First Person Account, Aaron Jacobi
My wife Megan and I, me twenty seven, her twenty six when my tale begins, have been married only three years but things seem to be going off the rails lately. Despite the fact that I was sure from the day that I met her that Megan is the love of my life things have suddenly turned challenging. It seems that Megan is more often than not in a bad mood and her explanation is that I pay too much attention to other women, including our female friends. Last night the standard argument got more intense than in the past because I finally had had enough.
"For fuck's sake, Megan, despite the fact that I've never given you any reason to doubt my fidelity you continue to treat me like a cheater, or soon-to-be-cheater. What is your fucking problem? I trust you despite your minor -- although much more significant than mine -- flirtations yet if I even tell one of your friends that I like her dress you act like I've been fucking her for the last month!" I yelled, unable to keep my voice down or the hair on the back of my neck from standing straight up or my face from being flushed.
We screamed at each other for the next ten minutes before she stormed out of the living room of our rented house crying. She locked the master bedroom door. When I was ready for bed I told her to open it or I'd knock it down. She refused, apparently either not believing that I'd try or that I could, or she just didn't give a fuck, I don't know which. A minute late she was leaving for the second bedroom walking past the shattered door lock.
Despite the angst, I went to sleep quickly, my only concern being that since I could not lock the bedroom door she might castrate me in my sleep.
The next morning I made blueberry pancakes, sausage, and
Paradise Roasters' Kona K7 specialty coffee (with a 95 rating, almost the highest ever) -- her favorite breakfast -- as a peace offering. She wasn't very communicative but ate and drank with relish. Then I brought up the basketball game that she had gotten tickets for for that Saturday afternoon. She used to play in High School and Division III in college and likes the game, but in view of the blowup last night I didn't know if she'd go with me (even though she bought them I was in possession of the tickets) -- I was going in any event. She acted like she was doing me a favor but did agree to go and we even exchanged a few words that weren't acerbic on the way there.
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When we got to the basketball arena I was pleased to see that the tickets were as good as she had represented them. They were in the lower section about midway between the eastern basketball hoop and the half court line. Megan likes to sit on the aisle to stretch out her long legs (she's six feet one inch tall -- or 185 cm if you prefer the metric system). Even though I'm four inches taller than she is (10 cm) I let her have her way to keep her happy.
We watched the warmups in silence until according to her I started ogling one of the guards on the visiting team; no I'm not gay, it was a women's game. That prompted some snide remarks from her, not even abating when a man and women moved past us while we stood up. The woman took the seat next to me, the guy the seat next to her, and closer to half court. As they passed us I didn't get real good looks but the guy seemed to be Megan's height and unless it was my imagination subtly smiled at Megan, and the woman was about five feet seven inches tall (170 cm). They looked like they were about the same age as Megan and I.
Even during the first quarter of the game (women's US college games are four quarters, not two halves like guy's games) Megan didn't let up on the snide comments, such as "Oh look, your girlfriend just made a three-pointer," which I ignored. What I found harder to ignore were the snide comments the guy one seat over from me was making to the woman sitting next to me. They were even more snarky than Megan's; the woman seemed to be trying to ignore him.
At the end of the first quarter the home team was up 16-14. Without saying anything Megan got up and walked up the stairs toward the concessions area. The guy a seat over left too shortly after her requiring both the woman sitting next to both him and me to stand to let him past. It was then that I noticed for the first time that the woman was cute.
After the woman and I sat down our eyes met briefly. Since misery loves company I said to her "Looks like your date is in as bad a mood as my wife is."
"If he was just my date I would have already left," she chuckled, "but he's my husband -- at least for now."
Rather than dwell on our shared misery I talked basketball with her. She had played guard on a Division III team in college. "I couldn't score worth a damn but I led the conference in assists; how about you -- did you play?" she said then asked.
"Yeah; my wife and I played at the same college. I was short for a power forward but made up for it with intensity. I couldn't score well either, but I played great defense and led the tea in rebounding my senior year," I replied.
"What do you do now?" she asked.
