February Sucks My Sequel

By Carvohi (also FirstBorn374)

Opening disclaimers.

In 2015 Valentine's Day was on a Saturday, not a Thursday. The night at the Madison (or Morrison) occurred Friday, February 20th. February ended the following Saturday on the 28th. It was not a Leap Year.

A Few Comments.

George Anderson's "February Sucks" is a great story, and that's why it's gotten so many sequels, all of them good. Three other writers I recall had stories with numerous good sequels; one by Nici titled "Something We Have to Talk About", one by The Troubadore titled "How High a Price", and one by Agena titled, "A Joke". All of them need to be read and reread.

I also sneaked into my sequel three older stories I always found thoughtful; they included Ohio's "Scenes from a Marriage", Hard Day's Knight's "If I Fell", and Francis MacComber's "Funny You Should Ask". There were numerous other stories I considered, but there are simply many too excellent tales to include them all.

Alas, this story is different from the original in many ways; the details within the plot line are my own, but I did follow George's essential theme. In George' story there was reconciliation; I couldn't go quite that far, but I believe I stayed within the overall leitmotif. Everything below, like George's tale, is fiction.

Thanks,

carvohi (alsoFirstBorn374)

Now on to the sequel...

I was awakened by some kind of bleeping noise. My first thought was, 'What's causing this horrible pain in my chest; it felt like the whole thing had been caved in.' and my second thought, 'Where was I?' I felt chilly. I opened my eyes; things were blurry, but I saw the fluorescent lighting, the dull sheen of green polished walls, the distant vaguely familiar big wooden door, the bleeping monitors, the loveseat across from me, and I knew I was in a hospital. But why was I in a hospital? How did I get here? And why did my head and chest ache so?

I looked at the clock across the room; even without my glasses I could see that it was 2:30. Was it morning or evening? It was too damned quiet, it had to be morning, or late at night. But what was I doing here? And why did my chest hurt so much? And oh my head! Glancing to the left, and again to the right I saw I was plugged into several I.V.s. There were plastic tubes in my nose, obviously oxygen. Had I been in an accident?

Then things started to come back. There'd been a dinner, a date with several friends at a restaurant. We'd gone to a nice upscale place in a quiet section of town. I'd ordered salmon, good for the heart. Linda was always carping about things like that. Linda ordered imperial crab. Linda and I had rented a room at a nearby hotel; it was supposed to be a big night for us. Linda had worn this beautiful blue dress; her hair was done up just right, makeup perfect, she looked lovely. The kids, Tommy and Emma, were safe, Mrs. Porter had them.

That's where it ended. Some guy, some big football player had asked my wife to dance. They danced, danced again, and then again. Linda came back, said she needed to go the ladies room. Our friend Dee accompanied her. Linda never came back.

Oh yes, my God yes, now I remembered. I'd gone looking for her. Dee followed me. She told me Linda had gone off with the football player. My wife had dumped me! Was she crazy? Dee tried to make light of it, said it was just a "one off". She told me Linda was sure I'd understand, it was a once in a lifetime thing, a memory of a lifetime. I think I told her if two people were married there was no such thing as a "one off".

The bleeps from the machinery in the room were getting louder. The deep agonizing pain in my chest wouldn't go away. Was I dying? My stomach hurt; it felt like something deep inside. A stab wound? I could hardly breathe. I was scared!

Some woman came in. Was it a nurse? Had to be. She looked at the machines. She looked down at me. She was smiling, "You'll be all right. Just relax. Go back to sleep. The doctor will be in shortly."

I wanted to ask her what was wrong with me. I opened my mouth and tried to speak. God! God damn! My mouth, my whole throat was sore. Was there something in there? It felt like sandpaper. Jesus, will somebody please tell me what happened? Somebody please!

