Man, I don’t know

He knows. I know he knows. He sleeps turned away from me nw. He turns out his light before I’m done brushing my teeth so that I have to stumble in the dark to find the bed-the cover- the body of the man I used to love- breathing slowly, rhythmically, mimicking sleep so that we don’t have to say pleasantries we don’t mean anymore.

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I met my husband when I was 28 and he was 32.  He was so handsome- tall, broad, blond, with a great smile.  He was so kind and funny and he adored me…me! At 27, I had recently lost a lot of weight and I was still trying to get used to my new body that men seemed to be seeing for the first time.  But he…he never seemed to notice my body.  He gazed in my eyes and appreciated the curve of my smile- never my waist. He waited until we’d known each other for one full year before asking me on a date. I was so glad he waited- it gave me time to be sure about a lot of things, him included.

On our first date he took me to an amusement park and did NOT kiss me on the ferris wheel- he waited until we were climbing the hill to the first drop off of the roller coaster; that’s when he turned to me, laughing excitedly, cupped my face and pulled me to him- quickly, but gently- that’s when I knew…I just knew.

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Now, 5 years into this perfect marriage, the man who made my heart soar like we were always on the edge on another exciting roller coaster- he doesn’t gaze at anything anymore except his phone. He makes our coffee still, but has stopped buying the creamer I preferred. He’d still record our favorite shows but stopped waiting for me to watch them. Who knew that pressing “replay” on the DVR would become a metaphorical nail in the coffin of our marriage? But it wasn’t until about 3 months ago- that’s when I knew he knew.  He always kissed me goodbye the same way- always. First my lips- quick- then he’d tilt my head and kiss me long on the forehead. Even if we were fighting, even if we hated each other- he always worked his way up to my forehead.  We would even sign our texts with the up arrow…so embarrassing. That’s what it was like with him…a constant adventure up just like that first roller coaster ride. I just never expected the drop.

It’s all so cliché. I’ve become a cliché. A sad, cheating, foreshadowed person.

I met “him” at the grocery store. Of course, we’d met before that.  We were 17- 17! I had loved him so much but college, distance, family, they all smothered our flame and even though we’d ended amicably, it still took us 15 years to run into each other in this small town.

When he saw me, he smiled and we shyly exchanged catch-up stories. He was married for 7 years to the girl he began seeing after he and I ended. He was a lawyer- successful- no kids, not ready to stop traveling.  His family was well- he was visiting them for the holiday- his wife was working.

“We should grab a drink this week! Catch-up!”

Of course I said yes.

It was all so predictable.

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Of course we talked about ending things- things with each other, with our spouses. The love story that should’ve been.  He was in my phone as “Mandy”, a useless diversion since Mandy still said “I love you” in the texts, and wrote me long messages describing my eyes and the beauty in them. I would read these messages in the bathroom before I crawled into my bed. I’d read and delete, read and delete, tattooing them in my mind so I could call them up when I needed. If my husband noticed how my showers lengthened, he said nothing. He was always asleep when I laid down anyway.

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The first time I cheated, I remember watching everything unfold as if I was floating above myself.  I was home for Christmas and so was he.  We decided to grab food the day after we saw each other at the grocery store.  He called my cellphone- in 15 years his number hasn’t changed.  We met at a nondescript chain restaurant and fell into such an easy rhythm, the conversation coming quickly, easily.  Both of our sarcastic senses of humor playing off each other.   He teased and I blushed, then I mocked and he grinned.  His phone rang, he hit ignore after checking the caller ID.  I followed suit when my husband called one half of an hour later.  We were there for 3 hours- can you believe that? We closed the restaurant and were politely shooed out by our waitress.

“Let me get the bill, “he demanded.

“No! Of course not!” I argued.

But he paid, and as he signed it he said, “I couldn’t afford to treat you in HS.  This makes me feel a little better about that.

I smiled- I couldn’t help myself.

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We walked out to his car. I had only had 3 beers but he offered to drive me home, just in case.

I didn’t say no.

Even though he had drank more, even though I was sober…even though we both knew these things.

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We pulled up to my parents’ house- all the lights were off except the front porch- where the door was unlocked like it has always been when I was younger and had come home much later.   He turned off the ignition and the interior lights came on.  I didn’t open my door and he just stared purposely ahead- we both did.

Our heads turned at the same time.

“I’m sorry for how much of a shit I was back then,” he sincerely lamented.

I laughed. “We were kids- of course you were a shit.”

And then we were both laughing.

And then we weren’t.

And then his hand turned my face toward his.

And then whether because of the beer or because we were in this time warp, he kissed me hard…and I, of course, kissed back.

That was a year ago.  A year of texts from “Mandy”; of long drives; of meet ups; of hotels and homes when spouses weren’t around; of illicit interludes in what had become such a painfully boring life.  He tasted and felt familiar now- the sex we had when we were young and inexperienced seemed like such a cruel place to have left off knowing how wonderful it was now.  His tongue felt more purposeful when it met mine, his hands didn’t wander- they caressed and his eyes weren’t the high school eyes I remembered. These eyes rarely left mine.

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The first time my husband and I made love we laughed the whole time.  He kissed down my stomach when I got a giggle a fit.  I couldn’t stop laughing.  He was hurt…but the laughter was contagious and before you knew it, we were both rolling on the bed- sides aching, belly laughing, and between all the giggles, he kissed my mouth, then my forehead, then slowly the laughter faded into the comforters and pillows while he and I faded into each other.

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I smiled up at him as he laid his weight onto me. This was my safe place- my favorite place.

I only felt guilty sometimes- very rare times. This wasn’t one of them.

When we’re finished, he curls beside me- we always joke that I’m the big spoon. I smile as I slowly fall asleep.

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When I wake up, it’s dark outside and I feel him still asleep, breathing rhythmically beside me.  The clock flashes.

2:12 AM.

“Fuck!” I choke out. I can’t’ fucking believe this- I cannot fucking believe I was so fucking dumb. I jump up out of bed and shimmy into my jeans.  He’s stirring and then he bolts up. “Fuck!” He agrees.

We both scramble to put on our clothes. I get my pants half way up my legs and watch him struggle to do the same.  He stumbles a little, then falls, and in spite of the seriousness and urgency of the moment, I choke back a laugh.

“Are you laughing??” he asks roughly.

“Why would I be laughing?” I ask back through poorly disguised giggles.

He glares at me through darkened eyes and gathers himself up. He buttons his pants, strides toward me and pulls me to him.  He kisses me, hard, then bites my neck. “That’s for laughing at me,” he says seriously, but with the faint shadow of a smile.

I check my phone and see no missed calls.  I throw my phone back in my purse, take my shirt back off, unbuckle my pants and clear the space between me and him.

“But what about…” He starts.

“Fuck it.”

And then we are electric.

 

One Comment

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  1. Wow your writing is so beautiful, going through a lot of what you did. I would love to keep reading, please email
    Me at laura.mankins@gmail.com I would love to talk to you and get the password to read your protected ones.

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