“You're
dying, you know.”
“Yep.”
“Well?”
“Well,
what?”
“Well, don't
you think you should tell somebody? Somebody besides me, I mean.”
“I didn't
tell you that. I don't even know that I am. And you don't know either.”
“You just
said you were though.”
“I did not.”
“Then you
confirmed that you were.”
“I didn't do
that either. Maybe I just feel like I am is all.”
“No. You
are. You don't have much time left. Strangers may not be able to tell. But I
can. I remember how you used to be.”
“I'm just
getting old,” the man coughed up a couple, dusty lung-fulls of air. He'd been
combing his hair in the mirror.
“You're not that
old.”
“Well, thank
you.”
“Not old
enough to be coughing like that all the time,” she elaborated, “Not old
enough to say that you died an old man.”
“Ah.”
“Well?!”
“Well,
what?!”
“Well, are
you going to tell anyone?!”
“Like who, I
already asked you.”
“No, you
didn't.”
“Alright
then. Like who?”
“Like your
kids, for one.”
“Our
kids, don't you mean?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn't
want to alarm them.”
“Well, I
just think it would be fair.”
“And
besides, I'm not anyway.”
“I've seen
your handkerchief. It's like you try to hide it. Like you still think you can
hide anything from me.”
“Trying to
hide it? Jesus, this is why I just can't... Were you always this way?
Seriously. I can't remember.”
She was
drying herself with a towel and saw no need to answer what she believed to be a
perfectly rhetorical question.
He gritted
his teeth and hated her then. At the same time, though, he also knew that this
feeling would pass in just another minute.
“Oh, I
remember now,” he continued, “You were. Always trying hide something
from you. You'd never consider for one second that maybe I'd just put it out of
sight so that you wouldn't have to see it. So that you wouldn't be
grossed out. But no. And you know, this is when I really get pissed off. When I
try to do something for your benefit and you turn it around on me and fuck me
with it. All the time. All the fucking time.”
“Yeah? Name
one other time.”
“Too many to
name even. There must be a million.”
“Try.”
But the man
was too tired. And rather, he let his drawn face reply.
“It's just
like that,” he went on, though, after a minute, “Right there. Like how you
can't just say you're sorry for accusing me of something when, meanwhile, I was
actually thinking of you. I had you in mind and was trying to do
something nice. And you can't even apologize!”
He was so
tired. The words. The circles. He wanted nothing more than to just sleep
forever.
“That's only
because I don't believe you. I still think you were trying to hide it,
is what I mean.”
“Well,
that's your problem then. I guess.”
“Actually...it's
yours.”
“Well,
thanks for sounding so concerned.”
“I'm
concerned. Otherwise, I wouldn't have brought it up.”
“You're concerned
for... If you're so concerned than you would have approached this a
little differently. And some other time might have been nice too. Oh,
your fucking timing. I can't help but wonder if you do this shit on purpose.”
“No. I just
didn't know when else to do it.”
“Anytime,”
the man was so tired...so tired of speaking, “Anytime but now would have
been just great. A few hours earlier even. Or, preferably, a few hours from
now. Or, most preferably, tomorrow. Or the next day. Or never.”
“Well, I
guess that's why I picked now. Because 'never' is when you would have
approached it.”
“I would
have approached it when there was something to worry about. Something solid.”
“Yeah. Well,
something solid is exactly what I saw on your...” but instead of another word;
a frown came out, sad eyes looking down at the ground, and a sniffle.
He tried to
put his arm around her then but she slipped out of it.
“No,” she
picked up with, “I can't do this right now. I can't get into it. And maybe I
won't be able to anymore at all, for that matter.”
The man was
about to say something but, on second thought, just shook his head.
She was
applying cocoa butter to her skin now. And he was looking into the mirror
without actually seeing anything back.
“Could I
pee, please?” he asked.
“You can
pee,” her voice had changed. In these three words, it seemed suddenly
cheery...as if the brief but somehow serious discussion they'd just had hadn't
happened at all.
“Just one
minute. I swear.”
“Okay. But I
need to be in here too so...”
“Yeah, yeah.
I'll hurry.”
And, just
like that, the bad spell had been broken.
She left the
tiny room and he closed the door but didn't lock it, of course. And he thought,
while unbuttoning his trousers, how this funny little game they always
played...this dosey doe...this inability to stand there and pee while
she was watching, after all this time, was an un-characteristic so
strange and yet it was a cornerstone that seemed to define their marriage. It
made him happy though. It was a domestic feeling. He thought about how he
probably could have peed in front of other girls and how, in the past,
he probably even had. But not her. Why? It was such a silly thing. But it made
him smile as he stood there waiting.
