The Christmas block party was at our house this year. The nuisance of one hundred plus neighbors coming and going all day was offset by the fact that it was safe and no one had to drive anywhere. The alcohol flowed freely (and the faint odor of pot was unmistakable.) The weather was fair, and everyone was in a good mood. The thick of the party crush had been in the afternoon. By evening, the crowd was down to the old-timers, the families that had been around the longest, and the drunken.
My hearing has never been the greatest and I was already pretty sloshed, so I didn't hear him the first time he said it. Besides, hadn't I already said "Hello" to him an hour ago when he first arrived? Well, maybe he hadn't heard me. What the heck, I'd just greet him again, after all, it was the holidays -- stuff like this happens but just once a year – or so I thought. Omar spoke first.
"Sorry, Mr. Buckley, I fucked your wife. I just wanted to apologize."
Omar was the designated driver for his father and mother. They lived across the street. They came to the block party every year. They would follow this party by making the holiday rounds to the homes of relatives and in-laws. Apparently, getting drunk made that tolerable, but they needed Omar to drive. Omar was my daughter Katherine's age, twenty-nine. He was the nicest kid in the world, but more than a little slow. He had done way too many drugs. That hadn't helped him any. Recently, he had found God, and he had repented his ways.
"Omar, it's always good to see you, too!"
I realized I was more than a little smashed at this point.
"Good of you to bring your parents. I'm only sorry that Katherine isn't here this year."
Omar had a crush on Katherine that was never ever reciprocated. I heard something in reply, but it sounded like,
"Sorry ... fuckin' ... apologize ..."
I guessed that it had something to do with missing Katherine at this year's party. I was about to move on to other guests but Omar was still blathering on.
"I didn't know it was her, but that's no excuse. I'm an honest person. I'm asking your forgiveness."
I was beginning to think that, between the two of us, I wasn't the only one three sheets to the wind. He wasn't making any sense.
"Omar," I said, "what have you been smoking?"
"The Lord helped me to give up drugs, Mr. Buckley."
That was Omar. Always the straight man. He was never one to get sarcasm.
"I know Omar, I know. I was just kidding -- and call me Bob, not Mr. Buckley."
While we talked, my wife looked over at us from across the room. She was still engaged in conversation with that Paulsen guy from down the street. Helen and I had a strategy for watching the house and for entertaining the guests. We each had our own stations. I handled the living room and greeted people at the front door. She handled the kitchen, family room, and she showed people to the guest and master bathrooms. We didn't see much of each other during the party, but we had the house under control. On the other hand, we had been at it all day and we were both getting pretty drunk.
"I didn't see that it was Mrs. Buckley until it was too late."
"Omar," I said, "Relax! I don't even know what you're talking about. Helen is right there."
I gestured toward my wife across the room. Helen nodded in my direction and broke off her conversation. She came over to us. (Whoops, she was off her station!) She looked at me, questioningly. I said sotto voce,
"Omar's off his gourd."
My wife rolled her eyes and nodded. Come to think of it, she looked pretty sloshed herself. A guest started rummaging around the kitchen yelling,
"I need a mop for the bathroom -- anybody know where they keep the mop?"
"You'd better take care of that. I'll deal with Omar."
Helen said, "He's drunk."
"No, Helen, as Omar just reminded me, the Lord helped him give up drinking and drugs – but, you're right, he sure doesn't have all his oars in the water. Go ahead and deal with the bathroom. I'll take care of him."
Actually, I had intended to ignore Omar. I had no idea what his problem was. Besides, I had other guests to attend to. Omar had been in our home countless times over the years. He knew his way around.
"I committed adultery, and I need to repent. Please forgive me."
"Listen Omar, this isn't a good time to talk about religion. I'm way too drunk and we're having a party. Maybe you'd like to go to Katherine's old room and play a video game."
We'd made up her room into a combination office and guest bedroom years ago. I had installed a television, Playstation, and a bed for a future grandchild, but I used it a lot while we were waiting.
"I saw Mrs. Buckley and your neighbor Mr. Paulson being adulterous. I thought I heard Katherine in her room."
"No, Omar, Katherine is back at her own home, and Mrs. Buckley is right there."
In fact, Helen was walking passed Mr. Paulson on her way back to the kitchen. I was getting annoyed with Omar. I was annoyed at Paulsen, too. I had never liked Bob Paulson and I had never trusted him around my wife. He had quite a reputation for being a lady's man. I knew Helen had strayed from time to time, but at least Paulson wasn't her type. Still, it was irritating to see that she could talk to him so easily. Omar didn't shut up. He kept yammering on.
"I thought I heard Katherine in her room, and when I went in, she was lying on her bed."
Omar was really tripping. Sad, too, because he'd been doing so well. It sounded like his mind had snapped.
"She was saying, 'Fuck me! Fuck me!' over an over again. I took off my clothes and got on top of her. I didn't see him until it was too late. It was dark."
I was suddenly very mad at Omar for fucking my daughter -- no wonder he wanted my forgiveness. Wait a minute! I knew I was drunk, but I wasn't so drunk that I thought my daughter was at home. Who-the-hell would be in my daughter's room? Through the fog of my drunkenness, I started to reason. Now, who is like my daughter, but not my daughter? Helen. And what is Omar saying? That he fucked my daughter. No, he's saying that he fucked my wife who was apparently fucking some other guy on my daughter's bed. But what guy?
"What guy, Omar?"
"I couldn't see him 'cause he was underneath her."
"You couldn't see him?"
"No. Not until Mrs. Buckley turned her head. Her hair was across his face. I didn't know it was her. Then I could see that it was Mrs. Buckley and Mr. Paulsen that were being adulterous. But it was too late. I came inside her. I hope she doesn't get pregnant. I'm sorry Mr. Buckley."
I thought, if she was fucking Paulsen she's sure not going to get pregnant from Omar's cum up her ass, but apparently Omar doesn't know that!
I had failed at trying to reassure Omar that my wife had been standing in the living room talking to Mr. Paulsen, not fucking him in Katherine's room. No, I hadn't convinced Omar, but Omar was beginning to unlock a mystery for me.
I had gone through a period about ten years earlier when I was convinced that Helen and Bob were having an affair. They had known each other since high school. I was sure of it, but Helen had denied it. She said that she didn't like Bob Paulsen any better than I did. She was convincing, but there she was, talking him up tonight. Then again, that wasn't unusual given that it was a block party.
Anyway, Omar was an imbecile and Helen hadn't looked too concerned when Omar was talking to me, but then again, she was drunk. On the other hand, Omar's story kind of held together. I had to admit. It was possible that Helen and Paulsen had been in Katherine's room and that they had returned to the living room after Omar interrupted them. I didn't know what to think. I was going in circles. My drunken state might have helped me on this one, because I had to decide, and I decided to believe Omar. Stranger things have happened.
"Omar, I accept your apology. You are forgiven, but I'm having a party right now, so I'll talk to you later."
"But I committed adultery!"
I really needed him to stop talking. I needed time to think this through.
"Omar, it was Mr. Paulson and Helen that committed adultery, you were, well, you were satisfying a need that Mrs. Buckley has. You did things to her that I don't do anymore."
(I thought, yeah, right, she had cut me off from access to her ass years ago.) Omar wasn't quite understanding what I was saying.
"It's cool between you and me, Omar, but I'm going to think up a penance for you, anyway. I owe it to you. You've helped me out more than you know."
"You're a decent, God-loving man Mr. Buckley."
"Thank you Omar. Give me your number and I'll call you tomorrow."
