Tribute Tales: I Screamed...

I jerked away from her grip, and glared at her over my shoulder. I opened my mouth, ready to tear into her for even believing in such a bullshit solution. Then, I remembered my goals. I wanted her to see the pain her actions had brought, and I wanted to force her into becoming a more active participant in the covering up. So I let my shoulders sag, and gave her my best hangdog look. "This one's too big," I said morosely. "I don't know that I can solve it, except to just die." Then, I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the floor.

She didn't move. Her breathing was labored, like she'd just run a race. I knew I'd stunned her, by hitting her with the entirety of the tragedy all at once. She started to cry. I had to fight from smiling. She really bought that shit.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked at last. "Anything at all?" It caught me off guard a little bit. I didn't expect her to be brave enough to risk such a loaded question. I thought about my response.

"Maybe there was, once," I admitted. "But I think it's too late now."

With that, she ran from the room.

The rest of the weekend went about the same. I played the part of the broken man, and she alternated between tears and terror. I think she figured that the other shoe was going to drop at any time.

Acting sad wasn't really all that big a challenge. I just had to think about the affectionate and loving way she'd spoken to him, as she'd given herself to him on our bed. That was an image that was going to be with me for a long time.

A few times, I thought she might actually confess to me. She would seem to square up her shoulders and would start a line about how important our honesty had always been, how it had always seen us through, but she never quite seemed to get to the point of admission.

By Sunday night, I could see that her conscience was killing her. She looked as bad as I did, and would give me long, weary, sympathetic looks whenever she didn't think I could see. Sherrie felt terrible, and she knew it was too late to fix it.

Well, she should feel terrible, goddamn it.

Monday morning, I was all smiles. I still wasn't sleeping...I did grab over an hour Sunday night...and I was moving through a world that seemed half hidden in haze, but I was starting to affect things. And my loving wife was coming apart at the seams. After what she had done to me, it felt cathartic to be able to impact her in some way.

When I got to my office and powered up my computer, the first thing I noticed was that Word document sitting on my desktop. I don't know why I did it, but I opened it and started writing. I'd left off with the characters having remained separated for a period of days, reflecting, and I continued from there.

"I'm glad you came," she said quietly. "I've missed you."

"Isn't that what you told him?" I asked, but I couldn't make myself say it with any venom. She looked down at her folded hands.

We were sitting in the living room, our first meeting since I caught her. I'd spent three days at a hotel before deciding that it was costing too much money, and then I'd spent an additional two days on a friend's couch. Now, I finally felt like I had myself together enough to talk to her.

She looked terrible, and for some reason that didn't make me happy. "Do you think there's a chance for us?" she asked.

I sighed. "That's such a loaded question, Beth. I mean, you cheated on me. You took that thing that was just for us, and gave it to someone else. You gave it to him in my house, in my bed, and you almost couldn't bring yourself to lie to me and say that you didn't love him."

"I didn't!" she said. "I mean...not like I love you. It's not like that."

"What's it like, then?"

She looked nervous, like she was fighting with herself about what to say. "It was affectionate, between him and me. I can't say there wasn't...emotion...there. But it wasn't love, or not any more so than the kind of love you might feel for a close friend."

"But he was important to you."

She closed her eyes. "Yes."

"How did it start?"

"Johnny," she said, "please don't make me...tell you about it. About him."

"Why not?" This time I did snap. "Is it none of my business? Do you feel like I don't have the right to know?"

"It's not that," she sobbed. "I'm just so scared that anything I might say could...could make you leave again. I don't want that."

"Well, I promise you this. If you don't tell me everything, I am leaving. I'm leaving, and not coming back. No doubt about that."

She broke down, and I waited until she was able to pull herself back together. "Okay. I'll try. I will."

"I think I can help you," I said. "I know a few things about affairs. I've been reading up. I know that when a man cheats it's pretty hit or miss about who he'll choose. Men who are out to cheat will screw just about anything. But a woman who has an affair is different. She almost always chooses a man who is both of a higher social class than herself and her husband, and a man who is more attractive than her husband. I know that guy works in your office, so I'm going to guess that in addition to being more handsome than I am he's also pretty high up on the totem pole. Anything wrong so far?"

