I watched the man walking away from my home, perhaps forever. He had arrived an hour earlier, seeming familiar, yet I knew I had never met him before.

He had introduced himself, “You don’t know me, but I wanted to meet you. My name is Thomas Louis Smith.” He seemed to be waiting for some sort of reaction from me, but I didn’t know why.

He said, without much emotion, “I think you knew my mother about thirty-five years ago. Just before I was born. Do you recall Debra Smith?”

It came flooding back. I recognized his red hair and freckles, the alabaster skin. I invited him in.

He asked a few questions about the old days, then spoke more solemnly. “Mom passed away two weeks ago. In Gulfport. She moved home just after I was born. I was raised there.”

He described his early life and talked about his mother’s life, adding, “She never married. Not even a date in all those years. She seemed to survive only for me.”

He stood, saying, “I just wanted to meet you. I guess you realize that you’re my father.” He shook my hand and walked out the door.

That’s when the tears and memories overwhelmed me.

*****

I was eighteen years old, and by no means innocent. I left the Mayport Naval Base while the sun was still up, on that Friday. I had been stationed on a destroyer for only a short time. But the Navy had been my home for nearly a year.

I was meeting friends at a bar called Champions, a real redneck joint. We loved the spot. I had been waiting at the bus stop for a few minutes when a blue Toyota pulled alongside the place. When the passenger window went down, I recognized Pete. I accepted the ride.

Pete’s real name was Pedro Manuel, with a common American last name. His mother was from Spain, his father a New Orleans native. Pete was five or six years older than me and knew the area well. He was one of a few guys who had befriended me when I arrived at my new duty station.

Pete drove South on Mayport Road until he reached Edwards Avenue, where he turned left. Edwards went to the East and looped back to the South. He stopped in the drive of a brick house on the East side of the street. I, loving cars, admired a white 1975 Corvette that was parked in front.

Pete got a bottle of Jim Beam from the back seat of his car and motioned for me to follow him. At the door, he knocked loudly. A blonde lady, in her mid-forties, answered the door. She smiled at Pete, taking the bottle, and ushered us into the home.

Renata spoke with a heavy German accent. I would learn that she had been married to a sailor, moving to the U.S. with him as a young lady. Two marriages later, and a widow, she was very independent.

I was invited to stay for dinner and soon found out that this was a weekly tradition. Some of the guys from the base would contribute a few dollars each, and Renata cooked meals for us on the weekends. She didn’t profit from it in a financial way, but I believe she enjoyed having us around. To a bunch of young men, hundreds or thousands of miles from their families, it was a blessing. We all became close, almost a disjointed, dysfunctional, rag-tag family.

Renata was the matriarch of the crazy household. She was a beautiful person with a bright soul. In my later years I realized how difficult it must have been, living so far from her native country, with no family contact.

She had no children, and apparently no contact with the former in-laws. So, she took care of other children in similar circumstances. I hope she found solace in helping us.

Renata was in the kitchen, cooking a meal that smelled wonderful. Pete and I were on the sofa, watching the news, waiting for something better to come on. The front door opened, and the lady entered the house. The woman that changed my life.

Pete spoke to her, “Hey, Dovey, you got my ten dollars?” She stuck her tongue out, flipped him off, then began digging into her wallet. She walked by us and threw a ten-dollar bill at Pete.

She was a beautiful lady, Debra Smith. Even in the Texaco cashier’s uniform. The flaming red hair topped a freckle covered face of exquisite beauty. Her skin tone was like white China, the smattering of brown spots accentuating, rather than detracting from her allure. I wasn’t smitten yet. But I would be.

When Debra returned from her bedroom, she was wearing denim shorts and a plain white T-shirt. Her figure was the epitome of female perfection. She was never bashful, and walked over to me, saying, “My name’s Debra Smith, but most of these call me Dovey.” She pronounced ‘my’ as ‘mah’. I would find out that her accent was from Gulfport, Mississippi. Her speech was as beautiful as she was. The soft cadence and the extended vowel sounds were captivating to listen to.

