Delays Ahead

The woman lying next to me is not my wife, which makes her much easier to talk to. I guess I’ve been carrying a lot of weight around, and first the sexual release, then the emotional release, has helped to purge me of some of that unbearable stress.

“Christ. Almost five years. Wasted.”

The statement hangs silent in the air. Lucy, or Lisa, I forget what her name is right now, has fallen asleep. Her name isn’t important anyway. She’s served a purpose greater than sexual fulfillment. She has helped me realize how wrong my life has become. It was time to make some changes.

***

Every morning is a blistering hot hell that follows me like a rabid dog nipping at my heels. Well, maybe not quite so harsh as that. Maybe so.

But damn, it is fuckin’ hot out.

Upstairs, in the apartment directly above this one, the baby is crying again; not that she ever seems to stop. There’s a moment of silence in which it seems everything is calm, but it’s a false sense of peace, and then it’s like a waiting game. Why bother trying to fall asleep (who could sleep in this heat anyway) when at any moment, the illusion of the tranquil night could be shattered by the inevitable torturous wailing.

The sheets cling to my sweaty skin, and the stink is already prevalent, dispelled by a shower, but sure to return in the midst of the day, the sun laughing, expelling its hot, foul breath.

As I dress, Judith is still sleeping, and has been all night as if to spite me. Her once slender form has been steadily expanding over the years, along with the severity of her attitude and the vile sarcasm of her tongue. We trade insults like baseball cards, a quip about a small dick for a reply about a fat ass. Occasionally, we set aside our differences for a quick bout of mechanical sex; the last time was about two months ago. It was our anniversary. Passionate lovemaking went extinct in our house long ago. Some days we smile at each other. On holidays and birthdays, we say, “I love you”.

Is she having an affair? Possibly. Probably. The idea of it used to hurt, and I suppose somewhere deep inside me, where a part of the past still lives, happy and in love, it still hurts. But sleeping with Lisa (that was her name, Lisa) last night has instilled within me a sense of self-satisfaction that overrides any hurt or guilt.

“Why the fuck do you still share the same bed, let alone live together?” she had asked.

“Beats the fuck out of me”, I said. “I used to ask myself that question everyday, and when I didn’t receive any answer, I’d forget about it until the next day. I’m not going to ask anymore. I don’t care what the answer is.”

I didn’t bother to shave today, not that my job requires it. My slightly overweight, slightly under-handsome appearance has little effect on how well I can manage the inventory of a janitorial supply warehouse. I used to be grateful for this job. Judith’s uncle gave it to me while I was suffering from a chronic bout of unemployment. Now, its just part of the relentless routine that is my life.

I am a machine, programmed to consume fuel in the morning, perform minimal production tasks throughout the day, and power down at night. My joints ache with rust, and I leak fluids, and I belch out noxious fumes. Certain functions of life no longer compute. All individual thought has been replaced with simplistic programming. I never deviate from the routine, and soon, I shall be retired and disassembled.

Some rogue part of my brain likes to think back in time, pressing the rewind button on my life, pausing when I was younger, when I had hope and ambition, when I had dreams and ideas. That would be the time to insert a blank tape, record something new and exciting.

Stuck in traffic, brake lights communicate harshly, on, off, on, off, stop and go, horns blare, and the faceless construction signs are forever blinking “Delays Ahead”.

Every day. This is my life, every day for five years.

“Maybe its not too late”, I said to Lisa. Same conversation I have with myself everyday, just another part of the routine. “I’m only thirty-five. That’s not too late to start over. I don’t have any kids to hold me back. I could go and divorce Judith, find someone new, start a family, actually do something with my life before it’s nothing but empty memories while I waste away in a nursing home where nobody comes to visit me.”

I would have this debate every morning, usually about this time, and then traffic would start to move again, and the train of thought would be lost, swirling in the void like a fading dream. Today, the traffic is really thick, one cohesive unit of a thousand cars, a fat snake compiled of metal and glass, stretching for miles in either direction.

Today, I remember last night, the release, the feeling of being free, and the realization that it wasn’t too late. I remember unloading all my thoughts, all my fears, all my rationalizations, and how Lisa dispelled them all with a wave of her hand and a kiss on my lips.

“If you’re truly unhappy,” she said, “then for godsakes, stop whining about it day after day and fucking do something about it.”

She’d made it sound so easy. So simple. I looked into her eyes and saw a woman who was confident and secure, who knew what she wanted and knew how to get it. I wanted to be like her, to feel as she did.

I look to my left, and there’s a man there, his windows rolled down, the expression on his face is a familiar one. I see it every morning when I look in the mirror. I look to my right, and it’s like looking in another mirror. Another man, the same expression.

Defeat.

Acceptance.

Self-pity.

