Time

A wife struggles with her commitment to marriage.

Positioned under his weight, his stiff penis and the springs of the mattress, tonight I was literally stuck between a rock and a hard place.Tonight he wanted to be forceful and f**k me until everything made sense again. Being married for the past ten years hadn’t prepared him for the trials or the tribulations that we faced. He was battling the wide spectrum of emotions that ran through him like a hurricane. All these emotions stemming from his discovery of my lesbian love affair.

I met her on Thanksgiving. This pretentious young woman somehow caught my attention. I was instantly intertwined in the intensity of her eyes. She seemed so filled with passion, enough to sooth my passionless pursuit of happiness with a man I tolerated and a daughter I loved but envied so much because she took away the attention that I needed to get through the days. This girl sat there both beautiful and handsome. Broad shoulders and back straight with a trendy haircut reminiscent of my childhood days, a hightop fade. She wore a shirt that hid her breasts and baggy shorts. She licked her lips frequently and with her closed mouth smiles her dimples were exposed. She nodded when she agreed and wasn’t hesitant to explain her opposition. she was the epitome of androgyny. She carried the weight of the world on her shoulders and I knew she could stroke my long hair and tell me things that the world could never think to say. She commanded my attention and made me lean forward with a great interest. I took on her presence like a science project.

“What’s your name?” I asked her.  I passed her on my way inside of my Aunt’s home. A girlfriend and I had drinks at the local bar that evening and my daughter stayed behind to play with her cousins. I began my investigation immediately. She seemed so comfortable in my Aunt’s home; she must have been a close friend that my cousin kept hidden.

“Jaime. I’m Lawrence’s sister,” she responded confidently, flashing a smile that revealed a small gap between her two front teeth. Her voice had depth and was a bit raspy, I wondered if she could sing. Lawrence was my cousin’s best friend, so now things made sense to me.

“How old are you? You look like a baby,” I said forgetting that I stared at her for quite some time.

“22.”

“Wow, you look 16,” I responded, hoping not to sound too anxious to keep the questions going. So I distracted myself by asking everyone if they wanted to play a game of charades.

After he discovered the emails between she and I, he became a bit bipolar. One minute he’d scream, “F**k you!” then that rage morphed into lust and he would whisper “F**k me” as he stood pressed against me on our closed bedroom door. Time and time again I thought apologizing,  hugging, and letting him call me every w***e in the book would be enough to reconcile my wrongs. I thought that my eyes, if nothing else, would explain how apologetic I was. I never liked direct eye contact, but I needed him to look into me; they say the eyes are the windows to our souls, and I needed him to see  my thoughts without hating me. I was truly sorry.

“Are you really sorry or are you just sorry I found out?”

I would attempt to speak, but my words were like water falling onto hot pavement. He wanted something tangible. He couldn’t vocalize the feelings I had conjured up inside him, so instead he needed to position his head inside of my crown and be king of my land. He couldn’t handle the news that someone else, especially a woman had won me over.

“Why be with a b***h that thinks she’s a man, when you have a real man right here?”

He couldn’t handle the fact that I craved the softness of a woman.

“So you rather be with her? What she got that I don’t have? You really wanted to lose all of what we’ve built for her? Are you f*****g serious?”

He couldn’t handle that I was too selfish to fall in love with another book while I was still reading, no matter how uninteresting it had become, his book.  

When I reached to hug him to console this man and his dying soul, he grabbed me by my arms and pushed me onto the bed. He, being a foot and a half taller than me, stood like a skyscraper leaving me in the shadows shielding me from the light on the other side. His height, the thing that used to make me shiver from complete excitement, now made me feel so small and fragile. We landed on the bed. He kissed me hard. He pushed his tongue into my mouth and sucked my bottom lip. His hands wandered, he removed my panties, and he pushed his private parts into me. He pushed every blasphemy that he wanted to say inside of me; I felt the disdain, the pain, the torment. He pushed me to the edge. I wanted to jump, but there was no gravity in my world. I could not stay grounded in who I wanted to be or what I wanted to do. Guilt replaced all forms of strength. Any attempt to stand up was met with a push from reality. I had unregrettably stepped out on this marriage to get a piece of sunshine. I stepped out into the hallway looked behind me and saw a long dark corridor. When I looked ahead, the light was so bright it burned my eyes, but there was a desire to keep looking. I felt myself turning like a dancer and things became both slow and grey.  

I remember the first time she and I made love. I admit it was different and I don’t think it was anything close to what I had imagined. In fact I had no expectations. I just knew that the heat from her body and the look in her eyes when she saw me completely naked made my knees cave in. She always made love to me with her eyes. She never made me feel like my body wasn’t perfect. She always wanted to touch me in the places he never wanted to touch. She made me feel like she needed me. She made me feel like Earth was my heaven and I never wanted to leave her grasp. She took my heart to places the deepest of oceans couldn’t reach and the universe was never as amazing as how she talked about me. How she talked to me. I just thought why couldn’t this last forever.

My body jerked and I released a mouthful of tension. The man I made love to so many times before now felt so foreign inside of me. He lifted my legs up and spread them wide. The ceiling fan combed through the air as it twirled above us. Through the window there were silhouettes, and a young woman’s voice echoed in the alley. To the left, the armchair sat with unfolded laundry and my damp towel. The TV screen was black, but I could feel that it was still on. I could feel my daughter shifting in her sheets, uncomfortably. I wanted to crack my knuckles and stretch; I felt so tight. He wanted to please me but at the same time his stroke was more aggressive than usual. I lay there frozen not sure what I was feeling or if I was feeling anything at all. I let him have his way with me.

