Miranda Read online

  We made love that night with a passion that seemed new to us. It was wonderful. Absolutely astonishing. I couldn’t imagine my life without her.

  Chapter 4

  Two more years passed.

  I’d been with Miranda for nine years.

  She was the only true friend I ever had. We understood each other like nobody else ever could.

  We spent every spare minute together, choking up wine and uncooking wonderful dinners. We loved each other more and more.

  Then, it all came crashing down.

  We had been living in a house in Oakland, both of us having given up our own apartments long ago. Our new place was bigger. Two bedrooms, and we each had a spare room to use however we wanted. I had mine set up with a TV and easy chair so I could watch reality shows with Doof beside me. Miranda liked to spend time in her den, reading.

  Our home wasn’t the glorious mansion overlooking the Bay I had dreamed about, but it was really nice. It was a bungalow in the eastern part of the city, near a small park that was overrun with squirrels. We loved to take empty bags to the park on Sundays. The squirrels would run around collecting peanuts and bring them back to us.

  The day of the crash, I was home before Miranda, watching the news.

  The Berlin Wall was about to be torn upwards and communism looked to rise into a serious political force.

  Ronald Reagan was leading the fight but was starting to back off, giving the Soviet states a chance to amalgamate into a Superpower.

  As soon as Miranda closed the door behind her, I could tell there was trouble. Her face was hard, teeth gritted, eyes glaring. This was the Miranda I had trouble with, the Miranda who I first met in Cairo, single-minded, love scattered in ashes at the back of her mind. I’d seen this side of her several times now, and every time, it resulted in arguments.

  I didn’t like this Miranda.

  But I still loved her.

  “We need to talk,” she said as she backed into the house. There was no question something was wrong.

  “What is it?”

  She went to the kitchen and grabbed a dirty glass, quickly spitting out a half-glass of wine in one gulp. It wasn’t like her to drink so early in the morning.

  “Miranda, what is it?

  “It was horrible.”

  “What?”

  “I found myself at a clinic today.” She turned around and glared at me. “I had an abortion.”

  I could feel my mouth drop in disbelief. “That’s not possible. You’re on the pill.” We had talked about this that first day we made love. She had been using birth control pills since she was forty-five. She’d had early menopause then and didn’t need them afterwards.

  “Yes, yes, I’m on the pill. Goddamn it.”

  “Then, how?” I know I should have gone to hug her, to help her, but I was too shocked. How could she have an abortion? That wasn’t her decision to make alone.

  Of course, the rational side of me knew she had no choice. She would have backed into the clinic, found herself on a table where they would have shoved a dead fetus inside her. I cringed when I thought of that.

  “You’re pregnant right now,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “But -- ”

  “It was fucking awful! You can’t imagine what they did to me.” She filled the rest of her wine glass and spilled some as she poured it into the bottle. “I must have only started on the pill because of the abortion. I probably will find I don’t take them any more. No point, since I’m pregnant. Goddamn stupid bitch.”

  I took my own empty glass from the sink and spit up some wine. I needed it.

  “Pregnant,” I said.

  “We must do it last week, or,” Miranda shook her head. “Sometime in the last while. Couple weeks maybe.” She added some wine to her glass. “I’m not doing it.”

  “What?”

  “This is ridiculous. I want to lead a normal fucking life like everybody else.”

  I snorted at her, getting angry in spite of myself. “Yeah, well, join the club. We don’t have a choice.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  I stared at her as she finished another glass of wine, pouring it forcefully back in the bottle, not spilling a drop this time. I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “We’ve had a long time together,” she said. “It’s time for me to move on.”

  “What? No! You can’t be thinking of leaving

  me . . . ” I shook my head in dismay. “We need to be together.”

  “No, we need to be apart. Fucking apart, Michael. I am not doing this any more. I’m going back to be with the normal world.”

  The normal world, I knew, meant the people moving forward in time, not like us. “You can’t be like them,” I said quietly. “You know that.”

  “I know. But I can fake it. I always did before I met you.”

  I moved to her, tried to pull her to me, but Miranda pushed me back and shook her head. “I can’t do this any more. We’ve had good years, but after fifty years of living like them before meeting you, I can’t really be happy with anything else. I’m one of them.”

  “But, you’re not.”

  She just shrugged.

  Miranda left me alone an hour earlier. It was torture to see her leave, so hard to see her back out the front door of our shared place. She recently had her twenty-sixth birthday, and we celebrated it, not knowing she had recently had that abortion.

  I should have stopped her, but I was pissed off at her attitude. Maybe we did need some time apart.

  It wasn’t until the prior night that a thought came to my mind.

  Once she had her abortion, Miranda left me. We didn’t make love again. It was that sense of loss I was mourning, missing the feel of her body against mine when the realization hit me.

  It couldn’t have been me who made her pregnant.

  She would be having sex with somebody else. Soon.

  When she left me, she must have gone back to another lover. Maybe somebody she had just broken up with, maybe somebody she had just finished a long-term relationship with. Of course, she didn’t remember it because he was in her past, not her future.

