PICNIC<\/span><\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong>by<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong>TIMOTHY HERRICK<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n copyright 1998, held by author<\/p>\n I pull into the K-Mart parking lot and see her glance at her watch as she paces by her white Saturn. She\u2019s brought the mutt, who is looking up at her with his tongue dangling out his snout, ears erect and tail swaying rapidly back and forth. I apologize for being late. She gets in, carrying a wicker picnic basket and a plaid blanket. The mutt hops in the back seat, yaps at me but quiets down after she utters a few harsh syllables.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 We kiss for a long time\u2014whenever we greet each other with no one else around, our passion is instantaneous\u2014we\u2019re interrupted by the mutt barking at something of interest only to canines. Maybe he was excited just being in a new car. I\u2019m not angry at the dog. Only teenagers can simply kiss for extended periods; adults soon reach a point where they must either stop entirely or get other parts of their bodies involved.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 It isn\u2019t that I want to avoid sex in the car\u2014we\u2019ve done that, we\u2019ve done practically everything\u2014it\u2019s just that today we\u2019ve decided would be different. The plan is to spend the afternoon having a romantic lunch without sex.<\/p>\n Her boyfriend is staying with her this week, and expects her home for dinner. I promised my wife I would take our son to a cub scout meeting tonight. We can both skip a day of work, but we can\u2019t ignore other responsibilities.<\/p>\n We live over an hour away from each other\u2014I\u2019m an account executive for a computer and office equipment supplier. I\u2019m constantly on the road. My territory includes Pennsylvania, New Jersey,\u00a0 and Delaware. She\u2019s the office and information systems manager for a pharmaceutical manufacturer in Princeton, one of my biggest accounts. She is in charge of all the information equipment. We also attend a lot of the same conferences and seminars. We get to see each other more than once a month, usually at a hotel, sometimes at her place.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 It\u2019s not that I\u2019m not guilty. I often feel very bad about my deception. But I don\u2019t neglect my home\u2014my son, or my wife\u2014I\u2019m there for all the holidays, and give them presents that make their eyes shine with delight. She too, has her life, which I completely respect.<\/p>\n Our relationship is not entirely based on sex. It\u2019s actually based on poetry. Before either of us had to get some kind of career that paid enough to sustain a middle class existence, we studied poetry in college. We like a lot of the same modern and contemporary writers, like David Ignatow, Anne Sexton, Sharon Olds, Robert Bly, and Charles Simic. This mutual interest is what extended our friendship beyond the buyer\/seller relationship. There have been several nights in some Sheraton or Holiday Inn or Marriot when after rigorous fornication, we listen to each other read out loud from a slim paper back volume. For those moments, we\u2019re incredibly happy just being together.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 All guilt is gone. We\u2019re the center of the universe and nothing else matters.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Maybe things had gotten too complicated, between the uninhibited sex and the lying to other people in our lives and her company\u2019s recent installation of a new billing system that required heated price negotiations for a bank of PC\u2019s and printers.<\/p>\n We decided to get together for what she described as a quiet, placid afternoon, like in an Impressionist painting, where we would eat lunch and just talk. She knew just the spot; a place she remembered from her college days. It\u2019s a small park in Tuckerton, New Jersey, a secluded, grassy glade near the Mullica River. When we\u2019re close to our destination,\u00a0 we see a small motel, but we don\u2019t remark on it, both determined not to have sex, just a pure picnic.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 There are no other cars in the unpaved parking lot. We carry a blanket and basket to the field near the water way. There are trees in the background, and the river has a sweet, brackish odor. The air is fragrant, filled with nature. Two men pass by in a canoe. They wave and we wave back. There are some teenagers smoking cigarettes near the river, but by the time we have the blanket spread out and the Chardonnay uncorked, they leave.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She\u2019s brought fruit and sandwiches: smoked turkey with dried tomato on French bread. The mutt is having a great time. He scampers to the river and barks at a pair of Mallards, then darts over to the trees. She calls him back, and he sits by her with his front paws up and she feeds him a scrap of expensive poultry.<\/p>\n I tell her how beautiful she is\u2014and she indeed can take my breath away\u2014with her dark hair and dark eyes glistening and the way she laughs at what I say. It\u2019s always new between us. We talk about the weather or some random memory related to rivers or picnics and it is more intelligent and interesting than any conversation I\u2019ve had with my wife in ten years. My wife doesn\u2019t understand poetry anymore.<\/p>\n We kiss, embrace, caress\u2014I touch her breasts\u2014but it goes only so far. This is a pure picnic and we\u2019re enjoying it as such. I feel a surge of happiness when I look at my watch and see that it is not even two o\u2019clock and realize several hours of romantic togetherness remain.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She\u2019s a little giddier than I. She\u2019s drank more wine. I\u2019m on my back skimming through Hotel Insomnia by Charles Simic. She grabs a banana from the basket, lays perpendicular to me and plops the back of her head on my stomach.