She was fighting tears again. "I don't think he's more handsome than you."

"Liar. Now, I'm guessing that since you work together and he's a dashing dreamboat authority figure, that he picked you out to woo and that you let him. Maybe it was just the way he looks, or the flattery of it, but you let it happen. Am I wrong there?"

She shook her head, losing the battle and crying.

"How long ago was that?"

She shook her head again.

"HOW LONG?!"

"Six months."

I stared at her. "Six months. Jesus." I felt like throwing up. "Can you tell me what our relationship lacked? I mean, there must have been something, for you to do this to me. What was I doing wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing! You have to believe that! It was never about you."

"The hell it wasn't. It was always about me. It was about betraying me, replacing me, and denying me. So tell me why, goddamn it!"

"I don't know!" She looked completely lost. I believed her.

"One more question for today," I said, "and then we're done. For now," I clarified when her eyes grew wide. "Just for now. I've also read that women are more likely to be freer sexually with their affair than they might be in their marriage. A majority of women who cheat use it as an opportunity to experiment with their sexual identity. So tell me...what did you do for him that you don't do for me?"

"Oh, god, Johnny," she pulled her legs up, curling into a ball, and cried. And just like that, I didn't want to know. I didn't want to know what it was that my wife had given her lover and denied me. The potential list was staggering..anal sex? Swallowing? Had she dabbled in bondage, or had she worn sexy lingerie? Did they act out fantasies together? Did they fuck in a public place? I didn't want to know. It was enough to know that she had, in fact, put me on the low side of her sexual equation. He'd gotten the whole number, I'd gotten a fraction.

"I need to go," I mumbled, stumbling as I rushed to the door, trying to control my tears.

I left the story up the rest of the day as I worked, occasionally adding details to it. My character continued to see his wife, to talk about what had happened, and continued to brood over what he should do with his life. I could think of no good reason for writing the goddamn thing...I could never see myself handling an affair the way he was...but it was oddly enjoyable to write it.

At the end of the day, I was halfway home before I realized that I'd left my computer on and the story up when I'd left. Fucking lack of sleep was screwing me up.

I started to think about how things were going. Sherrie was a wreck, which was good. But she was a long ways away from broken, yet. I needed to step up the misery at home. It also occurred to me that I only had eight days left in which to lose my job. I had probably started on that part of the plan soon. I would miss it, but it felt necessary. Sherrie needed to think that my whole life had collapsed, and that she'd been the one to cause it all to happen. Throw in her natural Catholic guilt, and you had a life lesson that would bother her until the day she died.

When I got home, I was surprised to see Sherrie's parents' car in the driveway. I wondered what that could be about.

They were all sitting around the table waiting for me when I walked in. I noted the looks of sadness on Larry and Marva's faces. I felt genuine pity for them. Sherrie, for her part, looked anxious. She was watching all of us closely.

"Hi, Marv," I said without my usual cheer. "Hey, Edward. What brings you two here?"

"Oh," Edward tried for affable, "we were just in the neighborhood. Thought we'd see how you two lovebirds were getting along."

"Lovebirds," I said flatly. "Is that what you think?"

"I...er..." he glanced over at the women, his eyes flashing anger as his daughter looked at him beseechingly, "truth is Sherrie is worried about you. She says you've been acting depressed, but won't talk to her about it. She's worried, son...she doesn't know what she can do, to help you."

"In all honesty, Ed, I don't think you would understand."

Marva cut in at that. "I think you'd be surprised by just what we understand," she said, her tone hard. Sherrie looked miserable.

"Thing is," Edward gave his wife a patient look, "life throws us some hardballs. And sometimes, life doesn't always have to do the throwing. Sometimes people we trust do it first. The question, Mark, is never how do we make everything better. The question is how do we find a way to live with it?"

I looked over at him, a little bit of my respect for him showing. Without actually saying it, he'd acknowledged what everybody in the room already knew: his daughter had let us all down, and now we were all suffering. We were all going to have to learn to live with it, in some way.

