THE DINNER

      We were sitting in the dining room, at a small wooden table that was just large enough to accommodate Gloria, her husband David, her sister Kathy, and me, when I felt someone’s toes rub up and down my foot. It was a probing gesture in search of a response; deliberate, intentional, a willful act of reconnaissance. To say, at that moment, that I felt panic would have been, to say the least, an understatement. Impulsively, I wanted to look up and make eye contact with whoever was the source of this provocation, but my better sense stopped me from committing such a potential error. To look up could risk a disastrous reveal, exposing the look of terror on my face to examination. No, I had to, at all costs, not look up. Instead, I kept my focus frozen on a piece of steak attached to my fork, which had been hovering at a standstill above my plate, just below chin level. In that same instant, I realized that suspending all motion completely could attract an equal amount of attention and inquiry. So, I forced myself to utilize all the guile at my command to reengage my full presence at the table. My hope was to convey an attitude of utter casualness and to resume eating my dinner as if nothing at all was afoot.
       But the probing toes continued to elevate their searching to higher altitudes. When David was asking me about school, the toes were passing above shin and calf. By the feel of things, they were giving every indication they intended to achieve even greater heights of ascension. There was no doubt, the aim was for the rarefied pinnacle, where if contact were made all possibility of restraint would fail and I would run screaming like a madman out of the house, and disappear insanely into the night.
       Before that happened, however, there was hope that something might alter the course of things. Perhaps, if I contributed something interesting to the conversation, say, something about the weather, anything that might distract the probing toes from their upward trajectory and cause them to reverse course. But in answering David’s question, I blurted something out that made not the slightest bit of sense. By the look of the twinkle in Gloria’s eyes, I might have spoken a completely unrecognizable language. I think I said something like, “God! What a beautiful day it is!” Even though it was completely dark outside and well into the night.
       As awkward as this non sequitur was, it, thank God, was jarring enough to achieve its objective—the probing toes retreated from between my quivering knees. Now, I only had to contend with my stumbling interruption regarding the beautiful day. I smiled shyly, chuckled softly, and looking down modestly, said, “I mean, what a beautiful dinner this is, and with such beautiful people!”
      I was confident who the guilty toes belonged to. Gloria. It had to be her. She was sitting opposite me at the table, with the most direct line of access. I thought I knew her well —we’d been having a secret affair for a few months — and, yes, I know I had just turned 15 years old and she was my 25-year-old art teacher, but love was love. I was head-over-heels and I would forgive her anything, anything! Even if that meant having dinner with David, a kind man, sitting right next to me, and with her younger sister, Kathy, just to my left, who, by the way, had been staring mysteriously at me all night long. So, I could overlook Gloria for putting me in this absolutely terrifying circumstance, because that’s what made her special, made her who she was, the kind of person who delighted in living dangerously.
       Yes, I was entirely convinced it was Gloria whose toes had touched mine when a shocking thought came to me.  Maybe it wasn’t Gloria at all, maybe it was Kathy. Maybe Kathy’s toes had done the initial outreach. Who’s to say it wasn’t her? It certainly would explain Kathy’s intense gaze. What was I to do? I struggled for an answer, and then it came to me. I would do nothing.