Affairytale : A Memoir Page 7

“Fine. Go fuck yourself.” He said. “Oh…I guess you’re probably used to that since you never want to fuck me.”

  He turned and walked to his truck.

  Shocked and relieved that he was actually leaving, I watched him drive away and prayed he wouldn’t hurt anyone on the road. I thought the night was over.

  I crawled in bed next to Dani and was thankful no one in the cabin had witnessed our fight. My hair was dripping wet, my lips trembled, and my ears rang loud as I laid in the dark, unable to sleep. My head was heavy and throbbing in pain, but it was nothing compared to the weight and pain in my heart. I was drifting in and out of consciousness when I woke up startled by headlights shining through my bedroom window.

  I knew instantly who it was. I threw back the covers and ran out of the cabin. There was Levi, standing in the dark, as if nothing had happened. He wanted to talk, wanted to apologize, and wanted to come inside. His inability to live in reality, to comprehend that people don’t just come back from the places he and I had been, made me want to kill him even more.

  The audacity of him coming back sent me on an irrational rampage. “How dare you come back? Did you really think I would let you in? I hate you!” I yelled so loud my voice cracked. “I will never forgive you. I will never sleep with you, ever again. I wish you were dead! And if you don’t leave, I’ll fucking kill you myself.”

  “Come on now,” his antagonizing tone intensified my hysteria. He took a step forward wanting to reconcile.

  My eyes narrowed and evil transformed me into something maniacal, I became possessed. Every attempt he made to quell me, touch me, or insinuate that I should forgive him, only sent me deeper into hell. Then, like the sky turning green just before a raging storm, I became eerily still.

  “That’s it,” I said emotionlessly and calculated, “I’m going to kill you.”

  Unaffected by my own demonic words, I didn’t blink. I stated the following facts like I was reading an instruction manual.

  “You’d better get out of here. If you’re in this drive way when I come back, I’ll kill you.”

  “Stop it,” his voice dragged out in the slow manner I so hated. He reached for me. I didn’t move.

  “You’re fucking dead.”

  Then like a Stepford wife gone mad, I robotically walked into the cabin and methodically searched for the gun. After coming up empty in Dylan’s room, I walked into my parents’ bedroom. On my hands and knees, I pulled things from their closet floor, searching for the back wall, scouring the corners. It wasn’t there. Fuck.

  “Honey, what are you doing?” Mom whispered in the kindest tone.

  “Nothing mom, I’m just looking for something, I’m sorry to wake you.”

  “If you’re looking for the root beer sweetheart there’s a new two liter bottle under the microwave, and more ice cream in the deep freeze.”

  “Okay, thanks momma.”

  I abandoned my search for a shotgun and lifted my favorite air rifle off of the rack in the living room. The moment I stepped outside, I cocked it as fast as I could.

  This is perfect, better than a deer rifle. I can shoot him a bunch of times.

  By the time I got to the end of the driveway, loaded and ready to light his ass up, he was gone.

  ***

  Of course this is real.

  2 people enduring misery

  4 so many years deserve

  this. :) Mwah!

  Chapter 11

  “A WOMAN SHOULD LEARN IN SILENCE WITH ALL SUBMISSIVENESS.”

  —TIMOTHY 2:11

  I stayed with Levi because that’s what women in my family did, I stayed because I loved him, I stayed because my problems with Levi were not really about Levi, they were about me. I was unable to change to accommodate what our marriage needed. I was the crazy, abusive one. If marriage is hard work and full of compromise, then it was me who failed us.

  Everybody argues, his behavior is a reflection of yours, divorce is not the answer. I didn’t know of a marriage that was perfectly happy. All of those hand-me-down expectations I’d been told about marriage seemed completely logical. If all marriages are unhappy and take work, then mine was no different.

  I stayed because I was foolish enough to believe those things were true.

  ***

  I met Molly later that summer.

  She was like Grant described her, she reeked of family money.

  I was unimpressed with her generous bosom and dried out blonde hair, but he seemed quite smitten. It was awkward in the boat, sitting close to her, pretending to enjoy a sunny day, watching her listen to our music and drink our beers. Grant was unusually silent, talking and laughing only when it would have been weird not to and he didn’t make eye contact with me, like I had a third eye or something abhorrent he couldn’t bear to look at. Over one short summer month, Grant had become someone I used to know. His playfulness was gone and he gave me nothing more than a polite, obligatory smile.

  Somehow I’d become the crazy ex-girlfriend, the person in the group who made the situation awkward and less fun, the girl whose presence prevented him from having a good time. So I stayed away, I didn’t want to see him with her anyway.

