spots I could sit in.

Looking back on that situation, I was in the weird place at
a weird time.  I was visible to others, if I was in the mood
to watch people I would have had quite a few pass me by.

Instead, in the biggest difference between then and now, I
fished my PowerBook out of my bag and woke it up, put my
headphones on and jacked them in.  I brought up one of the
stories that I was still working on and forgot about almost
everything else.  I had about a half hour of a ferry ride
with very little in the way of disturbances.

I *do* miss the ferry as a means of commuting, by the way.
Yes, it wasn't fast, but neither did it slap me around the
way a subway or bus would, so I could sit, relax, and read.

Or, in this case, write.

I've never been one of those people that pays attention to
others around me in any real detail; part of it was that I
would prefer to avoid the same level of scrutiny.  Kind of a
live-and-let-live attitude.  In some ways, this is a common
thing in a city like this;  I was unlikely to garner anyone
else's attention doing what I was doing.

People don't tend to see me anyway:  I'm really something of
a nebbish, with few traits that stand out.  Blonde hair
isn't all that interesting on a man, especially when cut
short and balding in "monk mode";  my beard wasn't styled in
any way and had some red in it.  Just a bit over-weight,
tired, cutting a figure that was less than dashing.  The
only thing that really could stand out was the tan I had
from living and working in Florida and spending my week-ends
sailing.

Further enhancing my invisibility was my wedding band.  Even
after being widowed for over a year I still wore it.  It was
one of the few things left to comfort me in my wife's
absence.  Given my age it reduced any likelihood that I'd be
noticed.

As the boat pulled away from the dock I looked up, watching
as the boat turned away from Brooklyn and Governor's Island.
To my left, the Manhattan sky line came into view from the
side of the boat.

It was a good thing the boat wasn't too crowded;  knowing I
had a chance to reclaim my seat, I folded up my PowerBook
and went to the outside, despite the cold breeze out there.

It had been too many years since I'd stood here.

So much was unfamiliar to me.

I'd been near a TV that fateful day and watched part of my
teenage memories disappear.  So quick, so unlike cancer.

I'd watched them go up.  I'd been my Dad's courier bringing
paperwork to and from City offices and had exited the subway
at Cortlandt Street, so I had many opportunities to gawk up
into the open steelwork.  Back then I'd been amazed at the
sheer size of the steel, thinking they'd last forever.  Even
when they got their covering of steel and glass, though, I'd
not found them pretty.  They seemed to leave the Manhattan
skyline somehow out of balance.

But things you see every day grow on you, as had the woman
I'd married so many years before.

It _had_ been a very long time since I'd stood here.  Other
changes to the skyline in all that time didn't sit well with
me either;  Battery Park City just "didn't look right" to
me.  As a techie I know that my sense of aesthetics was
removed before birth, but some things _do_ move me.

The reddening sunlight on the buildings, especially the red
reflected by the curved glass tower that replaced the
Seaman's Church Institute, reached my eyes.  Sunsets here
were indirect, I realized.  Living on the west coast of
Florida brought me a lot more sunsets than I'd seen living
in or near the city;  the sky here didn't seem as big.

The boat turned again, turning my view to New Jersey again,
so, despite the strange build-up I saw in Jersey City, I
walked back towards the seat I'd originally taken.

A young woman I'd not noticed before sat near the spot I'd
occupied, glancing up at me before returning to her magazine
as I sat.  She looked almost familiar to me with her bright
red hair, elfin face, thin build, but I couldn't place her.
I shrugged and, seated again, re-awakened my laptop.

I was well into editing a story when I felt a tap on my
shoulder.  I stopped and looked up at the young woman,
taking off my headphones.  "Yes, miss?"

She pointed to the screen, "I'm sorry for looking over your
shoulder, but..." she blushed scarlet and asked "Are you
    ----------------------------------------------------    

I smiled at her.  "It's the nym I write by.  When you write
what I write, no matter how common the name, there are
things that are likely to give you away.  I'm surprised you
recognize the name."

