February Sucks - My Sequel

I went downstairs to the cellar. I went down to get great-granddad's revolver. I'd show her. I'd show her what she'd done. I'd show her once and for all! In hindsight I know I wasn't in my right mind, but what did it matter, I was already dead.

I got down there, and found it right where I'd left it. I picked it up, flipped open the cylinder, checked the bullets again. Yep, still there. I went back upstairs, and back to the kitchen.

"Linda," I said, holding up the gun, "This was my great-grandfather's pistol. I bet you've never seen anything like it before. I waved it all around like I'd seen actors do on TV.

At first she looked scared, but I watched as she gathered her courage, or was it false bravado. I walked over and sat catty-corner from her, "This is a thirty-caliber Detective's Special. Again I flipped open the cylinder, "It's a six shot revolver." I showed her where the bullets were and said, "Want to see how it works?"

She pretended to bristle, but I knew my wife. She said, "Put that thing away. Get it out of my house. I won't have anything like that here, not in my house."

I felt delirious with joy. I laughed. She'd gone into Scarlett O'Hara mode. She loved that movie.

I flipped the cylinder shut and said, "You say nothing's changed. You say we can get past your little foible. Your little fun tryst with the football jock. You say we've got to talk about our future. I'm telling you Linda there is no future, not anymore. You killed it last night. You killed me. You and your football boyfriend."

She just stared at me. I knew I needed to take things a step further. I reached across the table and grabbed her right hand. I pulled it across the table, and pushed the pistol up against it. I laughed, "Pretty firm grip for a weakling." Then I said, "Here's what we're going to do Linda. We're going to fix things. We're going to fix everything. You and I. We're going to do it together."

She tried to pull back. "Let me go," she said.

I didn't let go. No, I forced her hand so it was wrapped around the weapon. "Here," I said. I made her hold the gun. "Here's how we do it darling." I pushed her index finger inside the trigger guard. I used my fingers to twist her thumb over the hammer. I used her thumb and my fingers to pull the hammer back. It went, click, click, click.

"Now," I said, "all you have to do is pull the trigger."

She stared crying, "No Jim. Please."

"Go on," I yelled, "pull the fucking trigger!"

She kept crying. She wept, "Oh Jim. This isn't..."

I hollered as loud as I could, "Pull the God damned mother fucking trigger!"

She kept crying.

I'd had it. "Jesus Christ," I snarled. I reached for the pistol to pull it out of her hand. I...

POP!

I felt something go in my chest, then an unbelievable pain. I knew what happened. The pistol had fired. A bullet had gone into my chest. I looked down. Yes, there it was! A hole. With blood. I knew it. I was dead.

-----V-----

The next thing I remembered I was waking up to the bleep, bleep, bleep sound of a hospital monitor. That was, I didn't know how many days ago. Now I was sitting in a wheelchair waiting for some nurse. The doctor had cleared me. Linda was seated across from me in the loveseat. I was supposed to be going home. What a joke. Home. I had no home.

I'd had time to think. I wanted to get even. I knew my marriage was dead, but I still wanted to share some of my pain with Linda. I thought I came up with a few pretty good ideas.

My first thought was to buy a football doll, something about the same size as the doll that had been on the wedding cake ten years back. I'd buy it, and replace the standard "civilian doll" with a "football player doll". I even planned on painting the number 83 on it; that was the number of that guy Marc. In the end I decided not to play that trick. My kids would see it, and I wanted to punish Linda not Emma and Tommy. However there were other things I could do, and I started planning.

I was still in bed and on all kinds of medications, but I had my imagination.

We belonged to Linda's parents Episcopal Church. I liked the church. I had some friends there, but it wasn't the church where I grew up. The church where I grew up had its own a cemetery right next door. I thought I'd call my old church, get their business office, and buy a single burial plot. I'd use our credit card, and pay for it over the phone. Linda handled the bills so she'd see the purchase and want to know what it was for. I'd tell her it was for me, that I wanted to be buried alone.

Next I thought I'd contact the football team's publicity department and ask if they could send me a good 8X10 of tight end Marc LaValiere. I'd buy a frame figuring when the picture came I'd put it up some place, like maybe in the bedroom for Linda to see every day... and every night before she went to bed.

