After Dinner

The intention had been for a celebratory evening. But in the taxi, on the ride home at the close of the night, silence prevailed and neither Eric nor Nedra felt any sentiment of joy.

As the car made its way across the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Bridge, passing from the District of Columbia into northern Virginia, Nedra turned her face toward the passenger side’s rear window, pressed her forehead against the glass and stared down at the Potomac River.

Behind the driver, Eric sat quietly, trying to hear if his wife was crying. He sensed he should say something, but was unsure what words would be appropriate in such circumstances. Should he offer comfort? Encouragement? Tell her to just forget about it? Make a lighthearted joke about the situation? Unfortunately, nothing he could think to say seemed apt for the moment.

“We should go back,” Nedra said, finally severing the silence. Her words were spoken with authority, as if this was a decision that must be heeded.

Eric sighed but did not speak.

“We can’t just leave him down there like that,” Nedra continued. “It’s inhumane. It’s terrible.”

“But what are we going to do?”

“We have to do something.”

“Nedra, you are not responsible for him,” Eric replied. “You can’t put that burden on yourself.”

“But what if I am partly responsible? What if…”

“Nonsense,” Eric answered, cutting off his wife’s sentence.

“I just can’t believe it.” Nedra continued. “I can’t believe that he is like that, that his life has come to that.”

*****

Three hours earlier, the evening had begun under startlingly different circumstances. By 6:00 PM, buoyed by the day’s news of Nedra’s promotion, Eric arrived back at the Alexandria townhouse he and Nedra owned, declaring a congratulatory dinner was in order. He had made reservations at a well-known Spanish restaurant near Dupont Circle. It was a place that neither Eric nor Nedra had ever been, but one they had talked about going to many times. Nedra had been thrilled that her husband had been so thoughtful, grateful that he wanted to commemorate her accomplishment with such a dinner.

Their expectations had been exceeded. The meal was worthy of the hype that had heralded the restaurant since its opening. Truly, it was a dinner that would be remembered fondly by both Eric and Nedra for many years.

After dinner, Eric smiled as he watched his wife reapply her lipstick. She wore a stylish dress that her sister had given her for Christmas and the hand-made earrings her mother had bought for her in Ghana. Eric realized he was even more attracted to her now than he was when the two initially met. Eric reached for Nedra’s hand as they exited the restaurant and a thought passed through his mind: this is what it really means to be living. This was one of those moments he had imagined would fill his life. Now, at 36, he felt as if the fragments of his life were finally being sewn together. He and Nedra had been married for seven years. They had purchased the townhouse two years earlier. They both had secured decent jobs—he as a senior advisor to one of the senators from Michigan; she, as of today, as the director of a nonprofit group headquartered a few blocks north of the National Mall. Lately, there had even been talk of children. Now, with Nedra’s promotion, they would be launched into a higher financial category. Eric imagined more vacations, a new car, maybe a larger house, more dinners like this one.

Eric looked at Nedra, assuming she must be having similar thoughts. He could interpret her subtle grin: it was an expression that seemed to say, “Yes, we are closing in on perfection.”

“I’m glad you suggested dinner,” Nedra said.

“This is a big day; how many days are you going to have news like this? It was cause for a celebration.”

Later, Eric will wish that they could have harnessed that feeling, that they could have lived in that moment for more than time could allow.

Eric will replay the next ten minutes in his mind many times over the next several months. He will wonder how the proceeding weeks and months would have played out if they had stayed at the restaurant for another glass of wine, if they had left before ordering dessert, if they had instead gone to the new French restaurant a few blocks away, like his coworker had suggested.

It was too much of a coincidence, really, what happened next. Eric will curse the moment uncountable times during the course of the next few weeks. It was unfair: how the night could turn so bizarre, so sad, after such bliss? Couldn’t fate allow Eric and Nedra to have the one perfect evening?

As they turned the corner to head toward the Metro station, they passed a homeless man, sitting along the side of a building. Haggard and gaunt, the man wore ragged clothing and had clearly not showered in weeks.

“Got any change?” he said as Nedra and Eric passed.

Like typical urbanites, Nedra and Eric walked on, barely noticing the man. They were accustomed to seeing homeless people on city streets; Washington was no different from any other major city.

