one of my highlights

Private Time

Closely trimmed fingernails rounded the edge of his mouth. Another hand passed slowly over each ridge of his head, gently pulling his hair by the roots, giving soft tugs at the ends. Two opposing figures stood in perfect image of each other, rising and falling in complete unison. It was perfect. The only sound in the room with flickering light was the soft drizzle of the faucet, giving off tiny clouds of steam. An arm fell lightly on his shoulder and he turned to kiss it.
The front door slammed shut. It was easily an hour and a half too early. The closet was the only reasonable escape; there would be time to clean up any evidence if he could only distract her for a little while. He pulled a towel on and stepped out into the arms of his wife Louise.
Their routine was set in stone before they had ever met each other: Louise was the particular brand of specific that made each and every purchase or decision a painful, drawn out process. Phillip had the spine of an old, used book. When they met they took to each other instantly, holding tiny hands in the back of the stationary store that was hosting the birthday party. They were eight years old.
"Why is your hair all wet?" Louise asked, pulling back from Phillip's face. He felt warm, she wondered if he'd gone running.
"I was just, you know. I wanted to try something new. Then I heard you come home and…"
"Well, I like your hair just the way it is," she called behind her as she moved towards their bedroom. Philip ran to the bathroom and got rid of the proof. He pulled the door closed, too hard.
"What are you doing back there?" A tinge of unease creeping around her voice, before the growl of her belly brought her back towards the groceries in the kitchen that needed unpacking to make dinner.
All through school they had the same classes. They would sit next to each other, prepare projects in tandem, speaking for each other at the lunch table when the other one was chewing the boring sandwich Louise packed away the night before. She started making both their lunches in sixth grade. Once Phillip was getting bullied and Louise stood in the way of a punch for him. The stress caused Phillip to stay home for a couple of days while the other boy got expelled.
They never won an award for cutest couple, never got much recognition at all for being such a solid pair. People just took their relationship as a given, expecting them to show moderate affection for each other, but never force their love onto others in the room. It was always gentle hand holding, pecks on the nose or, before she headed to PE and he went to the computer lab, a quick joining of their lips. They waited until they were out of high school to have sex. The first time was natural, smooth. Despite their hormones and the ease of their companionship, they didn't join together again for another few months. Imaginary walls of restriction surrounded both of them, but they made themselves comfortable within the barriers. They'd married in a quiet ceremony, waiting until they were in their early twenties, waiting to prove their maturity.
"Oh do you know who I saw today?" Louise looked up from her plate of tofu yakisoba, part of her new heart-healthy diet. She weighed just under a hundred and ten pounds.
"I really don't know, who?" Phillip stared at the brown noodles and crumbling bean curd, stirred them around with his chopsticks. They were polished, maybe had some varnish on them. They would never give you splinters. He liked them.
"Donna. You remember Donna. She was in our English class at Whitman. She was really bubbly. We did that big project with her." Phillip kept looking at his noodles, letting them slide back and forth, leaving small trails of oil all over his oval plate: lotus flowers and made up kanji writing underneath the food. Louise had bought them to match the new meals she'd be making, for the diet.
"Well, she has been really good. She works just down the block at the pharmacist. Makes pretty good money I hear." There wasn't any shine to these plates, just a dull mat. They looked like unfired clay. They weren't very appetizing.
They moved in pairs after high school, but Louise didn't care for college. After she allowed herself festering guilt for a quarter she brought it up to Philip. He was alright with it; her quitting school didn't constitute the break in their relationship she imagined it would. He gave her his blessing. She gleefully quit and began working as a receptionist at a chiropractic clinic her uncle owned. Phillip got his bachelor's degree in anthropology. They didn't travel, Louise got carsick.
After the noodles had settled they sat and watched Jeopardy. He mouthed the answers, got at least half of them right. She sat and did the crossword puzzle. She always kept the pen in her mouth, moving it back and forth, from one side to the other. She got about half right. As the show ended Phillip rose. He moved over to Louise and kissed her softly on the forehead.
"Goodnight," he whispered as his lips fell away from her head. If he had looked down he would have seen the longing in her eyes, the struggle she was waging not to talk to him.
"Could we," she started, confused and embarrassed. He'd stopped and turned back to her on the fifth stair, the waiting stage before the left turn and the second floor. "Could we make love tonight sweetie?"
Phil cleared his throat and wished he could simply shake his head.