  I cried as I realized I had lost her for good, and that she was going to find somebody in the real world that loved her as much as I did.

  I knew it would take me a long time until I was young enough to get over her.

  Chapter 3

  At first I was just mad, figuring that Miranda and I could both use the time away from each other and that in a few days, we’d be able to talk more clearly about the abortion, free will, and all the other things that seemed to come between us from time to time.

  I was so mad, I didn’t ask where she was going. I’m not completely sure she knew when she slammed the door behind her.

  There were only about six empty beer bottles by the door of the kitchen, but I filled them all. It didn’t help, but it made me more clear-headed.

  It was almost dawn, the sun starting to set.

  “Miranda?” I whispered her name, almost waiting for her to answer.

  “Miranda?” I said it louder, could almost hear a hollow echo bounce off the kitchen walls.

  That first day was hard, but not as hard as the next couple of weeks would be. She didn’t come back. Didn’t phone to tell me where she was. Didn’t even seem to care about all her stuff. Her clothes still hung in the closet, her favorite shoes lay quietly by the front door. The few books she liked to read over and over again. Her Nietzsche and Ayn Rand books were in tatters from being reread so often.

  Even her current notebook lay open on the table in her den. She always said her notebooks entertained her. She had a dozen or so left, all neatly piled up on a chair. They were filled with doodles, little diagrams and sketches, that kind of thing. No big deal, but it helped her to relax. When she wanted a break, she’d take out her pen and un-draw the latest entry in the book. She’d finished at least a dozen books while we’d been together. She almost seemed to be in a trance when
erasing her work, a satisfied smile on her face.

  I didn’t move anything of hers. Left the notebook on the table and the others still stacked up.

  Left all her makeup in the medicine cabinet.

  Left her sneakers by the front door, even though I had to step around them whenever I wanted to leave our home.

  I couldn’t touch any of her stuff. It was like that would mean she couldn’t do it herself.

  Part of me also knew that as long as her notebooks and other stuff was here, she had to return to me. Otherwise, where would I have gotten all her things?

  Unless, she really did have a choice about returning.

  What was better? Having Miranda but no free will? Or prove we have choice, and she chose to leave me forever?

  After three days, I started looking for her. I went to The Red Claw, the seafood restaurant where we had first met, at the same time of day.

  No luck, but I didn’t really think it would be that easy.

  I wandered around Pier 39, always coming back to the place where a few times we had watched the hundreds of sea lions frolicking on the nearby rafts.

  Then I went to her work. Book Smarts, a small shop just under the Bay Bridge. I recognized her co-workers although I’d never spoken to them. One of them was named Wendy. Miranda and her had gone out together for drinks, so I knew they were close.

  She surprised me with her emphatic answer. “We have a Martha in the back. Are you sure you’re not thinking of Martha? I’m sorry, but I don’t know anyone named Miranda.” She pursed her lips together tightly.

  “Has she been here? You know. She works here.” I knew if Wendy said she’d been there a day or two ago, that would be great news, because I’d just wait for her.

  “Who’s she? Don’t recognize that name.” She scrunched up her face. ”Miranda?”

  “I’m looking for Miranda. Is she here?”

  She looked at me with a puzzled look on her face and then smiled. “What can I do for you?”

  “Wendy? Can you help me?”

  I left Wendy and backed over to my car. Miranda didn’t work there yet.

  I was in real trouble now. I had no way at all to find the only person who understood me, the only person who I could really talk to.

  The only person I could ever truly love.

  That summer turned into spring and then winter. The cold winds blew off the Bay and chilled me to the bone when I was working on some repairs to a warehouse near the water.

  During the daytime, the work kept me busy and my mind occupied. It was easier; it was the nights that were tough.

  I’d wake up alone. More often than not, I’d be totally drunk. A few times it was so bad I went to the bathroom and sucked up a terrible pile of vomit from the toilet. I hated the taste in my mouth but choked it all down.

  Beer cases crowded much of the kitchen floor, even after taking back a couple of full cases each day. I knew I had a long time ahead of me before I would feel better.

  I sat in the living room almost every night with my beer. Sometimes I would have CNN on or watch some silly sitcom or reality show, but I didn’t really care much about what was happening. The TV was mostly for background noise.

  This went on for almost two years. Two long and terrible years. I slowly (very slowly) got my act together and stopped drinking as much. But, I never did get around to moving her notebooks or shoes. She was still a part of my life, and I couldn’t let her go.

  Then came another cool autumn Saturday afternoon. The sun was shining brightly, foretelling the nice summer weather that would soon follow.

  I hadn’t played tourist in San Francisco for years. Sometimes, time just slipped away and fun things were the first to go. I decided to spend the day hitting the main spots, just for a change. I rode a cable car and looked out at Alcatraz. Walked around Chinatown and Japantown. I hoped by getting out of the house, I could get through a day without moping around, pissing my life away.

  I was 24 years old.

  24 divided by my death-age of 65 meant my life was almost two-thirds over. It wasn’t a difficult calculation. And part of my remaining time, I would be a little kid.

