10/02/1999

Chester was a soccer dad. His daughter played on Leslie’s team.

Whenever I went to Leslie’s games, I would chat with Chester. He seemed to take very little interest in the other parents, who were immature and gossipy. Sad that a 15-year-old girl could provide more intelligent conversation than so many adults in their forties, but such was the case.

I always enjoyed Chester’s company, but I didn’t let him get too close at first—trust issues, you know. We discussed books and movies, musicals, theatre. He and his family travelled a lot. They’d seen Starlight Express in London’s West End, and more than once.

As time went by, I noticed that Chester was a man. How did I treat men? Not very well. (Now, that’s an understatement!) When I put on my evil-seductress disguise for him, his reaction blew me away. He didn’t fall for it, not for a moment. The sense I got from him was more of an amused, “Dear child, what are you playing at?”

I felt sort of silly after that, and realised how much wiser Chester was than I. He didn’t allow my awkward insecurity to affect him. He rose above all that. Inspirational!

By the way, Chester is an intelligent, physically-fit, middle-aged man. He’s also a high school English teacher. So perhaps I shouldn’t have been so surprised that, after meeting Lawrence, Leslie said to me, “He looks just like Chester.”

My reaction? “Don’t say that…”

Giselle