That night, I wasn’t going to go to the bar, even though his sister was still here, the same band from the night before was there. I wasn’t going. But I wanted to. I wanted to see Cort again. But I wasn’t going. Of course I went. It was a lighter crowd, but the music was great. Cort wasn’t as busy as the night before, and he seemed happy to see me. I danced. Almost every dance. Cort would come out from behind the bar whenever he could and dance with me. He kissed me on that creaky, old floor in front of anyone that was watching and he danced with me. I laughed as I moved my hips to the blues I find so easy to dance to, stepped on toes and made up dance moves. I haven’t felt so alive in over two years. Cort had to go back behind the bar and I kept dancing. His sister was my partner in crime. At one point, there were 10 men on the floor and just myself and Cort’s sister. We danced with everyone. From time to time, I would take a break from my whirling and twirling and hip shaking action and look up at the bar. And there would be Cort, standing there behind the bar, watching me with that big shit-eating grin. I danced for Cort, and he knew it. I want more, but I wonder if he is feeling the same way I am?
We dance another dance. A slow one. I am in high school again. My head is against his chest, and his arms are around me. Help me. I’m falling. I ask him if he will come over after the bar closes. He looks at me and simply says…yes. I dance more; with anyone that wants to dance, I dance. The bar is closing and I drive home and wait for Cort. I text him and tell him the back door is open, to come to my room and make love to me. I fall asleep waiting. I wake up when I hear my phone go off with another text. It’s Cort saying he is tired and going home. He will explain tomorrow. I text back…”Really Cort? Okay, life is short, I was looking forward to you, but your decision, I don’t know what to say except…sleep well?”
I feel so lonely and sad. I miss him and want to feel his arms around me. I was looking forward to sleeping next to someone again. I miss the intimacy of lying next to a man and waking up and making love. I wanted to and knew I could sleep next to Cort. But I can’t force someone to feel what I feel. I don’t understand, but I know he will explain, as he has said.
The next day, we are supposed to hike together up to a waterfall and take a picnic. I meet him at his house and he shows me around. He introduces me to his horses and his dog. His house is a hodgepodge of ideas, and even though it seems helter skelter, I can see where he is going with it. We drive to the trailhead and start our hike. He says nothing about the night before. He begins to tell me about the mountains here. He says that huckleberries always grow where these tiny, low green plants are. If I want to find huckleberries, look for those. He points out the edible mushrooms. He notices where elk and other wild life have cut their trails through the brush. He comments on the age and beauty of the cedars. He begins to tell me a long story about a moose he had the privilege of watching die. How he felt so helpless to save her. He told me how throughout the two days it took her to die, how many times and how hard he tried to save it, arguing with himself for messing with Mother Nature, and how the cycle of the food chain was playing out in front of him and how he had to let it happen. He tells me how, when the moose cow was finally near her death, how he held her head and looked into her eyes and sang “You are my Sunshine” because it was the only song he could remember. I have never heard such a beautiful story. I have never been so moved or in love. Who was this man named Cort?
He had lots of stories like this. He talked most of our hike. All of his stories were beautiful, poignant, funny or just plain unusual. He told me about one his friends. How she never changed her oil on her car or worried about any of the idiot lights that came on in the car, until one day, her car wasn’t working…duh, and would he mind coming over and checking it out. Cort came, got the car running after changing the oil, replacing plugs and what have you. The best part of the story was the punch line. She tells people she drives from town to the mountains to have her car serviced. This is Cort. Patient, funny, kind, giving. Mountain Man. I told him, I could see someone writing a story about him like they did with the old man that died on Lake Tuttle when Mt. St. Helens erupted and obliterated his home. Cort says, “Yeah, he did it on his terms.”
I asked him if he believed in God. He said, “Mostly.” I ask him if he is afraid of dying. Not at all, and he really doesn’t care how they dispose of his body, thinks that burying is a waste of space, but that his loved ones need to do what gives them comfort. He tells me that his boys have worried aloud that he snowshoes across the frozen lake, what if the ice breaks? No one will know. He assures them it is the perfect way to die. A few moments of thrashing, as the instinct to survive is natural; and then peacefully slipping into hypothermia and sinking to the bottom. No suffering. We talk and hike for a couple hours. Time flies again.
Finally, we are back at the car and decide to find a cool place along the creek to eat our picnic. I tell him I want to talk about the subject he conveniently keeps changing. What happened last night? Why did he change his mind about coming over? He tells me casual flings don’t work for him. I look him in the eyes and I say, “You know, this isn’t casual.” He stares back and says, “I know. It was your text that changed my mind. It wouldn’t have been casual, it would be making love.” He has already told me, he falls in love easily. He says, “I am a ‘temptress’ (his word). The text that said “come make love to me” was the tipping point and he knew what the outcome would be. He says, “I know your dream is not mine. You left your marriage for your dreams. I am here living mine, and this is not yours.” He tells me he is single, but a woman he knows, a good friend of his, is moving back here. This is her dream. She grew up here. She wants to be here. They have been talking. They are not together, but if she knew, it would hurt her. This is why he didn’t come over.
I am deeply saddened, a bit rejected, but I understand. And I do understand, but after the damn moose story of the day, I am head over heels in love. That woman is going to be the luckiest woman alive. I am okay with the “why.” The respect he has for this woman, is so great, that even the chance he might fall in love with me, is not the person he is. He is not a person who can have a casual fling. I am jealous he will love her the way I dream of being loved. The way I know Cort will love her. But Cort gave me a gift…I know that the beginning stirrings of deep love don’t just happen overnight. I know I am a big romantic sap. I know I’ve blown this into something bigger than it probably was, and I know that Cort may not have felt this same way either. I teased him and told him that he only made it more of a challenge for me. But I also know, I couldn’t respect him if he changed his mind and it became casual, especially knowing he respected this woman enough not to hurt her. Even though they are not together yet. I know who Cort is now, and he is not that person.
But Cort is this person: Cort is a man of great integrity. A man of great thought in his choices and his decisions. He is living life on his terms. He is comfortable with who he is and what he stands for. He stands for a lot. He is one of the kindest souls and most unique man I’ve ever met. I’m grateful he even noticed me and thought I was cute way back when, let alone now. I’m richer for having spent those days with him. I love him. I truly do. The gift he gave me was… knowing. Knowing what I want. I know “Cort” exists, I just met him. I know that I will meet another Cort and the timing will be right. There are no accidents, just collisions of destiny. I found peace in the Northwest on my summer vacation. I found forgiveness, and I found release. I found love and I found that I deserve it. I have been cracked open and I’m ready to receive love again. It is true, love never fails, but damn…timing is everything. In a few years, I might be ready to hibernate in the woods in the middle of winter and write. But not yet. I told Cort, we should wear T-shirts that say, “The One That Got Away…”
One last footnote…the two years ago, the first time I saw Cort before this week, my husband and I were splitting up. I gave Cort my phone number on a slip of paper, telling him, “if he ever needed a haircut…” he said he kept on his dresser for a year. He kept it because it had my handwriting on it. He never called. When we hiked to the waterfall the other day, he picked an unusual stone out of the creek and handed it to me. I will keep the stone he picked it out, because he thought I would find it special. It is. Thank you Cort. I love you. You are a good man and a true friend…
And I am a sap for romance with a big imagination. This is a story that begged to be written. Every woman wants to remember a moment of romance that seems so sweet and too good to be true. This was mine. It happened at a moment when I needed hope… in this special place, on this lake of happy memories. Now I have a new memory here, I will cherish it forever, and even though there may be moments of artistic license, you get decide where.
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