Wiping Away More Than the Tears

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Bobby Braddock; Harlan Howard: "If you'll hand me my crayons, I'll be glad to take your name, in case I run across that guy you knew. But I don't remember loving you."

There are several reference from that song throughout this story.

+ + + +

This never gets old. Tim rolled off of me, placing a tender kiss on my lips. We've been lovers for the last six months. He's not small, but I wouldn't classify his cock as the biggest I've ever had. Even Syd's cock is slightly larger. It really isn't what you have, it's how you use it. And boy, does Tim use it well.

Tim and I work together at Premier Realty. When my daughter started high school, I wanted a part time job. Tim and his wife live two doors down and we'd spent many nights together at the neighborhood get-togethers. When I announce my intention to start looking for a job, Tim got me an interview.

Although I'm more of a back office employee, and Tim was usually out on sales calls, He gradually seduced me. All of the little comments made to make me feel sexy, initially dismissed, were soon anticipated and appreciated. I never set out to have an affair, but it happened. The combination of being naughty, and having a skilled lover give me some of the most explosive orgasms I'd ever experienced, were enough to cheat again.

Now we use my husband Syd's trips as an opportunity to have some illicit adult fun. Nobody is getting hurt or denied in the bedroom.

+ + + +

Dressing slowly, we talked about kids, school, and vacation plans. When he left the bedroom, I turned the shower on. I hadn't gotten a foot wet when Tim burst into the bathroom and closed the door softly.

"He's sitting there with a gun!"

"What are you talking about? Who's got a gun?"

"Syd! He's in the kitchen holding a gun!"

"Oh shit!" as I quickly tossed on a robe "He's supposed to be in D C. I talked with him this morning."

"He ain't in D C and I don't like our chances of living."

"Did he say anything?"

"No, I don't even know if he saw me. I watched for a few seconds. He was lightly pounding the handle of the gun on the table and staring at nothing. Fuck! What are we going to do?"

My panicked response was useless "I don't know. I don't know."

I felt light headed and my heart was racing. I didn't think Syd was a violent man. Yes, he owned a gun, but I can't tell you the last time he went target practicing.

We have security bars on our windows. It's not that we live in a bad neighborhood, quite the contrary. Our neighborhood is so affluent that it attracts the thieves. An ounce of prevention really does translate into a pound of cure. We had the security system installed after our neighbors lost almost a hundred thousand in fine art and jewelry. I doubt we have quite that much, but probably close. Syd is a very successful investor.

All I could think to do was call the police. If he comes up the stairs looking for us, we're dead.

"Nine one one. What's your emergency?"

"My husband is sitting at the kitchen table holding a gun. I'm afraid for my life."

"Where are you calling from?"

"I'm hiding upstairs."

"Is anyone else with you?"

"Yes, my friend is."

"I've dispatched a unit. Will you be able to let the officers in?"

"Not without walking in front of him."

"Acknowledged. I'll let the responding officers know. What is your name and your husband's name?"

"I'm Polly and he's Syd Barrett. He is supposed to be in Washington D C."

"I see. Let me guess, your friend shouldn't be there?"

I paused to summon the strength to respond "Correct."

"Good luck to you. The officers may call you back if this turns into a standoff."

"Please don't hurt him."

"No promises Polly."

Well fuck! That made my heart stutter. Tim was hiding in my closet. I heard a siren approaching. Tiptoeing across the bedroom, I looked out towards the street. A cruiser with two officers stopped a house away. After putting on their Kevlar clothing, they approached my front door, with guns drawn.

The doorbell echoed. The loud sound of pounding on the front door replaced the previous echo. I watched as one of the officers snuck past the garage. We have a sliding glass door to the back deck. He'll probably be able to spot Syd from there.

From the bathroom attached to the master bedroom, there's a window which looks out to our backyard. I tiptoed to that window, which was already open a few inches. The officer out back was using the trunk of the large Ash tree to shield himself. He was talking softly into his collar attached device. The standoff didn't change.

I quietly moved back to the street window. A second unit had arrived. Two more officers. This time they brought out assault rifles. All I could think was 'Please don't hurt Syd!'

Why didn't Syd let the officers in? Oh gawd! Had he already hurt himself? That brought tears to my eyes.

One of the rifle toting officers hustled towards the backyard. That was about the time I heard the bullhorn.

"Syd Barrett. Put the gun down and come out. Nobody needs to get hurt."

The only thing I heard was my rapid breathing. Not a sound from inside the house. Come on Syd. Cooperate! The bullhorn tried again.

