Lesley has always been gay, but Sam, who describes herself as bisexual, had only been with one other woman before Lesley. And she’s been with men ever since they broke up: three different relationships in ten months. Lesley now considers Sam a tourist.

Among other things. It has been nearly a year, but she continues to think of Sam when she rises in the morning and before she goes to sleep at night. She fantasizes about Sam’s clean blonde hair; she agonizes about the sweet spot where her long neck meets the angle of her shoulders. Her mind cycles through nouns: bitch, beloved, fool, friend, freak. She still can’t believe that Sam would throw away all their potential, their shared planned cat-cozy home and bicoastal future, and offer up no explanation other than exasperation.

When pushed, Sam resisted using words about it. She kept saying sentences were useless, and that only time would provide the perspective they both needed to understand. But Lesley was gently relentless. She left voicemail invitations to coffee and e-mail notes about talk. She forwarded jokes and sent candy. She even had me intercede. Finally Sam agreed to meet at the Starbucks closest to her apartment.

She told Lesley she couldn’t handle the way Lesley never directly answered any question. She said that because Lesley never said what she wanted, the full burden of their emotional relationship fell on Sam. Lesley listened intently (I can imagine her, leaning forward above the table and drumming the fingers of her right hand on her denim-clad knee). She said she could change and she probably sat back with that look of uncertainty in her eyes. Then Sam told her not to bother; it wouldn’t matter. She just didn’t love Lesley any more. That was eight months ago.

Lesley told me all that, but she said she isn’t accepting it. As passive as she can be, she insists that she and Sam just need more time.

She saw Sam yesterday. We took a walk today and she told me about it.

She’d been having a shitty day. She spoke to her sister in the morning and learned that her brother Ben was back in rehab. Then she accidentally broke her favorite coffee mug while talking to Ellie on the phone, which experience made their regular Saturday chat even less satisfying than usual for Lesley. Finally, when she started to make the chowder she’d agreed to bring to the book group pot luck, she found she was missing two vital ingredients, and she had to venture out, in the rain, to Safeway on a weekend afternoon.

She says she should have known she was headed for no fun. She’d certainly had enough karmic clues.

She rounded the aisle to the baking goods and was shocked to see Sam. The love of her life was about 30 feet ahead of her and coming her way, but she was with someone. Lesley turned and made for the adjacent aisle before Sam recognized her, but she took the vision with her like it was etched in her brain. Sam in jeans and a V-necked shirt, hair down, pushing a cart with a tall, dark-haired man, twining her arm in his and looking full up at him the way Lesley remembered.

It became Lesley’s mission to get out of that store without being noticed. She fetched the needed items like a gumshoe on someone’s tail and she selected the checkout line farthest from the area where she’d seen Sam. Her one break all day was that the line moved quickly.

She admits she was nervous and agitated when she got to the cashier. Her total came to $5.61 and she handed over a ten without thinking. Then she realized she’d reduce the currency in her pocket if she gave the cashier a single, and the cashier exhibited a little attitude about having to re-address the change drawer. Maybe the cashier wasn’t having a good day either. The fact is, instead of putting the five dollar bill and the change in Lesley’s hand, she laid the currency on the counter between them and dropped the coins – 3 dimes, a nickel, and 4 pennies – on and around the bill.

Lesley has well-trimmed nails. It was difficult for her to pry those coins off the smooth surface. She says she doesn’t know what came over her. She was conscious but it was almost like a momentary blackout. She picked up the coins with her right hand and the bill with her left, and then she hurled the change at the cashier.

She grabbed her bag and stomped out of the Safeway. The cashier voiced a “Hey!” behind her but did nothing else. Lesley was quite upset going home.

That was her report. I couldn’t not do anything. Once again, there was a necessary task before me and no one else around to do it. And maybe I’m the appropriate choice anyway. Lesley’s issues go back to the accident, and since my older brother Bill was the driver, I certainly understand all that. And of course I know Sam. I introduced them. Sam and I were together in college and for three years after. I can speak with authority about her. Gently.