Love, Michael: A second chance romance

by Gina A. Jones

  I ran into Michael's arms, and he looked confused and then angry. "What the hell are you talking about? No, you can't sleep with my wife."

  "Oh, come now, Michael. Like you've been a saint in your marriage." I looked in Michael's eyes, and even though I didn't want to believe it, I knew it was true.

  "You know nothing about me and my marriage. Come on," Michael said as he guided me from the room. "We're leaving."

  Once in the car, I began to cry. Michael punched the steering wheel. "What the hell was that in there? How did you end up…alone with that man?"

  Was he accusing me? "You left, and he wanted to show me around. I didn't know things would end up like that." I wiped my face. The tears were streaming down, and I knew my mascara was running. My fairy tale night with Michael had been ruined. "Why did you want to introduce me, anyway? Was it a set up? Is this what goes on at work? Men swapping their wives? How many women have you slept with—since we've been married?"

  "Don't make this about me, Jill. I wasn't the one seducing an old man." I turned and slapped his face.

  "How fucking dare, you," I hiss. "All I wanted to do was make you proud. I did nothing to provoke your boss."

  He pulled me over, picked me up and planted me on his lap. "Did you like it? Did you like him touching you? His eyes and hands all over you?" His eyes were crazed.

  "NO!" I was crying even harder. I couldn't get control of my emotions.

  "You're mine, Jill. You understand that?"

  "I told him that. I told him I was lucky to have you." He pulled my dress up and yanked my panties to the side. Grabbing my face, he kissed me hard.

  "Undo my belt," he breathed and kissed me harder. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, reminding you how lucky you are."

  My hands trembled with excitement and apprehension as I unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. Within minutes, he was inside me, grabbing my hips and pushing hard. He held me tightly, and I felt his ownership once again as his emotions unraveled, and he repeated my name with demands. "You're fucking mine, Jill. You get that?"

  "Yes," I breathed out.

  "No man will ever have you. I may be a fuckup, but I can't give you up."

  Please! Please say you love me. Michael's form of love came in ownership, his transgressions and fucking me hard. And I accepted it as his love. He did love me, and this was his way of showing it.

  "I want to take you back inside and fuck you in front of him. Show that bastard who you belong to." I know I should have taken offense of the way Michael's love was displayed as ownership. But I didn't, and his out of control lovemaking would somehow shift and fill and give me a sense of power over him. If only, I could have controlled Michael's values of me and kept it alive during the grind of everyday life.

  Now

  Here's the thing about attics. Time stays still. Our secrets, our past, stuffed away, waiting for us to come back and rediscover them. An attic is like a time capsule. Old things stored away, because we don't want them around us; yet, we dare to throw them out. Why is it that when we put something in the attic, we're relieved to find a spot for it? But when we find it again, we feel sad?

  It's been three days since Tammy's funeral, and I've taken some time off work. Ryan and the girls seem to be coping much better than me. Walking into the attic at my childhood home, I somehow expected Tammy to be waiting on me. And maybe she is here. The attic of our childhood room. Everything's the same. Nothing has changed. Time has only added dust and cobwebs. Tiger Beat posters faded and frail still hang on the walls. The blanket hung from the rafters, used as our backstage when Tammy and I were performing as Tiffany or Paula Abdul, or Madonna.

  I touch the blanket and move it to the side, pretending she's behind it and waiting for us to talk and laugh about growing up in this room. She's here. I can feel it.

  My heart aches and feels comfort at the same time if that's possible. Maybe that's why we put things up here. It's things that attach us to a specific time or particular person. This attic only has one time and one person for me. Tammy.

  Looking around, I see a box in the corner and recognize my favorite macramé purse I used to carry on junior high. God, I loved that purse. I grab the wooden rings that make up the handles and peek inside. Another time capsule. I pull out an old bottle of perfume—Sand and Sable. Oh, my God. This was Tammy and my favorite perfume.

