Tea Party Interruptions

What is left when words won't work?

Having set down his briefcase in the foyer, having untied his shoes and set them beside his briefcase, having loosened his necktie and hung his keys on the rack by the front door, he followed the television’s din into the living room.
    His wife was sitting on the couch in her bedclothes with a glass of red wine in her hand. She gave him an absent nod without looking away from the television. She had the tired look of a lazy person after a grueling day of inactivity. Feeling her husband glare at her from across the room, she managed to yawn as if to say, “I can get pretty tired just sitting around all day.”
    More than anything, though, she was really just tired of herself. She didn’t know where to begin making changes, couldn’t see the disaster area of her life for the collection of little, but easily manageable, messes slowly accumulating around her. It was easier to ignore the truth than to confront it.
    Truth is reality, which waits like a patient bill collector outside the front door. One may hide inside as long as one needs to feel safe. When one comes outside of one’s carefully constructed house of delusion as when one finally looks into the mirror, reality will be there staring back, only more impatiently eager for recognition.
    Gene measured his words, knowing the wrong ones could ignite the already volatile situation. He wanted to scream loud enough to wake the dead. He wanted to throw a kitchen chair through the television screen which had lulled his wife into a comfortable catatonia. He wanted to run over and take the woman and thrust her before a mirror and show her what she had become over the past few years. Those empty, faraway eyes. Have they forgotten how to see?
    She looked more and more like a balloon every day and were she one the air which filled her would be sweet treats and late night snacks and second helpings and empty alcoholic calories. Did she even care?
    She was becoming more of a burden and less of a wife. Didn’t she realize that? She never had cooked meals on the table when he came home from work. She had the sex drive of a corpse. In their sanctum, the cat which slept at the end of their bed was the only thing to get between her legs. She spent more time with imaginary characters from soap operas than with her husband and young daughter. Gene looked at her and saw a frightened woman hiding behind a costume of extra skin full of padding instead of the beautiful, beaming woman he’d married. He looked at her now and didn’t recognize her at all.
    He wanted to tell her everything.
    Instead, he said, “Mary?”
    She felt his gaze upon her, felt the implications of it, and waited to hear what she knew he would say next. What have you done all day? Are you drunk yet? Look at this filthy house. You’re a slob. A fat slob. You’re lazy and you lack ambition and you’re letting yourself go! I’d rather sleep with a cow because then at least it would be my choice! She heard those words in his silence. When he said nothing she said, “What are you staring at me for?” Nearly brought to tears by his gaze, she prepared herself to make a defensive stand.
    He knew she knew why he was staring. He knew what he wanted to say was just what she expected him to say. He also knew she wouldn’t listen, couldn’t listen to truthful words which brought such pain. Truth is a sharp dagger, and it can cut a heart in two.
    “I’m staring at you, Mary, because I love you. More than anything else in this goddamn world.”
    “You don’t love me, you liar,” she said. “And you never have.”
     “I do, Mary. I love you. I love you because you’re my wife, you’re mine. And I’m yours. You’ll just have to accept that. I love you for who you are, Mary, even if you don’t love yourself. Even if you don’t love me anymore. I know I’m not the easiest person to love or even to talk to. But we need to talk. We can’t live like strangers in this house anymore. We can’t pretend everything’s fine and avoid each other at all costs for the sake of, of what, for the sake of keeping things together which have been falling apart for years? I love you, damn it, and I always will!”    
    She was crying into her hands now. She had fortified her walls against an all-out attack, a barrage of cannonball accusations and an onslaught of unwanted advice. She’d never expected him to sneak in disguised as the king of her heart’s castle. He’d conquered her without a fight.
    How it happened was hard to say. Neither of them knew how they’d gotten into their bedroom, how their clothes had flown off their bodies into heaps on the floor, how their arms had gotten tangled, how their bodies had come together. After so long neither knew how passion could have instantly exploded in their lovelorn eyes and wasteland hearts. But they asked no questions. Briefly, all marital and personal woes were forgotten, and all that remained was a mutual understanding of that moment alone.
    In her room, Janie looked to the door with a puzzled expression. What was all that strange noise? She was having a tea party with her stuffed animals. “Sorry about the noise, everyone,” she said to a crowd of furry bears with button eyes. “I’ll put this picture back on the wall and then we’ll finish our tea.”

Author's Note

This is part of a larger story called "No Such Thing as Monsters". Thank you in advance for any comments, criticisms, advice, etc. Let me know what worked, what didn't work. Whether you hated it, loved it, or are completely indifferent. Write an autobiography in the comment box. Whatever you want to do...

Reviews

[Inda Lauryn]

I meant to write this days ago when I first read it, but this is my favorite chapter so far. I love that it ended with the innocence of the child listening to her parents making love and not quite understanding what's going on. All she knows is that it's disrupting her tea party. I had completely forgotten about the title chapter up until then and had to laugh out loud when I made the connection. Very nice twist. The whole chapter says so much about this family and brings the story to the next level.