BF4Ever

by George Matheos

  The thought of stars would bring to mind sad images of her father Anton and she absolutely knew that she didn’t want any more ‘stars’ like husband Hank and daddy Anton in her unhappy life. The disconcerted thoughts of her empty high school days, with Daddy and Hank in the background, rattled her mind on a daily basis now in her stupid married life.

  “You die when your heroes die, and they die awfully young,” out of nowhere, one day, the brash thought interrupted her usual nonsensical preoccupation and frightened her.

  She had conditioned herself to suffer her dreaded insecurities in the privacy of her home, alone. Alone was preferable than being with her friends who did love her, but continued to think of her as being so lucky to have landed Hank, as if he were a pizza.

  “I don’t want to die young,” the thought occurred to her in the pain of her loneliness. She wasn’t sure which was worse: to die young or to live alone.

  But then, she herself could have been one of the stars, one of the silent valedictorian people. She too was good in math and science, and everything else as well, but had stupidly held back in favour of being part of the insipid in-crowd. If nothing else, if she hung out with the serious, nerdy types who wore glasses because they read a lot, she could have developed a more interesting mode of conversation, like beautiful celebrities on TV, for there was no denying Sharon’s beauty. Instead, she had felt the school pressure to hang out with fucking jocks who even then, she knew, definitely did not make for lively conversation. Not to be too unfair, but still fair, let’s face it, rare was the high school jock who had any imagination beyond some reefer coach infected childhood expectations of ridiculous big time glory and a herd of beautiful women.

  Pathetic little fuckers, Sharon thought.

  “Jesus help me; you make one fucking mistake and it haunts you for the rest of your life,” she protested trying to exonerate herself from disorders.

  “What might it be like,” she now wondered, “to be married to an intelligent person, a non-jock, a college graduate, perhaps a PhD, a gentle man who would whisper dreamy words into my ears in the wakening minutes of our pillow-talk.”

  “A thing of beauty is a joy forever,

  Its loveliness increases …” she recalled from a poem she liked.

  It didn’t do any good to cry because time had passed her by; she was grown up now.

  *

  She went into her kitchen and got a Lady Godiva dark chocolate bar, slowly returned to her bedroom and lovingly licked it for a long time as she quietly lay on her bed.

  It was delicious though not sweet.

  She thought of a drink but decided to stick with licking the chocolate.

  “What would it be like to be married to a person who does not continuously slurp cans of beer? To a man who could go for days without the mention of inane sports stats, but find pleasure in sharing pretty thoughts?” she heard herself say.

  She stretched her lovely body on her soft bed. The dark chocolate was getting to her, making her hot, so she undressed, a nude queen with melted chocolate on her fingers.

  In the vicious magic of her mind she saw her husband Hank as an old man, dour, dumb, and nude of any grace, staring at her, lying next to her on their bed. His eyes were slowly bleeding out the evil of fear and failure that had been contaminating every pock-mark of his fading face. If he had had any dreams he had managed to detract from them their youthful simplicity and beauty. Fate that fed his high school silly dreams of glory, his young man’s honourable ambition that he could’ve been someone important in football, had long ago crushed the man and his dreams. In the cruelty that Fate often plays ugly tricks on people, Hank’s prize was Sharon instead of a stellar football career.

  Not fair, she thought, thinking of herself only as some common prize.

  She had sacrificed everything to be in the right crowd.

  “I was afraid, then, that I might have been thought of as an undesirable geek. I didn’t want the world not to like me. I now wish I was ugly.”

  Her recollections were all tasteless bluster.

  Frantically she tried to keep her feelings and emotions under control.

  She pushed her lovely hair back.

  She dry-cried at how pathetically average she and her friends had thoughtlessly been moulded into brainless popular clichés of endless excuses.

  Depressed boys and girls, who grew up to be depressed men and women, where the good was bad and the bad was good; still scared to utter a single intelligent word and risk being thought of as a fool, or worse, a geek.