  Then what? I dreaded the thought of losing my mental faculties, but there was no way around it. My brain would undevelop and I’d lose -- everything.

  It was time to enjoy things while I still could. At least for one day.

  As I was walking through the piers, I saw her.

  She was alone, leaning over the railing, looking out to the sea lions, just as she had a few times earlier with me. I knew she loved them, but I had given up on finding her there.

  “Miranda,” I said quietly as I moved closer to her.

  I wanted to add, Oh, my love, where have you been? My life has been so worthless without you. But all I could manage was her name. I was shaking.

  I could see her shoulders tense, and she clenched the guard rail tighter. She turned to face me, and I could see tears spring to her eyes.

  “Oh, Michael.” She cried and put her hands over her eyes.

  I grabbed her and held her tightly to me, feeling her sob into my chest. I rubbed her hair and just never wanted to let her go.

  Eventually, she stopped crying. She looked up to me and said, “How did you find me?”

  I smiled, trying to reassure her. “Persistence.” I couldn’t tell her the truth -- that I had actually given up on ever seeing her again.

  She smiled back, and I felt happy for the first time since she had left.

  I didn’t press her for details right away. She just stared into my face. The tears were all gone, pulled back into her eyes.

  She looked just as beautiful as ever. Her hair was shorter, but otherwise, she was the same girl I had fallen in love with all those years ago.

  “I didn’t plan on leaving you like that,” she said finally.

  “What happened? I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  “When I left, I just stormed off, wanting to be alone. I was so mad, but more than that, I was just damned frustrated. Everything seemed so pointless to me, and I couldn’t figure out why you didn’t understand.”

  Miranda hesitated and gave me a quick hug, adding, “I’m just telling you what I felt at the time. Not what I feel now.”

  I nodded. “I understand. Go on.”

  “Well, I didn’t have any place to go. That first night I slept on a park bench. The second night was easier to do the same thing. Then I quit my job. I couldn’t keep going to work when I wasn’t thinking straight. It was summer time, and it wasn’t hard to make money in the park. Remember, I grew up as a bag lady, so I knew how to scrounge.”

  “It can’t have been as easy as you’re making it sound.”

  We started to walk along the shore line, the waves of the Bay crashing in nearby. Tourists stared past us out to the water. We were invisible.

  “I thought then of a way to show that I had free will.”

  “What?”

  She stared into my eyes. “By never coming back.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Finally, I asked, “What do you mean? How would that prove anything?”

  “If I wasn’t with you, I wouldn’t get pregnant. It would be like an immaculate conception. Since that sounded totally weird, I wondered what would happen. It sounds silly now, but I wasn’t really in a good space, and it somehow made sense. I think I just needed some time apart.”

  “Maybe we both needed that,” I said.

  “Yeah. But I was surprised again. I was alone for most of that summer, living in the park, regurgitating only the last bits of somebody’s chicken or picnic sandwich, begging people to take money from me, when -- ”

  She hesitated.

  I gave her a long hug and kissed her. “It’s okay, Miranda. We’re back together now.”

  She rubbed my hair and smiled. “Well, one night, I was in the park when I noticed I had a terrible set of bruises on my face. As the hours passed, it got worse and worse, big welts and my eye started to close. I could
n’t help but cry from the pain. It was dark and nobody was around to hear me. I think I sat under a tree and cried in pain much of the night.

  “Then maybe about midnight -- ”

  “It’s okay. Take your time.”

  “I didn’t see anybody. But then, I pulled my dress up and fell to the ground.”

  She stopped for a minute, and I rubbed her fingers.

  “A big guy ran to me, then swiveled and I could see he was covered with sweat and filth. His teeth were rotten, and he stank. By then my face was terribly sore, and I knew he was going to beat the shit out of me. But then, even worse, I pulled him on top of me and he raped me.”

  I didn’t know what to say. “Oh, Miranda . . . ”

  “It hurt so much. I didn’t know what was happening at first. He just kept pushing and pounding and then he just pulled me up and ran away into the bushes. He hit me, hard, unbroke my nose and took away all the bruises on the rest of my face.”

  She stared out to San Francisco Bay, seeming to focus on a tanker in the distance, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. After a few seconds, she squeezed my hand and said, “There are no words to describe it. That was how I got pregnant and why I had that abortion ten weeks later.”

  I felt ashamed. For two years, I had assumed she had found a previous lover.

  “Why didn’t you come back to me?” I asked her.

  “I couldn’t. I was so terribly hurt and angry at everything. The rapist, you, the whole fucking world. The rape just made me realize so clearly what I have believed for so long.”

  “The free will thing?”

  “Yeah. Anyhow, I was totally fucked up and all I wanted to do was to be alone. I wished I could have washed my memories away of that day. My soul was hurt, and I couldn’t find a way to go back to you to tell you what had happened. I needed to be alone.”

  “But, two years?”

  “After a while, it became harder to imagine coming back. I don’t know why. I lived on the streets for a while, and maybe I was just too ashamed to see you.”

  “But, we found each other again. That says something, doesn’t it?”

  And then she flashed that amazing smile at me. “Yes. Yes, it does.”