And then I started to say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Sarah stood up and tears started forming around the corners of her eyes and she started shouting, “You know how sensitive I am about my face hair? Why would you do that? Why?”
I told her I thought it was a piece of fuzz. And then she settled down for a few minutes and then she shouted. She told me she was tired of fighting with me. She shouted at me that she was upset by what I’d been looking at on the computer. I asked her, “What was I looking at then?” And she had a look on her face like porn. Tons of porn. I told her she was exaggerating, but then she started reading a list off her phone. She’d sent it to herself in an email. She started telling me the names of sites like worldsex.com, youporn.com, mothersteachdaughters.com, bangbros.com, mycuckholdhusband.com, blacksonblondes. com, naughtyamerica.com, bigboobs.com, burningangel.com, mykidsbabysitter.com, youtorture.com.
Sarah looked at me and then she said,“Seriously, Scott? Youtorture.com.”
Then she started listing off the names of the other porn sites. I told her, “Okay. Okay.” I told her not to judge me about my tastes in porno. I told her when she read them all together like that she made me sound like a total pervert or something. Sarah just looked at me and rolled her eyes and said, “Well it’s funny you should mention that because here’s one called iama-pervert.com. And another called pervertcreep.com.” Sarah said she wondered if I was talking to people online and I just shook my head and felt myself getting angry.
I shouted at her and she shouted at me. And then I shouted at her and she shouted at me and then we shouted together. And then we shouted in other rooms. I told her she was spying on me and she told me she knew everybody jerked off, but good god. We had kids now. I told her I was sick of her always complaining about every single thing I did. I started walking towards the computer room and I slammed the door to the basement behind me and I ran down the stairs. Sarah shouted, “What are you doing?”
And so I shouted, “Since I’m such a shit person I’m going to kill that computer.”
Sarah said, “What?” and followed me.
I said, “I’m going to kill the computer” and then I started shouting, “Yep, I’m going to kill that computer” or variations like, “That fucking computer is going to get it” or direct threats to the computer like, “I’m going to kill you—you little fuck.”
At the bottom of the stairs I went into the tool room and I grabbed a ten pound sledge that always sat in the corner. I picked up my sunglasses and put them on. Sarah said, “Why are you putting on your sunglasses?” I told Sarah that they weren’t sunglasses anymore. They were safety goggles now. I told Sarah I was all about safety. Then Sarah said something about pictures, but I didn’t know what she meant. I pulled at the computer but it didn’t seem to budge. So I ripped at it some more but the wires were in such a rats nest of a tangled mess that I couldn’t rip it right. We planned to get a new computer anyway because this computer had seen its better days. So I calmly pulled the cords out. 1,2,3,4. I took the monitor and I smacked it against the corner of the desk. I thought it was going to explode or shatter in glory but it didn’t do shit. I slammed it a few more times and then I threw it against the side of the wall and watched it bounce and Sarah just stood there watching me. She had her hands on the side of her face. I reached down and grabbed hold of the hard drive and ripped it out of the wall and Sarah kept repeating, “What are you doing?”
I picked up the ten pound sledge and looked at her with a look like, “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to kill our computer.”
I stood above the hard drive and swung the sledge hammer up like I was tossing a baby high into the air. The sledge came up heavy and I let it drop down dead. It smashed against the computer and bashed against the heavy plastic. Then I swung it up again and let it crash back down until the computer busted into about three or four separate computers and then I bashed those too. Then Sarah shrieked, “Scott. My pictures. My pictures of the kids.” Finally, I knew exactly what she meant. I killed the pictures of our kids and I looked down and there was blood all over my hand. Sarah said, “Scott, I want you the fuck out of here and don’t you ever come back.”