  “I didn’t want to be passed by, and be married to the wrong man, like my mother has been,” she stupidly thought, for that was exactly what she had done.

  And all too often, the fucking thought haunted her that she was still traveling the same trip, now husbanded into a living emptiness, with the same in-crowd losers of her not so long ago high school days.

  She got up to take her morning shower because the very thought of those people from her past, now and forever, again as ever before, made her feel hopelessly lost in a quagmire of immense insignificance and boredom that had become her present life.

  Chapter Eight

  Ever since she published her first and only novel, Judith Langdon had been consumed by disappointment as the book had come out to minimal fanfare. Fame, public acclaim, reviews in learned journals, even recognition among friends and relatives, never came as she had dreamed. No publicity, no praise to clear away the dust of obscurity, no television appearances, and even less worldly goods, like money. There it was, a book bound with all the trappings of authorship, including her name in big letters on the cover to prove it was hers, but it might as well not have been there at all. Sometimes she wished she had never written it, and wondered if it was worth the cost of the paper that it was printed on. The whole fucking world was totally indifferent to it and her existence; not a single glance of what might have been construed as recognition came her way. Stupid people at work who couldn’t write a single page on anything still greeted and walked and conversed with her as equals. So she hid the disappointment of her artistic debut with an emotionally twisted smile on her lips. The effect of her let-down was to shadow the whole family.

  A good-looking woman, Judy worked as an Admissions Counsellor at East LA Junior College. After completing a Master’s degree in Guidance and Counselling, she married Anton Langdon, a onetime violin child prodigy. Anton was a shy fellow who had always felt uncomfortable with his genius. Intimidated by the thought of becoming a renowned musician and having to perform before audiences, Anton chose to eschew great recognitions for the easier route of becoming a pharmacist, an out-of-the-way steady profession with minimal conceit. Langdon and Judy had one child, Sharon, who was nine years old when her mother published her book. Until that eventful day, the Langdon family life had been one of a moderate existence, full of Christian amenities. It was a sharing life filled with natural goodness, until that muted reception of her book that unpredictably smeared their happy home, and fed Anton’s jealousy, the Langdon house, that was once crammed with laughter, crumbled hard and crushed the three of them who were once one big happy family.

  *

  Every afternoon, as soon as Anton got home, usually before Judy and Sharon, he would take off his coat in favour of a loose vest, lovingly pick up his pricy Italian violin that he had bought on a trip to Vienna and solemnly play his favorite, Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major, endlessly. His soul found peace in the natural redundancy of the piece. But even more than Pachelbel’s masterpiece, he found unbound tranquillity in the Song of Seikilos, an ancient Greek epitaph graphic dedicated by Seikilos to his beloved dead wife:

  While you live, shine

  Have no grief at all

  Life exists only for a short while

  And time demands its toll

  Endlessly, the simple words, when alone with them, would bring tears t
o his eyes. In them he found the peace that comes from the absence of human ambition; a gentle stillness that manifestly also resided in his soft and lovely violin. During these infinite moments when he was alone with Pachelbel and Seikilos he easily forgot Judy and Sharon who, after all, were simple mortals.

