Faltering

NO END

 

Sleep is, as usual, fitful, frightening. My relaxing in a warm tub, even a now and then shower that ruins my hair do, an occasional Ambien, hasn't worked. Is it too much to ask, oh, lord that I wake and feel the warmth of the sun, see its yellow and orange glow in the bathroom mirror? Smile?' What I do see, feel, is my damp nylon nightie and pale tear stained eyes above gray bagging folds. I am a mess through and through with no red exit sign over my bed.

 

My 'secret other' has found another, more than one other. His 'stopping by' when he has the urge or when his other fillies are more exciting, become fresher fish to fry. He makes no bones about it. I am stale bread. Dad and Mom have asked me too many times, 'Where's Johnny?' and then leave me alone in my room to pout and cry as quietly as I can.

 

It's Saturday, I mean Saturnight, when I hear his familiar knock on the door. Mom calls to tell me Johnny is here and I tell her to tell him 'I'm not.' Dad greets him with his usual smiling face and warm handshake, offers him a beer or hard drink. I want to kill my father for being so nice, so cordial to my one time heart throb.

 

I stay in my room and can hear the two men talking, laughing, but can make out no words. My mother is probably sitting in the kitchen, having a cup of tea with a crispy brioche, feeling sorry for me, hoping Johnny will give up and leave. She has been on my back for months telling me she sees no future for me with that loafer. 'He's a taker, Rosalind,' she repeats and repeats. 'Get rid of him before he gets rid of you.' She asks what he does for a living and I don't know for sure. She asks me where he is all the nights he apologizes for when he stands me up. I tell her he explains, always sounds plausible and I believe him, trust him. Inside I know I am lying to her and to myself. The situation has become so bad, Mom won't answer the door when she knows who is on the stoop. Dad likes Johnny's style, his bravado, bragging, dirty jokes. I don't but do love being with him, being complimented, held so closely, touched, kissed that makes a warm a glow spread over me and I forgive his trespasses.

 

He is thoughtful enough to call me when he has to break our date, but he calls so late that I am dressed, ready to go to a movie or for dinner.
Mom has complained when he comes over and asks, 'If you don't mind, would you fix me a sandwich, Mrs. Gorfein? I've been so busy today I didn't have time for lunch.' Mom does mind and asks me to take care of him. She's right and I do it.

 

Wednesday Johnny leaves me a voice message, apologizes  that he has to work late. He'll call me Thursday. My patience, disappointment and anger join forces. I promise myself not to see him again. I call Maggie, my only confidant, to have supper with me Thursday and go to see the new Steve Marlow flick at the Cinema Max.

 

It is comfortable, we have Maryland steamed crabs, corn on the cob, each only one Miller's Light. The movie is okay but if I missed it, it would not be a big deal. Maggie and I work our way thru the crowded lobby. As we near the exit I see Johnny with a looker, maybe a hooker. He is holding her arm, guiding her, oblivious of Maggie and me. My heart strings break. In fact they shatter into tiny, specks because right behind him is my Dad, holding the arm of another woman, much younger than he is.

 

I say nothing to Maggie. I have lost two men in my life at the same time, will never forgive either. I go home and cry alone.