I could get on the Internet and research all the bastard's clippings. They'd be easy to find. I'd download every God damned one of them, and make Linda a nice scrapbook.

Linda had a nice car, a Toyota. I could call the state M.V.A., and buy her a set of vanity license plates that would read "834ME". Eighty-three was the son-of-a-bitches' jersey number. I wondered how Linda might like that. I bet she'd be just thrilled!

I'd go on line again, find the N.F.L. store and buy Linda a Marc Lavaliere jersey.

There were a couple other things I thought about. I thought I might buy Linda a pistol of her own. I'd tell her she should keep it handy just in case I went completely crazy. I decided against that. What if one of the kids found it?

I thought about writing the son-of-a-bitch a letter, but couldn't think of what to say. I mean like, "Hey you fucked my wife, and now we're getting a divorce. Thanks a lot!" I couldn't honestly do that though; Linda went of her own free will.

There were two things I definitely did want to do. One thing I did want to do, and that was to get the addresses of all the people who'd been at that February party. I'd write them all a letter telling them what I thought of them. I'd make a copy for Linda too. A second thing; I'd call the urologist who'd done my vasectomy. They're reversible. I'd get mine reversed. Who knew, maybe someday I'd want to start a second family. I'd make sure Linda knew why I did it.

But first I had to get out of the hospital, go home, and face more of Linda's bullshit. That was going to be interesting. Yeah sure.

Linda drove us home. I didn't say anything. My mom and dad were at our house watching the kids. Linda gave me some bullshit about kids and hospitals. I wasn't listening.

When I got home both kids were there to greet me. Linda and I played with them a little while, but then Linda scooted them off saying their dad was tired and needed his rest. I went upstairs to bed. I really was exhausted.

Linda came up a few hours later with a plate. I accepted it. She sat down beside me on the bed. "Jim, we have to talk."

I asked, "You going to see him again?"

She quavered, "Oh no, not ever again. I had my fling. I never want to do that again, not ever. I want us to get back to where we were."

I sighed. I knew I was still heavily dope up, and in no position to match wits with my wife. I said, "I did some reading on the Internet while I was in the hospital. I only had my cell phone so the script was sometimes hard to read. You know what I found out?"

She looked concerned, even interested, but I doubted it. She said, "No, what?"

I told her, "Once someone cheats on their spouse statistics say they're 350% more likely to do it again." I told her that, but how anyone could come up with a statistic like that was beyond my pay grade.

She gave me one of her "I'm being so sincere" looks and said, "Oh no Jim. That's over. I'd never do anything like that again, not ever. I just want to be your wife."

I looked her in the eye, "You'll forgive me if I don't believe you."

She whispered, "Believe me Jim, never again."

She said it with conviction, but I wasn't buying. "Once upon a time," I said, "we made a pact, a pact before our families and before God. We both said, love, honor, and cherish, from this day forward, forsaking all others, till death do us part." I stopped, I was having trouble breathing.

She sighed and replied, "I'm sorry Jim. I promise. I'll never do anything like that again."

"Anything? Like what Linda," I asked?

She looked down at the wedding rings on her finger, then the lamp, but not at me, "I'll never be unfaithful, never again."

"Infidelity Linda," I asked, "is that all it was?"

She looked puzzled, "I don't know. I think that was all. I don't know what you mean."

"I'll tell you," I said. "We were at a restaurant. There were ten of us. A celebrity asked you to leave me and spend the night with him, and you walked away without even a backward glance. You just up and left. You left me there, alone. Alone with eight other people who all knew what you were doing. You left on a night that was supposed to be special to us. Linda this wasn't just infidelity, what you did was cold blooded betrayal."

This was hard. I was gasping for air.

"Jim." She said, "You don't understand. I'd never been with another man. He was just so, well he was just everything every girl ever dreams about. It was my one chance to fulfill every dream every girl has. I'm sorry honey. I know it hurt you. I'm sorry you were hurt. I promise, from now on I'll be the best wife ever."

I said, "Linda do you remember that night at the state park at the party when we were on the quilt?"

"Yes," she said.

I didn't think she really remembered, but I went on, "I was a virgin that night," I added, "Linda you're the only woman I've ever slept with. I've never had another woman."

She put her head down, "Oh, I didn't know."