Their conversation was not interrupted. Nedra continued talking about how the board of directors wanted her in the new position by next week and how pleased she was that so many of her coworkers had congratulated her and told her she deserved the promotion.
Eric was looking forward to an evening of lovemaking; he had decided dinner was only the beginning of the celebration. He would suggest another glass of wine when they got home, play a John Coltrane album and build a fire in the fireplace.

As they neared the entrance to the Metro station, Eric and Nedra saw another homeless man leaning against a garbage can.

“I hope we don’t have to wait too long for a train,” Eric said.

“I know,” Nedra replied. “They don’t run as often this late at night.”

“Spare some change?” the homeless man asked, interrupting them.

They walked on.

“Do you think we should just take a taxi back instead?” Eric said.

But Nedra was not listening. She had stopped a few steps back and had whirled around, facing the homeless man.

“Nedra?” Eric asked “What is it.”

“It’s…,” she began, her response fading to silence before anything else could be said.

She approached the homeless man. He averted his eyes toward the sidewalk but he again said, “Spare some change?”

“Randall?” Nedra said. “Randall, is that you?”

The name was a pinprick through Eric’s eardrum. He knew the name, knew it like an unremitting memory. It had been whispered by Nedra’s friends in the early days of his courtship with her, had been the subject of stories he would prefer to forget.

Randall was his wife’s ex-boyfriend.

Eric watched in shock—no, not shock really, more like bafflement and disgust—as his wife spoke to the man.

“Randall? Randall, it’s me; it’s Nedra,” she told him, bending at the waist so that she was closer to his level as he remained leaning against the garbage can.

Eric was not sure if it actually took Randall a moment to register Nedra’s face and voice or if he feigned uncertainty to mask his embarrassment.

But Randall soon answered, choosing comedy as his coping strategy. “Why Nedra,” he replied in an exaggerated British accent, a pitiful attempt at humor. “Fancy meeting you like this, my dear.”

“Randall,” Nedra murmured, “what…what are you doing here?”

*****

Eric watched out the window of the taxi as the buildings became more familiar the closer they got to the townhouse. He was glad he and Nedra opted for a taxi after the incident with Randall; he did not want to delay getting home any more than necessary.

“I just can’t believe it,” Nedra said. “I know I keep saying that, but I really just can’t believe it. I think maybe we should go back.”

Eric, having already told himself that he would take all steps necessary to keep his wife away from that man, had no intention of asking the driver to turn the car around and head back to Dupont Circle.

“Nedra, just let it go. He is nothing more than someone from your past.”

“I know, but…”

“You had not even seen him in ten years. You weren’t worried at all about him until you saw him, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“You can’t put this burden on yourself. I’ve rarely even heard you mention him since before we were married.”

“I know.”

“So let’s just let it go then.”

“But now I can’t,” she replied. “Seeing him there like that, all shabby and dirty, and knowing what his life has come to… It’s too much to bear, really.”

The situation was troubling for Eric, particularly because he was at a loss as to how he should appropriately deal with it. What was one expected to do in this position? How was one supposed to deal with a bizarre man who vaulted through ten years of time to come back and cause trouble? He knew now that the evening was ruined. Now there would be no lovemaking, no John Coltrane album, no wine, no fire. Eric assumed there would only be more discussion about his wife’s former lover. The best he could hope for at this point would be lounging with Nedra on the couch watching a Law and Order rerun.

Worse, this evening would, he knew, now always be remembered not as a grand celebration of Nedra’s promotion, but as the night when Randall reappeared.

*****

Randall had not answered Nedra when, on the street, she pressed him to explain his situation. She repeated, “What are you doing here, Randall?”

Randall averted his eyes and covered his face with a hand.

“Randall, say something,” Nedra implored.

“Oh Nedra,” Randall murmured. “What do you want me to say? Surprise: you found me.”

Eric approached Nedra, put his arm around her. He was not sure if this was to protect her, to calm her or to claim her. But Nedra brushed him away. She was not the type of woman who needed anyone’s arm around her during an awkward situation; she could handle this.