"Syd! Can you hear us?"

I quietly moved back to the bathroom window. The officers were talking into their collars.

The rifle armed officer responded "He's just sitting there, tapping the handle of the gun on the table. Looks like a Glock to me."

"Hold your fire" came the response.

My cell phone started vibrating with an incoming call. In whispers, I answered.

"Hello"

"Polly, this is Captain Mandrell. Does your husband have any mental illnesses?"

Quietly responding "No, nothing like that. He's not a violent man and is more likely to shoot himself than harm anyone."

"We have to take protective measures. If he won't put the gun down, we will have to take him out."

Through the lump in my throat I begged "Please don't hurt him."

The bullhorn continued "Syd. Raise your hand if you can hear us."

A silent minute passed before the backyard officer's walkie talkie squawked "Take his gun away."

Before I could comprehend that statement, a white puff of smoke came from the rifle. The noise broke my heart. They shot Syd!

Nobody moved. The officer talked into his collar "Gun out of his hand. He didn't flinch."

"Might be dead. Approach with caution."

I couldn't stop myself from screaming "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

With rifles and guns pointed, two officers stepped onto my back deck. I lost sight of them. Making my way to the street window, I saw an ambulance and two more police cars. There was a mad rush to the front door, and I could hear the commotion on the first floor. My cell phone buzzed again.

"Polly, you need to lay flat on the floor. And your friend too. We will be upstairs shortly."

"How is Syd?"

"Catatonic. Get on the floor, NOW!"

I shouted "TIM, on the floor or get shot!"

The closet door opened and Tim dove to the carpet. I sensed the bedroom door opening. The hinge makes a little squeak.

"DON'T MOVE!"

After being frisked, they helped us to our feet.

"My husband! What did you do to my husband?"

"He's alive. They're loading him into the ambulance as we speak."

About then, the sound of the siren kicked in as they sped off. Please let Syd be okay!

+ + + +

Once outside, I learned that they'd shot the pistol out of Syd's hand. He didn't react, just sitting there staring. His visible injury was damage to his hand. The shot had gone through the kitchen window, destroying the glass. They'd also kicked in the entry door from the garage to the house.

The officers took a statement from Tim, and then he left, looking at me not once. His wife was reaming him and I doubt their marriage will survive.

When questioned, I tried to answer honestly, at least about why Tim was there.

It was over an hour before I was allowed to leave to check on Syd. The hospital staff was friendly, but no one provided anything reasonably informative. It was another few hours before Syd's assigned doctor gave me an update.

"Mrs. Barrett, I'm Dr. Schaffer. Along with the loss of a finger on one hand, your husband has suffered a traumatic brain seizure. Normally these are caused by severe shock. What were the conditions around your house today?"

"Syd supposedly left this morning for a meeting in Washington DC. I had a gentleman caller and when he went to leave, he discovered Syd sitting in the kitchen with a gun."

"Is it possible that Syd saw you and your friend doing something to trigger his seizure?"

"Possibly. I was having sex with a neighbor."

"Was Syd aware of this relationship?"

"Not that I know of."

"Almost certainly he discovered you and went down the road of killing you. Shortly after finding his gun, he must have snapped."

"Is Syd responding at all?"

"Not visually. He responds to electric pulses, but that's about it. Most of the responses are from the brain stem, not cognitive."

"Can I try talking to him?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

Dr. Schaffer led me into Syd's room.

"Syd, I love" was all I got out before Syd's eyes widen and he started screaming like a baby with colic. It was a high pitched constant scream.

Immediately placing his hand over my mouth, Dr. Schaffer hustled me out of the room.

"I do believe you are the source of Syd's brain disorder. Whatever you were doing was beyond what his mind was willing to accept."

+ + + +

Calling my daughter was difficult. Rhonda and Syd have that special father daughter relationship. She is in her junior year at college. She and Paul, her high school sweetheart, parted ways last summer. He wanted to sample other women, and when Rhonda sampled other men, she decided that her remaining two years at college were going to be spent making up for lost time. Paul has been shot down every time he tries to rekindle their relationship.

"Hi mom! I see you've called a few times. What's up?"

"It's your father. He's had a traumatic brain seizure and is currently being held for observation at University Hospital."

"OH MY GAWD! When did this happen?"

"Earlier today."

"In Washington D C?"

"No, at our home. I don't know why he wasn't in D C."

"Is he allowed to have visitors?"

"I don't know. They don't want me in his room. He reacts poorly when I try to talk to him."

"Mom, I have a big test tomorrow. I can't leave but I need to be there if he needs me."

