I notice after a moment that she has many tattoos on her flesh. They are beautiful works of art that lack color. I see writing but I’m not close enough to read the letters. As I watch the women move their bodies together, I can’t help but feel the intensity within the room. They continue to do this for what seems like hours. I watch one body move to match the other. At times, they would disappear under the blanket. The father would loudly grunt in disapproval to get their attention. Soon after, they would emerge from their depth and continue where they had left off.
I can’t stop watching. Something about this is so right. I glanced toward the father, who was still sitting in his corner like a scouring puppy. He had partially removed his pants and was rubbing himself. I observed him patiently, trying to understand why he was doing what he was doing.
There was a moment of exhilaration between the women as they panted together before letting themselves rise into their mystical world. After the mysterious woman was through with the mother, she strode over to the father, who was still sitting in his corner. She kneeled down in front of the chair. She put him inside her mouth until he got his release. Without a word, she put on her clothes and left the room.
That was my first threesome.
Loss
Spineless.
Absorbent into the depth.
It tastes you, races you.
Picking its bite, always in the want.
When you plunder beneath the bottom.
It shows you a new way to feel.
Willing to give yourself away.
Your soul as a whole.
For one more fraction of a second.
To not feel what you already know.
It’s easier to have hope than to forget.
Some way there’s no cause.
Longing for the impossible.
Rarity comes, rarity goes.
Those you thought, were never there.
Destiny has spoken.
Her words are unsharpened.
You feel the hate.
Unruly aside.
She takes not once but twice from your life.
With her return, you’re doomed to fate.
You cringe as she shuffles the deck.
How’s your deal?
Mark
“Mommy loves you my little Jake-y. You are such a handsome boy. You must get that from your handsome Daddy.”
I watch her as she baby-talks to our son. She gradually rocks his tiny fragile body back and forth, holding him tight to her chest. I love how she confesses all her hopes and dreams onto this child of ours. I always knew Barbie would make an extraordinary mother. Some people just have that element built right into them. Others have to really work at it.
“We are going to read you another book tonight and the next night and the next night. Mommy wants you to grow up to be an intelligent, smart boy.”
This child we have created is a spitting image of his mother. His nose is thin and turned up, precisely mimicking Barbie’s. His fleshy risen cheeks you can blame on me. The red tinged hair he wears on his dome is somewhat of a mystery to me. I’ve always had dark hair since birth. Barbie concurs the same. My mind wanders to that place of what if? What if this kid isn’t mine? Ha. Not a fat chance in hell. I trust this woman with my life. I feel my face smiling as I watch her rocking back and forth through the opening in the door. I am happy. She is happy. Our Jake is healthy. What more could anyone ask for?
I jolt from my slumber to the sound of my cell phone ringing next to my ear. I try to open my eyes but everything is distorted. It takes me a few seconds to remember what day it is. The display on the phone reads Cynde.
Nope. I’m not doing this today. I can’t deal with her shit right now. Last night I went overboard. That’s becoming a habit lately. It was my birthday, so screw it. I deserve to let loose for one night and attempt to forget my weaknesses. I can’t deny that my head is pounding at the moment. I need to take a shower and drink some coffee. A lot of coffee. I check my calendar, which reads September 19, 2018. Something pings in my brain. Something important is happening today. But what?
The phone rings again. Cynde. I toss my phone beside me on the bed and make my way to the bathroom. The cool morning air that fills the room is enough to make my skin bubble. I conclude that it might be time to turn on the heat for the season. It only takes a few seconds for my brain to reject that absurd remark. I’m sticking it out another few weeks. A heat bill is not something I’m willing to add to my collection of debt for the month.
I take an enormously long piss and pop a couple aspirin into my mouth. I head downstairs, make a peanut butter sandwich, and pour a glass of orange juice. I take a swig and realize this juice tastes like shit. I open the fridge and take out a bottle of vodka, with just enough in it to get me to work.
Screwdrivers are my favorite breakfast tradition. I used to be a beer man. Beer just doesn’t cut it for me anymore. I need a drink with personality to give me motivation for the day. Admiral Nelson is his name.
645 calories are sitting in my stomach. Time to get moving. As I finish cleaning up, the house phone begins to ring. Why the hell do people think it’s okay to call at 8:30 a.m.? I answer the phone.
“Mark, It’s Cynde. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. I need you to meet with me before we do mediation today. Can you be here at eleven?”
It’s September 19th. Fuck! I forgot that today was mediation day. I don’t want to do this today. I have a headache, I feel like shit.
“Listen, I don’t really have time in my schedule this morning. I’ll be there at noon for the meeting,” I mutter, hoping she will let me off the hook.
“Mark, this is important. Today is a big deal. You need to be here at eleven so we can prepare.”
“Fine, I’ll juggle some things around.” Click.
Fucking lawyers, always nagging. Especially this one. No matter how much we prepare, today is going to be unpleasant to say the least.