So this is Randall, Eric thought. This is the man who preceded him as Nedra’s lover; this is the man who Eric was, positively, of course, compared with when he began dating Nedra; this is the man whom Nedra’s family and friends had confided they were glad to be rid of. Eric had, particularly in the early days of his relationship with Nedra, assumed he would one day meet this strange, puzzling man. But he could never have guessed it would be under these circumstances.

As Eric listened to Nedra try to coax conversation from this person from her past, he scrutinized the man’s features. There was something odd and troublesome, but he could not quite explain it at first. Then he began to see—or was it merely his aggressive imagination? No, Eric told himself: there is a resemblance; Eric realized that he and Randall shared a few similar physical traits. Both men’s flesh was a dark hue of ebony; both had similar bright eyes and a strong, pronounced brow. Of course, it was difficult to tell what Randall looked like years earlier when he was dating Nedra, when he dressed better, was well-nourished and carried himself in a more respectable manner; but Eric realized there were some disturbing similarities.

Nedra was trying to continue her conversation with Randall. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “How did… how did you get here?”
“How did I get here?” Randall repeated, again reverting to the faux British accent. “Well, I walked from Logan Circle, my dear; that’s where I was this morning.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Nedra answered.

It was odd for Eric to watch Nedra and Randall interact. Judging only from Randall, there was no hint of the closeness that must have once existed between the two. But Nedra addressed him with a hint of intimacy, as if she retained a level of familiarity that would never dissipate.

For many years, Eric had heard about this Randall and the tempestuous love affair that he and Nedra had carried out for four years. He had been Nedra’s first love—the man she had, at one time, assumed would eventually be her spouse. Eric knew all about their relationship; he knew about how, in Nedra’s opinion, it had begun in a wave of bliss. After only a month, Nedra had written in her journal (she had showed Eric the entry), I think I am done dating. I have nothing but optimism about this relationship. I would not be surprised if I marry him. But as months passed, the relationship grew volatile. Eric had heard tales of Randall’s moodiness, his increasingly bizarre behavior, his manic spending, his habitual lies. Nedra had told Eric about how by the end of the relationship, she could no longer depend on Randall, about how she urged him to seek psychiatric help. And finally, she had told Eric about how, in an act of atypical selfishness, she left Randall, ending the relationship. Despite his excessive begging, Nedra had been firm in her resolve, vowing not to rekindle the union.

In some ways, Eric wanted to walk over and attack Randall; for he knew he had burned a hole in Nedra’s psyche that had taken many years to heal. Yet in another way, he wanted to go shake the man’s hand. For if Randall had not caused Nedra such turmoil, she would not have ended the relationship; she would not have been unattached when she met Eric, which, of course, had brought Eric more joy than he ever had dared to expect.

*****

By the time the taxi stopped in front of the townhouse, Nedra was near tears. She could not mentally move past the site of seeing her former boyfriend, unclean and malodorous, huddled against a garbage can on the sidewalk, with nowhere better to go.

There was no lovemaking that evening, no second glass of wine, no fire, no midnight toast to Nedra’s promotion. Nedra said she was tired and sad and wanted to go to sleep early.

“But thank you for an attempt at a lovely evening,” Nedra told Eric.

“Congratulations again on your promotion.”

She smiled, the first time she had smiled since her encounter with Randall. “I’m really appreciative of you planning the evening and all. I had a nice night until… well, you know. I just want to go to sleep now and not think about it.”

“I understand.”

“I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“It’s okay.”

By the time Eric got into bed, Nedra was already asleep. He lay in bed beside her, draped his arm around her and pulled their bodies together, as if sheltering Nedra from her troubles.

Eric assumed sleep would bring serenity to his distressed wife. But with the morning came only more despair. When Eric went downstairs to make coffee, he saw Nedra sitting on the couch, staring at the wall, crying.

“I’m sorry,” Nedra said when she realized Eric was in the room.

“Don’t apologize.”

“I’m just sick about this,” she said. “Seeing him there like that, it tears me up. I can’t get it out of my head.”

“I can imagine.”

“I don’t need to tell you this, but there was a time when Randall was the most important person in my life. And then, when our relationship was over, he simply vanished. I had always wondered what happened to him, had always been a bit curious about him. But to see him there like that was too much. Believe me, I would much rather not know where he is or what he is doing.”

