Bad night last night. Pack of men outside got into a fight downstairs. Yelling and screaming and my mom swears that they beat one of the men. But I didn’t get up to see for fear of being shot or something. Didn’t set a good tone for the rest of my night. I had a pretty vivid nightmare last night. But instead of the usual recounting, I woke up and wrote it in short story version. The times my muse chooses to visit, I swear.
It was happening right upstairs from her – and right under her nose. This time she was sure of it – not just because of the confirmation from the chicks roomates about her preparing herself but not going anywhere and insisting that they all go out without her. And even the rhythmic dragging of the bed frame acoss the roof above her wasn’t why she knew. This time she knew it in her heart. For those hours, she felt the other woman become everything to him – lover, confidant, keeper of secrets, comforter. Everything she’d worked hard to be for him for years and more but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t enough anymore. There wasn’t anything she would have been able to do to stop him. She had already tried everything from being “lady in the street- freak in the bed” perfect little wife who would do anything he asked – to the insatiable, inconsolable bitch that he could never get anything right for. All in the attempt to strike the chord – that harmony that made him fall in love with her once upon a time. But he wasn’t that man anymore. So the disonnance rang loud – through every senseless argument that had no real basis in anything. Through the hours and days even of the silent treatment where they’d pass each other in the halls of their own house and not speak. They were strangers now, stuck in this discomfort.
When she closed her eyes she could imagine his silhouette, arms strong and braced, that admired curve in the nape of his back arched to perfection, his head bowed and focused – drilling. Pounding away at the other woman’s frame beneath him, her legs loosely wrapped around his waist as she attempted to hold on to his assault – wailing and calling. Not even so much as a grunt from him. She figured some things never change. Weak and thin tenement walls added so much life to this scene playing out above her. She finally heard the familiar quickening of his pace in preparation for his climax and one last scream from his evening’s focus and his drawn out “OHHHH” as he released into her and caught his breath. She heard the other woman giggle through her panting. And then silence.
She knew this was their first time together. The early flight back made it possible for her to intervene – but what good would that have done at this point? None. This woman was only in town for a short while but the electricty that shot from her husband when they spoke on the elevator or when he held the door open for her was undeniable. She was getting back on a plane to LA tomorrow. It made sense that they should share a farewell.
And why should they both be miserable anyways? Maybe she could find someone to satisfy her one day, too. It’s too bad she was convinced for so long that she had already found him.
Hope today’s a better day.
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