"I don't think so, my stomach isn't feeling very well. How about tomorrow?" He moved the rest of the way up the stairs before she had a chance to do anything but murmur to herself, slumping down as the TV flickered on. She held her arms crisscrossed over her belly, resigning herself to just fall asleep on the couch instead of putting forth the effort of moving up the stairs. She remembered when they first moved into the house, how they would kiss on the couch stationed in front of an empty entertainment center. How Philip would initiate sleeping together by humming on her stomach, how good it felt when they breathed into each other's ears.
They'd once made plans to cross the state and visit his grandparents in Chicago, but only made it a couple of hours out of Green Bay. Louise began to gag in the car and as soon as he pulled over she vomited down her purple top. He wanted to run around and help her out the door, but it was all over before he could take off his seatbelt. She peeled the shirt off, taking his sweatshirt to cover herself. She climbed over the seat and fell asleep in the back while he drove, afraid to even whistle so as not to wake her. When the car jerked into their parking spot and he turned to wake her up, he reeled back. She was upright, silent, staring at him.
The sun showed seven AM, early fall as Phillip lay in bed and watched while Louise moved around their room, assembling her outfit for the day. She'd slept in the living room for a while, before finishing the night next to him. Neither spoke, neither made a move towards the other. There was an argument waiting to start between both of them and they sensed it: Philip was ambivalent and Louise was just too worried about work to deal with it now. She almost didn't say I love you as she walked out the front door, but paused, felt the wave of nausea go through her and turned to call out the daily slogan. Phillip repeated it back to her and, as the door pulled shut, jumped out of bed.
It felt good to feel skin on skin, the pointer finger tracing around the taught nipple. He was almost squeamish to be so close. His erection was standing straight, hard. The hands flattened against his chest and moved down, over quivering stomach, playing with the little tufts of hair, lost in the soft flesh of complacency. It reached his penis and as the fingers wrapped around the shaft the slam of the front door shook the bathroom.
Louise set her things by the door and sighed, home from work two hours into her day.
"Phillip we need to talk. I can't make it through the day feeling... apprehensive. I'm sick to my stomach." Something felt off, uneasy in the house. "Phillip?" He couldn't still be in bed, but his car was in the driveway. Maybe he was biking to the store, picking up things to make dinner. His voice rattled down the stairs, wobbled in the foyer as it reached her ears.
"Go away, I'm, I'm throwing up. I think dinner last night made me sick," he paused, licking his lips. "Just go back to work, we can talk later."
Louise climbed the stairs, approached the bathroom door, rested her head against it and sighed. He was going to resist. The churning burn in her stomach had amplified since she had gotten home.
"Oh sweetie, can I get you some water?"
"No, no I've got plenty here. Just go back to work, don't worry about me."
"Well I can take the day off! Come on, let me take care of you." She trailed off as she went into the kitchen to fill a cup of water. He'd want it eventually.
When she came back from the kitchen she heard tugging grunts and heavy breath on the other side of the corkboard door. She laid her face against it, feeling the sound through the wood. She tried to work the handle and couldn't, pushed with her shoulder as she stamped her foot.
"Phillip please open this door, I feel ridiculous talking to you through it."
"Please just go back to work Louise!"
"Phil what's going on? Let me in there!" The door felt weak, gave when she pushed her hand against it. She lost patience and threw her weight at it and heard the cheap hinges creak. "Phillip this is insane. Open the god damn door!"
Another charge against it and the lock unlatched, sent the view of the room in a careening arc in front of Louise. Phillip was standing, cowed over, body dripping wet, hair pulled back with his face painted. Around his throat was a short rope, connecting down to the head of his erect penis, facing him, the two eye to eye like two teenagers in a knife fight. The head of his penis was purple and bulging as the noose tightened, his body trying to jerk up and face her with a straight back. As he rose, the handle of the plunger slowly slipped from his anus, making a soft, punctuated plop as it, and ounces upon ounces of lubrication gel, fell to the floor. He wrestled the rope and removed it from his neck, left it dangling from his penis. His twitching body slowly straightened out, laid bare in front of her, all that he had hidden and repressed and swallowed back down swirling like the steam in the red tinted room.
"I'm not ashamed of this," he tried to sound confident, but shrinking with each word.
