Caring

Your life can become such a shambles that good news barely registers. And I've had a lot of good news lately: my business has turned a sharp corner and is really taking off; I am finally out of debt; a nagging stomach issue seems to have healed itself, and I have started an affair that has revealed I may actually have a libido. So what's the problem?

I have to go home at night.

I've made my own bed and I'm sleeping in it, albeit in a different bedroom from my wife. I knocked her up at 18, married her before the baby arrived and was already emotionally estranged from her when the baby died three months after birth... and with her, at least, it's been downhill ever since.

I'm not living in a hell, nothing like that: we respect each other's right to exist, each other's space and each's other's individual pursuits, such as they are. Mine has always been singular: my work — I've poured my heart, soul and every drop of energy into my business. Her pursuits while more varied are no less focussed.

'We never stoop so low as when we bend to lend a helping hand' — I think she read something like that on a motivational poster when she was a kid and it turned her on, God knows nothing else has. She sometimes works in a normal job part time, but otherwise she has devoted herself exclusively to the downtrodden. In her spare time she takes care of the house and to some extent Nancy, our now 20 year old niece who moved in with us six years ago when her mother, Gloria's sister, died unexpectedly, already pre-deceased by her reckless, abusive, alcoholic husband.

In fact, Nancy has given a second wind to Gloria's life. They aren't at all close, the family genes of stoic individualism are far too strong for that, but they matter to each other like a life ring matters to a drowning boater.

It's hard to describe their relationship. There is no hint of mother-daughter and they certainly aren't friends. What comes to mind is a computer analogy: Gloria is the iMac, Nancy is the iPad and they're tethered by some kind of intuitive wi-fi feed that makes them in sync all the time — the genes are that strong. They are both equally quiet, equally introverted, equally spare in their emotions, equally cerebral and equally bland, that's the one word for them, bland. Bland in behaviour, bland in tastes and bland in appearance.

Nancy could easily (and does) pass for Gloria's daughter. They are both thin, both have reddish hair — although Gloria's has been dark blond for years. Both have very white skin and both have sharp features with dull eyes that make them appear... dull, which they aren't, at least not intellectually, both are academically bright, but only academically, in every other way they seem to plod. And they are alike temperamentally: they take what they are given, deal with it and never ask for more. That's why Gloria and I are still together. Like me, she is playing the hand she was dealt — by me. I was the one to insist she take down her pants, she didn't want to... but she never complained, she just took things as they came, the baby, for instance — she took the highs with the lows without complaint. And she's been trying to make the most of a bad situation ever since.

So there is always a meal prepared when I come home, never announced. And the house is always clean and tidy. And there are never any domestic issues to deal with, she always sorts things out - finding a job when we need money, juggling bills when we're short, making do with little, asking for nothing and never, ever complaining. I take her for granted and a couple of nights a month when it becomes unbearable, I steal into her bedroom and take her body.

So on the night it all started there was no hint that anything would be out of the ordinary when I came home expecting to eat a rewarmed meal alone before dropping into bed, as always, exhausted. But that night I noticed the dining room table was set for four and Gloria was in the kitchen at the stove. I didn't ask, instead, soundlessly, I went upstairs to change... and recognized when I got half way up the unmistakable cries of a woman having sex.

I'm not at all ashamed to admit that I felt a flush of excitement. I thought if there is one woman on the planet who desperately needed to get laid, it was Nancy. I also thought she would be the most unlikely. She seemed to have absolutely no desires, no interest in people, no pulse. The thought that some guy could get to her, excite her, connect with her in her own bedroom, well, that gave the girl possibilities beyond my imagination.

I changed as fast as I could and went downstairs and perfunctorily greeted my wife as if nothing had happened... and topped a bottle of beer, something I seldom do after work, in celebration... and in anticipation of meeting the stud whom, sight unseen, I already liked.