A wave of dread moves across my body. How did it get to this point? When did things get so bad? I never in my wildest dreams thought that I would be getting divorced from Barbie. She and I are amazing together. Everyone used to envy us. Our relationship was so natural, like it was meant to be her and me all along. I imagined the two of us growing old together and enjoying our simple life. We had even planned to quit our jobs when we turned 55, sell our home, and travel the country in an RV. It was what we both wanted. We were weird like that. What happened to us?
I remember the dream I had this morning. Watching Barbie rock our child to sleep. We had everything going for us. This dream has tormented me for months. Over and over again I examine her through the crack in the door. That beautiful handsome baby boy of mine. I didn’t have the slightest clue that this was the last time I would see Jake alive.
I try to run every second of the evening through my mind, but the truth is, it’s a blur. I know I’ve subconsciously locked pieces of the night away in some dark box and thrown away the key. Probably for my own sanity.
Earlier that dreadful day, Barbie took Jake to the clinic for his routine checkup. He was healthy. Nothing was found to be out of the ordinary with Jake’s health. She rocked him to sleep that evening in her arms. She placed his perfect eight pound and seven ounce body into his brand new crib. She snuck out of his room and into my bed where we took advantage of the free time and made love. It was the first time in almost seven months. During the pregnancy, Barbie insisted we not have sex because she felt horrible about the way she looked as a pregnant woman. After all those grueling months, I was ready to screw like no tomorrow. We did just that. We screwed, and it was great sex.
Before we went to sleep for the night, we snuck into the nursery to check on Jake. We wanted to watch him sleep in his serene slumber and take pride in our creation. We walked into his room and saw a peaceful baby boy lying in his crib on his back.
He wasn’t breathing.
She noticed before I did that something wasn’t right. She r
eached for his little body but immediately recoiled her arms when she felt the coolness of his skin. Barbie was hysterical. She called 911 and I started CPR. I knew before I started pressing his tiny chest that this child was gone. His skin was cold and colorless. His tiny fingers were gray. Death was in the air. He was gone—and had been gone for a while. I forced myself to be hopeful for a second. I grasped onto that hope that maybe, just maybe this wasn’t really happening. That Jake would wake up and everything would be like it was the hour before.
After that, I don’t remember much. I was in shock, Barbie lost her mind. This was the beginning of the end of our perfect family. What we lost that night was more than our son. We lost ourselves as people. Our perceptions changed and we lost all hope in the world, in life.
I awake from my trance with tears running down my cheeks.
“You’re such a pussy,” I say to myself as I reach into my pocket for my present.
I grab an empty Pepsi can from the garbage and dent it inward just right. I puncture a hole and drop my weed into the dent. The sweet inhale of earth and orange invade my lungs as I hold my breath for a moment too long. My chest squeezes as the air bursts through my lips and smoke scatters into the clean air around me. I do it again, and again, and again, until I feel like a decent enough human being.
I drag my body to a more comfortable seat and flip through the TV channels. I land on the Maury Show. As I watch the angry and overly dramatic black chick accuse her white, nerdy boyfriend of cheating on her, I can’t help but want to see what happens next. She removes her shoes in preparation to fight, and what does he do? He takes a knee and proposes to her shoeless black ass. This shit has to be staged. I like the chaos, though.
I flip through more channels before getting sucked into an episode of SpongeBob Square Pants. My mind trails to a place where cartoons are created. How does it all work? What do the people look like behind these cartoon voices? Why is it so important that SpongeBob tell everyone in the whole entire ocean that he ripped his pants?
I arrive back to reality from my trance with a serious case of cotton mouth. I snatch my jacket and leave the house. I stop at Joni’s and grab more Admiral and Crown while deciding on some mini bottles of random drink. I know today is about to suck and I need some incentive in my life at this point. I take a few nips of whisky and pop a Tic Tac mint before heading into the lawyer’s office.
Cynde meets me at her office door. She is a tall, scrawny woman whose hair is way too short and artificially brunette with streaks of gold. She looks to be about 45 years old given the wrinkles embedded into her forehead. The few times I’ve seen her she is dressed modestly, which amazes me because she has a brilliantly shaped body from what I see outlined in her dress. I noticed she doesn’t wear a ring, which makes me wonder if she was ever married. Maybe she is a divorce lawyer who is divorced? I can appreciate the irony in that.
“Good morning, Mark. Take a seat. How are you today?” She sounds genuinely interested in my answer.
“Honestly? I don’t want to be here.”
“I would be worried if you did want to be here, Mark. The point is that we are here right now and this is happening today. I know you and Barbara are wanting to divorce on clean terms and today is the day to make that happen. Have you decided what assets you are passionate about and what things you can part with?”
The fact of the matter is that I haven’t thought about any of this. I honestly didn’t believe it would get this far. I thought she would come out of this slumber and we would pick up where we left off. We could continue like it never happened and move on with life.
“I have some ideas,” I manage to stammer out. I should have brought one of those mini bottles with me.