"Well, you write some nice stories.  My name is Kelly, and,
well, my mom likes them too, a lot.  According to your
stories you're 52 which is three years older than my mom.
She likes your stories too because you show how people her
age can still find love."

I nodded.  "Actually, I inflated my age by two years.  I
turned 50 just a month ago.  Anyway...  anything I can help
you with?"

"Can I get a picture of you to share with my mom?  And an
autograph?"

I shrugged.  "I don't have a problem with that."

Inwardly, I was thrilled.  I'd never met a fan in meatspace
before.  I might project some level of indifference to her
but inside my heart beat faster.  It felt good to have one's
work appreciated on a face-to-face level.

She flashed me a happy smile as she pulled out her phone and
made a call, starting with "Wait, you gotta see this" and
clicked my picture with her phone.  "Mom, you see the
picture?  I met Joel Jackson, you know, on the ferry."

I glanced around.  Few people showed more than transitory
interest in us.

I could swear I heard a squeak from the phone and Kelly did
look at me funny.  "What?  Oh.  OK.  Joel, are you from the
Island?  When did you graduate from high school?"  The look
of confusion on her face was evident.

I nodded a yes, confirming that I was from the Island.  I'd
graduated from a high school with an improbable name thirty
two years before.  "I graduated back in 1972."

She repeated this back to the phone and then asked me if it
was was from the school I'd actually attended and I nodded
another confirmation.  This was relayed and the next
question floored me "By any chance is your real name Jack?"

My eyes must've been like saucers, which worked to confirm
the truth of the answer.  "Yes, it is" I finally gasped out.

The next thing I knew I was handed Kelly's phone.  I spoke
first, a safe "Hello?"

"Jack," came a lovely voice which still carried a strong
Irish accent, "This is Pat Daniels.  Do you remember me?"
I could almost hear a thread of fear in her voice.

Oh... God.

The last thirty-two years fell away from me.  All the
reminders and pains of finding the one girl who could love
me.  The sudden loss when her family suddenly moved away,
her father reassigned by the Army.  The agony of never
hearing from her despite writing letters daily for a month.
And more letters, for almost a whole year.

Even after all these years the pain of having lost my
sweetheart came back.

It took some effort to shake the memories and pain loose to
regain my adult identity but I managed it in time to answer
"Yes, Pat, of course I remember you.  I've missed you, you
know."

God, what an understatement!

It was so very hard to maintain any sense of distance and
only ask "How have you been doing?"

The things I wanted to say...

"I'm doing OK.  I read your stories so I know you're from
here but you write a lot about Florida, too.  Where do you
live?"  Her voice sounded almost happy to my ear.  Part of
me still wondered what I'd done that was so wrong that she'd
never written me once.

"I work in Tampa and live near St Petersburg, by the Gulf
Coast.  Widowed.  No children of my own."  I answered the
likely questions before they could be asked.

Pat's smile came through the phone without needing a photo
taken as she said "I work here on the Island, divorced,
three daughters, one of whom you're sitting next to."

I smiled at Kelly and recognized her mother in her;  now I
could see more of why she had seemed so hauntingly familiar.

Then Pat's voice hit me again: "You around for long?"

"Just here until Friday night.  I'm staying in Manhattan, by
the way, right by Grand Central.  I'm up for a class, just
going to the Island to visit my brother tonight.  Now I wish
I could stay longer, but my ticket is non-refundable."

"Can you visit me, too, while you're here?"

"Sure.  Let me grab a pad and I'll get your address and
phone number, all right?  Shoot for tomorrow night?"

"Jack, get it from Kelly, OK?  I've got some emergencies I
have to deal with here."

"All right, Patty.  I've missed you, and I'll be talking to
you.  See you."  I felt pained;  I wanted to say 'I love
you' but was too afraid that she wouldn't say it back to me.
I am _such_ a coward, dying a thousand tiny deaths.

"See you too, Jack.  Bye!"

I hit "End" on the phone and handed it back to Kelly before
fishing out a notepad.  I wrote my contact information down
on it.  I pulled the page off and handed it to her as I also
handed her the pad.  She started writing down Pat's name and
an address, then some phone numbers and e-mail addresses,
just as I'd done.  Then she added her own contact
information.

