A short story to distract me for a bit. Nothing new here. Move along if you want ground breaking.
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David Coverdale, Bernie Marsden: "I don't know where I'm goin', but I sure know where I've been."
+ + + +
Marcie, my wife of nineteen years, lost her father two years ago. It wasn't unexpected as he'd battled heart problems well into his seventies. Marcie was an unplanned child who arrived as her parents turned forty. A month ago we moved her mother into an assisted living place. Going from a five bedroom house, to a very small one bedroom prison, meant boxes and boxes of stuff needed to disappear.
Convincing Helga, Marcie's mother, to do an estate sale, was difficult. She wanted to keep everything. Marcie and her elder siblings, three brothers and two sisters, all took their share of boxes.
Much of what didn't sell, at the estate sale, was donated to the Humane Society thrift store. All of this activity took its toll on Marcie, and most definitely our sex life. I doubt we've had sex more than once a month since her father died. I say sex, not love, as Marcie has become more like an inflatable doll than a loving wife. Apparently I just don't do it for her anymore.
Since Marcie is my first and only wife, I had no expectations or knowledge of what to expect in a marriage. We did the usual things, dated, engagement, marriage, a child, then another, and now we are into the parent caretaking phase. My folks are doing well, and I hope it stays that way for a while.
I can't say that I'm that outgoing lovey-dovey kind of guy. Then again, neither is Marcie. She's gone through life with a chip on her shoulder. Helga, and myself at different times, have suggested counseling for her. Not wanting my head handed back to me again, I've let it slide.
I've got two great kids. We did the family tree genetic thing a few years back. After we confirmed our heritage, we took a very special vacation to England and Ireland to visit the graves of some of our earliest known relatives.
Henrietta, my brainiac high school senior, is headed off to Stanford next fall. Her younger brother, Robbie, is a moderately talented athlete. He's smart enough to realize that his athletic career is likely to end when his high school days are over. He's a junior but taking some college prep courses.
My name is Levi Bennigan and I will turn forty four next month. I don't know exactly what I'm going to do, but I am going to do something. I have to.
+ + + +
We live in one of those vintage homes made over a hundred years ago. The lowest level, kind of like a walk out basement, comes complete with a kitchenette and its own entry door. You can turn it into a rental if you lock the stairwell door in the kitchen. It has sat unused since we moved in fifteen years ago. I pay to have it cleaned once a year. You can't let those cobwebs multiply.
The main level has four bedrooms. The upper level has a single bedroom and a small bathroom, along with a lot of open space. Robbie loves it up there. Above the second level is a rather spacious attic. I've used that steep wooden drop down ladder at least fifty times. That's the only way you can get into the attic. It's a real workout taking things up or down.
"Take these up to the attic" ordered Marcie.
She was bossing me around, trying to find a spots for the dozens of boxes she'd claimed from her mother's belongings.
"Shouldn't you tape them up a little better, if we're going to put them in time-out?"
As if I was a clueless eight year old, Marcie shot back "They'll be fine."
I'd have died a dumb happy bloke if I'd done what she refused to do. The first few boxes climbed the stairs with me without any problems. Just after I stepped off the ladder, into the attic, the fateful box emptied its contents.
Thinking that a few choice cuss words would solve something, I released my anger. Nothing changed. I started stacking the contents of the broken box. Some books, some journals, and a few pictures. The journals, five of them, were all hand written. It wasn't until I found the fifth one that I realized what they were. These were the diaries of Helga. Each journal covered at least a dozen years. I sat quietly and read a few pages.
How is it that reading someone else's deep dark secrets is so spellbinding? I fell into the trap. I couldn't get enough. Whenever Marcie would go off shopping, or whatever she was into, I'd climb into the attic and read.
My fascination turned into heartbreak when I found the entries for the week of our marriage.
'Marcie isn't excited but I am. Levi is a catch, but she is still under the illusion that Oscar will change his mind. He's been gone for two years and her biological clock is ticking. I don't think she could have chosen a better man. I just wish she loved him.'
I read it so many times that I knew every word by heart. My marriage was a sham from the beginning.
Driving around the lakes and mountains helped me pass the time. In my hurry to flee the house, I'd left my phone on the counter.
"Where in the hell have you been? I've been worried sick about you."
"Yeah, I bet you have."
"What? What did you just say? Come back here!"
I locked myself in the bathroom and sat in the shower until the hot water turned cold. Marcie pounded on the door a few times. When I finally came out, she was sitting on the bed waiting for me.
"Start talking, now!"
"I'm tired. Good night."
"What's wrong? Why are you acting so strange?"