When I had introduced myself, she said, “Alright, my boy, scoot over so I can sit down.” Her thigh was touching my leg, a heat building. Luckily, my body knew shame that my mind did not. My physical being did not respond to the images from the mental half. I noted that her freckles weren’t limited to her face. Her smooth, white legs were blessed with the unusually beautiful flecks of brown as well.

Dinner was quite an affair, with six guests, including myself. There was one guy from our ship, the USS Spruance. Another was an Australian fellow, who had emigrated. I can’t recall his name after thirty-five years. But his was the first Aussie accent that I had heard in person. I think Bill was there, and a couple of the non-regulars to the dinner crowd.

Dovey took the chair to my immediate right. I was a naive young man when it came to grown women. And Dovey was fully grown-up, in every way. My experience was with girls of my own age. Awkward, sometimes bashful, usually inexperienced emotionally and physically.

Dovey took my plate and began dishing food onto it. When it was overloaded, she placed it in front of me and smiled. I looked across at Pete, and he had one eyebrow raised, a look of amusement on his face. She would continue my preferential treatment throughout the meal. She brought me a beer, pouring a bottle of Coors into a frosted mug. She made sure I never went without.

After dinner, the festivities really began. The bottles were placed on the table. The cooler of beer was brought inside. Stragglers began showing up for the gathering. Dominoes and poker games started. There were about twenty people gathered in the house, and Renata watched the group of youngsters, a slight smile playing on her face. She was the mother hen to a bunch of unruly, drunken chicks.

Around midnight, someone had the idea of going to Hollywood, the bar at the Holiday Inn. Everyone was up for the adventure. When Pete said, “Hey, Loo, you can ride with me,” I stepped forward. Dovey grabbed my arm, saying, “This one is not going. He’s drunk enough already. He’s too young to get in anyway. He’s going to sleep it off.”

I wanted to go but didn’t want to be mean about it. I waved Pete off and sat down on the couch. Dovey and I were soon alone in the living room. Renata retired for the night. I didn’t pout but was disappointed at being left behind.

Dovey was digging through some VHS tapes, calling out titles. I nodded at ‘Total Recall’. She started the movie and returned to sit beside me. The movie was exciting, but the lethargy induced by the alcohol was winning.

My eyes were closing slowly. I felt Dovey pull my body down until my head rested in her lap. I knew she thought I was out of it. It may have been a little sneaky, but I lay there, pretending to be asleep. Strangely, I felt at home.

I felt her gently rubbing my arm. The caress created a heat that had nothing to do with friction. When she spoke, her voice was soothing. Her accent, the long, slow, rhythmic cadence, was lulling, a balm for the lonely soul.

I listened as she thought she spoke to an inert figure, “I’m thirty-five years old, I shouldn’t be thinking about you this way, boy. I don’t know what the heck is happening here, my friend. But I do know you’re better off staying with me than running around with those no-account hooligans that pass themselves off as Sailors.”

Her soft, gulf coast drawl was a lullaby, and despite fighting it, slumber soon overtook me. I awakened Saturday morning, a blanket tucked around me. Dovey was in a chair, eating a bowl of cereal, watching me sleep. It struck me as odd at the time.

Dovey, a drop of milk on her chin, started talking, “You better get out of here, at least for the day. If you wanna come back for dinner tonight, leave Renata a couple of bucks on the table. But if you don’t have it, don’t worry. She’s never turned away a broke-ass sailor. I don’t get it, though. She was married to three of ’em. And still feeds ’em like stray animals.” She shook her head, light glancing off of her red mane.

Dovey continued, “I was only married to one sorry sailor. When I was seventeen. When I was eighteen, I divorced him. Found out he got my aunt pregnant.” She laughed, with honest humor in the sound. “You know what? They got four kids, live in the swamp, and survive on the welfare. I guess I dodged a bullet on that one.”