I could see there was some truth to what he was saying, and I might have been encouraged to continue the discussion with him, but Sherrie didn't know when to quit. "We CAN make everything better. I know we can, honey," she said, throwing her father an exasperated look. "You just have to let me help you. I just want to help you!"

I looked from her to her father and back again. She looked hopeful, while he kind of shook his head at her words and gave me an understanding look.

"I need to be alone," I told them. "I'm really sorry, but I just don't want to be around people right now."

"We understand," Marva said, and Edward nodded, but Sherrie started crying.

"Please, Mark!" she said. "Don't go through this alone. I know we can..."

"SHUT UP!"

The words hadn't come from me. It was her father who had finally had enough of her bullshit. I fought the urge to stare as he stormed over and grabbed her by the arm. Talk about payoff.

"Marva," he said, "get the car started. Sherrie, get your shoes and coat. Now. The man wants to be alone, he's gonna get left alone for awhile. And nobody is going to say otherwise," he glared at his daughter. She looked shocked, and terrified. Maybe Marva did, too. Either way, they were gone in less than two minutes.

I couldn't stop from pumping my fist in the air and whooping after the car had pulled away. When I'd decided to involve her parents, I'd never dreamed that the results would be so fantastic. And now she would have to spend a solemn, bitter meal with them while her sulking husband cried at home alone.

Right.

I made a frozen pizza and looked at porn online. It was the first time I'd thought about sex since I'd found them together, and it was great. Afterwards, I decided that I wanted to be in bed when my loving wife returned home. No reason to give her another chance to try and talk me out of my moodiness. But I wanted to leave her a present so that she couldn't gloss over the turmoil she'd caused, so I took out a few plates and glasses and threw them around the kitchen. The shattered glass and ceramic, and the accompanying marks on the wall, seemed like a pretty nice 'welcome home' present.

I wasn't in bed very long before she returned home. Her parents walked her in, talking quietly, and they all fell very quiet for a long time after they reached the kitchen. After a time, Sherrie checked in on me. I feigned sleep. I don't know how long they stayed, or what time she came to bed. I was so lost in my thoughts that I barely paid her any attention. When I got up the next morning everything was cleaned up.

Coming into the office the next morning I was surprised to see my boss sitting at my desk. He appeared engrossed in something on the screen, but he sheepishly leapt up as I entered the room. I couldn't figure...

Oh, shit.

My story! I'd left it up when I'd gone home.

"Mark," he said, fidgeting with his fingers like he always did when he was nervous. "I'm so sorry. I...uh...you hadn't been getting your reports in, and you weren't answering any of my e-mails. I thought maybe you just..." he trailed off eyes darting to the screen. "Is that really how it happened? The way you wrote it?"

I took a deep breath. Talk about embarrassing. "No way. Well, I mean, the first part is. But I didn't react the way that guy is reacting. Not at all."

"So what..." he glanced at the computer, confusion on his face. "What are you writing about?"

"I don't know. I haven't been able to sleep since I saw them together, and I can't always think straight. To be honest, it confuses the hell out of me. But I can't seem to stop writing it."

"But she was really...with him...in your bed? In your house?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "So, if you don't mind me asking...how DID you react? How did you not kill them both?"

"I thought about it, right up until she started talking. Then I knew that it was too late to matter, so I had to ask myself what I felt it would take for me to be able to move forward."

"What did you decide?"

After a moment's hesitation, I told him. I told him all of it. My plan, including the part about getting fired, and how it had been going. He seemed enthralled by it all, and was grinning by the end.

"That sounds fantastic...except the part about getting fired. Look, you really have been falling behind deadlines. I could put you on leave for as much as a few months, if you want. That way you don't have to walk away if you don't want to. If it'll help, I'll even put in a concerned phone call to your wife about how you're moping around and not doing any work. I'll make it sound like you're about to get fired."

"That might be preferable to quitting. I'll think about it. The phone call is definitely a nice touch."