When I sat down at the kitchen table it felt like the evening was going to be an event — I was uncharacteristically sucking on a bottle of beer; a guy was upstairs mercifully servicing our niece; we were about to have a family meal... with a guest, an absolute rarity — shouldn't all that be worthy of comment? Not from her. It wasn't at all surprising that my wife was soundlessly slaving away at the stove — it was like she didn't have the imagination to process abstract thoughts. It was like the woman was wound up so tight nothing could get in... even while her doppelgänger was upstairs on her back in the throws of ecstasy — a position she herself had never been in, not once, as far as I knew... the ecstasy part, I mean.

As the first flush of alcohol cheered my senses I tried for the impossible: to imagine my niece in some form of expression. Could her bovine eyes actually be alive with the same excitement her throat was emitting? Could she be thrusting up to meet him? Could her gasps be from passion, not pain? Could her nails be raking his flesh? Could sweat be beading on her forehead? I hoped it was true, all of it, I hoped she was being so totally fucked over that she would never want to be her self again, the bottled up, emotionless mannequin who barely occupied space and time. I wanted her to be totally fucked into liberation, just as I had once dreamed of this for her aunt... and got only misery.

I tried but it was impossible to imagine. The niece, like the aunt, are so uninteresting that imagining passion simply wouldn't compute.

But there were cries; there was ecstasy... then I heard it again, this time on the stairs, this time hidden in laughter, excited, bubbling laughter — a laughter that could never erupt from Nancy. I stood up in confusion, turned to face the hallway just in time to see her coming rounding the stairs, her hand tugging Nancy's, her face shrieking with gaity, her whole body spastic with joy. "Hi," she almost yelled at me, sticking out her very long arm, "I'm Helen."

Nancy has never appeared more remote, more mousy, more insignificant. Next to that riot of a woman, that anarchy of uncontrollable enthusiasm, Nancy seemed to slink even further into her self until she wasn't even there. All evening the exhausted spotlight was only on Helen, her too loud and too shrill voice amplifying her life's story through a stream of high-pitched consciousness that left me begging for the curtain. But no, after dinner there was an encore in the living room, and another at the door... and then the kiss, preceded by a glistening tongue and then the muffled thud of the door closing and the deafening silence that seemed to almost physically assault before the total bewilderment sunk in.

I insisted on cleaning up and persisted with the beer until I made it to bed, the fragments of the evening left in my head entirely unprocessed.

And it wasn't much processed by the time I made it home the next night — I tried, but none of it computed, all of it was too far removed from any of my known reference points. We take what we can get, I understand that — it has been my life. But do we take what will destroy us? Willingly.

Gloria wasn't home, she seldom is, she's always off lending a helping hand to someone or some organization so I nuked the plate she had left for me in the fridge. When I sat down Nancy materialized — she never sits with me, and, as I traced through my data bank looking for something to say to her, she filled the kettle. I opted to keep my mouth full of food.

When she sat down with her mug she looked totally lost. "She thinks I'm the one."

I chewed more aggressively buying time. "The one... for?"

"I have to be more ambitious... she's right about that, I do."

"You're bright, you can have ambition." This was true but her personality would hold her back, even she knew this.

"She thinks I should be a doctor, a specialist."

"You've got the brains for it. Is that what you want?"

"And I have to be more demanding, more emotionally demanding... I have to reach out for what I want"

"I'd agree with that... what do you want? Do you know?"

"To be normal... to work hard... but be normal."

I snickered to add a little levity. "This is a hard place to find that."

She smiled grimly. "So was the last one."

What do I say to that? Life with her mother must have been beyond dreadful. I had nothing.

And nor did she for two sips of her tea then she looked at me as she put her mug down. "She's a very sexual woman."

"Yes, I heard when I went upstairs to change."

She flushed, a bit embarrassed. "No, I mean Gloria. She and I and mum are the same. It's in us, we just don't know how to get it out... we want to, we just don't know how — it's not natural for us... we need help... and understanding."

I didn't know where she was going with this, I assumed she was trying to sort through last evening. "Does Helen understand?"

She smiled. "No, of course she doesn't. She only understands herself; she will always only understand herself."

"Is that enough for you?"

"You don't give her any understanding, do you?"

We were back to Gloria again. "Well, I don't..." I shrugged stupidly, "I don't really understand what there is to understand." I laughed nervously.

