As I Lay - Dying?

Apologies to William Faulkner for paraphrasing his title for my tale.

*****

Prologue

I opened my eyes and saw my grandson Matthew standing at the side of the bed.

"Hi, Grampa! Mom, Grandma, Grampa opened his eyes!"

My wife and Matthew's mother jumped up from their chairs and joined Matthew. I'm certain I was smiling; but it was hard to tell what with the drugs in my system. After all, why wouldn't I be smiling; I was awake and looking at a few of my loved ones, it meant I beat the odds, which were just under fifty-fifty coming out of the surgery. Whether the operation was successful in getting the growth out of my brain would be answered as soon as the surgeon came around later. But for now, the higher powers granted me the privilege of seeing my wife and family again.

My beautiful wife was smiling back at me. "Welcome back, J.R." she said as she bent down to kiss my forehead. (My given name is William, same as my Dad's, so I became 'Billy' or worse, 'Junior', until I convinced my mother to call me J.R., short for 'Junior'. The name stuck and sixty years later, I'm still J.R.)

The news spread fast and within ten minutes the room was crowded; my oldest daughter stood next to her mom (my ex), my son and twin daughters next to theirs. Everyone looking down on me, most with tears on their cheeks. The hospital usually wouldn't allow so many people in a room; but probably made an exception because my daughter-in-law, Matthew's mom, was a resident here. Even her pull didn't get the two youngest grandchildren past the nurses' station, though. Hopefully, my recovery would last long enough to hold those two girls in my arms at least one more time.

That afternoon, with everyone except my wife out of the room, the surgeon came in and gave me the news. He thinks he got the entire growth, they'd start chemo and radiation soon, I'd notice some changes in my cognitive, speech and motor skills for a while, but the therapy would help recover most of it. All in all, he was positive that the first hurdle was behind 'us'.

Of course, he didn't have to remind me that the chemo and radiation would be tough and no guarantee of long-term success. Very few with similar tumors ever made it past five years. We had talked about this, all this surgery, therapy and treatments would be expensive with a less than ten percent chance we'd still be together and watching Matthew's grade school graduation four years from now.

So, the thing I have to ask myself is this - "Do you feel lucky?"

Damn right, I do.

*******************************

How It Started

It wasn't always like this; this feeling of being lucky, that is. Sure, I spent fifteen years racing motorcycles without a major injury; that's pretty lucky, I guess. I had a decent childhood, growing up just outside of Chicago; I hit a few rough patches in my teens and early twenties. Probably had something to do with my discovery of, and poor choices involving, booze and bad women. Which kind of explains Jane, my first wife. Ever hear the song "Jackson" sung by one of Frank Sinatra's daughters, Nancy I think, and by the Cash's?

"We got caught in a fever - hotter than a pepper sprout." Well, that line pretty much describes my first marriage. I was working nights stocking shelves at the local grocery and going to school during the day. Weekends were spent trying to make up for all the drinks I missed during the week.

I was on my third beer when a girl I dated in high school walked in with Jane. Jane just had that look about her, the kind that said she'd fuck your eyes out and you'd go blind with a smile. The ex-girlfriend came over to say 'hi' and introduced me to Jane. Before I finished my fourth beer, Jane was ditching her friend and pulling me out into the parking lot.

We fucked once in my car, not an easy thing to do in a Corvair; then we headed to my apartment where she gave me head to get it back up so we could do it again. At three in the morning we woke to start all over; but this time she stopped me before I went in. Jane got off the bed, I heard her in the kitchen opening drawers. She walked back with a bottle of olive oil. Me, maybe because I'm still kind of sleepy/groggy, I'm thinking she's going to slick up her tits and I'm going to fuck her bodacious set of ta-ta's. Jane spreads some of the oil on my now hard cock; but instead of laying on her back, she gets on all fours and points her ass at me. The light from the kitchen is coming through the door and I can see her special star just before she sticks her oily finger inside. She pulls her finger out and that star just closes right back up again.

"Fuck me, J.R.; fuck my ass!"

Well, I never had my dick in anyone's ass before that night, I didn't know what to expect. "What the hell," I thought to myself as I got on my knees behind her. My cock is pretty decent sized, above average in length and width if you can believe the charts (yes, I measured - admit it - so did you at least once); looking down at that tight star and my cock, I had to wonder if it'd fit.