In all this time I thought I'd completely gotten over Pat.
I'd married.  Not as well, perhaps, but I'd married.

Kelly and I smiled at each other.  I closed down my laptop
and put it away with the pad and we talked about quite a bit
as the ferry crossed the bay in the gathering dark.  She had
to run for a bus while I headed for the trains.

The sensation of the kiss she'd given me on our parting
lingered on my lips.  Sure, I had over twenty years on her
but she was a very sweet young woman.

I finally looked around.  Sheesh, even the St George ferry
terminal was all torn up, too.  I was not impressed.

I took the "Toonerville Trolley" down to my brother's
neighborhood, glad that it ran as well as it did.  I climbed
up out of the "ditch" and started walking to Jim's house.

It had been a while but the neighborhood I'd grown up in (my
brother had bought the house from our folks) seemed smaller
somehow.  I couldn't really understand why things would feel
this way.

I ended up having a nice dinner with my brother and his
family and he had his oldest son drive me back up to the
ferry for the 10PM boat.  It was funny how I had so little
in common now with my own kin.

My ride back to the hotel--  ferry then subways--  was far
more somber as I started thinking about Patty.  I remembered
our encounters, our make-out sessions, cuddling her, holding
her and especially the times we brought each other off by
hand.  I also reflected over the sensations of my loss, too.
I could tell that, even now, more than three decades hence,
I'd not completely healed from that break.

And I knew, right then, that I still loved her.  I also felt
the compulsion to see her again, too.  It was the decision
that I would see her that made getting to sleep possible.

It was during lunch break Wednesday that I called Patty's
cell phone and heard her voice again and realized it was
like a drug.

Some people, no matter their age, have a voice that just
sneaks into your soul; not always sexy but captivating.  Add
in an accent that tickles the ear and you're lost.  Her
voice included musical bell-like notes that my soul rang to.
Just like her voice had held me in thrall over three decades
before.

I don't know whether others would react as I did but I could
feel a wave of heat rush through me, reminiscent of my
reaction to the dye from an angiogram.  In this case it was
a pleasant sensation.

At least I knew where I was having dinner.

You may wonder how I was so unconcerned about how the last
thirty two years had treated her appearance, but realize
that Pat's aging couldn't mean much to me.  I was no longer
17 years old any more either.  My wife, before she'd died of
self-neglect by refusing to pay attention to her diabetes,
had gained quite a bit of weight--  and I'd still loved her.
Yes, I did resent that she left me alone, all right?  And I
would have liked to have had children of my own.  And...  a
whole list of little annoyances popped up to be accepted and
then forgotten again.  She went into the ground without
letting me know of her resentments... but there was very
little unfinished business between us.

I'd been alone.  Just talking with Pat had me feeling good.
Sure, we'd been intimate a couple of times.  Yes, we'd been
so young and foolish.  And, yet, I'd somehow offended her so
terribly that she wouldn't answer my letters.  It seemed a
miracle that I was not unwelcome to visit her.

So my ride down had me on the same boat as Tuesday night and
I chose to sit in the same area of the boat again, hoping to
see Kelly again.  I wasn't disappointed, but this time there
were two of them.

My head almost spun off going back and forth between them
trying to figure out...

The one on my left (wearing jeans and an NYPD sweatshirt
under her leather jacket) identified herself as Kelly and
then introduced me to her twin sister Kimberly.  I reached
out to shake hands and was surprised to find myself in a
hug.  Each gave me a hug and kissed my cheek.

Kelly looked at me a little oddly this time as we all sat
down together.

This trip was spent talking over some of the characters in
my stories, including my indication that, as therapy, these
"people" carried various sins for me.

Both Kelly and Kim were giving me funny looks that I didn't
understand, wondering then what their mother had told them
about me.  Neither of them seemed willing to edify me.

I found myself following them to the bus and heading for
Great Kills.  We had to cross the boulevard before walking
down towards the water, coming to a cozy brick house.

Pat was there in the living room, her dark red hair still
beautiful in my eyes, a little extra weight in all the right
places, yet still looking far more fit than I felt.