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cRead to me,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I get through some lines, but keep looking down at her as she peels the banana. She does it slowly, with a deep introspection. I\u2019m fascinated. Everything she does is fascinating. The way she blinks before she smiles, or tilts her head to the side when she listens, or the way her breasts shiver when she breathes. I\u2019m in love with her and right now, I\u2019m not filled with dread of how our relationship could damage my life or the painful contemplation of whether or not she means more to me than the mother of my son. She rips narrow strips of thick yellow skin and gently tugs each one down the curve of the fruit until the naked banana is sticking out from a nest of moist ribbons in her fist.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhat happened to the words,\u201d she squeals.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cThe way you handle a banana is distracting.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She laughs, looks at me, then at the tip of the banana, then back at me. She winks, fails to suppress a snicker. \u201cIt\u2019s a nice one, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cOh yes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWant me to get you one?\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cNo. I\u2019m fine.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWant a bite?\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019ll just watch.\u201d I close the book and lean the side of my head against my palm.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She blushes slightly as she pushes strands of\u00a0 hair away from her mouth. She lowers her head, curls her tongue against the banana, then puts the banana far into her mouth, slowly pulls it out and nibbles off the end. I feel my eyes staring and my lips grinning and I hear myself sigh.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She puts her mouth on it again, then pushes the banana in and out of her face before taking a bigger bite. The mutt is bored, asleep. The river\u2019s currents purr. The wind in the leaves make a joyful hiss. She wears very little makeup and I do not know if she actually has any lipstick on or not now, but I realize, as she bites the banana again, that I\u2019ve never seen lips so red.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She gets up, turns around and kneels by my side. She waves the jagged end of the banana at me. She whispers, \u201csure you don\u2019t want some.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I stammer something, take the banana then pitch it over the sleeping dog\u2019s head and into the river. Less than a second later, she\u2019s in my arms and my tongue is tasting banana residue in her mouth. My hands unbutton her chambray shirt and undo her bra. I kiss her breasts and listen to her softly moan. Her hand is on my zipper. She squeezes, licks my ear, then whispers, \u201cdo you want me get rid of that for you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I\u2019m nodding, and just as she begins to unbuckle my belt, the sound of radial tires scattering gravel thunders as a Chevy Mini Van pulls into the nearby lot. The mutt is on all fours, barking. She yells at him to be still. We fix our clothes as a\u00a0 family of Hassidic Jews\u2014three pre-teen children, mother, and father, and a grandparent\u2014march into the field carrying paper bags filled with kosher food and a small tape player blaring Vivaldi\u2014and begin to set up their own picnic. They wave to us, and we wave back, trying to smile.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cLet\u2019s go to that motel we passed,\u201d she says, glancing at her watch. \u201cWe have time.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I agree. We\u2019ve acknowledged that we\u2019ve had enough picnic.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 More than a half hour passes before we have everything cleaned up and are back in the car and parked at the Tuckerton Motor Lodge. I walk into the lobby. The walls and front desk are made out of chipped plywood. The blue linoleum floor is covered with a layer of grime. The old man behind the desk stares at me and I say, \u201cI\u2019d like a room. I\u2019ll take an afternoon rate if you got it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He looks at my car through the window, and replies, \u201cI\u2019m sorry sir, we have rules against dogs.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cThe dog\u2019s a good dog. Won\u2019t hurt anything.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s an insurance situation. Hate to have to say this, but the dog will have to stay in the car.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She loves the mutt and there is no way she\u2019ll keep him locked in a car for five minutes, let alone how long it would take for us to make love. We can usually go for quite a while. I waste nearly a half hour trying to reason with the guy, even flashing an extra twenty, but he\u2019s a stubborn, South Jersey bastard who hates to see anyone enjoy themselves, especially strangers.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 When I get\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 back in the car and tell her, she rolls the window down, gives the guy the finger and curses up a streak. We see him grin. I tear out of the parking lot. The mutt barks at me.<\/p>\n We scream in unison, \u201cshut up!\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0We both know that Parkway rush hour traffic will begin in a little while, and that we\u2019re at least an hour away from the K-Mart, which is about 90 minutes from our respective homes.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I turn on the radio, flip through some stations\u2014music, talk, news\u2014the same old annoying crap. She\u2019s staring at her watch. \u201cLet\u2019s just go back,\u201d she says. \u201cMaybe there\u2019s another place we can stop at along the way, if there\u2019s time.\u201d<\/p>\n