No! Don't! I remembered! I started to remember everything. I gagged. I had to get up. I had to get out of there. I moved my arms. I wasn't tied down or anything, but I couldn't move. Everything hurt so much. Things went dim, then dark.

~~~V~~~

The next time I looked up I saw the time on the clock had changed. It was more like 1:30. How long had I been out? I looked over across the room. Linda was asleep on the loveseat. The machines were still bleeping. My chest still hurt. Man did it hurt! My throat hurt. I felt like there was a knife in my chest, another one in my stomach! I tried to move. Linda got up.

She walked over and whispered in what I'd come to learn over the years was her soft, loving, familiar, voice. It worked so well with the children. She crooned, "Hi honey. Feeling a little better? We've all been so worried."

It was all clearing up. There wasn't anything soft or loving in that voice, not really, not for me. I tried to say something, but it hurt. I got out a raspy, "Don't come near me." I don't think she understood, or did, but pretended not to.

She reached for and took the fingers of my hand. I couldn't stop her. She said, "We're going to get you home. I'll take care of you. I already called Mr. Fielding. He said not to worry about the office. When we get home I'm going to make you so happy. You'll see. You'll forget everything."

Mr. Fielding was my supervisor. I was part of a team of managers and resource people. We handled a dozen different things from external complaints, difficulties with creative types like editors and writers, shipping and ordering, as well as most internal staff problems. We were fixtures; a part of an international publishing operation. We were good at what we did, and were rewarded handsomely.

I looked across the bed at my "so-called" wife. 'Yeah', I thought, 'you'll take care of me, good care.' Now fully aware, I knew she'd already done a thorough job of that. I tried to pull my hand away, but she wouldn't let go.

She whispered, "I know you're upset, but what happened was an accident. It was nobody's fault."

I wondered what she meant. Did she mean her adultery, or that she shot me.

At just that moment a doctor came in; who he was I didn't know, but I was about to find out. "Hello," he said, "I'm Dr. Muckerjee, and I've been handling your case. You are a very lucky man. Your wife told me how the two of you were handling a revolver and it accidentally went off. One of the policemen who made out the report said it was a very old revolver with very old bullets. Another policeman said it was what they called a 'Detective's Special', manufactured in the 1920's. He said the pistol was rare nowadays, and he'd never seen cartridges that old. The policemen said the weapon must have misfired. If it had been a clean shot, you'd be dead."

I believed him.

Dr. Muckerjee looked over my chart, he mumbled something I didn't understand. He said again, "You are a very lucky man. The bullet hit the tip of your sternum and ricocheted down toward your stomach and liver; luckily it lacked the explosive power to penetrate much beyond an inch into your torso."

I stared at him.

He went on to say, "Another half inch and you would either be dead or wearing a colostomy bag the rest of your life."

I just kept staring.

He quipped, "It is also fortunate that your wife didn't waste precious seconds trying to perform needless first aid. She called 911 immediately. So you see, between an old revolver, what was an old bullet, and a fast thinking wife you're still here with us."

He glanced warmly at my wife, then back at me, "This wonderful lady saved your life."

I wondered, 'Had he fucked her too?'

Linda interrupted the doctor and smiled at me, "You're the love of my life Jim. I had to save you. I was so scared. Terrible thoughts crossed my mind. I might've lost you. I remember thinking if you died my life would be over. You fell and were unconscious almost immediately. The bullet hit you in the chest, but it got me in the heart."

'What bullshit,' I thought.

She was smiling ever so sweetly. I figured it was for doctor's benefit.

My next thought was 'the decent thing to do, the humane thing, would've been for her to let me die.' I remembered thinking something along those lines that awful night when she was with her football player. Back then I remembered thinking, 'If I died or killed myself, there would have been some sadness, but after a while Linda would have gone on. She would have found someone else, maybe even that football player. The kids are young, they would've adjusted.'

I looked at the doctor and rasped out, "When can I leave?"

He replied, "This is a serious injury Mr. Campbell, my name is Jim Campbell. The bullet was old and corrupted with all kinds of fiendish germs." He smiled at his attempt at being clever. Then he added, "We're worried as much about septicemia as the trauma from the bullet's entry. You'll have serious bruising. You have a bruised heart. Though we saw no evidence of it, your sternum might be damaged. I'd like to keep you a few more days."

I turned my head. Oh what a headache! I would've rolled over but it would've hurt too much. A groan would've been nice, but I thought it would be better to just stay quiet. I nodded my head very slightly.

Linda kept clutching my fingers. She couldn't hold my hand, too many tubes. She said, "I love you Jim."

I didn't say anything. I didn't respond at all.

The doctor quietly excused himself, leaving me alone with my adulterous wife.

Linda wiped away a tear; a crocodile tear I figured. She whispered with that oh so phony voice again, "I know you think I spoiled our special night, but I love you so much. I know, with time, you'll come to understand, plus we have the rest of our lives together. There'll be many special nights. You'll see. I'll be the best wife a man could ever have."

I didn't respond. I didn't want to, couldn't anyway. I just wanted her to leave. I had to think, or try. I was gone again.

I thought I had a couple days to think and try to figure out where things stood.

My family's complicated. Granddad is eighty years old, a semi-retired farmer, he pretended to turn the farm over to my dad a few years back. Back in the day granddad had been drafted, but never went anywhere. Just the same he had a lot of advice for everyone. He told my dad to join the Army Reserves because they never did anything, and that's what my dad did. My older brother was supposed to do the same thing, but Stephen, that's my brother, he got pissed about something and joined the Marines. Didn't matter, he was too young for Vietnam and he ended up too old for Middle East action. He got out of the Marines, went to college, got a degree in engineering, and found a job with a firm down in Baltimore. When I turned eighteen I decided not to join anything, but then while in college my dad got down with COPD so I joined the Reserves to get some money. I joined all right, but not till I was in my junior year so the money never quite made it. What the heck, I was in a state college, active duty only cost me a semester and I made that up with summer classes. Tuition wasn't that onerous anyway. My younger sister Mallory almost got married a couple times, but she's got her own problems. Her biggest problem is she has Narcolepsy so no one can be sure which Mallory will show up from day to day. Mom's a "stay at homer"; she bakes cookies and different kinds of bread, and she loves Linda. Dad's a semi-retired stockbroker. We're all Methodists.

Linda's situation has been a lot different. She has three siblings, an oldest sister, and two older brothers. Linda's what some might call a "late in life" baby so she had it pretty easy, no trouble getting what she wanted at home. She ended up at the same state college as me. That's where we met. Linda's dad was the principal at the big high school in the county seat, and her mom was a guidance counselor there. They're both retired now. They have great pensions, a big empty house, and a monstrous mobile home. They used to belong to the city's biggest Episcopal Church. I don't know what they do now, except spend a lot of time traveling.

So I thought I'd get some peace and quiet and try to figure out what exactly happened and what to do about it. Not a chance, everybody, especially Linda, was in and out all the time. Everybody had a ton of questions and heaps of advice. I got real tired of it, but somehow I managed to put most of the pieces together.