Eric did not respond. He merely nodded. But Nedra paid no mind. She needed to put her thoughts to speech, to release the plethora of emotions that now consumed her.

“How could he end up like that? Was there no one there to help? What happened to his parents? His brother? What about his money? And he should be able to get a job. He has a college degree, you know. He went to Howard, just like me. And he’s no fool; really, he’s a bright guy. He majored in finance.”

“It’s just…. one of those things, I suppose.”

“One of those things?” Nedra repeated, her voice growing in volume to indicate her annoyance. “Tell me: what are those things? How can learning that my ex-boyfriend is now homeless be ‘just one of those things’?”

“I don’t know, Nedra. I’m just offering it up.”

“Oh, I know. It’s just mind-boggling. I mean, it’s not exactly a normal experience to see someone you were once in a serious relationship with living like that.”

“I didn’t mean to sound heartless. What I meant was that there is nothing you can do about it so don’t stress out about it.”

Nedra nodded and stared out the window. “I suppose you’re right,” she replied after an unusual lengthy silence.

*****

That day at work, Nedra could not concentrate. She knew she should be preparing to begin her new position, but one thought orbited through her consciousness like a tempest: her former boyfriend was now a homeless man. She could not stop repeating that fact to herself, could not prevent herself from remembering the sentiment of shock and dread that raced through her body when she saw Randall the previous evening.

Nedra knew homelessness was a fact, a lesser-discussed aspect of every society. She had traveled to other cities across the country and the world; she understood that in virtually all major urban areas, there were homeless people. In some places, it was more common than others; but no city was immune. Nedra and Eric had donated money to a charity that sponsored programs designed to help homeless people help themselves, through education and work. But they both agreed it was best not to give money to anyone on the street; they believed such handouts discouraged people from trying to better their situation. Besides, city dwellers simply could not possibly give money to every beggar or homeless person; there were, unfortunately, just too many.

Nedra and Eric had also talked on previous occasions about how a person actually became homeless. Was there really no family member to turn to, no friend willing to house you until you got back to economic stability? Was there really no better option? These questions passed through Nedra’s mind while she tried to focus on her work, more pertinent now that she had a personal connection to what had previously been an abstract concept.

Nedra wondered about how Randall’s life had meandered and plummeted in such a way that led to his current condition. What had been the final trigger, the breakage of the last pillar normalcy? What had it been like, for Randall, that first night on the street? Was he frightened as he drifted to sleep that night, his body pressed against the cold concrete? And how had it come to that? Had he rationalized the decision to spend the night that way? Had he exhausted all other possibilities and found this to be his best choice? Did any of his friends or family members now know of his whereabouts? Could none of them help him?

And was Nedra, now burdened with the knowledge of Randall’s whereabouts, obligated to offer assistance? She could not help but to wonder if she was, in some way, partly to blame. Was her decision to end her relationship with Randall a factor in his downfall? Was she another person in Randall’s life who had abandoned him? If so, could she right this situation? How much did she owe to this man from her past?

Nedra’s thoughts continued in this vein until she felt overwhelmed with confusion and unrest. She could not manage her day’s activities with her mind so consumed with other thoughts. By mid-afternoon, she decided to leave work early. She told her coworkers she had a headache and needed to go home. But once Nedra was out of the office, home did not seem like the right destination.

*****

Eric changed the channel on the television, hoping to find something to capture his attention. He tried not to think about his wife and her whereabouts. Already, he had left two messages on her voicemail.

It was Friday, three days since they saw Randall. In those three days, Nedra had talked of little else. She was not her typical self, as if a part of her mentality was still on the street, talking to her former boyfriend. The day after the encounter with Randall, Nedra had tried to find him again. She had left work early, called Eric and told him she was going to take the Metro to Dupont Circle to look for Randall in the area where they had seen him the previous evening. When she returned to the townhouse a few hours later, Nedra had seemed disappointed, upset that Randall could not be found

Now, she was making her second attempt at locating Randall. To Eric, the whole idea was ludicrous. What was she doing wandering through the streets near Dupont Circle, looking for one homeless man? Yet Eric knew he could not criticize his wife’s actions; he knew he must show some understanding and compassion. Eric had even volunteered to accompany Nedra to look for Randall, but she thought it best if she went alone.

