my road - after the storm

At that time, the stranger said taking a sip of the most expensive scotch in the bar, I had extensive real estate holdings in Alabama, most of which were damaged in some way or another by the winds, a house at the beach in Dauphin Island had been photographed plastered across the entire island against another home, the only thing that prevented its disappearance into the bay at the other side of the island.  I had not heard from my partners in Mississippi but could only assume from what I had heard last and their complete disappearance that they might have died or might be alive but were full with their own problems.  And, yes, I did think about the girl.  She was in New Orleans and would have been heavily involved in post storm events.
She came in and out of my mind, almost unperceived at that time.  It had been years since I had seen spoken to her.  The last conversation that we had, she had been well on her way to marrying someone wealthy there, a doctor perhaps or an investment banker.  It would have to be someone brilliant, to match her intellect.  I had no such intellect, but what I lacked in brilliance I made up in cleverness and was otherwise given a pass because of our long acquaintance.
We had met for a dinner.  She drove me in her convertible and we talked in the easy way of friends, she completely unaware of how intense my passion, how dishonorable my motives were underneath the thin veneer of courting her friendship.  At the time, I am not sure if I was even fully aware of them myself.  I cannot remember what we ate but I remember the wine we drank as we sat in the small cafe at night, the bitter crimson taste as I watched her lips move and she told me of her latest conquest, the old friends we both knew and all the other things which in her innocence and trust she felt she could share with me, for even then we had known each other for many many years.
Before these meetings, which because of both our relationships, I was married at the time, you see, were few and far between.   Don't look so surprised.  More men then you think are married to women with whom they share nothing but that contract.
I did not talk about my own situation which we both knew; instead I listened to her talk of her love, their engagement, the past lovers who continued to be drawn to the flame that she was.  I too was drawn irrisistably to her, like the insect I was.
 And on that night, which was perhaps years before the storm, I had come from central Louisiana from a wedding.  I left early despite the offerings that were there for me, sexual and otherwise, for the dinner.  It was late, but I had to take her time when I could find it and I was in a hour early which I used for a long swim at the YMCA.  It was dark, not overly clean, and mostly empty and I could use the time to think.   It was part of a ritual for me.
You are looking at me now, withered, drunk and thinking it is not so, but you will be old one day too if you are unlucky enough to survive your passions.  At the time I was in quite adequate shape and could swim effortlessly back and forth for hours, flip turning and the ends, the only concession to the world of land you are stuck in being the sides of the pool and the few inches my head had to turn above the water to take in air.
The swimming ritual was to calm me, to cool my passion sufficiently, for you see even though we had never so much as held hands or kissed that my blood boiled at the thought of her.  Even today, with no heat left in my body, I can feel the stirrings of life when I picture her.
But I am getting behind and ahead of myself, the stranger said with a little laugh.
This was the beginning of a long nightmare to me.  One that would lead me to the brink of death, but also the one that would take me to virtue, that would teach me all about love and that would save me, at least for a time.  Only for a time, it would only save me for a time.
For I was not living life. I had lived life before, but I had stopped.
The world was about to save me, she was about to save.
Even the rich and powerful occasionally need to be rescued.  But what a way to be rescued.  I did not know it then and certainly many people who I would smile benevolently at over the coming months were facing their own disasters, but my nightmare had not yet begun, for this was the dream before it and when I went to see what had happened, it was certainly as dreamlike as anything anyone awake had ever seen.
I did not see the nightmare that was to come, but if I could have seen it, if I could have known what virtue was, I would have done it all over again.  The only thing that I cannot explain is how having found virtue, I turned my back on it.  How having found love, I turned my back on it.