Just three days ago I met with my therapist, Dr. Cramer, and we went over that very situation, submitting to my guilt to appease. She prepared me for that moment. after I explained a sexual encounter that happened immediately following the revelation of my adultery.

“We had sex once since everything has come out and I don’t know if I want it to happen again. I feel like I’m letting my guilt get in the way. I feel like I can’t reject him anymore. I’ve hurt him already.” I said as I wiped a tear away. My eyes were swollen from pretending to sleep at night; my anxiety made my hands and heart sweat.

Dr. Cramer leaned forward as if there were other people in the room and said to me with honest eyes, “This is a time for you and Tyson to communicate feelings. There needs to be nothing left unsaid. So do not allow something to happen that you don’t want to. Same for him. Just say no.”

“But it’s not that easy. You’ve never cheated,” I said unconvinced that she could help me at all.

“Just because I’ve never cheated doesn’t mean I don’t know how hard it is to say no to someone you’ve hurt. Why do you think your life is supposed to be easy now? You didn’t want things to be easy when you took the opportunity to engage in an affair. You are being selfish. Let’s meet again next week?” Dr. Cramer exclaimed. I nodded my head yes and met with her assistant outside of her office door to schedule my appointment.

But even with her testimony, I couldn’t avoid the presence of an iceberg. I froze. I clenched the grey sheets and sucked my bottom lip remembering his tears and his anger combined with my remorse and my shame. It all accumulated and made me forget my strength that Dr. Cramer helped to uncover. I lost my voice, but internally I screamed. Boy, did I scream.

Lying still and scared because I didn’t crave him anymore, I just hoped he didn’t feel that when he was inside of me. I wanted it to be perfect so that he felt better. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t mean to lie. He was my best friend, but something was missing. I found myself over the years staying with him not because of who he was or how much I loved him, but because of what we had built. I believe that marriage is a commitment and you just don’t bail on your partner. I hate that I was never able to leave or articulate how unhappy and lonely I felt. I needed to mean something to someone other than my daughter.  I hadn’t craved this man in over a year, but tonight I let him ride it out until he felt better. I didn’t ask him to put a condom on even though I knew I was ovulating. I didn’t tell him to be gentle. I didn’t ask him if he loved me. I didn’t ask him if he had missed me. I just wanted it to be over. I lay there amongst the pillows and mounds of blankets, all lifeless, searching the darkness and the ceiling for answers. His breathing was heavy and his head kept hitting the headboard. I closed my eyes and pretended she was hugging me. I could smell her perfume and although I knew the warm whiskey breath was his, I pretended it was hers whispering that she loved me, and that I was the most beautiful woman in the world. One thrust. Two thrusts. Three. Four. Five. Six….

He was done.

I waited until he lifted himself off of me. I waited for him to say something. The quiet was louder than any arguing we had done this past month. It was louder than any scream my three old released when she saw her mommy hunched over shaking. But he said nothing. He left me there with his fluids and my unhappiness. I curled up into a ball and tried to drown my tears with the blanket, but I had to say something.

“How was it?” I asked somehow needing reassurance but resenting how weak I had been in that moment.

I couldn’t handle how cold it felt in that bed. The window let in an uninvited breeze. The clock ticked and it was now five minutes after midnight. The faucet in the bathroom dripped consistently louder and louder.

“I thought I told you to call the rental place and have them bring somebody over here for that damn faucet. I’m tired of hearing that drip. It keeps me up!” he said as he sat up to fold over a pillow.

“I’ll take care of it tomorrow. I’m sorry,” I said.

“You’re always sorry. Goodnight.”

I turned over and cuddled him from behind.

“You’re going to be okay. You’re so strong. You’re a great man. I’m sorry. This wasn’t premeditated.” I felt like a stray dog clawing onto his back. Hungry now for his love. Time began to move quicker. I was tipping and toppling. Gravity came back to me. I felt his heartbeat speed up and his breathing became uneven. I wrapped my arms and my legs around him and felt warm droplets fall onto my knuckles. I kissed his back, but he pushed me off of him. He pressed himself up against the wall.

“Was she better than me in bed?” he finally asked, talking through his teeth.

“There is no comparison. She is a woman. You are a man.”

“Answer my got damn question.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“Ty, just leave it alone. We just had sex. Why are you thinking about her?”

“I should be asking you the same damn thing. I know that’s what you were doing the whole time.”

2 weeks later

I missed my period and my body feels strange. In the moment letting things just happened seemed appropriate. I didn’t process that that act of silence could lead to a new life. The pregnancy test read positive. I’m going to be a mommy times two with a man that can’t even look at me. I can read the disgust, it lies in creases of his forehead whenever our eyes link. He hates me. I would hate me too, but I’m sorry.

Sitting at my desk at work I think of her and wonder what role she has now. This means I need more time. Can she give me more time? Can he give me more time?

I feel trapped by her absence and now with another one of Tyson’s children. I am bound by loyalty, family, and values. In this moment I realize what I want and need will never be the same thing. What she and I shared brought me back to life just when my stem began to fold over. It brought back my color, my youthfulness, and passion. But passion will never be powerful enough incentive to turn me away from my life long obligations and reward of making my family work. Happiness will never be a part of my plan.