Chris was a typical man's man. He looked like anyone you would meet on the street: slightly thickening around the middle, a bald patch that was consistently growing, and an omnipresent five o'clock shadow etched into his jaw line. The most important thing to him was his family.
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7:45 AM
My alarm clock is telling me to get up. I roll over and slam down on it. My wife squirms a little, trying not to wake up. I get out of the bed and walk over to my bathroom. I look into the mirror and see bags forming under my eyes. I guess if I were vain I would care… I step on the scale (a morning ritual instituted by my wife). She wants me to lose ten pounds by the end of the month. I look down to see that I have actually gained a couple of pounds. Oh, well… The shower is now steaming up the room. There's so much water in the air that I can barely breathe…
8:05 AM
I drop my towel on the ground.
"Chris!" my wife screeches from the bed. "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. Put your damn towel on the fucking rack."
I nod and leave the towel sit there on the floor- it won't hurt. I can feel her scornful looks from across the room, but I am not going to acknowledge it. I pull up my pants very slowly, trying not to fall over and hurt myself. Finally they are up and I suck in my gut as I zip them. I now pull on my worn work-shirt that has "Wayne's Heating and Cooling" embroidered on the front.
"Alright, Marsha," I say to her quietly," I won't be home until five. Call me if you need anything."
I kissed her on the cheek and walked out of the room. I can't help but feel like a scolded puppy as I close the bedroom door.
8:45 AM
I finally get to the company headquarters. I clamber out of my truck and grab my cup of coffee. It has become lukewarm during the drive, but I am in need of the caffeine. Inside the office, which is really just an old trailer, my boss is sifting through annoying paper-work. He gives me a half-hearted smile and I am pretty sure he still hasn't bothered to memorize my name. I have become accustomed to the fact that I won't be anyone important, but the least this prick could do it to learn my damn name.
I get my assignments and get the hell out of this crap shack.
9:19 AM
I am pulling out in front of the first house of the day. It is a small brownstone that is obviously home to a small family. I look and see several cars in the driveway. It is as inconspicuous as my own home. I can see the clusters of children's toys strewn about the yard as if there were some sort of explosion.
I walk towards the air conditioning unit. I can already tell that this one is going to be a bitch to fix. But, I pull out my wrench and begin to work as quickly as I can. I think about Marsha and I bang against the unit. I know there is something wrong between us, but- Lord knows why. I mean, here I am, busting my ass just for her sake. Yet, she hates me. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. I'll be damned if I am crying. I slam the wrench down onto the ground and punch the side of the building, trying to prevent that emotive liquid from spilling onto my cheeks.
10:13 AM
I put my tools back into the truck. They clatter against the metal bed, making much more noise than needed. I walk up to the front door and knock on the dark wood. I can hear the clambering inside and I chuckle at myself (the poor schmuck inside must have tripped on a toy). He finally answers the door. He is a middle-aged man, nothing too important about him. He looks like he's just gotten out of bed.
"Chris Leibowitz," I say as I offer my hand. "I was out here fixing you air conditioning unit; looks like everything is in order."
"Thank God," the man says as he smiles," my wife was about to go off her rocker trying to keep cool. I'm Charlie Peterson. How about you come inside while I get your check ready?"
He motions for me to come inside and I follow. His house is very nice- much nicer than my own. I can see the fancy hardwood flooring and chandeliers that look almost too immaculate for a suburban home. I am led into a small kitchen that looks as though it was used recently.
"Hey, Chris," he says as he scuttles around," if you'd like some toast, there is some on the table."
I nod to him and sit down on a rickety chair. I flip through the papers on the table while I wait for him.
I hear someone bump into the table and curse. I look up…
10:17 AM
"What the hell are you doing here, Marsha?" I am yelling, my heart feels like a hammer.
"Please, Chris," she tries to soothe me," don't be so upset…"
"How can I not be upset? My wife is in some stranger's home."
She is looking down to the ground, but I can tell she doesn't regret getting caught. I watch her breathe in and out. I don't know what to do other than stand here and watch her.
"You've fucked him- haven't you?" I finally whisper, too afraid to say it out loud.
"I have." She says it so loudly I jump.
"You whore… Awful proud of what you've done, huh?"
"Charlie is twice the man you'll ever be, asshole."
The door to the kitchen opens and Charlie walks in, unaware of the situation. Yet, he looks at the two of us and quickly gathers what is happening.
"Jesus Christ," he says in a raspy voice.
Marsha quickly shoves Charlie back out of the room and tries to make herself look proper. I can only look at her, horrified.
"You know I love you," I say as she turns around to face me. "And, despite my better judgment, I still do. For fifteen years- fifteen fucking years- Marsha, I have been working my ass off to make a good life for us. I never even looked at another girl the whole time I've been with you. So, what the hell is this? What is it this guy gives you that I don't? It's obvious that I've spent the last fifteen years devoting my life to a person that doesn't give a shit about me."
The air is so stuffy after I finish and I pull at my shirt to relieve it. She looks at me as though I am some sort of bug. My head feels like it is about to fucking explode. Yet, I continue to look at her as she shrugs everything off nonchalantly.
