Twenty-Two
There was nowhere to hide from her obsessive cleaning. I almost preferred to be alone. First, she vacuumed, then she cleaned the main window, and now she’s dusting with furniture polish, and every few minutes, she stops to search for her wine glass, having forgotten where she placed it.
The radio D.J. relayed the news of a plane crash before playing a pop song to cancel the tragedy.
The mail was delivered on time. Lightning struck before thunder exploded.
The world is turning as it always has, unaware of the miserable souls who have ceased to inhabit it.
Alex could have my body taxidermied and nothing would change.
It’s two o’clock in the afternoon and her third glass of wine is almost empty. “Stop using so many paper towels.”
“I’m using the right amount. Do you need anything? A snack?”
“I need you to stop using so many paper towels. There’s a dust cloth under the kitchen sink.”
She sneered at me but searched for the cloth. “I can’t find it.”
“Look harder.”
“I’m telling you, it’s not here.”
I wheeled myself to the kitchen as if my chair had jet engines. The first thing within reach was a flashlight. “What’s this?” I asked, waving the cloth around.
“I didn’t see it.”
“You didn’t look hard enough.”
“Okay! I get it! Sue me.”
Dropping the cloth on the floor, I wheeled back to my usual spot in the middle of the living room between the couch and the television. Alex refilled her glass, and then, in an act of defiance, she lit a cigarette.
“What the fuck are you doing? Don’t smoke in the house.”
“It’s only one. And the window’s open.”
“What’s wrong with the garage?”
“It’s kind of chilly today,” she said, slurring.
“Either put it out or go outside. And why the hell are you drunk in the middle of the afternoon?”
“Stop reprimanding me!”
Our relationship has morphed into something hideous.
In my mind, I saw myself approaching her, kissing her.
I could hear myself telling her that I’ve been an ass, and begging for her forgiveness, but that man is dead.
With her head lowered, leaning on the kitchen island, she, too, was mourning what we once shared.
“This can’t go on like this.”
Looking at me, she said nothing, and then walked towards me with caution like she would a feral cat.
“No, it can’t. Because I... I want you, but you’ve closed yourself off.
You can still love me, Pip.” It was vulgar the way she brushed her fingers over my arms, my chest, my face.
She was trying to seduce half a man. “Make love to me.”
“You know I can’t.”
“But you can,” she said, shedding her clothes.
“Stop that. I can’t.”
“Please,” Climbing on top of me, I could smell the wine on her breath. “I need you,” she whispered in my ear.
“No!” Unable to stop myself, I pushed her away, making her fall to the floor.
Disgust filled my veins. I was disgusted at myself.
I wanted her too. I needed her too. I’m shackled to my chair, not at liberty to make love to her in the way I once did.
All I could do was stare at her in shocked silence.
I had physically pushed her away, but more than that, she sat on the ground feeling discarded and unloved.
Alex gathered her clothes and slammed the door to our bedroom. A minute later, she opened it and said something that shattered what was left of my heart into a million little pieces. “I have to get out of here.”
“Alex...”
“Let me go.”
“You have to understand...”
“What? What do I have to understand?”
I couldn’t put into words the depths of my sorrow and pain.
“You wouldn’t,” I said. “You couldn’t.”
“I think I can. I understand that maybe love doesn’t conquer all.
I thought we’d get through this together.
That we’d be strong together. Instead, all you do is sit there and feel sorry for yourself.
Nothing I do is good enough for you.” She poked at her heart when she said, “I want to take care of you. I want to take care of this house. But that’s because I... I love us.”
“I love you too,” I wanted to say, but the devil held my tongue.
Alex stumbled around searching for her purse. “Ask yourself something. What if it was me in that chair?”
“I... please don’t drive. You’ve been drinking and it’s raining.”
“That’s it? That’s your answer?” She shook her head at me, defeated. “I’m going. I need some air.”
As the front door slammed, I considered it symbolic. It was the beginning of the end.
“I’m back. Can we talk?”
The voice sounded distant, muffled beneath the sound of the rain. I stopped trying to count the drops as they fell.
“Pip... look at me. Can we please talk?”
That voice: I recognized it once upon a time.
“Look at me!”
Footsteps. A slight touch. A horrified look as she stared at the weapon lying across my lap.
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
The cold blade of the butcher’s knife tickled my neck. “Try this shit with me again, and I’ll kill you myself.”
It clattered as she threw it across the floor.
Thunder roared.
Everything was as it should be.