It barely sounded human coming out of his chapped mouth, circled with loose orbits of lipstick. The new tall mirrors they had just bought showed his quivering cheeks, still drip dripping onto the plunger, tiny drops of oily liquid bouncing off and landing on dirty towels strewn about on the slippery black linoleum. His eyes were highlighted with light blue; it wasn't her makeup. His kit was unrolled like a surgeon's tools on the counter top, pushing all of the guest soaps and cotton swabs against the corner. She was still trying to muster words, but the sharp intakes of breath moving down her convulsing throat couldn't produce sounds. His weapons were his toys and her weapons her words, both waiting to be drawn. Phillip bent over, retched into the toilet.
The quick doubling over and heave shocked Louise, and her first instincts of taking care of him propelled her through the doorway, across the threshold and into his world. When she entered she stumbled back from the thick, tangy stench of human insides. Despite being just a few feet closer the change was drastic, crippling. She fell to her knees and coughed up the coffee and half a bagel she'd forced down earlier, sitting in her Volkswagen Passat, fighting the urge to come home. She had longed for him today, something that hadn't happened in months. Her body had ached to be near him, to have his touch all over her. It was painful, the way she wanted him inside of her.
They didn't speak after their simultaneous sick. Only the fan made noise, rumbling and turning the air that poisoned them both around in circles. Phillip was sitting against the toilet, his knees pulled to his chest and a washcloth covering his crotch. He'd tried to wipe off the makeup but had only been able to smear it across his sallow, haunted face. She hadn't looked at him like this for a long time, her eyes reviewing each pore, each eyelash. She was looking beyond the cosmetic abomination, beyond the self abuse; she was looking to see if she still recognized the man she loved. Phillip sat, insolent in his found out private rebellion.
When Louise had stared into his eyes, so pristine and gray, without a single tinge of emotion, she shook her head and stood up, and walked to the kitchen. She sat in the soft wicker chairs they had just bought and let the breath slowly flow out of her. Phillip closed the bathroom door again and Louise could hear the shower begin to spray. She wanted to go to their room but was weary: what else was amiss in this place? What else would she find? Tears cleared paths down her face, clammy from sweat and shock. She decided to pack a bag, but couldn't decide between making one for herself or one for Phillip. As she rose to walk up the stairs to her bedroom, she sank to her knees and let loose a wail, erupting deep in her stomach. It burned in her throat; the sound of loss, the sound of anger. The room spun around and she felt her legs go to rubber underneath her.
Louise pushed herself to make it up the stairs and once at the top felt her eyes growing heavy and her head begin to reel. Life was draining out of her, blood and thought and love and hate all slid out from her, disappearing into a vacuum of humanity. Tiny aches and pains rushed from all over, her body failing. She climbed onto the foot of her bed and let darkness wash over her, falling asleep as her head touched the fabric of her sheets.
"I want you to know that I still love you,"
Her eyes eased open, adjusting to the light. Phillip had his hand over her leg, almost putting it down but backing off whenever he felt the slightest contact. He looked like he had Alzheimer's, looked old and weathered. "None of this is about you, it's about…" she turned over and put her arm over her ear. She could easily still hear him, but the action made him nervous and he gave up on his sentence. He also pulled his arm back, stopping the attempt at comforting her. It was afternoon now; the sun was shining into their western windows. It got dark here early these days, she must have slept for hours.
She heard him pull in a big breath and lie down, trying to mirror her shape behind her. Quiet resistance built in her until she was confident enough to swing her arms, batting him off of her. She sat up, crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him.
"Have you lost your fucking mind?" Her words were venomous, burning him. He winced, wanted to go back downstairs and wait for her to make some decision as to what to do about him.
He bit his lower lip and hid his eyes away. He was retreating within himself. Louise rolled over and sat, staring face to face with him again. "Answer my question Phillip, what are you thinking?" His eyes were calling to her, but he could only manage to whimper to himself. Louise sat up and couldn't stop herself as she pulled her arm back and threw a punch into the soft flesh of her beloved husband's stomach. He lay back, not making noise, letting the pain disperse across his torso. On his back, he started to speak, barely a whisper.
"I love you Louise, I really do. I never want to hurt you, never want you to have to look at me with pain or anger or resentment. But this is all just make believe, this doesn't really exist. You and I aren't together. We've always just been around each other. When I got done with school I tried to keep busy, but I haven't worked in three years. I've had nothing to do Louise. Nothing. I needed something and you were gone, working all day, coming home tired and expecting and busy. You were always busy and I wasn't."