  Even before marrying him, Judy, an inexperienced, shy young woman had figured out Anton for the emotional cripple that he was. Unfortunately, her own hang-ups made it difficult for her to overcome her social inhibitions so she accepted a first blind-date fix with an unknown Anton, a promising professional. Having had minimal exposure to boys and men before Anton, she innocently thought, and wished, that all males were tough, full of testosterone, and always walking around with a hard on. At first sight he wasn’t a bad-looking guy and when they first started dating – simple stuff, like movies and popcorn, and lots of diet coke which made it difficult for them to make out later on because they both wanted to piss a lot - she bravely gave in to her emotions and yielded to date again and be alone with a strangely nervous Anton; also she stopped drinking coke as did Anton. The first time she kissed him, he had been too shy, almost afraid, in their intimate moment and she wished that he had been a bit more aggressive, more confident in his groping of her; she had to guide his hands to her breasts. Every time she kissed him, she wished he was more impetuous, reckless, unthinking, qualities which, unfortunately, were also lacking in her own reticent personality. In spite of her bountiful brains and undeniable beauty, ever since she was a young girl, she had exhibited inhibitions that she conveniently rationalized away as simple shyness. It was an even match until she became most aware of his insecurities, and in return, her self-confidence intensified making her more adventurous and almost foolish in assaulting him. Later when they had progressed to regularly making out in the dark, she badly wanted him to touch her everywhere but he never did, until one day she took his hand and guided it. For Judy the invasion was a first, and she was not to be denied that night in the old Dodge as she pressed acquiescent Anton on. She had allowed no other man to come that close and touch her, and she was not going to backtrack now; and though poor Anton might not have been the most desirable of sexual partners, that night he scored.

  Having been brought up as a good Catholic girl, she could not in all good faith forget the moment as church normal, so she politely selected to confuse the morality of the act for honest love. Fearing of being pensioned into the pasture of old maid frightening gossip, of being alone in years to come, during their next several months of courting that followed, she and shy Anton experienced the sweet agony of repeated, most memorable, insatiable, sex that obliterated all Godly commandments even for faithful Catholics like Anton and Judy. Though the two were shy, well-mannered Catholics, theirs was a love story based on sex.

  Their lovemaking was excruciatingly good and won out all other emotions by a mile. For two shy geeks, their sex was most honestly direct with minimal of the schmaltzy romance of chocolates and roses. Entrenched in the pleasurable dilemmas of premarital sex, she made the decision to heed every girl’s immemorial advice and take the dive, and deny her own genius in favour of Anton’s so that he might feel obliged to marry her. So she smiled that twisted smile that he thought as fantastically wicked, just for him, and he accepted her resignation as smart accurate, and he took her up on the tacit proposal. The rejection of her will in favour of an introverted marriage had the additional benefit of erasing all the guilt feelings from their Catholic minds. Marriage was the moral equalizer to a sinless mind for both.

  Fear of being tainted in the eyes of God, she never wished to acknowledge the possibility of other suitors, and made a wrong choice in her young life and married Anton Langdon, former violin child prodigy. She had felt extremely annoyed and impatient in the frustrating thought of waiting for the right man, so she respectfully accepted, Anton, her partner in sin, as her mate in life. In his stubborn eyes, she was the compliant woman, and it made him feel the winner.

  Until she published her book, “Gainsay”.

  For years she feigned a happy marriage and disingenuously pretended that her husband had the brains in the family, her every response to his requests always being, “Yes, Dear.” But after “Gainsay”, she glowed proud of her accomplishment, for it’s not easy to write a book. The thrilling experience of being an author came all the way from the bottom of her heart. It was exhilarating to think about her book with all its clever scenes and intuitive characters leaping through all sort of contradictory fantasies. She had joined the ranks of special people, undoubtedly geniuses all, who write books. For once, her excitement superseded her husband’s hackneyed violin outmoded recitals, and he was jealously jolted back two or three steps. In her mind, the book ranked perhaps even a bit higher than the birth of her daughter. Unlike Sharon’s, the Gainsay was an offspring of more than nine months gestation. Wanting to share her happiness, she sought recognition from those around her, convinced that she deserved it. Joy invaded her smiling face and she discovered a new assertiveness in herself. She displayed an easy happy outlook at home and work. She was glad she had written her novel, even though it didn’t get any reviews that she would have wished, and thought it deserved. Nevertheless, the love that filled her heart from the presence of her book was proudly warm; it extended to everyone around her, and was reflected in a pleasing smile that she happily passed on to her daughter.

  Unfortunately for Judy, her husband had nowhere near the same sense of pride and happiness that his wife had about her published achievement. His reaction to the book was a restrained, “I hope you write many more.” It was obvious that he was uncomfortable with her sudden rise to stardom.

