Kathy

I was on my way home from rehearsal yesterday, when I saw her. I was sitting in my car at a red light when I glanced over at the vehicle next to me. The passenger was a teenage boy. His mum was driving. And her profile looked familiar. I stared intently. After a moment, she turned to the boy and smiled as she spoke. I recognised that bright smile. It was Kathy! I lowered my window and smiled and waved. She saw me and waved back. Then the light turned green.

I drove ahead of her and watched her in my mirror. My mind was racing with thoughts and memories. How long had it been since I saw her last? Two years? Three? God, she looked fabulous! Where was she going? And what was her son's name, again? Jesse. That's right. Good boy. Meagan's age. I drove on, hoping to encounter another red light. What would I do then, I wondered. Get out of the car and talk to her? Or would I play it cool. Pretend I'd moved on. Pretend my heart wasn't racing at the thought of talking to her again. Another intersection loomed ahead and I slowed down slightly, willing the signal to turn from green to red. Did she notice? Was she doing the same?

I pulled into the left turn lane just as the light changed to red. I glanced in my mirror and watched Kathy stop behind me. My stomach suddenly felt nervous. Butterflies. Like just before going on stage. What should I do? She was right behind me. Should I get out and say hello? I wondered if she'd have time to stop for a coffee somewhere. She loved her Tim Horton's coffee, I remembered. Without moving my head, I studied her reflection in the mirror. Did she know I was watching her? Was she watching me?

Time was ticking away, Ms J. The traffic signal would soon turn to green. There were only seconds left. It was too late now. I was out of time. Damn! I threw off my seatbelt and leapt from the car. My heart was racing as I approached her window. What would I say? What would she say?

"Hi Kathy!"

"Hi Dale! How are you?"

"Fine. I'm fine."

Oh God. There was so much to say. So much more than 'how are you'.

"You look fantastic, Kathy."

That smile, Ms J. My heart was melting.

"Thanks. How's the acting going? Have you done any plays lately?"

I glanced at the traffic light. It was still red. So little time. There were two more cars behind Kathy. I'm sure their drivers were wondering what I was doing.

"Yeah, I've just come from a rehearsal. We're doing a play at the Oakville Centre For Performing Arts. It opens next Thursday."

I looked again at the traffic light. Still red. No time now. There was so much to say, Ms Journal. Or perhaps there was nothing more. I wasn't sure. Words began to tumble out.

"I still think of you, Kathy. I miss you."

She offered that smile again, a little sadder this time.

"I haven't seen you on the train lately," she said.

"I've watched for you every day," I answered. I sounded desperate, but I plunged ahead.

"You look really good, Kathy. It's great to see you again."

She was pointing at something ahead just as a horn began to blare. The stupid traffic light! I put my palms together in front of my chest as a kind of benediction. Or was it more of a prayer, Ms J?

"I gotta go. I miss you, Kathy."

And I sprinted back to the familiar safety of my car. Oh god. I'd said too much! I'd spilled my guts! I should have played it cool. Like Humphry Bogart. Or somebody.

She followed me around the corner and as I entered the great swooping curve that led to the Queen Elizabeth Way and home, I turned my head and waved to her as she continued north on Dorval Drive.

I loved her, Ms Journal. I loved her madly. Desperately. She said she loved me too. But Kathy is married. And our Love could never be. I still think of her. I still slow my train down to a crawl and scan the faces in the crowd on the platform at Bronte every morning in the hope of seeing her again. I thought I might never see her.

I still love her. And she's still married. I know where she lives. I know where she works and her email address. I know her husband's work schedule. It seems to me, though, that the best way to love Kathy, is to leave her alone.

I wonder if she still thinks of me?

***