I wrote this in 2018 as a response to a writing prompt which became the title of the piece.

The Most Private Thing

John’s feet hit the pavement too hard in his stiff, new Oxfords, but he ran anyway. She wasn’t going to wait. 

 Past the glinting glass of office buildings and parked cars he sprinted, past a frowning meter man in a blue uniform putting a ticket on the window of a Tesla, past the ageless homeless woman in her nest of blankets and plastic bags in the shadows between the bank headquarters and the hospital administration building. His tie flew over his shoulder. His beginnings-of-a-beer-belly jiggled and itched under his button-down, but still he ran, replaying her phone call in his head. 

He had just returned to his cubical, burping his curry lunch, when he had seen her name on his cell. Just her first name, Rebecca. He had never added her last name into his contacts. He didn’t know what it was that Volunteer Day when she approached him about painting new four-square lines on the playground at their kids’ elementary school. Now the omission felt clandestine.

“Hey John. Can you meet me by the lake? I only have fifteen minutes. By the Roman arches. Okay?”

“I can be there in five,” he had heard himself say, wondering if that sounded over-anxious rather than playful.

Popping a stray mint from his drawer into his mouth, he had left the office, avoiding the photo of Jan and the kids on his desk in the popsicle-stick frame that declared “Dabby” in rainbow foam letters. 

In the elevator, he had examined the inside of his tie with feigned interest as two young men in jeans entered on another floor, mid-conversation about computer parts. His heart, he was aware, was pounding in a very pleasant way. He could almost feel the blood surging in and out, cleaned, oxygenated, endorphin-driven. He bounced on his toes. Through the revolving doors, he had convinced himself that he didn’t need to review his presentation notes for the big sales meeting at three o’clock that afternoon. Well, half-convinced himself. 

And now he was running, in his business ware, down the sidewalk towards Rebecca, towards those enticing brown eyes, towards the laughter, towards—he didn’t know what else. He didn’t know exactly what he hoped for. Or what he was doing. 

Weaving between women and men, also in business casual, chatting in pairs or talking into headsets on their way back to their offices, he wondered if any of them were secretly attracted to each other or maybe even having an affair. It was just the curry, he told himself, that suddenly gave his side a stitch. He slowed to a quick walk. 

Around the corner of the faded copper-color building full of law and accounting offices, he saw the city lake shimmering under midday sun. 

Waiting at the crosswalk, cars streaming by in both directions, he dug into his pocket to check the time, discovering he had left his cell phone on his desk. Its absence created immediate vulnerability—per design of the thing—and before John could stop it, that one chink of anxiety suddenly cracked open a stream of undesirable feelings, doubt, guilt, uncertainty, polluting his excitement. He would not examine the deluge, focusing instead on the glowing red letters spelling “STOP.” Other people stood near him waiting, young professionals swinging brown lunch sacks, a girl all in black with pink hair, a man jogging in place in spandex and ear buds, a whispering homeless man holding up pants three sizes too big, encrusted in city debris.

It was fifteen seconds. Less. But the waiting was too long. He pictured the friendly-pedestrian icon in the crosswalk LED sitting on one of his shoulders like a cartoon devil from the Saturday shows of his childhood. The glowing “STOP” on the other shoulder sat an unlikely angel.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” said the glowing letters.

“You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just meeting her,” replied the pedestrian.

“Not yet, you’re not. But you know what you want to do.”

“Do you really? Besides, wanting is not acting.”

“It could be. It could be a lot of things.”

“Oh, shut up!” he said under his breath. 

 “Excuse me?” A large-set woman with molded-golden hair around a dark face glared at him, hands on her hips.

“Sorry,” John waved as he ran across the street, red numbers flashing their count down warning before he reached the other side. 

He sped to a jog again, down a grassy slope, picnic-worthy if it weren’t for the prominent goose droppings, and onto the paved path around the lake. The white columns in the distance reflected on the water. Shit. They were farther away than he realized. She would wait, wouldn’t she? They had never met here, in their lives away from family.

He listened to his own exerted breathing as he thought about the last time he had seen Rebecca. At the Harpers’ crowded Super Bowl party. He had scanned the room for her upon entering and had seen her, her head resting against her palm, at the end of one of the couches. She had straightened and smiled when she saw him. His boys ran off without a word. Jan patted his arm and went to chat with Ellie Harper in the kitchen. After a round of man hugs and a tour of the kegs of home-brewed beer, John had taken his red plastic cup out on the deck, wishing, wondering if she might follow. The sun massaged his face in the cool February air. Kids were swarming and scattering on the sport court below. His older son, Jordan, long and lean and growing in front of him, was shooting a basketball. On the other end, his younger son, Mikey, was swinging a hockey stick towards a floor puck, shoved gleefully by other pre-pubescent boys. 

“Hey.” Rebecca had closed the sliding door behind her and tapped her wine glass against his cup. They chatted, aimlessly, about the lousy math teacher their oldest kids both had, about family trips planned for the summer. They laughed. They always laughed, and each time, she squeezed his arm or nudged his side, and he anticipated the next touch. Their eyes met for long stretches, until one or the other looked over the railing or glanced though the glass door, a chorus of “oh’s” rising occasionally from the group gathered around the big flat screen inside. He registered and named his feelings then with awe, awakened, aroused, strong, free, emboldened. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before, not quite, not with Jan, probably not ever. After all, he and Jan had started dating in high school.  

Others had joined them then, John Harper, offering an IPA he had brewed in his garage, Sue Johnson from the PTA and Whatshername that ran marathons. Rebecca took a step away, breaking the connection.