"I don't know why you didn't," I said. "I must have told you a hundred times since we got married."

She looked at the light on my end table and smiled, "Oh Jim I didn't believe you. I don't believe you now. I know you must have had dozens of girls."

"Linda," I gasped, "I'm not lying. I admit I've had my fantasies, but they've never been about any 'special' thing. When I daydream I daydream about you. When I've fantasized I've fantasized about you."

She looked bored, but was pretending not to.

I struggled on, "Linda when I look at other women it's to see what they have on, and if I like it I try to find out where they bought it. Why, so I could buy one for you. Yes, I guess my fantasies have been pretty mundane, but up until the other night when you trashed everything you've been all I ever wanted. Now, I don't want anything."

She wouldn't look at me. She kept looking down at her fingernails. That's when I realized I was playing her game. I was trying to be reasonable. That's what she wanted! If I'm being reasonable then she can talk me into anything she wants. She was waiting me out. I had to drive that notion out of her head.

I gathered all my strength. I changed direction, "I guess your big fantasy has always been to find some big athlete at a restaurant so you could walk out on your husband when you're with a bunch of people. I get it Linda; you get to fuck the big football player while the scrawny squirt takes care of the kids and pays all your bills. That's over cunt. You killed the scrawny squirt the other night. I'm dead. This apparition you see before you is moving on. I just didn't know how yet."

At least she looked at me after that, but she still just sat there and looked at me. I didn't think she understood or believed a thing I'd said.

I tried a harder hit, "Linda, though you say you love me, what you showed me is you don't love me enough. It's OK, I've grown used to it. I tried to ignore it, but I finally figured it out. I'm not enough, I guess I'm just not what you've wanted. I'm good with that. I won't stand in your way. I want you to have what you want for yourself. I'll get out of your hair as soon as I can find a way."

She looked up then, but all I got another one of those faked real sincere looks, "Jim, You're all I want."

They'd given me some pills back at the hospital. I think it was Hydrocodone. Even with the chest pain and the wolf gnawing inside my stomach I still felt dopey. "Yes," I said, "until the next big hunky guy comes along. Who knows, last month it was a football player. Next month it could be a baseball player, or a rock star, a musician, or maybe the guy who brings in the groceries at that charity place where you work. I know this, there will be another one. There always is."

"Jim no," she pleaded, "It was a one-time thing, just a one-time fling, a moment in time. It was a like a dream, now it's just a cherished memory."

I was getting too tired to go on. 'Cherished memory' she said. I'd show her cherished! I replied, "I believe you Linda. Now you have your golden memory. Now every time you go to bed you'll have that remembrance. Turn all the lights out, and you'll be able to pretend you're with Marc LaValiere. It'll be great, you'll be at the checkout at the supermarket and a hunky guy will be in line, and you'll think back on your hunky football player. Think about it, the guy from the Walmart will help load the groceries, his muscles will bulge, and you'll think about your football player. Just imagine, you can watch him this fall on television. You can see him catch passes and make crucial blocks, and you can pretend he's thinking of you. Just one thing, I won't be pretending. I'll never touch you again. I can promise you that, because I won't be here."

"Jim," she said.

"Go away Linda. I'm tired, and starting tomorrow I've got my life, my new life to plot out." I waved her off.

She got up and walked to the door. At the door she turned and said, "I don't believe you. We'll be together again. We'll make warm sweet love just like we used to. You love me Jim. You can't help it. I know you."

I smiled, "No you don't know me, not anymore. The man you married died. He's dead and gone, just as surely as if his great-granddaddy's pistol had killed him. Only it wasn't a pistol that killed that man; it was his wife's treachery." I had more to say, but I was too damn tired. Besides, when I looked at her all I saw was the football player's semen on her face and around her lips, and it was making my stomach knot up.

She stood there a moment, then asked, "Why are you looking at me that way?"

I replied, "You sucked his dick didn't you."

She blushed, but didn't answer. She turned and went downstairs. I knew she'd be back, but it wouldn't do her any good. I had begun to think about other things. I did get another surprise though. Perhaps fifteen minutes after Linda left my two children sneaked into the bedroom.

Emma said, "Mommy's crying."

Tommy added, "Yeah, and it's really sad."

