I had never been attracted to older women. Or blonde woman for that matter. I found both types to be pretty unattractive and frankly boring. That changed with Ginger.
"Hey, how have you been?" she asked the morning after I was back from vacation "I haven't seen you in a while. And you have new look! I like the goatee and long hair".
"Oh thanks" I said trying my best to conceal my embarrassment at the compliment. "I was on vacation" I replied steering the conversation away from my looks. I'd normally be quite pleased when I was the subject of conversation but coming from her I did feel a bit awkward, perhaps, because of the subliminal crush I had on her.
Ginger and I worked at the same place doing very different jobs. She was a technical writer and I a financial analyst. Her world was about explaining and sharing. Mine was mostly about assuming everyone knew what I knew and considering them dumb if they didn't.
We started bonding after one of the company happy hours. Over gin and beer, I came to learn that she went to high school in the same town in India that I did. Of course, her’s was the American school there, mine a mere missionary school and we went to school about 20 years apart. Originally from the Chicago suburbs, her dad worked for an engineering firm in Lebanon. Back then many American expats in the Middle East sent their children to boarding schools in India and then onto the American University in Beirut for college. She was a product of both places and had great stories to share about her time in India and the Middle East. She had even visited Nepal. Unfortunately, most of her memories of Nepal were about doing drugs and getting high.
She was in her fifties , was married, presumably happily, and was the mother of two kids. She must have been attractive when she was younger I thought. She had a slim body structure and shoulder-length blonde hair. Make-up concealed some wear and tear on her pinkish-golden skin. She was the last person on earth that could be compatible with the single, eligible and aggressive image I had of myself. But life sometimes plays out strangely. Over the next couple of months, between coffee breaks, lunch excursions and happy hours in local bars, our conversations became longer and deeper and we learnt quite a bit about each other's lives. You could say a chemistry of sorts was beginning to develop between us.
"What are you doing for lunch today" she asked "Want to go to the Korean place?"
Ever the methodical planner, I blocked an hour and a half off my calendar. I had known Ginger for a almost a year then and learnt that she was not as happily married as I had first assumed. She was divorced five years ago and her ex-husband had died in a skiing accident a year after that. Her eldest son had to go through prolonged therapy after his father's death. On more than one occasion I sensed what I thought was a faint exhaustion with life. However, I also observed that she had, incident after tragic incident, become stronger, more independent and developed the will to carry on.
She said that she was content with life now because her children were grown up and doing well and she didn't have to worry about them. She confessed that she very much enjoyed the freedom and independence she now possessed. For most of her life, she had been someone's daughter, wife and mother. Now she was just herself.
"I'm old enough to be your mother" she would often tease me.
"I don't see why that matters. I am not trying to marry you" I would jokingly retort.
"Hey, then find me a husband next time you go to Nepal" she would counter and give me that smug look so characteristic of her.
"You'll won’t survive beyond the second day with someone from that part of the world - and vice versa" I would tell her.
That day at lunch she ordered the Sushi special and I got the Udong Dol. "Did you meet any interesting Nepalese girls in DC?" she asked referring to the ANA convention I had attended there.
"Nah, there were some pretty ones there but I didn't meet anyone of my type"
"I'll can find you a good American girl if you want" she started teasing again.
"I won't be able to survive more than a few minutes with one" I said much to her amusement. My love life was one topic she could exhaust every time it came up. "Wanna play golf this weekend?" I had to change the topic in order to get back to the office on time.
It has been several years since I last met Ginger. I am not sure if I ever meant anything to her. Perhaps, I was just another know-it-all young analyst, who, like the countless others she had worked with before me, faded from her memories soon after they quit for greener pastures. I am not sure if I was truly attracted to her or merely fascinated by her life experiences. She seemed so complete back then. She never said a wrong word or made a wrong move. She had a charm and grace that would send many a man day-dreaming. Today, as I sit on the verge of settling down in life, I look back at all the broken hearts in my life - some were my hearts that others mercilessly stomped on, others were hearts I broke for reasons I don't care or dare to remember. I am ready to put most of those memories behind and move on but the memory of this one American woman still lingers. I wonder what my future wife will think when I tell her that I once was in love with a woman the same age as her mother. "Goree mem?"