  I open the cap and spritz some on my wrist and inhale. Memories come to life as my nose connects time with smells. The Christmas morning I pulled this from my stocking. Tammy and I had it both on our list. Everyone wanted to know what perfume we were wearing. But we would never tell them. It was our signature scent.

  The first time we were dropped off at the mall and allowed to go alone. Oh, we felt so grown up, carrying our purses, this macramé one, wearing heels with jeans. My favorite pair were three in heels candies. I loved those shoes. I wonder if they're still in here somewhere?

  I dig through the box and find an old, school pencil box. The kind we used to have in elementary that held our crayons, glue, pencils and lift the lid. Inside, I find a photo strip of Tammy and me, taken at one of those photo booths. God, I remember this day like it was just yesterday. We slid two quarters in the slot and closed the curtain. The first we didn't know was being taken because we're looking around. The second, we looked surprised. The third we smile, and the last, goofy with our tongues hanging out.

  Digging through pencil box, I find several notes folded into triangle football shapes. Wow, how I miss writing letters. Now with texting, how will we ever go back to the attic and find the words that were so dear to us that we had to save them? I unfold one and feel my lips press into a smile. Tears begin to fill my eyes as I try and read.

  Jill,

  After the football game, let's say we are staying to clean the stadium. I heard Ryan will be at Pizza Hut tonight. That will give us an extra hour to stay out past curfew.

  Love, Tammy

  I open another folded note.

  Jill,

  Did you hear about Kim? They caught her and some other girls smoking in the bathroom. I mean, how crazy is that? You can't hide the smell. You've probably already heard, but study hall is boring today. Ryan isn't here for me to stare at and all my homework is done. Mr. Snyder looks hot in jeans. I love seeing him in jeans. I wish teachers could wear jeans every day and not just on Fridays. Let's hang out at Delany's after school.

  Love, Tammy

  Jill,

  Is something wrong? Are you mad at me? Sorry, I didn't come over last night. My dad took away my phone privileges for a week, and that's why I didn't call you. You seemed bothered by something in first period. I just want to make sure you're not mad at me about not calling. Remember, you are my best friend forever.

  Love, Tammy

  I sniff and wipe the snot and tears dripping down my face. It's like she's still here, tucked away in this attic. Another time capsule waiting to be opened. Though my heart is breaking, I unfold another note. After I read it, I look around the attic. It's her handwriting, but I don't remember this note or why she would have written this. It's a poem. “A Light in The Attic.” There's a light in the attic. Though the house is dark and shuttered, I can see a flickering flutter. And I know what it's about. There's a light in the attic. I can see it from outside. And I know you're on the inside…looking out.

  Is it possible she wrote this and hid it away, knowing I would find it? Her mention of this attic and that's what Heaven will be like. Is this attic her Heaven? Though I know it's not possible, I see her sitting on an old chest, smiling fiendishly at me. And…she's dressed as Marilyn Monroe.

  "Well, are you going to saying anything?" I hear her say in my head.

  Taking a cleansing breath, I begin talking like she's here. "You knew I would come, didn't you?"

  She looks at her nails and then blows on them like they’re wet with polish. "Yup. But do me a favor. Don't be spending too much time in here. Remember, I'm always with you. Please don't store me away
in this attic. How's the wedding coming?"

  Now, why would she say that? I huff a small laugh. "So, how are the Kennedys?"

  "Guess what. They're not there," she whispers.

  I chuckle. "Maybe you're in the wrong place."

  "Ouch. Seriously, Jill—Wedding." And then, she disappears. I fall to my knees and bawl. I'm still crying when I hear the attic door open. I know it's Mom and she's checking on me.

  "I'll be down later. I…I just want to…be alone and cry."

  "Hello, Jill." It's Michael. I look up and see the sad expression on his face. "It's sort of hot up here. Why don't you come down and get some air?"

  "Michael, I don't want to leave this place. I…I feel close to her here." He walks over and bends down.

  "I understand, Jill. But seriously, it's too hot to be up here." He smooths my cheeks and wipes my tears and then runs his hands through my hair, lifting the back to get some air. "You probably don't even know you're sweating. You'll become dehydrated." He moves closer and kisses my forehead. "I know it hurts, Baby."

