Meeting Marie-Belle

When my partner Laura left me after 18 years, I was in shock and disbelief, suicidal, then I had obsessive thoughts about killing her*. Once I got over it, I wondered if I should sell my house, since Laura said it would be too much for me to manage. My friend Sandra said, “Don’t do anything for a year. Don’t sell your house.” So I sat in my house crying. Eventually, I stopped and started to feel okay. But I was achingly lonely. I needed to meet someone. But how could I start playing the dating game at almost 60?

A lesbian relationship therapist told me, “Marsha, don’t get involved with the first woman you meet. Lesbians tend to do that, and it’s not a good idea. Date around first.”

I had no idea how to date around. I asked friends and colleagues to help. I even looked online, but they were all too young. The few responses I got were pornographic.

Then at work, I met a lively nurse. She had dark eyes, worked one floor down, and had a Jewish name. I saw her again at a COPE election party. My friend Ellen said she was a single lesbian and gave me her number. A few weeks later, Ellen nudged me: “Marsha, just call her and ask for coffee.” Very scared, I dialled the number.

“Umm, this is Marsha from the Midtown Mental Health Team. I met you at the COPE party. Ellen Woodsworth gave me your number.”

“Yes, I know who you are.”

“Well… would you like to meet for coffee?”

There was a long pause. I thought she’d hung up.

“Sorry for the delay. You caught me by surprise and… I’m flattered. Thanks, but no.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“See you around.”

“Maybe, goodbye.”

I hung up. I thought I’d feel crushed, but I felt excited, energized and confident. I did it! I called someone!

Later, I went on a ski trip for a friend’s birthday. I wasn’t keen because the weather was lousy, but I went. There, two mental health workers, Katherine and Ann, asked if I wanted to meet someone.

“Yes! Yes!”

“What kind of person? Younger?”

“No. Tried that, didn’t work.”

“We have a friend about your age. She likes skiing and outdoor stuff.”

“Good.”

“She’s a mental health social worker.”

“Good.”

“She’s separated, has kids and grandkids.”

“Good.”

“She has one arm and hates people helping her.”

“No problem.”

“She lives in Roberts Creek.”

“No way. I’m a city girl. I want someone in Vancouver.” They paused.

“You don’t have to start a relationship. You could ski or hike. She’s the most grounded, mellow person we know.”

“Okay. I’m always looking for a hiking partner.”

I was anxious, but I called. “Hi, this is Marsha. Anne and Katherine gave me your number.” She agreed to lunch at the Thai place near my office. They’d told her I was short, so she expected short and fat. She was pleased I wasn’t fat. I thought she was cute, even with her arm in a sling and worse – a black polyester pantsuit. She had a lovely smile.

Over lunch, I invited her to join our women’s hike to Mt. Kenya.

On our second date, she showed up in jeans and a ratty sweatshirt. I relaxed. We chatted on the couch. I told her I was attracted to her. She said, “At our age, why wait?” and started kissing me and peeling off my clothes. I was shocked. We’d just met. I thought, how can I tell her to cool it without insulting her?

“Marie-Belle… we’d better go up to the bedroom before someone comes in.”

She was a wonderful lover. I ignored all the good advice from the expert lesbian relationship counsellor. Marie-Belle and I have now been together 20 years. I love Roberts Creek. I love her family. I love her old dog. I even like the commute on B.C. Ferries.

*If you are experiencing a mental health crisis having thoughts of hurting yourself or others call 9-8-8 Suicide Crisis Helpline or the Trans Lifeline at 788-330-6366.

Marsha Ablowitz (she/her) has been writing with Quirk-e for years. Her stories are included in dozens of books and zines. She's also working on a LBGT2S sci-fi novel.