She fell to her knees over the busted computer. And there was blood on my pants and there was blood on my hands and there was blood on my arms and there was blood on my pants and there was blood on my white t-shirt. I told her I was sorry and I told her I’d leave now. I told her maybe I didn’t damage the hard drive. And now Sarah was crying. Since I was covered in blood, I decided it was a good idea to go out in public. Sarah looked back at me and said, “Scott, you’re covered in blood.” I told her I knew her training as a nurse was going to come in handy one day. But nobody smiled.
I went out to my car and I drove to the Super 8 motel and I got out. I thought, “I will stay here for the night.” I tried wiping off the blood as best as I could and then I walked inside. The plain-looking woman behind the counter seemed nervous. She fumbled and bumbled with her computer. She looked at me and said, “Sir, I’m sorry but we’re all booked up.” I looked through the shiny glass behind the fake plant out into the parking lot and I said,“Two trucks and you’re all booked up?” The one woman went and asked another woman and they whispered together like someone had died. They broke their huddle and then one woman came back and said they had a room.
She entered my info and told me I’d be in room 118. And so I repeated 118 even though it was written down on the folded paper that held the key. Then the woman behind the counter said without looking at me. “Sir, do you know you’re covered in blood?” I didn’t answer her. I just started walking down the red hallway from the lobby and repeating 118,118, 118. I repeated the numbers of the rooms on my way and said, 128,124,122. I counted them in my head like room 118 didn’t exist at all.
I slid the card into the key holder and then the little light turned green. The lock unlocked in a buzz and then I pushed open the door and it was like I was pushing my way into my very own cell and I started crying. I called Sarah on the hotel phone and I told her how sorry I was and how sorry we should always be, always. I told her there was something wrong with me. And then I hung up the phone and I thought about the picture of us on the couch. I thought about the picture of us at the beach. I thought about us holding Iris in the front yard. I thought of Sarah sitting in a funny hat from years ago. These were moments of our lives.
The next morning Sarah called and told me to come home. She told me the pictures were all gone. But please come home. She was worried about me. And so it was. It was all gone.
I remembered the lines of an old book from my past and the lines were all different now: “Whether I shall turn out to be the villain of my own life… these pages must show.”
What can I do? I can go back and place all the pictures I have left of my life and I can put them together. I can put them together in a book and so when Sarah is old she can take the book and she will be able to see them again and remember.
I’ll put the pictures of Iris at the couch where she looks like a baby doll.
I’ll put the pictures of baby Sam covered in kisses.
I’ll put others too. And we’ll all be here. In the pictures Sarah and her children will always be young. In the pictures they’ll be young and alive. So she can return to them one day and we’ll all be together again. Smiling.
It was around this time that Sarah told me she wanted a divorce. When she called me upstairs, I thought maybe she just wanted to have sex.
I came up the stairs and said, “Do you want to have sex?”
Sarah just shook her head and said, “No, I don’t think we should, Scott. And besides, I’m not on birth control anymore.” So Sarah sat down on the loveseat and I handed her the baby who I’d just fed a bottle. He was sleeping now. I told her, “O don’t worry. We can if you want and besides Sam is sleeping.” Sarah told me she wasn’t worried about getting pregnant. She told me, “I want a divorce.�
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I didn’t know what to do.
I thought I heard her say, “I want a divorce, Scott.”
Then I realized she said, “I want a divorce, Scott.” She said, “I know you’ve been saying the past couple of times we fought that I’ve been trying to get out of this relationship for years.”
She sobbed. “But the truth is—I’ve actually been trying to stay in this marriage for years.”
I sat on the couch and I watched her cry and I thought, “I wonder if she wants the divorce because of the nickname.” A month or so before, Sarah had said, “I want a nickname. I’ve always wanted a nickname. A cute little nickname like Cee Cee or Sissy or something.” I told her I had a nickname for her. Her nickname was the Moose. So I started calling her the Moose.
“That’s not my name,” she said. I said, “Whatever, Moose.”
This went on for weeks and Sarah even started playing around with it. One day she left me a note that said, “I’m going to the store with the kids. I’ll be back soon. Love. The Moose.”