“Good. Mark, it’s important that you voice your wants during this meeting. Once you are officially dissociated from Barbara, what you have to your name is going to depend on what happens today. I know you never wanted this, but Barbara has made it clear that this is happening. You need to think about your future now. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I’m not ready for this.
“Can we just get it over with?”
Cynde leads me to an oversized office with a large table and multiple office chairs gathered around. As I glance at the bodies in the chairs, I see Barbie and another man whom I assume is the mediator. Barbie looks beautiful. She has changed her hair color from blonde to brown. She wears it well. At that moment I just wanted to run into the room and beg her to come back to me. It’s not like I haven’t tried that before. Maybe this time she will give in to her past feelings. It takes everything I have to not drop to my knees and beg for her to stop all of this right now.
I enter the room and sit at the table across from Barbie. She glances in my direction and throws a fake smile at me. I can tell she is uncomfortable. The last time I saw her, she was standing at the window of our home, watching me try to unlock the front door. Little did I know she had the locks changed earlier in the day. With that gesture, she made it clear she was done with me. Sick of my shit once and for all. She had been threatening separation on occasion, but I didn’t think it would happen. I didn’t think my actions were as bad as she portrayed. I never took her threats seriously, and now I am paying the ultimate price.
The meeting itself took about an hour. It felt like we were doing a business deal instead of separating our lives for eternity. We decided to sell the house and split the profit fifty-fifty. There are too many memories attached to our home, and neither of us wants to remain within those walls.
When we purchased our home three years prior, we had so many hopes for the place. We were going to make our family there. We planned to build an addition off the back at some point down the road. We dreamed of barbeques and holiday celebrations with our friends and family. We planned to create our life there, not end it. We wanted the oversized yard, the vegetable garden, and the colorful flowers that lined the walk path to our front door. We wanted it all and believed we could have it. I was going to give that to her. I still can, if she would let me.
We each took a vehicle and I gave her the cats. Never liked those creatures anyway. They were only good for puking on the floor and smelling up the house with their litter and dry poop. Money was pretty easy to settle on. We basically kept most of our funds in separate bank accounts and split the bills as they came. I could have fought harder. I should have, since I supported her through two years of college. I just want to make sure she is taken care of. Cynde might scold me for that choice, but fuck her. I let Barbie keep the furniture and most of the household items, since I’ve already started to gather a collection in my new apartment. I kindly agreed to almost all of her requests. I couldn’t help but think this could be the last time I see her.
I had heard through mutual friends that she was moving to Boston for a job. She always talked about Boston and how beautiful it was there. I never gave it a thought.
On the drive home, I stop at a bar. I need to be around people at the moment. I can’t stand to go back to that cold, quiet apartment right now. It would be irresponsible of me. I park in the back of the bar and grab my rolling papers. I roll myself a decent-sized joint and light it up. I lower the window and let the smoke dance its way through the tiny crack I’ve teased it with. I beg for the toxins to penetrate my airway until I can’t feel anymore. The green dream and I are doing all right.
As I open the door to the bar, I notice a piece of paper in the window that says shots for chips. I ask the tender to explain what it means. He explains that anyone with an Alcoholics Anonymous recovery chip can come to this bar and relinquish their chip for free shots. They get one shot of their choice for each year of sobriety. He points to a small jar on the countertop holding a few surrendered mementos from past customers.
“Just the other night I got a five-year chip from an old Mexican gal. The highest I’ve managed to collect so far is a ten-year.” He talks as if he is pleased with himself.
I know a little about Alcoholics Anonymous. I�
�ve had friends that have taken the AA path in life, hoping to change their course. My father did the program for a while when I was young. It didn’t last long for him. He fell back into his ways after only a few months. Barbie told me I needed to go to a meeting and get involved in a program. I adamantly refused. I know I drink more than I should, but I don’t agree that I’m out of control enough to involve myself. Still, I can’t help but wonder what makes a recovering alcoholic walk into a shitty dive bar and give up their precious possession. Is it really that easy to give up their fight after all those years?
“Five years is a long time. What made her change her mind?” I need to know what makes a person give up like that.
“She lost someone close to her.”
I notice a guy sitting nearby, listening in on the conversation. He begins to interject his opinion about how Alcoholics Anonymous is a big scam and it never lasts with anyone.
“Anyone who is willing to walk into a bar and give it up that easily is weak and deserves to fail anyway.” He stammers through broken teeth.
I take my drink and head to a corner of the bar where I can sit and think. I listen to him whine about his pitiful life and pitiful problems to the bartender. I’m convinced I will give the tender an extra tip tonight—I feel bad for him having to listen to that douche.
I hear him say the name Willy Bard. He’s got my attention. He rants about how Willy Bard turned him in to the police years ago and ruined his life. He blames Willy because he can’t get a decent job now that he has charges on his record. As I sit there and listen to him plan his revenge, my blood boils. I’ve known Willy for years and he is a decent guy. It makes me furious that he’s talking shit about a genuinely good person. I’m dismayed that he has the audacity to infer that Willy’s wife getting cancer is karma coming back to bite him in the ass.
Tomorrow Page 3