“Leave your Wife”

“Hey Mel.”  

You whispered in my ear from behind, I was alone at the bar writing.

I didn’t turn around.  

I shut my eyes and all our memories flashed quickly,  emotions tagged along.  

Excitement, fear, despair, resentment, longing.

I opened my eyes and reached for your hand over my shoulder.

Your touch, a wave of thick honey running through my body.

I rested my head over our bound hands.

Still.  I hadn’t turned around.

I almost didn’t want to, I almost couldn’t.

Years waiting, my eyes began to water and tears ran down my knuckles onto yours.

You immediately reacted and hugged me from behind.

I was dreaming,  I had to be dreaming.  I’ve seen this one before.  

Surely, all of this time living with lingering lost love was a reverie of my imagination.

I didn’t wake from this dream, it wasn’t a dream.

Still I hadn’t turned around.

Where have you been?  You hugged me tighter.

We met by chance as adolescents. You instantly illuminated the pieces of myself that were the hardest to see, especially at that age.  

I adored you.

I was always codependent with those that never seemed to fit the bill and as we grew we saw each other in passing with other lovers.  

The last time we saw each other you demanded that I tell you to leave your wife.

We had spent the summer together while she was away and fell in love again.

Once, you pleaded, only once

I couldn’t.  

I needed you to make that jump for yourself. 

You didn’t

and you resented me for not telling you those seemingly simple words,

“Leave your wife. I want to be with you.”

I’d spent years trying to ward you out of my heart.  

Sage, meditation, writing, drinking, begging,

it never worked.  

Some months easier than others

but still always had you floating in my dreams, my awake, my everything.

I touched my mouth to your hand and inhaled.  

You smelled the same as you always did, even when we first met.

Soaked with tears, I gripped your hand tighter

Still, I hadn’t turned around.

I almost didn’t want to, I almost couldn’t.

Years of reserving this abject space in my heart for you, I took a deep breath and began to turn around.

I woke up.  

Silence.

Dawn.

Birds chirping and I could still smell you and without a thought I said aloud,

“Leave your wife.  I want to be with you.”

My husband rolled over, eyes wide, “What did you just say?”

Scotch

My head pounded from the scotch when he called me at dawn.

I wished it were one of those mornings that I woke still drunk, thinking I’d fooled the booze.

Not today.

“I’ve fallen in love with someone,” his voice was deep and stern.

As if this hangover couldn’t get worse.

I thought about rather than hearing him say anything about love, especially when it didn’t include me, I’d rather feel his humming between my legs.

That might really cure this slicing pain in my brain.

There’s almost nothing a little head can’t fix when a man eats pussy like a lesbian.

I moaned to the thought.

“Come over and get in my bed,” I responded.

After all, it was my last chance of swaying this lover from making the biggest mistake of his life; never getting to sleep with me again.

He took a deep breath, “I just told you, I’m in love.”

“Yes and I just told you to come over and get in my fucking bed.”

He hung up the phone and I knew he was on his way.

I didn’t even get up to wash the scotch seeping through my pores.

I wanted him to ingest my exact state.

He always did love the most disgusting parts of me.

When he arrived, I sat up on my knees and began to undress him touching my mouth to every part I exposed to air.

I inhaled, he smiled.

He grabbed my knees and flipped me over while running his hand up my back and tongue down my ass.

I’ve never been the emotional type during sex, but thinking about this particular tongue belonging to another woman made my eyes burn.

After all, it had been three years of being blessed with his mouth when mine wasn’t on someone else’s.

The others never compared.

He lifted his head from between my legs, “I’m getting married.”

I leaned over the side of my bed and threw up.  He wiped the vile from my cheek and I smiled, “She’s a lucky woman.”

“She’s no you.” He smirked and continued until I orgasmed.

 

 

Xanax Mom

I wasn’t surprised when I heard she burnt down the house.  She’s been on Xanax for as long as I can remember.  I sat in the waiting room while they looked up her room number, she only suffered minor injuries.  My neighbor saw smoke and carried her out of the house before it completely went up in flames.  I rubbed my finger along the scar on my shoulder. One of the few visible battle scars from being on the front lines of her addiction.