She spoke honestly, without spite, “Sailors can’t be trusted. Even once they leave the service, they ain’t right. I think it’s all the moving around that screws ’em up. Or maybe the ocean. But I grew up around the ocean, an’ I’m alright.” The smile and laughter told me a lot. But I wasn’t sure she was ‘alright’.

She put her bowl in the sink and turned around, hands on her hips, and spoke to me, “Okay, little man, there’s a bus stop at the corner of Mayport and Edwards. You can get back to your ship from there. It was nice to have met you, boyo. Maybe I’ll see you again. But sailors, they come and they go, flowing like water.”

Pete asked me what I was doing that evening. When I said I would be attending the dinner at Renata’s again, he laughed. He was pretty wise for a twenty-five-year-old. He gave me some advice, “Don’t get caught up with Dovey. She’s dated a few of my friends, then dumps them after a few weeks. She’s just different. Not right in the head. She’s nice enough but has something innately wrong in the way she thinks. It’s like she tolerates us but doesn’t care for sailors. Leave that one alone, Loo.”

I had every intention of leaving her alone. But the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. Robert Burns knew a thing or two.

The dinner was over, and the guys were leaving earlier than usual. Bill was my ride, and he was very drunk. Renata gave us a couple of blankets and told us to crash on the living room floor.

Bill was passed out on the sofa; I was lying on the floor watching television. Dovey’s bedroom door opened, and she moved to the threshold. She wore a light blue teddy that covered almost nothing. Her speech belied the lack of clothing, “You can sleep in the bed with me. But don’t try anything, I’m just getting you off of that floor.” When she turned around, I stared at the curves. It was a magnificent view.

I lay on my back, the darkness engulfing the room. I could feel her presence beside me. I eventually felt movement. Her back was against me when she said, “Surely, you’re not so innocent as all of that. Touch me now.”

My hands explored her body, the firmness of her breasts, and the softness of her back. My hands moved lower, reaching around, sliding under the flimsy fabric. I found the source of her warmth, and she arched herself against me. The heat was immeasurable; the passion was intense. When our lips met for the first time, it was like a nuclear explosion.

I had never felt such pleasure from the touch of a woman. I didn’t know the sensations that our bodies were capable of, or the acts of lust that could be performed. She showed me things I had never imagined and shaped my ideas of sex forever.

A month later Renata let me rent the third bedroom in her home. I’m sure Dovey had convinced her. Her speech to me was brief, “Fifty dollars on the first. Fifty dollars on the fifteenth. You get dinner of some kind every night for that. And stay out of Debra’s room. I’ve seen what’s going on. At her age, she doesn’t need to get pregnant. We can’t afford to have that.” She then smiled and pinched my cheek, before walking away. Always the mother.

I left only spare dungarees, underwear, and socks on the ship. Everything else was moved into my new quarters at the Edwards Street house.

The move happened on a Friday, and I didn’t have duty that weekend. Dovey surprised me, saying, “Let’s skip dinner here tonight. Let me take you out. We can eat somewhere, then we’ll go dancing. But not at that cracker bar y’all like.”

We had never gone out in public together before. I had the feeling that, because of my youth, I somehow embarrassed her. But that wasn’t the case at all. She had simply been saving her money to take me on a real date.

I would find out that she valued being supportive and supported. Taking me out was a gesture that meant a lot to her, but the young aren’t always perceptive. And I was very young.

She told me, “Wear that black suit. I have something for you also!” She rushed into her room and returned with a light green dress shirt and paisley tie to match. “Wear this with it!”

I said simply, “Thanks, Dovey.” She gave me an odd look and returned to her room. Looking back to thirty-five years in the past, I now understand that wasn’t enough. That gift had probably cost a third of a week’s wages for her, and I had taken it for granted.