"I'm a fledgling lawyer," I responded, "so now instead of throwing elbows I file briefs; how about you?"
"I work as assistant director of admissions at our home team's main campus," she replied. "I personally lobbied, with the coach, for admission of Kate Simmons, the girl on our team that led all scorers the first quarter," she proudly proclaimed.
Then Megan returned with a beer for herself, nothing for me, and shortly after that the woman's husband returned (at least he had two beers, one for his wife) so our conversation ended.
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At halftime Megan took off, again without a word to me, maybe to go to the washroom or to get some popcorn -- or more beer -- I didn't know which. The husband of the woman sitting next to me also got up to leave again. The woman moved out of the way and I stood up to let him pass. He said a curt "thanks" to me but nothing to his wife. The woman and I renewed our conversation from the end of the first quarter.
"I see that your husband's mood hasn't improved any in the second quarter," I chuckled, even though it wasn't funny.
"Yeah -- I don't know what to make of it. His problem seems to be jealousy and that makes me wonder. Don't a fair number of shrinks say that when someone exhibits a certain irrational trait that they believe that everyone is like they are and that it's a manifestation of guilt?"
"I think that you're right. I've noticed it particularly when it comes to honesty. Dishonest people are always suspicious of everyone else's scruples because they think everyone is as crooked as they are," I replied, for the first time making really intense eye contact with her.
We talked for another couple of minutes, probably smiling at one another. That must have been why the Kiss Cam focused on us. When the woman said "Oh shit!" and pointed up to the gigantic video screen hanging over center court I saw the two of us as clearly on the screen as I saw her live sitting right next to her, with a projected heart around us. We seemed to have startled and shy looks on our faces. The audience still in the seating area, and not getting beer or nachos, started chanting "Kiss, Kiss, Kiss."
The woman and I looked at each other. "Shall we?" I asked with a big grin on my face.
"Why not? my husband certainly doesn't seem to be in the mood," she chortled in reply.
I intended it to be a quick peck on the lips; however, when our lips met hers were so sweet that they reminded me of the refrain from the very old song "The honey drips from your sweet lips..." [at the time I thought that it was from an Elvis song, but later when I goggled it learned that it was from a Charlie Gracie song called Butterfly]; that meant that the kiss continued for a long time. Apparently I put much more emotion into it than I thought because the crowd started cheering wildly. We finally mutually broke the kiss and when we looked back up at the video screen it was flashing "Red Hot!" with little fireworks and rocket symbols, almost like a video fireworks display.
Mercifully after about ten seconds the video screen started displaying statistics from the first half.
The woman and I were silent for a good minute. I know that I was embarrassed and she likely was too. When I eventually turned to her, her face was flushed -- I assumed that mine was too. I stammered ...uh...since we apparently were the best halftime entertainment I should at least know your name; I'm Aaron," I said, extending my hand.
She took it and mumbled "I'm Julie; sorry that I got carried away; I didn't mean to."
"No problem," I replied, "I'm afraid that I did too."
We both stared straight ahead, no further words. When Megan got back a few minutes later she asked me "What was all the cheering about a few minutes ago," giving me hope that she hadn't seen it.
My "honest" reply was "Two reluctant people were on the Kiss Cam and apparently their kiss was a little hotter than they intended and the crowd seemed to like the change from shy to steamy."
I glanced over at Julie after I said that. She had a diabolical grin on her face.
The rest of the game was relatively uneventful except that both Megan and Julie's husband left their seats again between the third and fourth quarters but didn't return with any goodies. I thought "I guess they have small bladders," although I had never noticed that in Megan's case before. While they were gone Julie and I had an innocuous talk -- fortunately the Kiss Cam didn't reappear.
Megan and I didn't kill each other during the second half and neither did Julie and her husband. The home team blew out the visitors in the second half so no fans were on pins and needles.
Megan and her husband left with about six minutes to go on the game clock. As they got up and excused themselves Megan and I stood to let them pass. As Julie moved past me she subtly pushed something into my hand. I surreptitiously pocketed it; it was a piece of paper.