My mom, typical baby boomer, believed to her core that her and my dad would stay together forever.  Same old story, she gained some weight after having us and couldn’t seem to get back to her once slim, childless body.  They grew apart while raising kids and he chose a woman that was twenty years younger and untainted by the stress that comes with children.  She was completely devastated. She had devoted her life to being his housewife and raising the kids and he had made up his mind.  All my brothers and sisters had fortunately escaped and it was just me and my mom for about four years.

Shortly after he left, she started having trouble breathing and the doctor prescribed her Xanax for anxiety and that was how it all started.

When I was twelve I tried to flip my body around an iron bar of an old trailer while playing outside.  The bar snapped and crashed down onto my mouth, smashing my head against the concrete and knocking  me unconscious.

I woke up choking on my own vomit. I  stumbled back to my house with ears buzzing and blurred vision.  I could see blood splashing across the leaves along my path.

When I got home all the doors were locked.  I banged on it a couple of times, nothing.  I leaned and looked through the living room window and saw my mom, face down on the couch.   I banged on the window, still nothing.  Xanax, you son of a bitch.

Annoyed and extremely concussed, I grabbed the rock bunny statue sitting by the stairs and launched it through the window.  Not to my surprise, and yours as well if you are familiar with Xanax, she still didn’t wake up.

I climbed through the broken window catching my shoulder on a sharp piece of glass.  Hence the scar.

I shook her as hard as I could, dripping blood all over the couch and onto her clothes. “Mom!  Wake up!”

Her eyes rolled behind her skull a few times before finally focusing on my face.  She screamed and jumped up off the couch and rushed me into the bathroom.  She grabbed a few tiny pieces of toilet paper and put it over my mouth and shoulder.  They both soaked immediately. “Mom, I’m bleeding like crazy alright!  I need a little more than a fucking cotton ball?”  I was beginning to panic after seeing how much blood was pouring down the back of my neck, mouth and now, shoulder.

She swayed against the wall, “Honey, wha–wha happened?  We have to get you to the hospital.” She was nodding off again.  She caught a glimpse of the back of my head and fainted as soon as she saw the blood spilling out.  Probably from shock, but mostly from the Xanax.

I ran into the kitchen, filled a pot full of ice water and threw it on her face. As always, worked like a charm.  She sloppily grabbed the sink and raised herself up.  I was starting to feel even more light headed and I threw up again on the bathroom floor. I wrapped my arm and head with a few shirts I found, they soaked immediately.

“Mom, please, we have to go to the doctor, I don’t know how to stop the bleeding.”

Nodding off, she murmured, “Okay honey, juss needa find my keys.”

I smacked her back awake, “Mom, wake the fuck up, you need to drive!”

She stumbled into the hallway and dumped her purse all over the floor and began laughing.  “I know they are ssomewhere in here.”

I grabbed the keys off the table and threw them at her.

She gulped and brushed her hair out of her face pretending, and failing completely, to look sober, “Okkay, good yea thas was what I was saying, les go.”

I somehow managed to get her in the drivers seat and before I had a chance to get to the other side, she backed down the driveway and into the neighbor’s mailbox.

I ran down to the car and pushed her over to the passengers seat and climbed into the drivers seat.  She laughed, “Whoah how did that happen,” and passed out again.

I had never driven before and I could barely see over the steering wheel but felt confident I could get there.

Remarkably, we made it to the hospital, which was only a few miles away and I parked in the drop off area.  I saw a wheelchair by the door and figured I would use to get my mom inside without falling all over the place.  Right when I reached for the wheelchair, the earth flipped upside down and I hit the floor.

I don’t remember much between fainting and the stitches.  They made me stay in the hospital over night.  The hospital assumed my mom was responsible for my injuries and put her in jail after she attacked a nurse over the accusations.  I cringe thinking about how the events might have unfolded after I fainted.