John picked up speed again as the path curved and thick-branched shrubs temporarily blocked the view of the city lake. An old Chinese man on a bench tossed bird seed to squawking seagulls and one stately blue heron. John’s imagination flashed now to a bedroom somewhere, not a hotel room necessarily and certainly not his bedroom at home, but a nice, clean space, dimly lit. He was undressing Rebecca, moving his hands over different parts of her body. Then together they rolled smoothly onto the bed in a tangle and began making love. It was not the first time he’d imagined this. Several times now he had awoken from this scene in a half-sleep, his mouth open and dry, his boxers slightly damp and bulging, as if he was fourteen again.

The path curved around to an open view once more.

And there she was, just ahead, in brown boots and a black dress that showed off her curves, her long brown hair flowing over one shoulder. She was framed against one of the white columns of the pergola. For an instant as he approached her, he wondered if he was still in his imagination. 

Finally halting in front of her, he realized he was so out of breath, he couldn’t speak. He put a finger up and bent over to catch his breath, embarrassed. Rebecca laughed.

“You ran here?”

He nodded, feeling foolish and becoming aware of the sweat under his arms, undoubtedly visible. “You…said…you…only had…fifteen…minutes.”

 “Oh, I’m so sorry. You didn’t have to run but thank you.”

“God, I shouldn’t have had…that curry for lunch.”

She laughed again, and he grinned at her as he straightened up. “Okay. Hi.”

 “Hi,” she said, “How’s your day so far?”

 Maybe she was there to talk about barbecue supplies for the spring carnival. Maybe the attraction was just him overreacting to her friendliness, her warm eyes. 

 “It’s good. Yours?”

 “Yeah, all right so far. Deadlines.”

 “Yeah. Sooo, what’s up?” he asked.

 She bit her lip, tilting her head and took a deep breath. 

“Okay. Every time I’m with you, John, I can’t help it. I flirt shamelessly. You’re so huggable.”

“Thanks,” he said, not knowing what to say next, and berating himself for it.

She continued, bravely, he thought. “We just, it seems like, we have this amazing chemistry, don’t you think?”

The pounding of his heart was not subsiding, and he wondered if it ever would and perhaps he was about to have a heart attack and ruin everything. 

“We do,” he said, “It’s, it’s really something. You’re really something.”

 She raised her eyebrows. “Well, thank you, I think.” 

“No, I mean, oh god, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. You are…so amazing, it’s just that, I wasn’t sure if you felt it too. The…chemistry.”

“Oh yeah,” she grinned. They let their eyes linger on each other before she moved into him, and instinctively John enveloped her in his arms. They fit into each other, warm and grooved, electric. For a moment, there was just sensation. Then thought kicked in. The next logical move would be to kiss her. But what would that mean? Portraits of Jan and the boys flickered in his head. 

She pulled away. “I needed to make sure this was real for you too, our attraction. It is really something.”

He nodded and smiled dumbly.

“And I’ve imagined kissing you, John. I think it would probably be amazing.”

He felt confused. It wasn’t a cue, not the way she said it, not at the distance she now stood. 

“I’ve imagined it too,” he said, and no lightning struck him as he said it, not yet at least. 

“I’m glad,” she smiled, then sighed, “You may already be ahead of me on this, but hugs are as far as we can go. I’ve thought about it. A lot. I think this is healthy, you know, this chemistry we share. It makes us both feel alive, sexy. At least it does me. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s natural. But acting on it would be different. I have a beautiful family and so do you. I mean, Brad is, we’re not. It’s not what it used to be, but there’s the kids.”

It was all surreal, her standing there, the sunlight through the arches above the columns, the strange dance of disappointment and relief twisting inside him.

“We can’t jeopardize that.”

“No, of course not,” he said with exaggerated enthusiasm, “I love my family. I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone,” he said. 

 “I thought maybe if we talked about it, we could enjoy our connection without worrying about repercussions, knowing it wasn’t going to go any farther. Friends hug. And even flirt. We can still do that. But without guilt or worry. But I was afraid…I don’t want it to go away or for it to be weird between us now. I hope I haven’t done that.”

“No, not at all. Like you said, it’s natural. We’ll just both know. It’ll be a thing we share.”

“Between two people who are attracted to one another. Supportive friends.”

 “Right. Absolutely,” he nodded.

“A private thing.”

“The most private thing.”

He was suddenly aware of the squawking of birds, the chatter of passing people, an impatient honking of a car nearby. And the time. He had to get back to prepare for the meeting and leave time after work to pick up an iTunes gift card for Jordan’s birthday dinner that evening. 

He and Rebecca hugged one more time, still sparklers and warmth but with a question mark now and a tinge of something else, grief maybe, and wished each other a good rest of the day. 

 He wondered as he started the long walk back, passing the old man with his bird seed, if, without the fantasies, without the possibility of more, if the chemistry would remain. Perhaps that had been a necessary ingredient, and now that it had been removed, transparency added, the feeling would dissipate. Over time. He didn’t know. 

 Joggers and walkers passed by singly and in clusters, chatting women in skirts and tennis shoes nodding at him. Before long, he had crossed the street again, the pedestrian lights simply lights. The old homeless lady was still in her space between the buildings, curled up asleep. His heart and belly felt lower in his body. It was as if someone told him an upcoming Hawaiian vacation was canceled, and he’d have to work instead and would receive no refund. 

 At his desk, he found his cell phone under the folder that contained the papers for the afternoon meeting. Jan had texted, reminding him to stop and get the iTunes card. Since he remembered already, he found this irritating, but the message was followed by hearts and a kiss emoji. Most of her messages were. 

Finding a small sports towel in his briefcase, he wiped his forehead, sent a kiss emoji back, and opened the folder to study for his presentation. The words were a-jumble on the page as he wondered if a co-worker could lend him a clean shirt.