Yesterday I was on the train, in the lounge car, attempting to appear important by acting busy. I repeatedly went back and forth between checking my cell phone and writing in this journal. I slept in the seat that normally was occupied by the conductor. He was nice to me, though I did get the boot at 6 a.m. I then stumbled to the lounge car, where I remained for the rest of the day. A woman sat two seats down from me early on. We never said anything; I later wished that I had initiated a conversation. A guy sat for some time in the seat between us. I thought – he won’t last. He was just too restless. I was right – he finally got up and wandered off.

The woman finally left. Shortly thereafter, a middle aged man came and took her seat. I continued working on clinic particulars. I learned that we got the dressage foundation grant, and I was extremely pleased about this. The man next to me finally asked me if I knew how to spell the word prenuptial. I first spelled it wrong, but then I finally got it right, or so I thought. Still, I decided to google it, just to make sure that I really was providing the correct information. A lengthy conversation between him and me, first about google, then about cell phones, then about texting, followed.

He then told me that he was composing an email to a younger woman friend in Costa Rica. He told me that the woman’s biological clock was ticking – she was 35, wanted kids, wanted to be married. The man she’d been living with for the past ten years didn’t want to be married or to have kids. She had, via email, confided in the fellow next to me – she wanted to know if the man who she’d been living with for the past ten years had ever had an affair. Of course he’d had an affair. What man hasn’t? The email recipient was in a quandary because he didn’t want to be the one to tell her what to everyone around her, was a given.

Cryrus, this was his name, was wanting to empower his female friend, this was why he was writing this message. As he talked, I took a closer look at him. He was wearing a battered brown fedora, had a head of black curly hair that was pushed behind his ear, and dark brown eyes that would melt the heart of any woman, including myself. Yes indeed, he was a handsome, articulate fellow. And he knew it.

I further learned that he was single, had never been married. And, most likely would never be married. Because, as he said “I am irresponsible. I’ve cheated on every woman that I’ve ever been with.” I didn’t say what I really thought about this which was that I have never understood such behavior. Seems to me that in time, one realizes that cheating incessantly gets to be old hat. It’s sort of like coming to yet another dead end road.

As the day progressed I became more guarded in what I said, and in my mannerisms. He drank three beers. I drank three glasses of water. In time, a female accordion player and a male violin player appeared in the lounge and began playing music together. The mood in the car then became increasingly more festive. I thought that if I weren’t attached to someone I care about, and if I were younger, I would have sought out an empty sleeper car. But I could not go there. This is because I am of the mind that when you cheat on someone, you first hurt yourself. This is because you then can no longer say that you have no secrets, because you then have a secret. And if you are upfront with your significant other, you both then must live with the knowledge that you have been unfaithful to one another. All in all, it’s a no win situation.

Many, many years ago I met a nice fellow on a train going to Portland. I was coming back from the Midwest. I was then living with someone else. I introduced this nice fellow to my sister, and they had a fling. If I had not been with someone else (who by the way was then cheating on me), I would have did what my sister did, which was to hop into bed with him. Back then, most things were possible, as in, if you can’t be with the one you love honey, love the one you’re with. Barfo.

When, finally, the train rolled into Portland, we both disembarked and said very quick good byes. It was just like that. I then trundled off in the direction of the baggage claim area. Yeah, I had a lot of baggage to claim.

Yep, I have lost the ability to flirt. It maybe went out the window with menopause. This is not necessarily a bad thing. But it is sad because I did enjoy the word play aspect of this.

How, I wonder, is Pete going to find a photo to go with this dispatch? I don’t envy him. Alas, I have put him in yet another unenviable situation. But hey, I didn’t cheat on him. His having learned this while reading a dispatch on the subject – that would be lower than whale shit, which sits on the bottom of the ocean.

Next: 141. 5/29/15: Short and Long Term Memory