The man
looked down at his paunch then and wished, if only for her, that he was a
little more fit...and not possibly dying. Because she deserved better. Someone
she could be proud of and proud to be seen beside. And even just going for a
walk once in a while would have burned off most of this excess fat. And maybe
if they just walked together. Hadn't she been asking him for a while now
if he would do just that? No. He had that wrong. Rather, it had been a
while since she'd asked him that. But just how long exactly? A year?
Jesus Christ, could it have been even longer? And suddenly, he felt
ashamed and wanted to take her tiny hand and look her in the eye and tell her
how sorry he was. Surely, it was never too late. Unless she...
She was
merely an attractive female is all. Still. They weren't that old. He was
merely old beyond his years. But could he somehow stop this whole crazy train
from derailing? Or had it already. And even if she... He surely deserved it.
Oh, the heartbreak that might be there lying. But oh, the heartache that he
must have put her through. Not the acute kind. Not that piercing, for an
instant kind of sting that lingers for days or months even. But the chronic kind.
The kind that wears and weathers people down over years like erosion. The kind
that they'd obviously been living with...since the beginning? Could it be true
that, in the end, they just weren't right for each other after all? That they
never were? No. He refused to believe this. He refused because it wasn't
true. For how then, after all these years, could he still just love her so
much...in his way. And it was in little ways that he loved her so much.
Her little movements. The little things she said in her little voice with the
little, determined look on her face. The little things that she'd always buy.
The strange and seemingly useless (or at least unnecessary) products hanging up
in her shower. And it was her shower. Still. After all these years. It was
still her place. Her domicile. He was just a visitor there. An alien on alien
soil surrounded by all these seemingly useless products. Home was a
strange planet for him to live on. But he loved it. How he loved it so. Every
waking breath. Every footstep along that carpet. And every breath she
took as he'd lie there beside her. For hours. Perfectly captivated just to
watch her sleep. Her little face. Its determined look gone at those hours.
Perfect, blissful, oblivion. It was like she was in heaven then. And so was he.
And how perverse did that make things?
She knit
little things. He wrote horrible things. She bought little things that helped
brighten up his day. Did you she do it for him? It didn't really matter. In
fact, it was probably more what she did without thinking that he must
have loved the most.
“You know
you're shallow, right?”
It had taken
him a long time to urinate. Perhaps, another sign there of waning.
“I know. You
tell me that all the time,” he said as she passed through the door again to put
on her camisole.
“You know
that though, right?”
“I don't
think there really are any shallow people or any deep people. People just see
things differently is all.”
“You would
say that.”
“I mean...if
by 'deep' you mean; deep-thinking. Then I doubt either one of us are truly
accredited philosophers. I've never claimed to be that anyway.”
“No. And I
know you still don't get it. Deep is how much you feel. It's how much
you process. I swear, sometimes I wish your heart and liver were in the other's
place. But then, I guess, you'd really be dying. Or, make that 'dead'.
Dead a long time ago, probably.”
“Maybe.”
She did
deserve better. And maybe his death would be the best thing for her. The best
thing that ever happened. She could remarry. They weren't that old. Not
'old' like he'd pictured them together so many times. It was one of his
favorite little daydreams. An imaginary clip. They were running late for
something. An engagement. Perhaps, 30 years into the future even. And, once
they'd gotten themselves ready, she was having trouble moving her aluminum
walker towards the door. A walker with tennis balls on two of the feet
even...just like the old people have. And he was trying to assist her. And she
said, “Now, now,” in her little old lady voice, “Just take it easy.” He loved
this little clip and couldn't wait until they actually lived it. That would
mean that they'd made it. Through all the hardships and misunderstandings; they
were still together in the end. Old folks just trying to make it out of the
house in a somewhat timely fashion. It would mean that they'd also stopped
working by then and finally had an infinite amount of time to spend together. Just
together. They could finally relax. Without all of the duty that came along
with living from paycheck to paycheck and still trying to prove something to
the world. “Now, now,” she said. Her hair was grey but still the same length
with the same bangs cut just short of her eyebrows. “Now, now,” it always
seemed to echo. She had a sweater on in this little vision and her back was
bent over just slightly. But there were the same glasses that she always
wore...even just now putting on her camisole.