  Baby?

  Nothing feels real. Monica's a married woman. Tammy is dead. And Michael is back. It's all too much to take all at once. I just wish my thoughts could go back to the way it once was—simple.

  "You know, it was her that got me through when you left."

  "And now I'm here to help you get through this. You're not alone, Jill. You have so many people who love you. Tammy was just one of them."

  I give him a distasteful look. Just the way he said it like she was a dime a dozen. "She was special, Michael. We've been together since we were four. I don't know what life will be like with her gone. I know life went on after you. She taught me that."

  "I'm here now, Jill. And as long as I'm alive, I will never leave you," he says, holding my face. I begin to feel the hot, sticky heat and see the beads of sweat on his upper lip.

  "You know, I spent years hating you, wishing you still loved me. And the problem was, I never knew if you ever did. You never said it."

  "I love you, Jill. Do you hear me? I love you." I want to believe him. I do. And it's those three little words I've waited to hear my whole life from him. But my heart refuses to accept him. What I have learned about love is it messes with your head and plays tricks on you.

  I look into his pleading and sorrowful eyes. If the eyes are the window to the soul, then he is genuinely hurting. But why? Why has this…a once wild and untamable man suddenly becomes…appropriate and…responsive to my needs?

  "Why does it take a loss to make you realize what you had? This is one of life's injustice," I say. "I just thought she'd always be here."

  "We all think we're immortal." He starts to say something, then hesitates. "Until something happens. And all we can think is what we didn't do and what we should have." Is he talking about himself? "You have nothing to feel guilty about, Jill. You were a best friend for her. Never left her side…right up to the end. How many people can say that?"

  "When you left, Michael, I knew it was probably for the best. But still, it was like my heart forgot to work. I had to learn to breathe again. And it was Tammy that told me I just had to learn to think differently. I had to wash the Michael off me, she used to say. I don't want to do that to her just so I can go on."

  "Come on, Jill. Let's go talk somewhere else. It's way too hot up here." He picks me up from the floor and carries me across the attic. Cradled in his arms, I feel the wetness of his chest on my face through his shirt. When he reaches the ladder, he sets me to my feet, and I climb down. Once he's down, his arm wraps my shoulders, and he leads me outside, and we walk across the street to a park shaded with large trees. The breezes coming off the lake feels good, and I realize now how hot the attic was.

  We sit under a large oak, and I lean my head on his shoulder. The sun reflects off the engagement ring he gave me a few days ago. Tammy’s words from the attic echo once again in my head. Or…were they my own words? “How's the wedding coming?”

  He must notice me looking at the ring and holds my hand, running a finger over the ring. "You're still wearing my ring. Is that a yes?"

  "Michael…"

  "Yes?"

  "Tammy wanted me to marry you. Even now, I hear her saying it."

  His finger touches my chin, and he moves me to look at him. Those pleading eyes. "But, what does Jill want?"

  Silence.

  "I…I'm just afraid."

  "Afraid of me, of marriage, of…"

  "Of the unknown. To be optimistic. It's like I'm always hanging onto that scrap of hope. And there's always two sides—reality versus possibility. I just wish that for once, all the possibilities would win." He kisses me tenderly on the lips. A quiet gesture that this is possible. Him and I. I study him—really take in his face and still see the man I fell in love with twenty years ago. The young Michael. And maybe that's what scares me—the young Michael. In this short time, we've been together, it's like I don't see the old Michael. Like a lifelong marriage would be. You look at the older version and still see the young version.

  "Please, marry me, Jill, and let all your possibilities become your reality. We can't rewrite the past, but we can write our future. Our future."

  The water is like glass—smooth and clear. I feel everything has stopped for this moment. The sun shines high in the sky, the breeze wraps me with a warm hug, and I can smell the sweet scent from the bouquet of flowers I'm holding. They're all looking at me. Monica, Jordan, Mom, and Dad. Ryan and the girls have smiles on their faces. It's good to see them happy. I'm happy. The sand on my bare feet feels soft and powdery. My veil whips around, and through the mesh, I see his face. "He has tears in his eyes, Tammy. Just like I always dreamed of," I whisper.