"Phillip I've always made time for…"
"Shut up! Just stop sticking your words wherever they fit!" He had surprised himself, venturing into some self reliance that he had never really known. "I needed something Louise, I needed to feel something real. This…" he reached towards her, "isn't real. We've never been a couple; we're just a pair. I love you with all my heart, but we're a combination."
Little veins had isolated themselves off of his neck. He had pulled himself up as he spoke, propped himself up to stare into her eyes. He looked more like a man than he had ever before been. Louise caught herself staring into his mouth.
"Well what do you want? Do you want me gone Phillip? Should I leave you here to abuse yourself all day, shoving god knows what up…" She couldn't finish, the image of what she had seen reappeared, vivid, fresh. She choked trying to swallow, felt tears begin to slide down her face. "What is wrong with you Philip?"
In what would be one of the only moments of bravery in his life he moved onto his knees and grabbed Louise by the shoulders, pushing her back against the head of the bed. She let out a small moan as her head bounced off of the wood; Phillip slid his hands up and down her body. Her shirt was off as she looked into his face, aching for him to keep going. Her head was swimming with complaints, reasons why she could never let this happen, things that he would have to fix before she would let him near her again, but all fell silent as he put his lips against hers, pushed his tongue into her mouth with force that she had never felt before. Her body quaked with orgasm before he could even take her pants off.
Phillip was nude before she was, circled her body with kisses and soft, ginger touches. As she too became naked Phillip pleasured her in ways that they had never before explored. Her body was quivering, grinding against his, stretched muscles that are reserved only for making love.
As he entered her, their eyes were locked into each other. He thrust in rhythm to the silent words she mouthed to him. It was silent, save the breaths passing through their lungs and into each other's faces. His hands moved up, stopping at her breasts. They were small but full, never tiring since puberty. He pinched, hard. There was a moment of hurt, of shock, in her eyes. As they glassed she gulped down, began to nod her head. Another pinch, a pull. The tiny movements of a blossoming orgasm began to ripple through her body as she let out a scream. She'd never felt anything resembling one before. His hands moved up, slowly closing around her throat.
As his grip tightened a look of fear smoldered in her eyes. She put her hand up, on top of his and began to pull away. Phillip grunted, a sound unfamiliar to her ears. She released her hand. As he continued to plunge into her she allowed her body to go limp, allow the man she loved to control her. His hand put pressure on her throat. As the well of pleasure grew in her once again she pulled herself up, put herself up on the pillow in a crouching position. Philip raised himself fully on his knees, pressing himself against her. When the bliss of sexual feeling had almost peaked again she put her hands on his throat, tightened her grip. A glimmer of recognition spread across Phillips face as he gave his all in a blur of grunts and wheezing effort. They came together, all at once bonding into a fusion of themselves. Phillip let out a shuddering sigh as he pulled back, allowing himself to gently fall out of her, but maintaining his close proximity. They were silent, wordless in their exhaustion.
In the morning, as light poured in through the windows, Louise rose and crossed the room, free in her nudity. Gone was the hidden shame she'd felt for years, the binding of her flesh inside of her decorative house coats, comfy pants, old t-shirts. Phillip looked up from his pillow, smiled at her, sent warmth into her as he laid his head back against the pillow. They'd made love three times the night before, more than they had in the last two months. Their bodies had intertwined, poured sweat against each other. The unasked questions of yesterday felt lost in the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed.
As she moved from the bathroom Louise looked out the window, stared at the gray sky as it filtered the would-be sun into her bedroom. It was finally hers. Some long lost feeling of ownership had returned to her, through the vessel of deceit and betrayal. She wanted to probe Phillip, find out all of the little things he had collected about himself in the who-knows-how-long he'd been exploring, but sacrificed the conversation for something simpler.
"I'm hungry, what should we have?"
"Let's go out, I want to get out of the house," He rose, moved towards her. His body seemed so much more than it had the day before. The muscles seemed to stand out, his bony body now svelte. They felt natural together, all of the revulsion that had exploded into her body the day before had fermented to lust, an unyielding force that pushed her towards him. They held each other differently this morning, kissed each other instead of repeating their weary lines. She was dressed in ten minutes, ready to leave the house.
They took her Passat over his tired Volvo, sitting dormant in the driveway. She threw him the keys, and he stumbled, realizing for the first time that morning that things were not moving in the natural order for him. He embraced the feelings of hesitation that washed over him and stepped forward, unwilling to cower out of the situation. It was the second time she had ever let him drive her car in the four years she'd had it.
As he sat in the driver's seat they looked at each other and smiled.