~~~V~~~

It had been a dreary winter. Linda worked at the county food center where she made calls cajoling and manipulating people into helping out with the poor. Linda has always been what my granddad calls a "do gooder". She was a psychology major in college.

Me, I graduated college with a degree in History, so everyone ought to know what I've been qualified to do. But I got lucky, one of the world's biggest publishing company's has its largest warehouse in our county. I got a job in the warehouse in charge of shipping, and since then have moved up the ladder until I'm doing a lot more. I'm the supervisor of something; they've never really given my job an official title, but it includes a great deal, mostly though, keeping the books moving, and keeping the employees happy and productive.

It had been a nerve-wracking winter; for me that included eighteen wheelers skidding and sliding around on narrow country roads bringing in, and hauling out tons of books. It included a myriad of ridiculously petty complaints from employees about the most tedious nonsense that I, of course, had to listen to with rapt attention and then offer the most thoughtful and cogent alternatives which no one ever took seriously, let alone acted upon. It also meant politely listening to my "do gooder" wife talking about all the ungrateful poor people she tried to help, many of whom were addicted to opioids.

Plus, there were the usual family issues. We have two kids, a six year old named Emma and a four year old named Tommy. Emma's in her second year of dance classes with the public schools and she gets additional training at a private dance studio. Her recitals start in late spring. Linda helps with costumes. Then there's Tommy, being four, and old enough to see all the wonderful things around him has questions galore. He wants to know why we don't have any guns in the house; that meant to him why we didn't have any deer heads plastered on the walls like the other kids. Plus, why didn't we have a pick-up truck, why we didn't have a boat or something, and why I wouldn't take him fishing. Hell, we didn't even have a snow mobile! Even the ignorant turd up the street had one of them! How do you tell a kid who still needs a light in the hallway when he goes to sleep that his mom gets weepy over Bambi and Thumper, and who firmly insists he's much too young to fish (hooks and all) or go out on a river or lake in a boat, or even learn to ride a horse.