  One late sunny afternoon at the dinner table after one of his Pachelbel sessions, Anton thoughtfully shared his state of mind. He had been moody for several days and neither Judy nor Sharon had any particular desire to ask why. There hadn’t been anything light about the man in recent years and they had become accustomed to his sulkiness.

  “Have you ever thought of the significance of ‘from dust thou art and to dust ye shall return,’” he said to no one in particular, though both Judy and Sharon were sharing bread with him at that moment.

  It would have never occurred to Anton to pinch Judy’s ass playfully, in view of Sharon’s impressionable eyes, and thus reveal his humanity; that it was perfectly normal to show his young daughter that married couples did pinch each other’s asses, even in the kitchen. But to praise strange, or uncommon thoughts, like dust and death, he exulted in.

  “More salad, dear?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Judy? At a time like this and all you can think about is a salad?” and before Judy could admonish him for his language in front of their young daughter, he burst out of the kitchen dropping his napkin on the floor.

  What an asshole, she finally gave in to her true feelings.

  From that day on Judy had very little meaningful conversation with her uptight, anal retentive, psycho husband.

  “I’m so disappointed with my book after all the months I had spent on it …” she recalled having said to him one day.

  “It’s just a fucking book; write another one,” he had dismissively snarled at her.

  It was so inconsiderate of him, she had cried. He was the stranger that she had first met who, in between then and now, had conveniently, more like sexually, provided both of them with a sorry reason for being married. Even Sharon, their beautiful, bright little girl was insufficient in their eyes to give meaning to their lives. It has been said that green-eyed envy can be as cruel as the grave. It had materialized as a book and had infected the Langdon household and there was no antibiotic to be had. Like caries, it had chewed away Anton’s bones for years until it drained him of any love and his marriage to Judy suddenly crumbled like a butter cookie, crushed to make crumbs for a pie pan.

  Whether it was the world’s unenthusiastic reception of her novel, or her husband’s envy an
d lack of support for her accomplishment as an author, for a long time, Judy Langdon felt sorry for herself. Her emotional state deteriorated to a variety of tranquilizers and other helpers, and for one modest moment’s temptation to walk on the wild side of life, just once, without the baggage of piety, Judy Langdon had a brief love affair, a lovely semester’s juvenile tryst with a fellow instructor at the Junior College. It was no more than a tempestuous erotic affair with a married man, ten years younger than her, who was feeling his oats outside his bed. It was a neat, pleasurable little affair that was carried on during work hours in empty classrooms and in the broom closets of the empty hallways of the school. Returning to her adolescent laughter, she found pleasure in her newly uncovered feelings and daily anticipated her lover’s embraces. Innocent enough as it was, Judy could not bear her secret two-timing, and realizing that the affair was going nowhere, that it was too irresponsible, she childishly confessed her transgressions to Anton. Humiliated once again by another, in his dark mind, of the many insufferable mutilations that were his lot in life, here was the always suspected sexual betrayal that proved the expectation. Jabbing him behind his back and painfully making him the laughingstock of his wife’s infidelities, Anton Langdon decided to punish his adulterous wife by not speaking to her. So demoralizing to his fragile ego had been Judy’s extramarital affair that if Anton had not been brought up as a good Catholic, and had there not been a Sharon, he would have divorced his wife, or even worse, he angrily recalled the Bible’s terrible punishments against lascivious wives. He was convinced that everyone knew of his wife’s cheating, undoubtedly on a garbage strewn, worn out, classroom filthy floor in the back of the room, and all would have approved of his stoning of her.

  And Sharon saw and felt every shaft of incomprehensible hatred that darted between her parents’ nauseating behavior. Repressing all that she saw and heard, she was too young, too polite, too acquiescent to protest, to scream, or say anything that smacked of fear and disapproval of what was going on. Subdued in the face of unhappiness, she chose to be pretend absence from the cruel reality that had invaded her youthful life.