Strong

EXITITIS

 

My eyes, I am told, are a beautiful Irish green. Often I wear solid green blouses, all kinds of prints, both long and short sleeves. Our garden grass is velvety green, soft manicured weekly. To all of that, I must admit, I am somewhat green with envy. It's inside of me but I do make a concerted effort to not let it show. Once in a while I cry myself to sleep, ashamed of my jealous thoughts. Lying in bed in our cozy, paid for three bedroom, two bath house, I can see Wanda's house across the street thru the bedroom window. It's bigger than ours,  made of stone and it has a large white door with a fancy Georgian style brass knocker. Freddie, I and our three children live in a grey shingled house that is really blah, in spite of the brass door knocker.

 

Wanda's husband, Leon, is tall and has sparkling light blue eyes. When he dives into our neighborhood pool, those abs of his almost knock my bathing suit straps off. I've never counted their money but their life style tells me they have no financial worries. Leon is the represent-ative in Congress for District 22 . He drives a black Caddy, last year's model. Our Camry is five years old and is an ordinary tan color with no oomph. They employ a full time housekeeper and surely enjoy a fun social life. My Freddie and I are at the mercy of our busy sixteen year old baby sitter if we want to go out to dinner or just a neighborhood movie. My gripes are internal. They lie churning my gut into gray, greasy ribbons. 

 

This is not smart. It is not right. Right or wrong, I am jealous, envious and expect punishment some day. Until then I will have sexy dreams of Leon, walk on his shady side of the street, sit on the edge of the pool when I see him doing laps. Am I hurting anyone besides myself? Freddie is always nice to me, takes care of the kids on Saturday mornings so I can have a break. He's good looking too, sweet, tender in bed. He makes a decent living, may get a bonus this Christmas. He'll give me most of it for myself and the children. Even if I burn a roast, he doesn't complain.  Freddie not only hangs up his clothes, his bureau drawers are neater than mine. And what a fixer he is! A loose door knob, the toilet is stuffed and he manages to get little Bobby's teddy out of the pipe. The constant compliments, his devotion to us should be enough, so why, why, do I think so often about Leon?

 

Tuesday afternoon I answer the phone, don't recognize the voice but know the name. 'This is Leon,' he says. 'Leon who?' I ask. 'Leon across street.' My mouth goes dry. My heart leaps into my throat. 'Hello, Leon. How may I help you?' He asks if my husband is home and I tell him the truth. 'No, he doesn't get home until close to six each evening. Can I give him a message?' 

 

Leon pauses and then offers to come over, keep me company for a while. 'Your green eyes intrigue me and I'd like to delve into them. How about it, Carole?' My knees shake but my words and actions are right.
'Neighbor mine, you are barking up the wrong tree. Don't come over now or ever. I'm a married woman who loves her husband. Go fiddle someplace else.' The sound of my hanging up seems like thunder.

 

I go upstairs, shower, wash my hair and come down stairs to wait for my children and fix a special dinner for Freddie. I am careful not to burn anything.