I thought about asking whether the divorce was because I called her the Moose, but I didn’t.
I decided to do something different. I decided to try and look pathetic. I tried out a disappointed and confused face and then I looked to see if that would change her mind. I looked at the floor and then I looked pathetic. I looked at the walls and I tried to look confused and full of fear. Then I looked at Sarah and she still wanted a divorce. I looked at my hands and then I looked pathetic. I put my head in my hands and I tried to look disappointed and pathetic and confused all at the same time. But then I looked at Sarah and she still looked like she wanted a divorce. I thought I should try something different.
I tried talking to her. I scooted over on the couch and sat next to her as she held Sam and he slept. Then I took my arm and I patted her on the back and she kept repeating, “You know it’s not working. You know it’s not.” I patted her on the back like I was burping a baby and then I told her that she’d just had a baby not too long ago. I told her she’d gotten pregnant with another baby soon after the first.
I said, “That’s two babies in three years.” I told her she was probably just depressed. I told her that her hormones were out of whack and it was probably just post-partum.
Sarah’s eyes popped open and angry.
Sarah rocked Sam and said, “How come when a woman is talking about how she feels some man has to go on about how her hormones are all out of whack or she’s having postpartum. What the fuck do you know about postpartum, fat boy?”
Fat boy. So I scooted away and down the couch and I started to cry a kid’s cry. I thought about chicken wings and how I wanted to fat girl the world. I told her I knew she didn’t like the way I looked and lived. I leaned forward like I was bracing for the impact of an airplane crash and I started crying in one of these hyperventilating cries until I couldn’t breathe. Sarah kept sitting in the chair and holding Sam and she said, “Settle down. Settle down. It’s ok.” But it wasn’t ok. And so I cried and tried to catch my breath. Sarah said, “Settle down. It’s ok.” I cried and tried to catch my breath some more. And Sarah said settle down. Settle down. So I punched myself in the face like I did when I couldn’t handle things and felt the sting against my cheek and then I did it again. Sarah shouted now, “Scott, please.” And so I cried like a brat and said, “And you just sit there and don’t try to comfort me.”
Sarah just rolled her eyes and said, “Scott, I’m holding a baby.” Then she called me by my nickname. Bubs. And Bubby. I whispered, “Excuses. Excuses.” I felt wetness on my nose and wetness on the skin above my lip.
The wetness tickled a little. Then Sarah said, “Scott, you’re getting snot on the couch.” I was. I looked down and there was a snot smear on the back of my hand like a spider web in my hand hair. Then I saw the couch and there was a smear of snot on the couch cushion as well. Sarah tried to calm me and spoke in her mom voice now. “You know as much as I do that something is wrong.”
I stood straight up and said, “Okay.” Then I sat back down and said, “If you’re not happy. You’re not happy.” I asked her if there was someone else and she said, “No.” Then I told her if she wanted a divorce that I wanted her to agree to a few things. 1) “I don’t want anyone else raising our kids” and then 2) I said,
“Please don’t move far away. Please.” I started crying again and I asked her if she ever loved me. Her eyes dropped tears and she pointed to Sam and then she pointed towards Iris who was playing in the hallway. I stood up again and I told her I’d leave for the night. I picked up my keys and I held them in my hand and I let them dangle free. I walked towards the door but then I fell back on my knees in front of her on the floor and scooted towards her on my little knee feet. I put my hands together in prayer and I began to beg.
Please I said please.
No Sarah said no.
I told her I’d do better and I told her I’d stop drinking and I told her I’d take better care of myself and I’d cut out all the shit like eating chicken wings every night by myself and drinking and we could eat like a family again. I told her I’d go to therapy and I said please Sarah please Sarah please, but then Sarah said no.
Sarah said, “I’ve been trying to get you to go to therapy for years. I’ve been begging you to stop for years. And all the molestation stuff that happened when you were a kid.”
