Today is Monday- sunburnt shoulders

I would have forgotten that yesterday was fathers' day if not for the phone call that Nicolette had made. We had spent the morning in bed getting to know each other a bit better. We were telling stories to each other about moments of clarity during our childhood. She had recounted one particular moment when she was about 5 or 6 years old. It was Halloween and she and her brother had been preparing their costumes all summer, but had actually never worn them- it was a hot summer- so the anticipation had finally become reality. She was some sort of princess and he was a zombie fireman. She remembered feeling the rough, crinkled blue fabric of her dress on her legs and her chest; she remembered the long blond wig that tickled her nose and itched her face. She felt so beautiful and was very happy to be a princess. After what seemed like several hours of photos, they finally set off on their trick-or-treating. About half way down the block, Nicolette realized that she had to go pee, but she did not want to turn around. A 1/2 hour in, her full bladder was soon forgotten by the itchy, itchy skin. At first, she just scratched a few spots on her legs and arms until she was soon overtaken by what could only be described as 'like a fat person who takes one lick of an ice cream cone and then eats the whole barrel.' At one point, she realized that something was wrong when after the ringing of a door and the 'trick-or-treat' the woman at the door said, 'ah how cute, a zombie princess and a zombie fireman'. Nicolette was confused and insulted at first, but then the slight realization, knowledge that something was wrong overcame her. In a moment of panic, she pissed herself, and as, what she described as what most 5 year olds would do, she did not tell her parents. They kept walking around the block for what seemed to be another hour and finally arrived at home. Her brother ran into the room, screaming with joy. He threw the pillow case filled with candy on the floor and immediately dug into it- counting and grading the haul like some Hasid on 5th ave kneeling over ice.
Nicolette just dropped her pillow case on the floor, spilling and strewing the contents out like peanut shells on the floor of a bar- you know the one. She started screaming with sorrow. When her mother had finally realized what had happened, the only thing that she could do was to grab a camera and take a photo- a sad little princess, covered in blood and pee, weeping over spilled candy. The pee cleaned up easily- swabbed right up with an old towel-, the costume was thrown away and the newly scratched, open sores turned to scabs; but the real humiliation is that photo that is pasted into the pink photo album that sits on a shelf in her mother's house.
Once she had finished her story, I had started to weep. I could not help myself. I thought of Lili for just a brief moment; a moment that revealed the crack which then opened up the sore which was hiding all of my pain. The thought of my daughter having memories like these; of being awkward, unsure and having all of her dreams crushed by shitty fabric costumes. Why couldn't her mom have made the princess a nice, comfortable dress? Why couldn't she ask to return for one last pee stop? Why did my cousin force me to look at my sobbing, panicked face in the mirror? Why did he tell me not to cry and not to tell anybody? I was so embarrassed; men are not supposed to cry. The sight off snot on my face and coming out of my mouth made me feel so small and insignificant, but, he knew better, and I should not cry. I was so little, and I looked up to him.
Nicolette and I ended up spending the morning up at Spirit Rock. When I go there I remember why I love Buddhism and why I despise western Buddhists. The insincere, in-your-face happiness. The self important enlightened blabber and the good posture. Why can't Buddhists just be ok- not happy, nor sad, but happy and sad. We walked around the grounds for a while until I got bored. I couldn't tell if Nicolette was enjoying herself or if she was bored or what. Was she appeasing me?
We then drove over to Cowgirl and then back through Pt. Reyes and down to the beach house. I had the top down. I had remembered to put sunscreen on, but Nicolette did not. When we got back home, she was not happy. She jumped into the pool to cool off and I went into get the lotion, drew a bath and I changed the sheets- nothing like cool, fresh sheets to cool a sunburn.
I opened a nice rose' (goes great with german caviar) and told her that I drew a bath for her. She balked, but, I told her that the water had citrus, coconut and olive oil which is known to cool the skin. After finishing the bath, I made her lie on the bed so that I could lotion her up. The sight of her back with the huge chunks of white outlined by huge chunks of bright red was so amazingly beautiful. I could not stop looking at it. I kept putting lotion on the unaffected areas and I kept lightly kissing the sunburned skin until her discomfort soon turned to desire which overtook both of us.
I spoke to her gently and I enunciated each vowel with the tip of my tongue. My tongue made circles around the rim of the Riedel Tinto Reserva and I savored the aroma and sipped at the mineral laced grapes. Muscles rippled upward toward her shoulders and back down her back continuously. I was kissing her nape and the back of her ears and lobes when I accidentally spilled a drop of lotion into the glass; I don't think that she had noticed, so I drank the glass in whole and then dap, dapdap, dap, dap I covered her sunburned skin with white lotion and rubbed it into the drying, dying skin. The dragonflies, entwined and perishing, appeared desperately sad.
We took another nap, and by the time we awoke again it was late in the evening. It was too late to drive home, so we decided to stay the night and I would drive her home early on Monday morning- we did not want to risk being seen together at work. As we were fixing a small dinner, she made the call to her father. Sadness for me. No phone calls again this year. The worst part about it is that there was no anticipation or excitement of getting a phone call. It is something that I have not experienced for a long time, so it is now just a memory that has turned to sadness.
Nicolette's clothes were all soiled, so she looked through my drawers to find something to wear and she came across some of Sophia's old clothes- a pair of green panties and a white Xgirl tee. She did not even pause. She just put them on.
When we awoke in the morning, she put her skirt right on over the green panties and put her sweatshirt on over the tee. I guess she was keeping them. I stopped at her house, we kissed briefly and she got out and went inside. I did not see her at all today, and she did not call me.
I think that I should call her, but I don't know what to say to her.
Xioba