I needn't have worried; the human body is a wonderous thing. I pressed the tip of my cock to her entrance and pushed. The head popped in and my next push drove further up her canal. The feeling was different; her sphincter grabbed tight, but the oil allowed me to move in and out. I grabbed Jane's hips and started to pump. Jane is moaning now, maybe a little too loud for three in the morning; especially given Jane's outburst just before I came, "That's it - fuck my ass!" Obviously loud enough for Charles, my gay neighbor whose bedroom shares a too-thin wall with mine, to hear; Charles gave me a great big wink when I saw him in the hall Sunday.

That was the beginning of the fever. I finally woke up Saturday around noon to find Jane in the kitchen making coffee and eating a bowl of cereal; she was freshly showered and naked as the day she was born. I knew she had a pretty face and nice body; but seeing her in the daylight without a stitch of clothes made me realize she was world class.

I grabbed a cup of coffee and went to shower. When I came out of the bathroom, Jane was stripping the bed. "These sheets need to be washed. Do you have a shirt and a pair of gym shorts I can wear?"

How did I get so damn lucky to bed a woman as gorgeous as Jane? I'd find out much later, too late, that she was rebounding after her married lover dumped her when he received an ultimatum from his wife.

I let my little head do all my thinking and Jane became my wife. Years later one of my good friends from back then asked me, "What were you thinking? You two had absolutely nothing in common," This wasn't true; Jane and I loved to fuck. With so little free time and such high libidos, nothing else mattered at the time. Wake up, fuck, go to school, go to work, fuck, go to sleep. Repeat. I was twenty-two; who needed anything more?

I should have been paying closer attention. In my defense, I was finishing my final year of school and working at the store. Jane was working in sales at an insurance agency; her paychecks were paying most of our living expenses, which allowed me to cut back from five to three days a week, Monday through Wednesday. We were still fucking like bunnies the other four days, so I had little cause for concern; or so I thought.

One of the other stockboys (yes, in the seventies, they were still called stockboys) needed to trade days for a long weekend; he asked me the week before if we could trade Wednesday for Thursday; I agreed and promptly forgot all about it. Wednesday, I show up and he's giving me the look, 'what the hell?' before I remember the trade-off. I call the house, leave a message "I'll be home" and grab a bottle of wine and some flowers. I get home by seven to an empty house. By seven-thirty I open the wine; by nine, the bottle is empty. By ten, I'm lying on the sofa in a dark room nursing my second Jack Daniels. At ten-fifteen the apartment door opens and Jane walks straight into the bedroom without seeing me and starts the shower. I took the opportunity while she showered to grab her clothes off the bedroom floor. No mistaking the odor of fresh semen inside her panties.

I'm on the bed barely keeping my shit together when Jane walks out of the bathroom drying her hair. Seeing me, she nearly jumps back into the bathroom. "Fuck, J.R.; you scared the crap out of me!" As she finishes the sentence, Jane's eyes focus on the pair of panties I'm holding in my hand. Jane is speechless.

"Go sleep on the sofa tonight. I've had too much to drink tonight and I'm afraid what I might do or say if we start talking about this, because I'm certain we'll be shouting in a minute and then who knows what. Just grab a t-shirt to sleep in or whatever and get out of our bedroom." Jane was still standing there. "NOW!" I shouted.

I took a blanket off the bed and threw it into the living room. When Jane left the bedroom with a t-shirt in her hand, I closed the door.

I actually fell asleep, probably from exhaustion; but I woke up around six, my head swimming from the alcohol and thoughts of what I'd do now. My pride told me to kick the bitch out and divorce her ass; but my pride would also take a hit if we divorced after only a year of marriage because she's unfaithful. I imagined the chuckles behind my back. Hell of a dilemma!

By seven I got up, went out to the sofa and shook Jane awake. "Get up." Jane opened her eyes and they looked swollen; she'd obviously been crying.

"So, who you fucking?"

Jane waited too long before answering; I could see her hesitation, wondering whether to lie.

"Don't bullshit me! If I find out you're lying to me, it won't be pretty."

