I question if this story is of any value. But it's the
hardest thing I've ever written. So that means something. Still, it’s just a
story.
We were sitting at the kitchen table to talk about unspoken
matters which were driving us apart.
We both had our psychologists and could not afford a
separate marriage counselor. So we tried to work things out amongst ourselves.
It was a big heart-breaking mistake. At some point, the
conversation turned from love to war.
My strategy was simple. Tell her she no longer turned me on.
I'd rather use a magazine than sleep with you, I thundered.
But she was ten-thousand times my better at this kind of
thing. And not to go all psychological, but her parents both were alcoholics
and her childhood atmosphere was one of hurtful words and
then denying they were said at all. It was a world of sad illusion for a child.
And what came next, although she would deny it really
happened after all and that she only wished to hurt me
and that I in fact had just attempted something similar, I
never could successfully forget, forgive, or understand, although, God knows, I
tried.
She looked at me and laughed, I've used much more than
pictures. Do you remember passing out that night when they demoted you at work,
she stabbed her finger straight at me. I told you, I
replied. Those fuckers needed me to be the fall guy.
Sure, she said, and Nick came over, drinking you beneath the
table. Well, he made a pass at me that night.
We left you in the living room and went upstairs. I guess he
fucked the both of us. Real good. Her words, not mine.
No comments:
Post a Comment