I ignored her, closed my eyes, and listened to her pester me for the next ten minutes. She gave up. I didn't have a clue what time it was. When I woke up, at 3 am, Marcie was in bed next to me.
+ + + +
I snuck into the attic and took the journals. I left my phone on the counter. This time on purpose. Grabbing an extra-large cup of coffee and a cherry Danish, from the all night truck stop, I headed back into the mountains and parked by the lake. The overhead light, in my car, was my reading lamp, until dawn.
Finding all of the entries, which mentioned me, was my mission.
'Marcie is dating a gentleman named Levi. She seems to like him.'
'Marcie says Levi proposed. She said yes but is now regretting it. What if Oscar wants her? I told her to grow up.'
Then the entry a week before our wedding. I'd drank too much coffee, so I went and did a perk test. This was emotionally draining.
My search lasted several more perk tests. For the most part, all of the entries, which mentioned me, were about highlights in our family's life. Things like accomplishments, awards, and things that her grandkids had done.
I'd been at it for ten hours and was getting hungry. Heading back towards home, I did the drive through thing and scarfed down a few sandwiches. I parked in a shopping center and browsed through the last journal.
'Marcie says Oscar contacted her today through Facebook. She's in seventh heaven. She still doesn't love Levi.'
I looked at the date then tried to remember anything. I drew a blank. I got a better clue when I read the entry for a week later.
'Marcie met Oscar for lunch. She was crying when she called. He's happily married and turned down her offer for a steamy afternoon of sex. I told her she was crazy for doing either of those things. A married woman doesn't go out for lunch and she never offer her body to another man. We had a terrible fight. She might never talk to me again.'
It triggered my memory. I came home from work that night and was raked over the coals for some really minor stuff. Marcie was a complete bitch for almost a week. This one hurt more than the one before our marriage. When this entry was written, we'd been married for sixteen years, had two great kids, and she'd never fallen in love with me. My chest hurt, a lot. It was all I could do to breathe normally.
In the journals, it was over a month later before Marcie was mentioned again. They had mended fences. Neither I, nor Oscar, were mentioned again until last summer.
'Marcie wants Levi to go on vacation to Miami. She let it slip that Oscar lived in a suburb and maybe she'd sneak away for a lunch with him.'
It came flooding back. After Marcie went shopping, while we were vacationing in Miami, she was a vile bitch again. My bet is that Oscar is a fine gentleman and turned down her advances. What if she did fuck him but he still wouldn't leave his wife. That was a viable scenario too. Did it matter at this point? I don't know. My head is spinning.
That was it for the journals. Now what do I do with my kids. They are in high school and both are driving. Do I keep this sham of a marriage going?
Marcie was waiting for me. This time it was a silent glare which greeted me. There was fire in her eyes, but she held her tongue.
"Well?"
"How's the kids?"
"Talk to me! What is wrong with you?"
"Are the kids home? I need to talk with them."
"DAMMIT, TALK TO ME!"
"Not yet."
The kids weren't home. I repeated the shower from the previous night. Marcie left me alone.
+ + + +
I was out of the door before dawn. I left notes on each of the kid's cars to call me. My cell phone rang ten minutes after I left. It was Marcie.
"Why won't you talk to me?"
"The moon is still up."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"I think I need an oil change."
"Tell me what's going on."
I broke. I couldn't help it. I'd never been so angry about anything.
"Settle down. Maybe Oscar will change his mind."
After a few seconds of silence I hung up. Ignoring the next few calls, Marcie sent a text.
'Please come home.'
I responded 'Please move my stuff, or your stuff, to the extra bedroom.'
'We can work through this.'
'Why would I want to?'
'Please come home' went unanswered.
When Henrietta called, I set up a meeting for after school. Robbie was also able to make that meeting.
"What's wrong dad? Mom says you've been acting all weird."
"I'm leaving her. I just need to know how to stay in your lives."
Henrietta shrieked "O M G Dad! Who did what?"
"Let's just say that I'm not the problem. Can we leave it at that?"
Henrietta balked "NO! What did she do?"
Taking a deep breath "It's not what she did, as much as what she didn't do. Wait, that's not completely true either. It's complex. What she never did was fall in love with me. I've learned, quite recently, that all I meant to her was someone to give her a family. She still has strong feelings for the man she wished she'd married. He dumped her. Why I don't know. They broke up about two years before we got married. Give me a minute."
This was hard, but strangely uplifting. Henrietta grabbed one of my hands. Robbie did the same with the other.
"Three years ago, she met him for lunch and offered him sex. Apparently he turned her down."
"THAT BITCH!"