The next morning they had a piteous counselor come talk to me about what happened.  I assured her that it was all an accident and that my mother was having a hard time.  I called my neighbor, whose mailbox my mom had hit, to pick me up from the hospital.   Same neighbor that saved my mom from the fire.  What a fucking Saint this guy.

I ate peanut butter and jellies for a week until they released my mom from jail and then I ate peanut butter and jellies for 3 more years until I reluctantly moved out.  I couldn’t take it anymore.

Like I said, I wasn’t surprised she burnt down the house. She’s been on Xanax for as long as I can remember.  Ever since my dad left.  Fuck a partner that leaves you for someone twenty years younger.  Fuck a man that leaves a good woman that sacrificed her career and body for a family.  I guess thats why you should never put all of your eggs in someone else’s basket. Hide a few in your fucking underwear drawer or something.  Better yet, weave your own damn basket.

 

 

 

Marriage

It has been months since I’d slept with him.  Hell, we haven’t even talked in weeks.  It’s true that no matter who you marry, they inevitably become a gaping wound that disgusts you.

I went to the grocery store on my way home and picked up some wine to share with him.  I guess you could say I am trying to make something happen.  I want to get drunk with my husband and get to know the man I use to love.  We are strangers.  I used to enjoy sleeping with strangers, so maybe this can work. Maybe we can fall in love with each other again. Maybe I am fooling myself.

I skipped my workout class so I could buy some lingerie for him.  I miss being touched.  When we first met there wasn’t anywhere we wouldn’t fuck.  I want to get back to that.

We don’t have children.  I guess the idea of combining our genes became hideous to the both of us and instead, we focused on our careers.

I met him at a bar in east Austin 10 years ago.  While I was getting a beer at the bar I noticed him staring at me with an attractive woman at his side.  She didn’t seem to notice his wandering eyes as she affectionately rubbed his back.  He immediately broke eye contact to her touch and focused his attention back to her.  I was appalled.  When she left for the restroom he approached me.

“I want to take you out sometime.  I saw you walk in and I couldn’t help myself, you are stunning.  I could smell you as you walked past and I couldn’t help myself.  I’m sorry.”

“You smelled me? I don’t think your girlfriend would appreciate you saying all this.”

At that moment, she walked in between us and put her arm around his waste.

“Who’s your friend honey?” She looked me up and down.

Quickly, I replied, “Oh, we are not friends.  Actually, I don’t even know him.”

“Well, you two seem to have something going on with how close you were speaking to one another.”

He interjected, “Sevi, it’s okay.  Nothing is going on here.  I was just asking her for matches.”

She waited for my reply impatiently.

“Matches, yea? Okay, yea he was asking me for some matches…Wait, you know what? Fuck this, he was asking me out actually.  I think it is important for you to know what a tool your boyfriend is.  You can’t even take a piss without him trying to fuck another woman.  Have a good night!”

She grabbed my arm, “Boyfriend? He’s my brother.  Sorry, I just wanted to fuck with you.”

They both laughed and my sassy stance turned sheepish until I eventually started laughing as well.

“Now I really have to take you out.” His eyes fixated on me as if he wanted to swallow me whole.  I spent the evening with his family, who were incredible, and we’ve been together ever since.

Now, 10 years later here we are, cringing at having to share space with one another.  How did it get to this?  How have we allowed ourselves to become these people?

Today is the day that I am going to break this unbearable silence.  After all, it isn’t others that I want, just him.  The him that used to awe over me cooking a fucking egg.  I want to show him her.  Me.  The her that felt like a lifetime wasn’t enough with him.

So here I am sweating uncontrollably on my way home to re introduce myself to my own husband.  I listen to Conan Mockasin for ten minutes in the drive way and pull the tags off all my lingerie.  The armor in my battle to save our marriage.

I walk into the living room and find my husband burying his face in the tits of my best friend.  I quietly slipped back out the door and into my car.  They didn’t notice.

I guess sometimes it’s bad timing for everyone.  And I also guess that’s my last attempt to save my marriage.