"Do you know why Helen wants me?" She knew I didn't and quickly added, "I'll tell you. She wants to mould me, to create something out of me — she's 36, she wants to run the hospital she works at but she knows she hasn't the... smarts to pull it off. She thinks I do... or I can become a doctor... or whatever else I want to be... or," she smiled, slyly, "what she wants me to be."

"Well, sure, I couldn't agree more..."

"And she wants me sexually, wants to mould me there, too. She thinks I have all kinds of 'slutty stuff' in me... that's what she calls it... she wants to bring it out... develop it."

I was stunned... that she would admit such a thing and even more stunned that she would admit it to me. I could feel my blush; I knew she noticed it but she pushed right on.

"There's a lot of it in there; it wants to come out... and there was a lot of it in mum that just got wasted away... and there's a lot in Gloria. A lot. We all have a lot more of it than Helen — she looks like she's boiling over with the stuff but she isn't. We are, Gloria and me, we don't look like it I know but we are."

"Are what, exactly?"

"Sexual energy. But we don't know what to do with it. Helen is bringing it out of me. You should try to bring it out of Gloria. She's dying inside."

"Is that what this is about?"

"No. You're like who I want to be. You're normal. I can talk to you. I have some decisions to make, a lot of them, important decisions because they will shape where I'm going, who I will be. I hope you care about them..."

"I do."

She smiled. "I know you do and I appreciate it, I really appreciate it," she smiled again, "and that's why I'm giving you 'the talk.' If you would be a much better husband," she smiled slyly again, "you'd get really good rewards. Trust me on that: I know what I'm willing to give Helen; Gloria will give you all that and more, you just have to bring it out of her." She stood up, leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. "Think about it and let me help."

When she turned to walk away I called after her. "I want what's best for you; I'll help you in any way I can."

She turned back and grinned. "I know you will but will you help Gloria come out?"

"Come out?" I repeated, confused. Is that what she was getting at?

"Of herself." She grinned brightly, there seemed to be joy in it. "We're little sluts we Menendez girls, it's just that we're one-man girls...," she laughed, "or one person girls."

She turned to leave again.

"Are you gay?" I asked. "Do you know that?"

She looked back over her shoulder at me. "No, I don't — I've never had sex with a man and I want to — I want to sort that out. Anyway, get Gloria's motor is running. She's horny. You should put it in gear."

I sat not sure I heard her right... then her voice came from the hall. "She can't wait to love you, you know. You just have to give her a reason."

I lay awake half the night thinking of what she said, about Gloria but about herself, too. I didn't think she had Gloria right; I had seen no evidence in her of what Nancy was talking about. Yes, I could be a better husband and I might try to be now that things at work were less frenetic. But what about her, Nancy? She sounded lost — being in a lesbian relationship without knowing you are gay seemed entirely dysfunctional to me, never mind the bit about allowing herself to be moulded by a near stranger almost twice her age. No, it didn't sound at all healthy. I could lose sleep over something like that.

And I did. I wanted to help her, I wanted to draw her out a little more, to find out what else she was thinking so the next morning I told her I had to go downtown so would give her a ride to school. The moment we got into the car I said, "I liked our conversation last night. Thank you."

She grinned. "I thought I might have gone too far. Helen is like a battery charger to me — I get really energized when I'm with her, everything about me gets energized, sexually, of course but emotionally and intellectually, too..."

"She turns you on."

"Ya, I guess that's it. I see everything in a different light."

"She also embarrasses you." Maybe I shouldn't have said that but I wanted to be a little critical of Helen, to get her thinking more objectively about her.

She hesitated. "Ya, she does, she totally does. It embarrasses me that she's so totally out there, but she embarrasses me because I feel so... like a nothing when I'm with her... like she's this bright shining light and I'm this little flickering candle... well, I'm not even flickering, I'm like this little wimpy candle."

"So what's the big attraction to her? Have you figured that out?"

"Honestly? Can I be honest with you... like totally honest?"

As if she hadn't been already. "Sure."

