“Dad, she’s hot!”
“Yes she is.”
A Mother of one of Noah’s school buddies is truly attractive and flirtatious with breasts that go erect every time we talk. We again crossed paths in that haltingly erotic way of touching and talking and leaving.
“Dad are you like flirting her?”
“Yes, but without any true intent.”
“What does that mean?”
Yeah, what does that mean? I know I would get naked with her instantly.
“Two types of flirting, Noah. The kind that is just fun conversation with a beautiful woman and the kind that is because you want to ask her out.”
“Dad! What about conversation with an ugly woman. Is that flirting too?”
“Sure. There’s always something special between guys and girls.”
“I don’t get it.”
‘It’s okay. Many never do.”
He looks up at me, probably wondering whether I do.
We walk in silence on the crowded sidewalk. It’s a perfect fall day, sunny and cool with no wind and the promise of a spectacular sunset.
“Dad did you flirt Johanna (his mother)?”
“No, not really.”
“We fell in love instantly. We had no time to flirt.”
“Oh! Instant romance? Like soup, just add uh, water. Ha!”
Ha! is the perfect conclusion considering she disappeared into schizophrenia and other delights after having gifted me with a boy. And after having sucked everything out of my life.
“You know what, dad? I like Romance, like in movies and in stuff.”
“Sure, but I like romance with a little violence.”
“Yeah, you know, dad, like when there’s a really hot love story, like a guy and girl but then they get in danger and he saves her and then she saves him, yeah you know?”
“Oh, like in the Hunger Games. The violence and danger around their love story, not violent love.”
“No, I mean yeah. I know it’s not like that in real life, but yeah.”
Sometimes, it is my boy, sometimes it is. Your Mother bloodied me more than once. As she fought her encroaching insanity I became the incarnation of evil.
“Dad, I need to pee real bad.”
“We’ll stop at the café.”
He rushes into one of my usual writing spots. We’re both well known. I spend time and money. Noah often runs in to use the bathroom.
A friend of mine is sitting in the corner frowning at her computer. We embrace, talk, before Noah comes charging in and takes over. He likes her I can tell.
He’s flirting. Hard. I sit back and watch. Funny, sweet, charming.
She smiles, laughs outright, shakes her head.
“Noah, I’m sure if we spent a day together, we would really have fun,” she says.
“Let’s do it!” he says.
Eventually, I drag him away with the promise of homemade spaghetti meatballs. We kiss and hug and wave goodbye to the delightful lady.
Once outside, Noah gets serious.
“Dad, she’s hot.”
“Yes she is.”
“But she’s too old for me.”
“By twenty years, yeah.”
“Dad, were you like flirting her?”
“But she’s too young for you,”
“Remember my girlfriend last year, S…. ?”
“Yeah, she was nice.”
“She was the same age.”
“Oh, okay. It’s funny, huhn dad? that we like the same girls.”
Funny! Tragic if he chooses a woman like his mom!
“Yeah, but I like Romance without violence, Noah.”
“That’s because you’re old, dad.”