How pathetic. Suddenly, I can’t stand to be part of this anymore. I don’t want to be one of them. I want to stand free, look down upon them like a god and say, “I used to be like you, trapped in the routine, a slave. I started out like you with hopes and dreams, and, years later, I took a look around and wondered where all my hopes and dreams had gone. But not anymore. I’ve looked deep into the well of sorrow, and I’ve drank the foul-tasting water, and today, I spit it back in your faces!”

This sudden fever of inspiration was at once overwhelming but also exhilarating, and I liked the feeling, and I craved more. The traffic at last began to move, but I would not move with it. The driver to the right of me honked in angry protest when I cut him off, and I left the highway at the next exit, feeling something new and different. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was going to do, but for the first time in a long time, I felt in control of my life.

I soon found myself enjoying a marvelous breakfast, owed to myself after years of burnt toast and stale coffee, or runny eggs and juice. Feeding myself happiness piece by piece, I found life returning to these dead limbs, strength returning to my mind, fueling my desire to break free of the routine now and forevermore.

I lifted my glass and toasted Lisa, my savior. Where are you now? I wondered. Where do you work? What are you having for breakfast? Do you know how grateful I am to you?

Maybe one day I would find her again, tell her how she helped me to change my life. The same thing, every day, I would tell her. Arguing with myself. Pitying myself. Then you come along, and I see the strength in you, the fire in you, and I want it. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

I went to an early movie. I bought a large popcorn and a large soda. I used to love the movies. Judith never wanted to go.

“I hate those theatres,” she’d say. “Everything is so expensive and the floors are sticky. The people are so noisy. We can rent a movie.” And we always rented what she wanted to rent.

I saw the new comedy with Billy Crystal and remembered how to laugh. I hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time. It felt good, reinforcing the bridge I was building to my new life.

I went to an art museum, I browsed in stores, I flirted with women at Happy Hour. I tried on a new suit, stared at myself in the mirror for a good half-hour. The tailor asked me if there was a problem.

I looked at him and smiled, euphoric. “Not at all,” I told him. “It fits perfectly. I’ll take it.”

Overhead, the sun was no longer laughing, it was in fact smiling upon me. I could appreciate the day for its beauty, the clouds moving lazily across the blue sky, a cool breeze rustling my hair.

This was the way it should be. I missed this. I’ve tasted my freedom, I’ve built the bridge, and now all I had to do was defeat the evil troll, and I could cross into my new life forever.

Judith was waiting for me when I got home. The sense of dread and fatigue that usually accompanied me home was absent today. I had to laugh when I saw her, scowling, ready with some sort of outburst, probably holding it in all day.

I stifled myself and let her speak.

“Where have you been? John called this morning and said you didn’t show up for work. What the fuck is the matter with you? Do you know how worried I was? Where were you?”

I sat down, stared at her. She was really fuming; I could almost see the steam.

“I didn’t go to work today.”

“No shit. So where were you?”

I didn’t know how to tell her. How could I explain I was suffocating here, a small piece of me dying everyday? Besides, I didn’t owe her any explanation. I just smiled.

That really set her off. “You fucker! Are you having an affair? Are you?”

Then, she surprised me with tears, actual tears. I couldn’t believe it. She kneeled before me, clutched my hands in hers.

“Please, tell me. I need to know. Are you having an affair?”

For the first time in a long time, I actually looked at my wife, saw pain in her eyes, and knew she had been feeling the same as me all these years. She wasn’t just killing me, we were killing each other. The cancer had been festering inside both of us. I had to set us free. I decided to tell her the truth.

“No, not an affair. But I have slept with someone, and it made me realize some things about my life, and about us. We don’t belong together anymore Judith. I want a divorce. It would be best for both of us.”

Then, as an afterthought, “I’m sorry.” And I meant it.

She was silent for a moment. I thought she might cry. But the tears dried, and the fire behind her eyes returned. She threw my hands aside and stood, trembling with fury, towering over me.

“You goddamn bastard! You motherfucker! You want a fucking divorce? You can’t have a fucking divorce. I’m pregnant, you asshole!”

Lightning struck my precious bridge, and it began to crumble. The sky grew dark with storm clouds, the thunder was the voice of my wife, and a cold wind chilled me to the bone.

“You are going to stay with me and take care of our child, and you’re going back to work, because thanks to me, you still have your fucking job. And let me tell you something. If you try to divorce me, I’ll bury you! I’ll take everything you have! Alimony, child support, I’ll have your fucking useless balls!”

And she stormed out of the room, slammed the door to the bedroom, and my bridge collapsed into the sea, leaving me stranded. The brief taste of freedom was replaced by something familiar and sour. My heart pounded fiercely, draining the energy from my body. Thoughts of freedom melted and dissolved, any feeble surviving remnants sinking deep into an empty black pit

***

It’s morning, and that damn baby is crying again. Soon it will be my baby crying, and I’ll be crying along with it, bitter tears of regret

It’s another fucking hot day. I’ll have to return that suit today, after work, if the traffic isn’t too bad. Right now, it’s a bitch. And the fucking signs are forever flashing “Delays Ahead”.