I looked with admiration at my date. She had a simple, dark blue, belted dress that was pleated in the skirt area. It was conservative, reaching mid-calf, but somehow made her even sexier, more appealing. The fiery hair and freckles were staples. But she was wearing glasses for the first time. I found out that she always wore contacts but had decided to let me see her. And I liked it.

That evening, she shaped my idea of beauty into the girl-next-door, librarian, teacher, common lady. It would no longer be the swimsuit models or the glamorous actresses.

She asked, the first time she had ever been shy around me, “What do you think?” I couldn’t even speak for a moment. When I found my voice, it was almost a whisper, “My, God, Dovey! You’re stunning!” Youth sometimes lack tact or the ability to articulate what is truly meant.

The cab arrived at seven, and Renata saw us to the door. She didn’t try to hide the conversation from me. She was always honest. “Debra, be careful. I’m afraid you’re going too far this time. Remember, at your age, there are consequences. That being said, enjoy your evening.” She turned to me and said, “Be good, kid.” The German accent sometimes disguised meanings.

She instructed the cabbie, “Roy Young’s on Atlantic.” She had to repeat it for the driver to completely interpret her deep Southern language.

We arrived, and it was a bar and grill. She ordered Surf ’n’ Turf for both of us. I was a kid from Oklahoma who had never sat in a restaurant until a year earlier. Not even a McDonald’s.

She laughed when I asked what it was. She explained, “It’s just steak and shrimp. But it’s good here. This place is packed because of their food, not the booze.”

I told her, “I think I’ll order a beer with dinner.” My hands were on the tabletop, and she placed one of hers over mine, “Please don’t. Later, when we dance, but not now. Let’s have dinner.” After years of life, I know why. But I didn’t at that moment. But we both drank tea and laughed through the meal.

The bar was on the ground floor of a Holiday Inn. I believe it was Hollywood or Hollywood’s. But they had a dance floor, bar, and live music on occasion.

Dovey directed me to the bar and said, “Now I’ll buy you a beer, but you have to try this.” She ordered a Coors and two of something called a Butter Nipple.

The Coors washed down the creamy, weird thing. I would never again drink anything made with a creamy

Liqueur.

We danced to old Motown tunes. We held each other close as we heard “Here and Now” and “You are my Everything”.

We were at the bar when a tall young lady approached. She was olive complected, with long black hair. The bartender brought another bottle of Coors and placed it in front of me.

The woman paid for it. She then leaned close and whispered, “When your mother goes home, we can have some fun.” I felt her tongue in my ear and shuddered.

As the woman walked away, Dovey reached for the bottle of beer and moved it down the bar. She then said, “That one’s not for you. I mean her, not the drink. Well, the drink, too.”

I had only one beer before Dovey said, “Let’s find a cab. I’m ready to go.” There were two taxis outside the hotel, and we entered the first.

Dovey handed the driver a ten and gave the address on Edwards Street. She then told him, “Eyes on the road, mister.”

I felt her hands struggling with my belt. Suddenly it was loose and my trousers were unbuttoned and unzipped, pulled down partially. Dovey was astride me, moving quickly, reaching climax within three minutes. She collapsed, panting, whispering, “You finished first. And don’t ever let anyone say, ‘your mother’ again.”

The cabbie never said a word as we exited, just pulling slowly away. Dovey said, “The gang’s all here. Enjoy yourself. I’m going to shower. I’ll be in your bed when you get ready. But don’t get drunk. I hate that.”

I didn’t drink much but sat around playing penny-ante poker and a few games of dominoes. The crowd dispersed by two and I made my way to the bedroom.

She was stretched out, nude, on top of the sheets. She was snoring lightly, a sound I came to love. I took a light blanket and, careful not to wake her, covered her nakedness. There was a moment of profound affection, if not true love.

I awakened to an empty bed and the voices from the living room. I pulled on sweats and a T-shirt before making my way toward the sound.

Dovey immediately brought me a cup of coffee and kissed my cheek. Renata shook her head with distaste. Dovey went back to ironing. I realized it was my work uniform on the ironing board. And there were more on hangers.