  ‘See, I told ya." I see her sitting on the back of a chair, her feet on the seat, still disguised as Marilyn Monroe. Her smile, with those powder-pink lips refills the much-needed joy in my heart. She winks at me as I pass by and I reach out and touch her open hand. To everyone else, I'm merely waving my hand. Because she is only for me to see.

  I'm that bride. That beautiful bride and he's looking at me with such longing in his eyes. I've never seen him look so handsome. As I walk to him on this beach, the beach Tammy spent her last day on watching the sunset, I filled with such overwhelming emotions. Ends and beginnings. Rights and wrongs. Love and pain. But most of all…happiness. Happiness, because I know she is here, and she is happy.

  I take Michael's hands and still, he gets down on one knee and kisses my knuckles. My ring glistens from the sun and shines in his eyes as he looks up at me.

  "Jill, I used to think about the lucky man who got to have you as his wife. The man who got to see your beautiful smile each day when he woke up. The warm kisses on his face when he was sleeping. The beautiful soul he got to be around every day and wonder if he knew what he had. Today, I am that man, and I know the gift I have been given. You."

  Then

  Christmas morning, Michael surprised Monica and me with a trip to The Gulf. He had a friend with a condo in Ft. Myers and asked if we could use it for the rest of Christmas break. Although I was shocked and impressed, Michael said he needed to clear his head from the what had happened at the Whirlpool Christmas party. Not only was he more attentive with me, but I felt there was more on his mind. And I hoped it was to have another baby. I hadn't yet brought the subject up and wished to discuss it over Mai Tais on the on the beach. He was ready to be all in. Buckle down and be the husband and father I needed. After all, we were still together, and no talk of divorce after I graduated from nursing school had been mentioned. Of which was his original plan for us. Therefore, he loved me and wanted us to remain a family.

  Monica came running into the bedroom, wearing her new Christmas pajamas and carrying her new baby doll and climbed into bed with us. Michael picked her up and sat her on his chest. "Hey, baby girl. How would you like to go swimming in the ocean?"

  "But, Daddy, it's cold outside."

  "Not where we're goin
g to be going. You want to get on a big airplane and fly to the ocean?"

  "Yeah," she screamed, jumping up on her knees and falling back onto his chest. She was excited, and I loved to watch him interact with his daughter. Surely, he would want us to start trying for another baby.

  I rolled over and kissed him on the lips and then lay my head on his chest. We were both still naked, and my leg brushed against his penis under the covers. When I looked up at him, he smiled and told Monica to go pick out which toys she wanted to take on her trip. "And Daddy will come to check on you," he said. He picked her up, and she ran excitedly out of the room. As soon as she was out of sight, he picked me up and sat me down over his growing erection. It didn't take long for us to be joined together, bouncing the bed with our wild passion. Michael may not have been good with passionate words for me, but when it came to sex, I felt I was his everything. He was all I ever knew and all I ever wanted. But soon, I would learn Michael would need so much more than me…or his daughter.

  We were packed and headed to the airport. One week alone with just Michael and our daughter was to me, a ticket to forever, and this was just the beginning. Soon as we landed and sat out for the beach, I would talk to him about having another baby.

  Monica was fascinated with the airplane and wanted to know if we were riding on the clouds. Michael told her yes, and I watched the two of them becoming closer. Maybe now seeing how much she meant to him, he would want to do it right this time. Be involved and happy for a baby to be coming.

  We landed and rushed to get through the airport and grabbed a taxi. The air was warm and balmy when we stepped outside, and Monica asked what happened to the snow. Michael laughed and told her it stayed home because we forgot to pack it. But here, all the snow turned into a big puddle of water, and we were going to swim in it. Michael held my hand and carried his daughter as we moved through the hustle and bustle, and it gave me a feeling of protection and belonging.