So I'm in bed in this hospital. Am I confused? Must be the Percocet. I'm lying here trying to sort things out. I only know one thing for sure, my life had become a complete disaster.

We were scheduled to go out one evening with several couples. The plan was to farm out the kids, get a room, have a great meal, and an even greater night making love and all that good stuff. It sounded like a plan made in Heaven. We were all sitting around the table, there were ten of us, when this football player strolled over and asked my wife to dance. He wasn't polite. He didn't ask me for permission. No, he just put his hand out and took her. They danced a couple fast ones, and then a slow one or two. I can't remember exactly, but Linda looked real... something. I didn't know how to explain it.

It occurred to me I'd seen that look before; it had been back when we were in college. Linda and I dated throughout most of our college years. I had an old pick-up back then, an old Chevy, and there was this party out at one of the state parks. The place was kind of crowded so we'd drifted off a ways. Linda and I had done all the usual stuff, the hugging, kissing, and cuddling, but we'd never gone "all the way". Linda's family, she and her mom and dad, were "temperance" so Linda hardly ever had anything to drink. Well that night she'd put a few back, not many, but enough that I could see she had something of a buzz on. We were lying on this old quilt I carried everywhere. Call me Linus I guess. Well, she started to get amorous. I mean seriously "in the moment" amorous. Not just the usual kissing; she got seriously serious! She was wearing a skimpy little loose fitting mini that night. That little piece of fluff disappeared, and there we were, her in her altogether, and me, naked, with a "superman sized hard on". We went all the way. We did it. We really did it. We did it like I'd never done it before. In fact I hadn't ever done it before.

She was so warm and soft; her skin, her whole body was so pink and covered in so much moisture. She went wild. I mean really wild. She was tight, not uncomfortably so, but firm, hot and wet. She doggedly fastened her thighs around my organ. She used her muscles to squeeze tightly around me! She must have been holding back years of pent up emotion; it was all I could to do keep up with her. I knew she loved the living shit out of me; it was written all over her beautiful face.

Anyway, back to the here and now. I remember I watched her come back from her musical tryst with the football player, and that was "the look" she had. It was written all over her flushed face; love, lust, insatiable craving, you name it. That was the look I saw, and even through her pretty new blue dress she was wearing supposedly just for me I saw her body had that pinkish sheen of wet, hungry sex; her eyes were like totally black, nothing but pupil. I could see she was ready to go, torridly so. When she sat down she wouldn't look at me. I was so excited. I was so aroused; that football player had primed the pump, and pretty soon I'd reap the reward. This was going to be a great evening, the greatest since, well, who knew. Who cared? She was mine, and I was going to get her! I was ready! I mean like "blue balls" ready!

It didn't happen.

Out of nowhere her girlfriend across the table said she had to go to the ladies room. Linda said she did too, and that was the last I saw of my wife. My one and only never came back.

Her friend, a woman named Dee, came back, but not Linda. I wondered and waited... and waited. I checked my watch - ten minutes. Where was Linda? Where was my wife? Had she gotten lost? Had she fallen down? Was she hurt somewhere and calling for me? Had someone grabbed her? All kinds of frightening images arose. She might need me! I checked my watch again - another ten minutes had passed. I got up and went hunting.

Dee followed me and intercepted me at the bar. She gave me some stupid hogwash about my Linda leaving with the football player. I didn't believe her, not for a minute, but she kept insisting. Dee said she left so she could have some kind of night of splendid sex; what she called a "once in a lifetime" experience with a "great man".

I admit I was a little tipsy. The full import of what was happening didn't settle in right away. The woman, Dee, and I went back to the table. When we got back I could see everybody there knew the score.

That's when it dawned on me, like a Rudyard Kipling poem - "An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!" I was a chump, a grade 'A', first class chump! I'd been set up! My wife had dumped me! She'd walked out on me right there in front of God and everybody, and she'd done it cold blood! This wasn't some back street, furtive, secret, skanky and tawdry, in the dark of night affair. This was no smarmy little, hide it from hubby, sexcapade. No sir! This was cold blooded, out in the open murder! Marital murder!