She finally opens her mouth and speaks," Does it really matter why I did it? I needed an outlet and Charlie was here for me. I wish I could say I feel bad, but I don't. I'm glad you know."
"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" I scream as I finally black out.
The linoleum feels rights under my skin; a painful respite from reality.
11:36 AM
I wake up in a hospital room. It smells horribly clean in this room and my lungs feel like they are going to shrivel up. For the briefest of moments, I think that it was only a dream, but I know better than to believe it. My head hurts so much and thinking about Marsha makes each nerve throb. I look around my room, but there is no one here for me. And, suddenly, I feel like a child in this room. I am so scared and lonely, utterly defenseless against everything. I want someone- anyone- to sit here with me. How dare I be faced with this alone…
A doctor enters my room, smiling. He has a lab-coat on that is several sizes too big, further attesting to the fact that he looks like he is twelve.
"You gave us quite a scare," he says absent-mindedly as he takes my temperature. "Your wife says that you were rather distraught about some news you got today and you collapsed."
"Yeah," I mumble, not wanting to make eye contact.
"The good news is that you can be discharged within the hour. You should feel lucky that it wasn't more serious."
I hope this doctor is fucking kidding me. There is no such thing as lucky in my world.
12:41 PM
I am walking out to the bus stop. I don't know where my car is or anything. But, my things aren't what I am missing. I hate myself for thinking it, but I miss Marsha so much. I wish I hadn't found out her secret. I would have rather lived in blissful ignorance than this.
I sit on a bench next to an old, homeless man as I wait for the bus. I can smell the whiskey on him and I have a sudden urge to get drunk. I can almost feel the burn settling into my throat. My hands are shaking like I'm an alcoholic.
A bus slowly pulls up to the curb and I am jarred from my thoughts. I board the bus and I immediately hate it- it is far too bright for me to see correctly and there are horrible smells coming from each of the seats. I sit down next to a window and press my face against the glass. It has a cooling effect upon my skin and I am finally able to breathe in correctly. The scenery outside passes by quickly as the bus picks up speed.
1:32 PM
I am sitting in a dimly lit bar. There are smoke clouds drifting through the air like lackadaisical clouds. The dense murmur from the other bar guests buzzes in my ear so that I can barely hear. My scotch is sitting on the bar counter and it is in need of refreshing. I motion for the bartender and he brings me a new glass, filled to the brim. I shake my head as I take a giant gulp.
"You ok, pal," a young woman says as she pulls herself onto one of the barstools.
I look up and finally notice her. She is looking rather expectantly at me, but I don't bother acknowledging her.
"You could talk to me," she says a little louder, determined to be known. "I'm really good at heart-aches and stuff like that…"
"If you want a free drink, just ask," I grumble.
"I don't want to drink. I want to help."
I roll my eyes in her direction and go back to my scotch. But, something makes me look back up at her. She almost looks like Marsha, but she has such a kindly look upon her face. Something about this young lady makes me want to trust her.
"Listen," I say quietly, half-hoping she won't even hear me," I'm not all that good at explaining these things."
"It's ok," she jumps at my neediness. "I am a very good listener."
She moves to the barstool next to me, making me a little uncomfortable. She nods her head, telling me to continue.
"It happened to me. I always said that I was going to have a life that was respectable. I was going to work hard for my money, be devoted to my wonderful life, and have some kids. It all changed today. I worked fifteen years for that bitch to have a good life and she ruins it all. In bed with some man that has a family of his own. What am I going to do? I am stuck in a nightmare and suddenly I am scared. I've never been scared before. No, I'm sure I haven't. Yet, here I am. I am a grown man that's terrified and alone. I couldn't have deserved this… I don't know what I'm going to do."
Tears began to pour down my face and I am suddenly ashamed. I try to haphazardly cover my face, but I can feel the young woman peering through. She looks at me as though I am a charity case, but I delight in her pity.
"She really fuck you over…" The young woman muses as she sips on some frilly drink. "I've been there myself. Had to divorce my husband for cheating on me. It never gets easy…"
I look at her again and notice how old she really is. From far away I thought she was in her mid-thirties, but, now that she is sitting in front of me, I see she is in her fifties. Now I feel awkward next to her, not wanting to be around a mother-type figure. She doesn’t seem to notice my unease as she continues to focus on her drink. Fear begins to grip me as I see myself in this woman. My heart begins to shudder in my chest as I look down at her.
"Am I going to become you?" I finally ask, unable to keep it inside.
She gets up from the bar and rubs her hand on my cheek. I pull away from her, disgusted at both of us. I am unsure what to make of this encounter. Perhaps she is some sort of vision sent to me from some greater body.
I run to the bathroom as I feel vomit travel up my throat.
2:50 PM
"Daddy!" My daughter comes running up to me with great excitement. I pull her into a hug as I begin to feel the stresses melt away.
"I missed you, sweet-heart," I say as I hold her.
"I missed you too, Daddy. Mommy has been so upset all day." She whispers in my ear.
Marsha comes into the living room, having heard me. I look up at her and mouth "fuck you" to her.
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