Though our cyber conversation had ended on a favorable note, after I signed off from G-chat I also set my phone on “silent”; I can’t explain why but at that moment I just wasn’t in the mood to hear from Tony anytime soon. On Saturday, September 4, 2010, when I set my mobile’s sound back on, I read the string of text messages that the Virginia policeman had composed to me that morning. Rather than respond directly to any of the many things he’d written, I sent an email with a couple of pictures embedded then let him know via text I’d done so. He must’ve been waiting to hear from me because he answered with a missive to my number instantaneously. I ignored it along with numerous others that followed from him persistently throughout the afternoon, until…
That evening, by way of text, Tony proposed we get together the next day.
If I continued to snub him, I would miss out on an opportunity to admire his beautiful soulful eyes and sexy smile; I texted him back immediately -- just as he knew I would.
Sunday, September 5, 2010, we met in a larger-than-Crewe city almost equidistant in travel for us. Despite the chill in the air, he’d made the journey on one of his motorcycles. I couldn’t imagine the wind at these temperatures would feel anything but bitter awful to a rider and conveyed my shock to Tony that he would brave it. He removed his gloves and said the only part of him that was suffering was his hands. I rubbed them and his arctic fingers while I listened to him talk of something called “heated gear” and his possibly investing in it so he could continue to have frequent in-person contact with me. Yes, it was a pricey purchase, but, without making it, he admitted persuading pseudo-wife he wanted to be on two wheels in winter would pose a problem for him. I refrained from asking him how a guy who repeatedly stated he had no money for nothin’ could afford to drop hundreds of dollars on fancy riding equipment.
Over the several ensuing hours we explored the area, had breakfast at a local dive -- I coffee, and he pancakes I believe -- went for a walk, fooled around like convicts fresh out of prison, and had a spectacular ol’ time. It was going so perfectly, until…
He started bitching about pseudo-wife. He filled the interior with his usual complaints, only, on this occasion, he threw in a few new, too. My initial reaction to the declamations was to offer a multitude of potential solutions. True to form, the Special Agent shot every one of them down with an excuse. I did something I’d never done while in his company: turned on the radio. It made him pause. When I remained silent as well, he resorted to what had worked for him with me in the past; he tried to give me a guilt trip. It had gotten beyond old. I gave him an earful about his girlfriend and what I thought of him regarding their relationship. In riposte, he merely resumed his anti-Priebe diatribe -- right down to his customary snide accusation that I “can’t understand the situation.” I spun the knob on the stereo up to a volume slightly lower than his voice. I guess realizing this date ‘round I wasn’t falling for his poor-abused-me you’re-rotten-for-not-trusting-me lines, Tony attempted to placate me. I replied tersely to his sweet talking, if at all. He finally shut up.
We didn’t speak a single word to one another for a good fifteen minutes. When I dropped him off at his transportation, suffice it to say our parting was nothing short of laconic. My emotions were bouncing like the silver orb in a pinball machine, however my mind kept echoing “I don’t want to lose him.”
A block away from where we’d separated, I pulled a recording devise from my vehicle console, hit stop, then played the conversation we’d had. I recited it sentence-by-sentence in my head across miles. Long before I got home, I was six thousand per cent. convinced Tony was correct: I really was a lousy person who ought be more compassionate.
