"Why does it always have to be sex?", she asked.
It took him by surprise. He stared at her for a moment, then looked away. He took a deep breath, wanting very much to shift perspective, to see this through her eyes. He held his breath for a long moment. Behind his eyes he struggled with it, trying to see the picture that she saw, but confusion came instead. The best he was able to do was to say, "I'm glad that you stopped."
Immediately Sarah began to explain almost angrily, "This is an old habit, Adam, it isn't real. I don't want to pretend anymore."
"I don't think that's how I feel.", he replied. "I..." She wasn’t listening.
After a while she turned on her side with her back to him and he put his arms around her. She was tense, cold and distant.
"Do you realise that you are completely closed off to me right now," he asked? Nothing.
"Forget about sex", he said "I want my friend back."
Slowly she softened.. He snuggled a little closer, gently, and very shortly he was asleep. She left in the morning.
The afternoon was perfect for football: bright, and mild. Adam tore down the field at full speed. Through the sound of blood pounding in his ears he heard the footsteps and heavy breathing of a young man just a step or two behind. Now! He thought, and more energy flowed into his legs. Looking around as he began to bank into position, he could see that there was plenty of space, five or more feet between himself and the younger player. Looking up, he saw the football rocketing its way through the crisp, clear autumn sky. His vision narrowed onto it as if there were no other thing in the world. It became his only focus (just as kissing Sarah had been last night.) The ball seemed to fall towards his waiting hands as if there were an invisible line that led directly to him. He allowed his momentum to carry him several more steps before he slowed to a walk, then stopped, grinning - touchdown.
For a moment he was twenty years old; full of vitality and endurance. He stood there listening to the shouts from other players. Then he saw Louise, an old friend, sitting beside the field watching. She smiled a sort of crooked smile at him. He was breathing raggedly and deeply and his legs trembled from the exertion.
Suddenly, he saw himself through Louise’s eyes - a silly old man pretending to be young, coughing in his struggle to breathe. True, he thought, and trotted back to join his team at the other end of the field. His breath slowed and he began to feel strong again. An old man, yes, but very alive.
Austin, his son, ran up to him. "Wow, that was a great catch, Dad! You're really a great receiver."
It stopped him for a moment. The statement seemed wrong somehow, as if there were a question of imbalance, disproportion. He could see the illusion in his son's eyes. ‘My Dad, the great receiver.’
Exaggerating his breathlessness just a bit, he said to everyone, "I don't think I can run another long pass pattern, we had better send someone a little younger out. I'll play the line." He smiled at Austin, who smiled back.
The team gathered into their defensive huddle, Adam put an arm around Annie, a young woman he had chosen for his team when they had picked sides. They made eye contact for the briefest second; and he smiled at her. She looked away quickly. He imagined a voice in Annie's head saying, "This is why this old fart wanted me on his team."
Gravity settled on him.
"My son thinks I'm a young hero and this young lady thinks I'm a dirty old man" he thought.
When his team had the ball again, Adam once more took a position in the huddle next to Annie. Putting his arm around her once again he said, "You go out for a pass. No one is covering you because they don't think you can catch the ball."
She smiled her agreement. They got into formation.
"Hut, hut, hike!"
Twenty steps down the field Annie turned and stopped. He, saw the ball float lazily out to her. She caught it tentatively but held on, then turned and ran. His team-mates 'whooped and cheered. He smiled happily.
Later, most of the bruised and weary week-end legends were settled down in Adam's living room, eating grinders, drinking beer and talking excitedly about the game. Adam drifted out of the room and stood on the porch. After a while, his eyes unfocused and he began to think about Sarah.
This morning, waking up beside her, he had been unaccountably angry, very hurt and defensive. They had tried to sort it out in the short time before Sarah left. Adam's anger had taken over and he had become cold and distant himself, just as she had last night. He was unable to see her side of it. He had heard only her frustration and his. Why had he been unable to open up? What was it that he found so painful that he could not think objectively.
Adam stood very still, scarcely breathing, oblivious to the dusk. Slowly, pain began came. For a brief moment he saw himself in bed next to her; the picture cleared. He was an old man, with tired eyes and thin grey hair. He knew then that the same picture had been there in her question last night, but he had pushed it away, refused to see it.
Was this truly how she saw him? Now the pain grew intense but he held onto the vision. Slowly a smile crossed his face. Yes, in some way it must have been what they were both seeing, feeling; just as surely as his son's picture this afternoon.
His eyes focused on the darkening sky, the chill autumn evening stiffening his leg muscles.
"Well, I am old." he whispered to himself,
Then the pleasure came – a joy that was so strong and pleasant it was almost unbearable.