Funny Thing

The funny thing is after you’d been gone for all those years you showed up yesterday. We got a hotel room that turned out to be an engine of a huge steam train. All its handles and levers confounded me until I realized we were in my best friend's hotel room and you had come with a homely girl and we were all together. When his wife appeared at the door, you huddled behind me peeking over my shoulder. I stood there like nothing had happened, but I think we were naked. All evening we'd been unable to keep our hands off of each other. Your shirt was unbuttoned and I had my arm between your breasts, against the warmth of your skin. Then I put my armpit between your buttocks, and the inside of my arm against your belly. You ran your hands all over me as I balanced laterally on one arm performing some gymnastic act I am incapable of. In the morning my friend drove up on an antique tractor he’d borrowed to carry your luggage. I felt a little out-done. As we escorted you and your friend to a distant parking lot, a group of tourists stopped and asked me for directions. The place they wanted to visit had too many turns. You were slipping away; I had to run to catch up. When we said goodbye your face eclipsed the whole gray city. Odd I thought— your green eyes, curly bobbed hair, and how I called you Jane who's a brunette. This evening when you showed up so unexpectedly telling me you'd read everything I'd sent you, all I could think was you were taller than I remembered; when we hugged so closely I couldn't help feeling embarrassed for all the places my arms had been. I wondered how I would ever explain this to my wife.