Renata waved me toward the kitchen, and I obliged her. She spoke softly, “I’ve never seen her like this. And she seems happy, so, please, don’t hurt her.” I had no intention of causing her pain and said so. But Robert Burns knew a thing or two.

A few days later I walked in on a conversation I shouldn’t have overheard. Dovey said emphatically, “I don’t want him to use those things!” She held up a round, flat container, continuing, “That’s why I got these!”

They both looked toward me as if caught in some sort of conspiracy. Renata walked from the room. Dovey smiled and said two words, “Birth control.”

For several years, we had fun. I never went into Dovey’s room. But she slept in my room every night. We made love in the broken-down Corvette, on the banks of the St. John’s River, on Ponte Vedra beach, and wherever the mood struck us. It was a carefree time when I turned twenty years old.

It was the eve of my birthday; I was still nineteen years old. Dovey lay against me, her wonderful body on full display. She seemed nervous, which was unusual. She finally said, so softly I could barely make out the words, “I never did that before. Before you, I mean.” She touched two fingers to her lips, and I understood what she meant. I didn’t laugh, understanding the seriousness of her confession.

She then spoke, unsure, not knowing what my reaction would be. “I love you. I haven’t felt like this since I was a teenager. I would do anything I can for you. If you want to get married, I will. If you don’t, we won’t. If you want children, we can. I’m yours now.”

She was quiet, then resumed, “I’m almost thirty-seven. If you do want kids, there aren’t a lot of years left. You’re young, but I’m no longer a girl. But you have to tell me what you do desire, because I’m not clairvoyant.”

I was sincere when I replied, “I want you. That will always be enough for me.” We lie to ourselves. We lie to each other. But we don’t always have nefarious intentions. Sometimes we think we are being truthful as the fabrications spew forth.

I was twenty-one when the subject arose. Dovey said, “In less than a year, you have to make a decision. Are you going to stay in? That will probably mean a new duty station. Things will be harder because we’re not married. There are no benefits, and my move may be more than we can afford.”

I wanted to put the conversation away. Table it for another day. I didn’t understand then, but that part of my life was coming to a close. I almost snapped as I said brusquely, “Let’s worry about that later.”

The months rolled by, and doubts arose. Nothing was hidden, but nothing was resolved. We still made love almost daily. It wasn’t just sex, but emotion filled experiences. I did love her, but didn’t know how to truly love.

Dovey was still a gorgeous woman. But I did notice the fine lines at the edges of her eyes. I had seen her nude body daily, and the freckles weren’t as mesmerizing as they once were. Some of the firmness of her body had been lost.

I had only two days left on my enlistment and still couldn’t answer. I didn’t know what I would do afterward. I knew I wanted to write, but that was just a pipe dream. Dovey and I had lived together for three years. I knew that she should have an opinion to express, but I was feeling stifled. I wouldn’t admit it, even to myself, but my decision was made long ago.

Everything I owned fit into a seabag and a laundry bag. The Greyhound would leave the station at seven p.m., and I would be on it, returning to Oklahoma. Dovey was not happy with me.

Thirty-five years later, I can recall those words from her, “You treat me like a common whore! Do these past years mean nothing to you? I even told you I would have your children, though I had never planned to have kids. I’ve given you everything I have, and I’ve offered more. Are you so selfish that love isn’t enough to satisfy you? I know you love me. And I am in love with you. Why the hell isn’t that enough?” The tears flowed like rain.

I couldn’t explain to her that I just needed to travel. I had an overwhelming drive to see things, go places, and experience life. I should have tried to tell her, but I didn’t. But she knew that sailors, they come and go, flowing like water.

If I could say one thing to her, it would be a simple thank you. I’ve been faithful to my wife of thirty years, and I owe Dovey for teaching me how to love, even if I learned the lesson too late for her.

This story is from the collection, “A Cool Wind Blows”, available on Amazon.