Now, as the hours had passed, Eric began to regret not pushing more forcefully to join his wife in her search. He was surprised that she had been gone this long, concerned that she had not called. To calm his mind, Eric tried to watch a lighthearted sitcom. When that didn’t help, he turned to The Weather Channel.

As Eric watched the meteorologist warn about the threat of rain, he wondered about the prudence of Nedra’s actions. Would she really be able find Randall? What was driving her to look for him? Why was she so stuck on this? Was there more to the puzzle of her past and her relationship with Randall that Eric did not understand?

Finally, at 9:45 PM, Eric heard Nedra’s key unlocking the townhouse’s front door. A sense of relief swept over him like a breeze.

“There you are,” Eric called as he got up from the couch and went to meet Nedra in the foyer.

“Yes, here I am, finally,” Nedra replied. “I’m sorry I was gone so long.” She looked tired; the evening had clearly taxed her physical and psychological fortitude.

“It’s okay,” Eric said, leaning in to kiss Nedra on the cheek. “I was getting a bit worried, but I’m glad you’re home now.”

Nedra exhaled deeply and pressed her fingers to her temples. “Well,” she said, “I found him.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I went back to the same place where we saw him. That’s where I looked for him the other day. He was not there again, but this time I was more determined to find him. So I walked around that neighborhood for a while. I walked all the way over to Logan Circle; remember the other night when he mentioned he had been there earlier? But he wasn’t there so I walked back to near the Metro entrance where we saw him. Finally, I asked another homeless person about him.”

“You asked another homeless person? Do homeless people know the whereabouts of other homeless people?”

“Well, the third homeless person I asked seemed to know who he was. When I described what Randall looked like and what he was wearing and that he might occasionally talk in a fake British accent, she told me to look near the bookstore on the other side of Dupont Circle. So I walked over there. And there was Randall.”

“You traipsed all over the city looking for him?”

“Yeah,” Nedra replied, exhaling again. “It took a long time before I found him.”

Eric, who was beginning to think his wife’s actions equated foolishness of the extreme, did not know how to reply. He wanted to air his concerns, but did not want to upset Nedra.

“So what happened when you found him?” Eric asked.

“He was surprised to see me again. I tried to ask him about his situation but he was not very forthcoming. Then I gave him some money and offered to take him to a nearby café and buy him dinner.”

“You were going to go with him to a café?”

“He needs a good meal.”

“Yes, but…”

“He didn’t want to go with me though; I think he was embarrassed.”

“So did you get a sense of his mental state?”

“He seems broken. Just broken.”

“I guess that’s sort of not surprising.”

“It’s just so sad,” Nedra said. “He’s really not the same person I used to know.”

“Well, it was a long time ago.”

“That’s true,” Nedra replied with a nod. She glanced away from her husband now, her expression a faraway daze, as if she trying to peer into her own past.

After a minute, Nedra blinked and shook her head, no longer wanting to linger on such memories. “I asked him about his parents and his brother,” she continued. “He said his father died about six years ago and has not spoken to his mother or his brother in about four years. He doesn’t think they know where he is and he doesn’t want them to know.”

“How awful.”

Nedra nodded and sighed. “Yes,” she replied, “awful, just awful.”

It was silent for a moment, as both Nedra and Eric contemplated the events of the past few days.

“I’m really just exhausted now,” Nedra said after a minute. “I think I’ll go to bed.”

Eric watched her ascend the stairs. He cleaned up the kitchen and set the coffee maker for the morning, then joined his wife in their bedroom. He got into bed next to her, put his arm around her and rubbed his leg against hers.

“No,” Nedra whispered, pushing Eric away. “None of that tonight. I’m just too tired.”

*****

The next morning, Eric woke up alone in bed. He was startled; he and Nedra often spent Saturday mornings in bed, drinking coffee and snacking on bagels or donuts. Occasionally there was morning lovemaking. He had expected, even hoped, that this would be one of those mornings; there were no plans for the day and their sex life had been absent for nearly a week.

Eric rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. It was 10:30 AM. He was surprised he slept so late, surprised Nedra had not woken him.
Eric got out of bed and went downstairs. Nedra sat alone at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. On the table was a box and Eric could see Nedra was sorting through something on the table.