Dinner was a surprise;  chatting over the table, good times,
telling stories about where we'd been and what we'd done,
including our dates.  I neglected to mention our experiments
in sexuality, of course, with her daughters around.  I felt
far more comfortable and "at home" than I'd felt in my own
brother's house.

I learned that Pat was a Doctor, as was Kimberly.  Kelly was
the misfit, being a cop, and it was her tendency as a cop to
be nosy (which explaining why she'd even glanced over my
shoulder).  I was told about her youngest daughter, Pam, who
was a teacher near Tampa; further inquiries showed that she
worked near me.

Once dinner was finished and cleaned up, we moved into her
living room and continued synchronizing our histories.  Pat
looked surprised when I declined a glass of wine, so I told
her that I was a teetotaler.  Several times I noticed odd
looks on Kim's face as we talked.

Kim finally asked me why I was still wearing my wedding
band.  This stopped everything.

How to answer...

"Kim, it's part of my problem;  I was so comfortable with
it because it meant someone had accepted me, so it's still
working as a comfort.  The other aspect is that it helps me
maintain a certain level of denial.  That make any sense?"

I finally asked Pat what her specialty was and discovered
she was a neurologist.  I think my nodding and telling her
that it couldn't be a lot of fun before changing the subject
bothered her that I wasn't more curious.  Kim was a shrink,
which explained some of her questions.

Kelly's job as a cop was a bit more surprising.  I was quite
comfortable around her.  Some of her stories were a hoot.

Of course, the flash-backs to her kiss the night before did
still run through me.

That's when the wind shifted and the boom swung across deck
and knocked me over.  Pat got up to go to the bathroom when
Kim asked me, some sudden heat in her voice, "Why didn't you
ever write to my mom after she moved?"

I stared at her, suddenly angered.  "Of course I wrote to
her!"  Then I growled, a bit less loudly "But when I never
got a reply, I figured she never wanted to hear from me
again!  I have no idea what I did to deserve that..."

Both Kim's and Kelly's eyes were wide on me, and I suddenly
got a cold feeling in my stomach.  That boom had apparently
knocked me into cold water.  I could swear that I had
goose bumps and that my hair was standing straight up.

Kim had grey eyes, just like her sister.  Pat's were a green
that could melt one's soul instantly, mine were grey.  Both
women's noses were not quite Pat's.  Their hair color was
somewhere between Pat's auburn and blond.

I suddenly felt light-headed as I recognized that the parts
of them that didn't closely resemble Pat reminded me of my
oldest sister.

Oh, shit.  Ohhhhhh *SHIT*. I sat there, paralyzed, as my
memories played back.

The sudden recall when Pat had shown me what to do for her
while her hand was already full of *me*...

Proof right there in front of my eyes that you don't need to
penetrate to impregnate.

I looked at them both, my own eyes must have looked odd with
how wide open they were;  I imagine now my skin had turned
the color of milk.  From a distance and in a small voice I
asked "Excuse me, but by any chance am I your father?"

I got nods from both.  "Mom told us last night," Kelly told
me.  Kim added "Well, I suspected that Dad wasn't our real
father, but until last night..." she went silent as we all
heard the toilet flush and the water run to the sink in the
bathroom.

"So that's why she never wrote me..." I mumbled.  In my own
fumbling way, I'd destroyed her life...  but then, it struck
me.  Maybe it wasn't me.  Apparently she never saw any of my
letters or she wouldn't have told both of these young women
that I hadn't.  Maybe her folks didn't want her to see me
again, and took steps to keep us apart.

When Pat reappeared I stood up to face her before she could
sit down and asked, as gently as possible, "Pat, I tried to
write you after your family moved away but you never wrote
back.  I always thought I'd done something to offend or hurt
you... but I suspect now that your folks wanted us as far
apart as possible.  I was very hurt and I was stupid enough
to blame you... and I'm sorry."  By the time I finished
speaking, my vision was blurry.  I blinked several times to
clear them and felt a tear run down my cheek.

Pat's eyes got very wet and she looked suddenly shaky, so I
reached for her.  With the help of her daughters I was soon
sitting with Pat perched on my lap, curled up in my arms.