Jane gave in. "Henry."

"Henry Jacobs; you're fucking your boss?"

"Yes."

"What does his wife say about this?"

Jane's eyes widened, the terror evident in my question. Did I intend to tell Henry's wife?

"She doesn't know. Please don't tell her; he's got kids."

"Are you fucking delusional? You two are screwing behind our backs and you don't want his wife to know? If he doesn't want his wife to know that he's an adulterer, he shouldn't be dipping his wick in my wife's pussy!"

It was apparent my words hit somewhere in the logical space of Jane's brain, because she dropped her face in her hands and began weeping. "I'm sorry J.R., I'm sorry."

"Grab what you need for a few weeks. Find some place to stay for a while. Your sister's or Sally's; I don't care where, just get out of my sight until I can figure out what we do next."

Obviously, Jane hadn't understood the full extent of my anger, maybe I was too successful in remaining relatively calm and in control; because what she said next could only come from the mouth of a complete idiot.

"Why should I be the one to leave? This is just as much my apartment as yours."

I've never hit a woman and thank goodness I didn't choose this moment to act on my caveman impulses. Jane will never know how close she came to getting smacked at that moment.

"Tell you what Jane; you stay here, I'll move out. But, my first stop will be to your parents' house so I can drop your cum stained panties off and hand them to your father. Imagine the pride he'll have in his little girl when I tell him you're fucking your married boss."

I don't think I could have shocked Jane any more than I did with that statement. She knew her father, she knew how he would react if I carried out my threat.

"You wouldn't do that; you love my father. Why would you hurt him like that?"

"Because you've hurt me beyond reason and I hate everything and everybody right now. Leave today and we keep the reason for our separation between you and me."

"What about Mrs. Jacobs?"

"Don't press your luck, Jane. I haven't figured out what I'm going to do about Henry just yet." I didn't tell Jane that it was my intention to let ole Henry sweat for a while, then I was going to bust his ass.

Jane moved out and lived with her friend, Sally. Sally was single and I'm certain that during the five weeks of our separation Sally reintroduced Jane to the world of being single. The trouble was, Jane never really cared for the single lifestyle. She latched onto me and married me because; one, I think she loved me in her own selfish way, and two, she liked the security of, for once - having a full-time man. Too bad she couldn't keep her legs together and not screw her boss.

Me? I admit I loved Jane and admit I missed having her home. And I really missed the sex. During the five weeks of our separation, I picked up a couple of women. All I can say is there's good pussy and then there's great pussy, then there's Jane - in a league of her own.

Which brings up something that bothered me back then and bothered me for years after. Jane gave it up to Henry Jacobs, who I thought was by no means any kind of stud. I never shared this with anyone; but the truth is, I probably wouldn't have been so damn pissed off if Jane had fucked somebody like Steve McQueen or Sean Connery (to use two examples of guys who were considered studs back in the seventies). Instead she gives prime pussy to a guy who I consider to be downright plain and ugly. What does that say about me? (I never asked Jane if Henry had a big cock, never wanted to go there.) My pride took a double shot and that's the reason I spent our separation trying to reclaim my sense of manliness by fucking around.

Maybe Jane got sucked in by the whole power thing; he was her boss after all. She never could explain it to me. And since she could never explain it properly; I kept my eyes open after we reconciled; never really trusting her after that.

Yes, we reconciled. I knew it then and know it now; at least half the female and most of the male population thinks that's just plain stupid. And except for one great outcome, our daughter, I was stupid. Here's how it happened.

Jane shows up five weeks into our separation and asks if we can go to counseling together. She's been missing me and thinks if we try a second time, maybe we can make it work. My little brain lets her in the door and within an hour we're banging away on the couch, in the shower and in the bed.

I woke up the next morning with the sunlight shining through her blonde hair. She opened those big blue eyes and stared into mine. It's then I knew some love still lived in my heart for this woman; despite the hurt she put on me. Could I take her back and make another go of it?

I laid down some ground rules. She quits the insurance agency. No way am I going to let her stay hanging with Henry; no way am I going to let him look me in the eye knowing he fucked my wife.