“Good morning,” Eric said.

“Oh, hi.”

“What’re you doing?” Eric tried to infuse his question with an allusion of nonchalance, but already he was alarmed. He knew this had some thing to do with Randall.

“I’m just looking at some stuff,” Nedra answered.

Eric stepped closer to the table. He kissed Nedra on the cheek and made a closer inspection of the items laid out across the table. As he realized what was there, an instinctive frown covered his face. Spread out before Nedra was an assortment of photos, receipts, concert tickets, movie stubs, birthday cards, dried flowers.

The photos were the most disturbing part. There were dozens of them, all depicting Nedra and Randall in various locations. There were photos of Nedra and Randall at a party at Nedra’s sister’s house, at Niagara Falls, at Nedra’s uncle’s wedding, in front of the Washington Monument, on a Ferris wheel, at a beach, along the Potomac with cherry trees in full blossom behind them.

Eric noticed that in all of the pictures, Randall appeared healthy and vigorous and was well-dressed, so different from the dispirited, gaunt man he had seen on the street. Eric again noticed the physical similarities he shared with Nedra’s previous lover, even more striking in these images.

Eric picked up one photo and studied it. In the photo, Nedra and Randall were wearing bathing suits; behind them palm trees flanked a cobalt blue ocean and a cloudless sky.

“Where was this one taken?” Eric asked.

“Oh, that was in the Dominican Republic.”

Eric searched his memory but had no recollection of Nedra ever mentioning a trip to the Dominican Republic.
“Where was all this stuff?” Eric asked.

“In the attic.”

Eric nodded. He tried to act as if he understood, tried to act as if he believed Nedra’s behavior was rational. But a sense of dread was permeating through his veins.

Turning his attention away from Nedra and the table, Eric went to pour himself some coffee. On the kitchen counter, next to the coffee maker, he saw a stack of twenty-dollar bills.

“What’s this money doing here?” he asked.

But Nedra was not listening. She had returned her attention to the table and was rereading the sloppily-penned words written in a birthday card that Randall had given her eleven years earlier.

“What’s this money doing here?” Eric repeated, louder this time.

“Oh,” Nedra replied, “that’s… I… well…” She stopped, unable or unwilling to continue. But Eric needed nothing further. The expression that covered his wife’s face and the penitent tone of her voice gave him the answer.

“Nedra,” Eric said, shaking his head. It was neither a question nor a statement, but more of an expression of muted shock and outrage. “What are you doing? What is it that you are doing?”

Nedra stood. She turned and faced her husband. “I don’t know,” she said, “I just don’t know.”

Nedra walked closer to Eric. She stood in front of him and their eyes locked. They remained silent.

Though Eric did not state his feelings, he was questioning if he was now in competition with a homeless man for his wife’s affections. He wondered how long this would last or how this episode of their lives would play out. Would the encounter with Randall lead to the demise of their marriage? Or would they, at some point in the distant future, be able to reflect on these days as ones that had tested their relationship and their resolve?

Nedra also remained silent, too overwhelmed with emotions to give voice to her sentiments. She felt torn between her past and her present, caught in some wicked, ethereal time trap. She did not want to feel this way; she wanted to think only of the present, wanted to disregard the past like a forgotten error. And yet, she did not know if she would ever be able to make sense of the image of Randall, unkempt and penniless, living on the street with nowhere to go and nothing to do. She did not know if she could endure the fact that Randall had become a man with nothing, a man who did not even have an address, while she—a woman who had once promised him a future—carried on with her devoted husband and her successful career and her stylish clothes and her Alexandria townhouse and her celebratory dinners and her merry, charmed life.

But Nedra explained none of this to Eric. Rather, when the silence finally became intolerable, she wrapped her arms around his chest and buried her face against his shoulder. She pulled her arms firmly, squeezing his ribcage. Nedra clutched her husband so tight that she could hear his heartbeat. And as she listened she wondered if Eric’s past contained someone like Randall—someone whom it had been too difficult to forget.

© 2010 Jay Lewis

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Jay Lewis is a writer and editor who lives in Philadelphia, PA. He is originally from Elmira, NY.

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