"Honey, at this point, he's not acknowledging anyone. Stay and take your test. I'll make sure he knows you wanted to be here, if he becomes sociable again."

+ + + +

My new existence has started. The first few weeks were the toughest. I'd cry myself to sleep, knowing that I had hurt Syd. Checking with the hospital staff, for any change in Syd's status, was very depressing.

He sat, stood, or lay alone and wouldn't react to anything other than the recorded sound of my voice. His frightened screams broke my heart. What have I done to him? Will he ever forgive me?

Even eight weeks after the event, he screamed when he heard my voice. They tried visual stimulus but even showing my picture to Syd produced very little brain activity.

Learning our finances took time. I cut back on all non-essential spending. The loss of Syd's income was starting to put pressure on me to create a budget and follow it. Depending on our insurance, and when it maxed out, I'd have to start liquidating our investments to make ends meet.

Weeks turned into months. Syd had been committed to a psychiatric ward at an institution. Insurance covered up to three years, so the clock was ticking. I'd changed jobs, mostly to be around people who didn't know my background. If any man hit on me, he got a spite filled earful of rejection. My first job didn't last long as I had anger issues. After taking some anger management classes, my emotions were now in check. I am pleasant to be around but turn ice cold if you flirt with me. Men get the message and I am allowed to do my job in peace.

Little by little, Rhonda learned of Syd finding Tim and I at the house. I've lost my daughter, at least for now.

+ + + +

Ten months plus a few days, from the event, Syd snapped out of it. The hospital staff said Syd no longer exhibited any reaction to the sound of my voice. I couldn't get to the mental ward soon enough.

"Syd! I'm so happy that you're better!"

"Who are you?"

I was stunned and felt the blood rush to my feet "I'm Polly. Your wife."

"I don't think so. If you were my wife, I'd recognize you and have butterflies in my stomach. You must look like someone I once knew, but I don't remember loving you."

He turned away as if disinterested in talking with me "Syd! Don't say that. We have a daughter. I love you and you love me."

"Sorry. I don't remember loving you. I heard you mention children. Did you say there's one or two?"

The nurse pulled my arm, leading me out of the room.

"Give him time Polly. I've seen this kind of reaction before."

Several times, over the rest of the afternoon, I'd walk into Syd's room. His reaction was completely neutral. It was as if we'd never met. He treated me no differently than the nurses. Sadly, he also rejected any attempt from me to do anything that the nurses didn't do.

It was as if Syd had amnesia with regards to me. Rhonda took the first flight and arrived in the middle of the night. After getting a few hours of sleep, she visited Syd. I tried to warn her that he might not recognize her, but it was my heart that shattered. Syd recognized and rejoiced with Rhonda. I watched from across the room. Syd revealed his shock about learning that he'd lost ten months of his life. They hugged. They kissed. They embraced. I cried.

Holding up his right hand he told Rhonda "And how did I get a three finger hand?"

Rhonda explained the shooting. They laughed, hugged, and kissed again. Tears were leaking down my face.

"Whatever became of your mother?" Syd asked.

"She's still around" Rhonda replied "but you don't seem to recognize her."

"You know, I've tried to think of her name, but even when people say it, it means nothing to me. Polly, right?"

"That's correct. Have they shown you her picture?"

"Well that's another odd thing. They tell me that even a few minutes after they show me her picture, I forget her face."

Tears were streaming down my face. His brain wouldn't allow me to exist anymore. I meant less than nothing to him. The hurt looks, from Rhonda, just made the pain dig deeper.

Rhonda had renewed her bond with Syd. I was out of the loop. It was if I was the nurse assigned to take care of him. A week after returning home, Syd was back doing his day trading. Learning that my conversations with Syd also disappeared from his recollection broke my heart again.

I was at a crossroads. Do I take the chance that Syd will eventually recognize me? That chance also held the possibility that Syd could have a relapse. Rather than risk Rhonda's future with her father, I moved out.

+ + + +

Epilogue:

With Rhonda helping to shape Syd's financial decisions, we agreed that I should file for divorce. The papers were signed by Syd without discussion.

My monthly maintenance was more like an allowance. Sadly, Tim is the last person I've had sex with. I want no one other than Syd, but I doubt that is in my future.

My existence consists of working hard on my job, and talking with my daughter on a regular basis. I still see Syd every once in a while, but the fear of a relapse keeps me at a distance. My selfish decisions now have me living in my own personal hell.

Rhonda doesn't want me coming around when she's with her dad. I have sadly resigned myself to having no contact with Syd. This gets older every day.