I reached out and touched Emma's cheek. The movement, the outreach hurt my chest. The doctor said my sternum had been cracked at the tip, and there'd be pain for quite a while. I said, "Mommy's just feeling bad about some things she did. She'll get over it."

Emma asked, "Were they bad things?"

"I think so," was my answer.

Timmy said, "Maybe she should say she's sorry."

I replied, "I don't think she wants to do that, but you can tell her if you want."

Tommy replied, "OK daddy. We'll tell her."

Both kids went back downstairs.

Linda didn't come back upstairs that night. I didn't know where she slept. The sofa was too small and uncomfortable. Maybe she slept in one of the children's rooms. I didn't care. She wanted her faithlessness to be a memorable event, something she could look back on in the years to come. I wanted her special night with the football player to be memorable too, just not in the same way. I'd decided her "special night" was going to be something to regret, not cherish. I thought back on the mean things I could do; the reverse vasectomy seemed to be my best choice, but not for her, for me.

-----V-----

I awakened the next morning feeling awful. My chest still hurt. I still had a headache, my stomach hurt, and it was like every muscle in my body hadn't been used in weeks. I never felt quite so enervated. My first thought was, 'Maybe I should go back to the hospital, but I remembered the doctors had said my recovery would be arduous and slow.'

My bedside light was on, and I noticed all my prescribed pills there with a glass of water. I supposed that's where Linda had placed them. I slowly sat up. The doctor was right; I did feel lightheaded. I took the medications. There were two antibiotics, and a pain killer. I had no idea what the antibiotics were. The pain killer was something called Ultram. I was supposed to take it every four to six hours. I could tell right away this was going to be an every four hour pill. I took the pills and went to the bathroom. It felt like fire when I pissed. I hadn't been warned about anything like that. Maybe I had syphilis or gonorrhea?

What did that get me think? What had Linda been doing? Was the thing with the football player really all that spontaneous? I thought, 'I'd been to New York for two days in November, and there'd been that two day trip to Atlanta in January. Both times Linda could have come, but both times she'd declined. Had she been up to something while I was gone? Had she been planning something already? Had the football player been around earlier? God, it was awful! Linda was constantly into this or that charity. The football player was involved in charity work too. Had they met someplace before?'

The more I thought the more anxious I began to feel. My stomach started to knot up again; yeah, the wolf was back. Obsessive by nature, and prone to look for conspiracies anyway, I was only adding to my torture.

I felt gritty. I carefully climbed took a tepid shower. Hot showers can make a person dizzy, and I was already that. I washed off with care. Every time I moved my arms, my chest hurt. The hole in my stomach had been sewn shut, and it hurt like hell. I remembered watching the Sopranos. When Tony got shot they did all sort of different things, but the doctors told me my wound was different, and besides that was television. I guess I bought it, but frankly I wasn't believing much of anything anymore.

Don't get so distrustful! I got out and stood in front of the mirror ready to shave, but then decided no, maybe I'd grow a beard. Maybe I'd join the Taliban? I could go to Iraq and become an ISIS fighter. I went back, sat on the bed, and went back to sleep.

A couple hours later I reawakened. No one had bothered me, but I'd dreamed something. What was it? I sat on the side of the bed. All right Linda had abandoned me. Linda had gone off and had some kind of wild sex with another man. But there was something else, something just as bad, no worse! I'd just dreamt it. In my dream I was standing, no, I was tied in the middle of a group of people; the people were the same ones who'd been at the restaurant the night Linda had forsakened me. They were all laughing and pointing at me. I was naked, and my dick was small like it got sometimes when I was in icy cold water. They were laughing and pointing at my shriveled up penis. Someone laughed and shouted, "Hey needle peter!" Someone else, a woman, it sounded like Linda, she yelled, "Yeah the little bug fucker!" I knew! I had no pride. I had no self-esteem. No one respected me, and they were all making fun of me! With impunity!

What had Dee said? She said she knew I'd forgive her. She said everyone knew I'd forgive and forget. From Dee's point of view, and I bet Linda's I wasn't being given a choice. They'd already decided. They knew me. They knew I was spineless. I wasn't entitled to a choice. They say bad things always come in threes. There it was; abandonment, adulterous sex, and disrespect!