She seemed to inhale to get courage. "I don't want to turn out like my mum and I don't want to turn out like Gloria... I want to be in the game... I want to fuck and be fucked... I don't mean just sexually... I want it in everything... I want to be more like Helen. She wants to mould me? Fine, have at it: I want to be moulded. She smells my underwear, you know. Who would do that? She smells them and even licks them right in front of me and then grins at me, daring me to say something. I'd love to be free enough to do something like that, do you know what I mean, not with the underwear but..."

I tried to hide my shock. "To be uninhibited."

"Ya, but it's even more than that... it's not just expressing who I am, there's not enough there for that — it's daring to be who I want to be. I don't know who that is yet, that's the problem, but she does and I think I really like the woman she wants me to be — she's the woman who's talking to you now, the old me never would... but the old me would think it... and it would always just stay inside me bottled up. Am I making any sense?"

"Perfect sense. But don't you have to be careful? You can't just turn a switch — or you shouldn't just turn a switch and become someone you don't fully understand... you could be courting disaster."

"Or adventure and excitement. I've been tiptoeing through my life up till now. I'd really like a wild ride for awhile, like I'd really, really like that."

What do you say to that? I couldn't agree with her more. We were stopped at a light. The silence was starting to become an issue, I searched for something to say. I needn't have bothered.

"I always masturbate after I see her... I don't think of her when I'm doing it, although she has a killer body... I think of me and the woman I can become — that really excites me, it excites the hell out of me. She's really good for me for that. She's always telling me how smart I am, what a great body I have, what I do to her. It makes me feel good, really good... like really good. She makes me feel good about myself... not when I'm with her, I'm always just walking in her shadow then — it's a bit embarrassing, like I said, but she makes me feel good about myself when I'm away from her. It's like she fully charges me. At first the charge just lasted for a little bit, an hour or so and then the old me would return. But it's lasting a lot longer now." She laughed, which she doesn't often do. "It's been 10 hours and listen to me. The old me would never talk like this."

There was no doubt she seemed like a totally different person. "It looks like it feels good to get it out."

"I can talk to you, Mike. I don't have anyone else." She hesitated. "Does it embarrass you, some of the things I say — they're pretty personal."

"I get that you want to talk — I guessed you had nobody else; I'm sorry about that."

She laughed, derisively. "But you're not surprised."

"You don't seem to have a lot of friends."

"Or any. I've never been that type — to get close to people. I'm like mum and Gloria — it's like we live alone on an island. I was OK with that as a kid, but I'm not any more. Now I need to get things out." She turned towards me straining at her seat belt; I could feel her excitement, her energy. "Do you know what it is? I think I've figured it out — let me try it on you. When you're a kid, young, really young, you're always processing information — everything is new, you're constantly trying to sort things out. Then there comes a time when you say 'fuck it,' and you just accept information, it's a whole lot easier just accepting information than processing it. That's when we don't make our own decisions, we just copy. Fashion — why be different, follow, it's safe. Speech patterns — talk like they do, why not, it's easier. Socializing — do what everyone else is doing: drugs — fine; blowing off homework— fine; fucking — fine. I came to all this late, but I'm there now, I just want to do what everyone else is doing — I just want to be normal. Do you know what I'm saying?"

"Is it normal to be with a lesbian when you don't know even if you are one?"

"Is it normal to be me?" She laughed. "Well, is it?"

"We're all different, Nanc, in our own ways."

"Ya, well I'm different in all the ways no one wants to be. Admit it, I'm a nothing."

"Nonsense. That's absolutely not true."

"No, it isn't, but I think of myself that way. Am I living up to my potential?"

We both knew the answer to that. I kept quiet.

"I want to and I'll never be able to do that on my own... and if I live with a guy like you, how would that work out? You are doing nothing to help Gloria reach her potential. You don't give her the time of day."

I was about to object but she was right.

"Helen can be my Josephine — the power behind the throne, she wants to be and the more I think about it, the more I want that to happen. She wants me to move in with her. I told her I wasn't ready for that yet — I'm not ready to come out of a closet I don't know that I'm in, but I want the rest of it, I want her audacity. She has three friends from college, they're all married. They get together every few weeks and spend an evening drinking wine and masturbating — porn, toys, creams, the whole deal. She wants me to go with her... me, that's so far out of my comfort zone it might as well be on a different planet."