Page 57 of The Sound Of Us

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not thinking about the future either. Despite my numerous poor choices so far, I’m not so far gone to imagine any kind of future for myself. Being a cancer survivor will do that to you. You live only in the moment, and only on special occasions, when the anger at the hand you’ve been dealt becomes an uncontrollable fury, do you allow for those moments of what if. What if I could live to thirty-five? What if the man in my imagination found me and took me away from here?

And then you look in the mirror at your hairless head and tell yourself how grateful you are that you are alive for just that moment, at least. And if you’re still around tomorrow, that would be something amazing, too.

I haven’t yet reached the place where Eli had become entwined with the words what if. Eli is always a now moment. Maybe that’s why it’s not that hard to do what I’m doing.

And I know all the clichés that ring true and lessen the authenticity of what I feel for Eli:

Starving men will eat from any hand.

To him who is denied true love, the basic principles of humanity will feel sensual.

The thirst for love … blah blah

And that’s when the anger rears its ugly head, helping me deflect responsibility, if only for a time. When my need for Eli becomes too much to bear, I hurl blame at Frank.

While I prepare dinner—sticky chicken wings and fried potatoes—my opposing thoughts give me whiplash.

I have a ball of cotton wool stuffed into each ear while I cook. I can still hear the sizzle of the oil in the pan and the whirr of the refrigerator, so I stuff another ball of cotton wool in each ear. I can still hear but I keep them in, anyway. I want to live in Eli’s world. Not mine. My world feels dangerous. And lonely. So bleak and lifeless. In Eli’s world, I’m safe. Free. Happy.

The whole time it takes to prepare the chicken is spent advocating for myself.

Why couldn’t Frank just love me?

Why couldn’t he keep the promise he made to cherish me?

Why did he insist on professing his love for me when all he’d wanted was someone to control and abuse?

If Frank had just kept his promises, none of this would have happened. And if he didn’t want me, then why couldn’t he just let me go?

And then, while I fry the potatoes, sympathy for Frank drowns me.

He doesn’t deserve this.

He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a cheater. Not one I can confirm, anyway.

No matter what, he deserves the truth.

There is no sympathy for adulterers.

I don’t know why people cheat on partners they claim to love, or why they cheat on partners who are good to them in every possible way.

All I know is that Eli gives me everything I have ever wanted. Nothing of what Eli gives me exists in my marriage. Respect. Care. Kindness. Eli is breaking me with his presence in my life, but it’s the kind of breaking that brings you relief. Like having someone slowly chip away at the boulders you'd been carrying on your back.

The scruff of boots outside has my heart racing. Like Frank can pry into my mind and see all the things I’ve been thinking and doing.

The door opens with a bang.

I’d forgotten it’s NO LUBE FRIDAY again.

Frank is drunk. He can hardly stand up straight. I slip into my pious husband role.

“Frank, let me get your jacket,” I say, hurrying to him.

“Get the fuck off me,” he growls, slamming his forearm into my chest. If I stop, he’ll accuse me of not caring about him. I stumble but manage to get myself back up and hook my hand under his arm, helping him to the bathroom.

He mumbles and grumbles all the way, but his words are unintelligible. I can’t gather enough to gage what the night will bring or what brought on this mood.

Once Frank is settled in the bathroom, I return to the kitchen to dish up his food, stopping by the fridge to make sure the beer is at the back, where it remains cold. We really need to get a new fridge.

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