By the way; I did make a house call to the Jacob household after Jane quit. This fat, dumpy, plain as matzo cracker woman answers the door. She doesn't let me in, so I stand out on the front porch and give her the news that her husband had an affair (I didn't want to use any foul language with a strange woman) with my wife. You could have knocked me over with a feather with how she reacted to the news.

"Tell that whore wife of yours to stay away from my Henry. I've seen that slut, the way she dresses. You call yourself a man? Letting your wife out of the house like that?" With that, Mrs. Jacob slams the door in my face.

I turned around and walked back to my car, shaking my head and thinking to myself, "Well, that didn't go as expected."

We tried and for the next seven years we did OK. It helped when Jane got pregnant and gave birth to Kristy. And yes, I checked the paternity using the technology available at the time. I even re-checked years later when DNA testing became available; Kristy is my biological daughter.

During those seven years I found my niche in the world of finance. Having graduated with a business degree, I started working for one of the big banks downtown. Money was tight for a while, but with each advancement at the bank, more money was coming in. I felt like I was hitting my stride. A good job, a great daughter, enough money for the essentials and then some. The only thing lacking concerned my marriage.

Jane and I still had great sex; we ate many of our meals as a family and seemed to get along all right, but we both knew deep down that something was missing. It didn't help that we had very different interests. I spent a few nights a week playing tennis at the club, weekends either playing golf with co-workers or racing at a track in Indiana. Jane spent a couple nights a week at her two book clubs and spent the weekends at a variety of artsy events.

We also began to diverge on our political views. I think I was always a bit conservative; not over the top John Birch or anything, but a bit "teach a man to fish and he can feed himself" kind of thinking (I even spent a few months volunteering on the 'Scoop Jackson for President' campaign). Jane, on the other hand, started leaning farther and farther left of the mainstream/Daley Democrats. We dealt with our differences by not discussing politics in the house; we never raised our voices or had any heated discussions; but it was out there and causing a rift.

Everything came to a head one afternoon. I was in my office when Helen, my administrative assistant, came in.

"Did you hear about Mr. Harrison?"

"No, what about him?"

"He's dead. He was walking down the sidewalk, heading to lunch with a client and a bucket fell on his head. A window washer dropped a bucket from way up high on the Marshall Building and it killed Mr. Harrison." Helen started to cry; most everyone loved our CEO. I got up from my desk and held Helen until she could get a hold of herself. She looked at me and seemed embarrassed, then walked out the office and down the hall to the lady's room.

I fell back in my chair; stunned by the news. It was so random. How could such a terrible thing kill such a great man? Here's the part that made me search my soul: One hour ago, I had just passed the Marshall Building on my way back from lunch when I spotted Mr. Harrison and another man heading toward me. As we approached, Mr. Harrison recognized me and smiled, while he and the other man continued to walk and talk. I had taken pleasure in the fact the CEO smiled at me. It was probably less than two minutes later that he died walking under the spot I walked by only minutes before.

The event helped me make up my mind. That evening after dinner I skipped my tennis lesson and sat down with Jane.

"Jane, last week I got a call from a headhunter. There's a position available for me at a bank in Spokane, Washington. It's a great position and more money. I've decided to accept the position."

"J.R., I don't want to move to Washington."

"Actually, I wasn't asking you to move. This is probably as good a time as any to end this farce."

Jane looked relieved. "What about Kristy?"

I held my breath. "I'd like custody of Kristy."

Jane's reaction to my news made it obvious she was already considering a separation. "My parents are going to be upset if you move out to Washington with their granddaughter. I think they're going to be pissed at me for allowing it."

"I'll make certain you and your parents see Kristy as much as possible. We'll work out liberal visitation. Holidays, summers, whatever."

Tears began running down Jane's cheeks and those tears triggered my own. We sat at the kitchen table and held hands. Jane spoke first.

"I'm sorry we couldn't make it happen, J.R. I'm sorry."

"Me too, Jane. You do know I love you. You know I wanted this to work out; but there's no getting past the point we want more than the other is giving. And that's not either of our fault, it just isn't there. I know you feel it too."

"It's going to hurt Kristy. She'll be glad she's going with you; she's Daddy's little girl; but she is going to miss her Mommy."

The sadness was overwhelming and I started to doubt the resolve behind my decision.