So we stood and stared at one another and it was quiet and our faces were saying sad things.
I scooted away from her and then I stood up to say goodbye. I looked at her and I wanted to say something memorable and I wanted to speak the truest thing ever said between us. I wanted to say something that made her reconsider and remember who we were, but all I could think of was this, “You sure you don’t want to have sex?”
Then I said, “You know, like a ‘For the good times’ thing. Like a ‘One for the road’ thing.” She smiled and I smiled and she said she didn’t think we should. I said, “Well would you at least think about it?” Sarah told me she’d think about it as long as I promised not to kill myself and I told her I wouldn’t kill myself. Then we both smiled. This meant something. Sarah might have sex with me again if I promised not to kill myself.
I left the house that day and I drove to Walmart. I decided to sleep in my car that night and I decided to do all the things I couldn’t do when Sarah was around. I walked inside Walmart and I bought a case of beer. I bought chicken wings from the deli. Then I took my bag of groceries and I went back and sat down in my car. I said, “This isn’t too bad.” I opened a can of beer and I drank it down. I felt the bitter bubble in my mouth and then I swallowed down the cold. I opened up another can of beer and then I drank it down too. I watched some porn on my phone and I masturbated. I wondered if the Walmart parking lot cameras could see me, but I didn’t care. I didn’t have anything to clean up with so I used a baby diaper I had in my front seat. I drank another beer and crushed the can and I threw it on the floorboard where it gathered with all of the others like little brothers. I made my little pile of a shiny can family.
I opened up the container of chicken wings and I pulled one out. I held the wing upside down all possum style and then I put it to my mouth. I ripped at the skin and garbled it down and I felt myself getting fat and I felt the whole world getting fat. I tore the meat from the chicken bone and I felt the chicken wing sauce sting on my lips and on the sides of my cheeks.
Then I talked to the chicken wings like they were still alive and I asked what the future held for me. And the chicken wings just laughed and whispered a single word, “Pain.”
I asked the chicken wings what the future held for all of us, what the future held for you.
The chicken wings just laughed and whispered, “Pain.”
Then they laughed some more like maniacs and the chicken wings told me I was going to lose my mind starting now. I would want to die every day and there was a good chance that I wouldn’t make it out alive. They said I was getting ready to
live the worst part of my life. They said the planet Earth was dying anyway and they said the end had come and it was the Day of Judgment. Global warming and now the Day of Judgment was coming soon. They said human beings were over and done with and that the chicken wings were taking over. I just leaned back in my seat and smiled and said, “This sounds like a good time. This sounds like fun.”
Sarah found out she was pregnant when she was 22 years old. She was dating this guy who lifted weights all of the time and they had broken up and then they got back together and that’s when she got pregnant.
And now they were breaking up again.
Sarah decided to get it taken care of. That’s what they said when they talked about it. “Get it taken care of.” Sarah went out one night with her best friend, Hot Girl. She hadn’t told Hot Girl about the pregnancy. So they talked about one of their other friends who had to have a breast reduction after years of back problems. Hot Girl told Sarah the latest gossip, “But now that she’s had the breast reduction, she thinks they reduced them too much so she’s going to get an augmentation. She’s going to have to get big titties again.”
They both laughed and they ate and talked some more and Sarah didn’t say anything about what she was going through and Hot Girl didn’t tell Sarah about her own heart. When they left, Hot Girl kept looking at Sarah and Sarah kept looking back. It was like Hot Girl was looking for something inside of Sarah, but Sarah didn’t say anything. The next day the guy who got Sarah pregnant drove her all of the way to Charleston and Sarah was quiet and the guy was quiet too. They listened to songs on the radio.
Sarah thought about how when she was 15 she helped a church group picket an abortion clinic with Hot Girl and Sarah held up signs of dead babies even though she didn’t want to.
The Sarah Book Page 3