It had been a long time but my arms still fit around her.
She felt "just right" to me and I kissed her forehead and
held her to me.  I could still feel my own tears.

The eyes of what I now knew to be my daughters attentively
watched us.  In front of this audience I wasn't comfortable
baring my soul again, but the woman on my lap needed to hear
it: "I still love you, Pat.  I missed you for a long time.
I thought that I was such a terrible person...  it took me a
long time to realize that I could be lovable again."  I
squeezed her in my arms.  "I don't know how you feel about
me now, but I love you.  I realized last night that I'd not
gotten over you."

She was shaking.  "I wrote you too, and never heard from you
either.  I wondered what I'd done wrong with you.  And when
I..."  she suddenly went silent and curled up even tighter
on my lap, crying harder.  It was obvious why.  I had to
close my eyes.

I stroked her back and said, "Yes, it must have hurt to not
hear from me when you told me you were pregnant, right?"  I
felt a sob of my own escape control, at the same instant I
heard and felt her shake.  "But I never found out until
tonight.  So maybe my parents were in on this scam too,
keeping us apart."

The broken hearted sobbing in the region of my chest had
given me a wet spot, but it was one I felt proud to have; it
meant I was comforting the woman I now most cared for.  Mine
had run down into her hair.

It took some minutes for both of us to regain even the
slightest amount of calm.

"I'm sorry," I heard, from the vicinity of my chest.  Her
voice got stronger when she added "And I never really got
completely over you.  I've missed you, and... I love you,
too."

I put my finger under her chin and guided her face to look
at me.  As our wet eyes met, I couldn't resist the feeling
that ran through me.  I kissed her lips, gently.

Without knowing how it happened, I found her arms wrapped
around my head as she deepened the kiss, exposing the tip of
her tongue to my lips.  My own arms were busy gathering her
closer to me.

Somehow, in our dating, we'd never learned about this kind
of a kiss;  we each had to learn later.  As I had so many
years before, I followed her lead.

Even with my wife it had never been this good.

Kelly and Kim, our audience, disappeared from my mind.  We
still had it.  We could still wrap ourselves together.

Unlike my time as a teen-ager when we made out, I wasn't
upset when I got an erection under her.  Any concern that
she'd feel insulted vanished when I heard her purr, her
bottom grinding against me.

She pulled her face back from mine and smiled at me, warming
me further.  "Please take me to bed..."

I smiled, "Yes, sweetheart.  So ... I know this is overdue
by over thirty years, but, first ... will you marry me?"

She choked out a "yes" as she nodded, and we met for another
deep kiss.  It seemed every time we came up for air we'd see
each other's eyes again and put our lips back together.

Well, we did finally make it to bed that night.

Our first time together was wonderful, too, and I wondered
if it was better for us this way.  We at least knew what we
were doing.

The next morning we saw smiles (and even some smirks) on the
faces of our twin daughters as we got breakfast together.
Their expressions of happiness couldn't help but make us
feel really good, and Pat's looks of happiness across the
table were reflected right back.

Kim and Kelly guided me onto an express bus this morning so
I could make it to class.  We talked on the bus and it felt
good to hug the daughters I'd never known I had.  Having
missed their childhood it still felt good to know they'd
grown up so well.

With both of my parents gone and Pat's as well, there was no
one to take to task for our separation.  In reflection, this
was a good thing:  we could concentrate on the future.

Kelly met me again during my lunch break with her partner to
help me check out of the hotel, which would hold my luggage
until that evening.  Kelly would meet me there after class
to load up and head back down to Pat's.  It felt good to hug
her again, too, and, as we parted, I overheard her partner
ask "Is he a relative of yours?  He looks a lot like you
do..." Heading back to class I smiled, a new spring in my
step.

We had a tearful departure Friday evening despite this being
a temporary parting.  Flying away, I almost looked forward
to my long distance bill as a sign that I had a _home_.

Home is never a fixed *place*;  it is where your heart
lives.

It would only a matter of months before I knew I'd be back
home in Pat's arms.