He nodded, his brow furrowing thoughtfully. "So if in reality you are bent on retribution and enforcing consequences for her actions, then why in the story is this guy...this guy who is supposed to be you...why are you trying to make it work with her? That seems so weird to me, that you would write yourself a fantasy in which you're a much softer person. That's not who you are. No offense."

I shrugged. "Like I said, I can't figure it, either. I only know that I can't stop writing it. It feels strangely good to put this alternative reality on paper, even if I'd never go for it." I shrugged. "I've been asking myself over and over why that might be, but I don't know."

"Hmm," he scratched his chin. "So there really is no hope for you two? It's definitely over?"

"I think so, yeah. Every night I'm home with her I just get angrier. I don't see how I could ever get back to the kind of honest, open relationship we had before. I'll never trust her again. And I'll certainly never sleep with her again."

"It's just so sad. You two always seemed the perfect couple."

"I thought so, too." I sat down in my chair. This was making me tired.

"Well, just make sure you don't have any doubts before you pull the trigger on this. It's not too late to rethink, but it will be soon." He smiled. "Listen to me. What an asshole I am. When should I make the call to your wife?"

"Today. As soon as you can. You have her work number on file, but I can write it down for you if you'd prefer."

"No. That's fine. I need to start the paperwork to put you on leave anyway. Want to start that today?"

I thought about it, and shrugged. "Sure. Why not."

After he left, I looked at my story for a long time. And then I started typing.

"Where do we go from here?" she asked.

I didn't know what to say. After two months of counseling and countless attempts on both our parts to reignite our relationship, we were still dealing with the after-effects of her affair. Twice we had attempted intimacy, and twice I had been unable to perform. She had finally broken down and suggested that I have an affair, as well, and I had stormed out on her in a rage. We both had a much better understanding of what had led to her fall, but it didn't do anything to my confidence in her to have it clinically analyzed and explained away. The truth was, for all our efforts, I was just holding myself back emotionally because I was scared of her. Dreadfully so.

"I wish I knew," I admitted. "It doesn't seem to be getting any better, does it?"

She shook her head. "You're wrong. It has gotten better. I'm much more aware of just how awful a thing it was for me to do to you. I much more aware of your pain. And it's killing me. I'm in pain all of the time. I never stop thinking about you, and how you must be feeling."

"And you call that 'getting better?'" I asked.

"I do! I want to have that pain, and I want you to see me experiencing it! It's important, I think, for both of us."

I thought about that a minute. "But it still doesn't seem like a way forward."

"Maybe not," she said, "But it doesn't have to. It doesn't have to look like anything. For all the directions you can turn yourself there is only one forward, and you are always moving there."

I stared at her a minute, speechless. She gave me a sad smile. It was a look that said she understood. No matter what I said next, no matter what I decided I would do, she understood.

"It's going to take a long time," I told her.

"Then we'll let it," she said. "I think you'll be amazed to learn just how long I'm ready to hold on for."

"Then I guess I'd like to find out."

The End.

I read the words I'd just typed. They seemed to carry such a nice sentiment with them...such a powerful statement about the strength that love can have, even in the face of destruction. I wondered why they moved me so much. I saved the file, and then I shut down my computer.

A little after lunch Tom came back in. "I just had a little conversation with your wife," he winked. "Wanna hear about it?"

"You know I do."

He obviously took great joy in telling me about it. He smiled all through the explanation of how he'd expressed grave concern about my attitude, my emotional state, and my apparent inability to do my job. He told me he'd asked her if she knew of any reason why it might be happening, and she'd stumbled her way through a few sentences about how she had no idea. She only knew that I was pulling away, and she didn't know what to do about it.

"So then I said, 'Oh, that's too bad. Unless we can figure out what's going on, we're probably going to have to suspend him for a while. And that's usually just a prerequisite to termination.' She was so stunned, she didn't say a thing. Here she knew exactly why you were so depressed, and she couldn't bring herself tell me...even to save your job! So when you come home tonight with the news, you'll have to watch and see how she takes it." He laughed.

"That's perfect," I laughed with him. "I'll let you know how it goes."