  He eventually stopped coming around altogether, not even to see Dylan. He was with Molly now. I’d lost him. I’d lost the chance at what might have been true love because I was too afraid to reach out and grab it.

  That gloomy summer turned into a dark cold winter. In December when the fierce snow storms rolled into the valley, they brought with them the blues. I was officially depressed, hollow inside, an empty shell where a once vibrant woman lived. I needed one of those rare nights out to see Dylan’s band, I needed laughter. I hoped to find solace in the company of my summer friends and reminisce about warmer weather. I hadn’t seen Grant in six months and I was curious if he was still around or if he’d moved to Seattle with Molly, or if maybe she’d moved here. Either way, I forced myself to be numb and hoped I wouldn’t see them together.

  Stale smoke hung in the air and marinated the old wooden panel walls of the run down bar. A grungy, patch wearing bouncer burnt his stare onto my ass like a cattle brand as I walked past, and the concrete dance floor in front of the stage writhed with intoxicated outcasts and women tonguing one another. Deafening music pierced my temples, and the kick of the bass felt like thunder in my chest.

  “Hey C.J.!” Dylan shouted into the mic from his hidden spot behind the drums.

  Dylan gigged with a heavy metal band now. It’d been years since we’d toured together with Mom and Dad and it still felt out of place to hear him play Metallica and Alice and Chains. He would always be Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings to me. He’d also become a gargantuan beast, a workout-aholic with a scheduled day off from the gym once every two weeks.

  The oversized girth of his back muscles made his arms hang unnaturally far away from his sides. They swung oddly stiff as he walked toward me, and I noticed that his eternally swollen biceps bulged with a new round of abstract, tribal looking tattoos. But his hardened exterior melted away when the deepest, most sincere brown eyes looked at me from under his tattered cap, eyes that mirrored an exact reflection of my own.

  “Ew don’t hug me,” I said as he got close, dripping with sweat.

  “C.J., I’m glad you came out,” Dylan said, then flipped his drink straw down and took a sip off the rim. He nodded his head in the direction of the door, “let’s go.”

  I followed him outside, hiding behind him but the snow still pelted my face and instantly froze the inside of my nostrils. I tucked my head down into my jacket and ran to the bar next door. Dylan pulled open the door and a familiar rush of welcome heat blasted me. The dim bar lighting, the clamor of people talking over the music, and the sound of his velvet voice flooded my senses.

  I knew immediately that I was about to get some of my sweet addiction.

  The Dot, I presumed, was a reference to the bar’s infinitesimal size. Yet ironically it was a place filled with predominately oversized people who
se asses all seemed to hang over the edge of the black vinyl barstools.

  “Hey Larry,” Dylan shouted over the music to the three hundred pound bartender. “Bloodies,” he yelled, holding up two fingers. I heard Grant broadcast our names over the mic in between riffs of “Life in the Fast Lane.”

  “Dylan, C.J.!” He yelled, and by the smile on his face he seemed delighted to see us.

  I instantly missed him, and when I saw him it hurt. It hurt like seeing a long lost love in a busy crowd, the one you compared all others too, the one you loved more than you’ll ever love anyone again, the one you lost. I felt a whimper emanating from deep within me. He was my greatest loss, yet I hadn’t even had him yet.

  Dylan and I listened to Grant sing a few more Eagles songs and a rendition of “Werewolves of London” before he set his guitar down and stepped off the stage. That’s when the first estrogen strike hit. A group of females surrounded him, and I understood their frenzy. What woman wouldn’t want that body around her, and that voice serenading her in the bedroom after making heavenly love?

  Before Grant was able to crawl out from under the cat pile, Dylan tipped back the last of his watery drink, “Gotta go, last set,” he said. “You coming over tonight?”

  “Not sure?” I shrugged. He set his gorilla-like hand on my shoulder.

  “You should, it’ll be fun. Let yourself in. Let Peanut out. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He flashed me a closed lip smile then started walking away, “love you.”

  “Love you. Thanks for the drink.” I said.

  Dylan yelled to Grant over the chatter of the crowd, “Good job bud, sounds great, see you tonight.”

  For so many reasons I should have been leaving with Dylan, going home like a good girl. Yet the pull Grant had on my heart was unshakable. Grant looked at me with desperate eyes, asking for my help to escape the cougar mauling, I shook my head and crinkled my nose.

  Nope.

  He sighed then pushed his way through the female fanatics and hurried toward me with an unexpected fervor. He was happy to see me and it showed. He smiled and opened his arms for me to fall into.

  The world became flat and everyone toppled off the edge as I fell off my barstool and into the shelter of his arms. When I tipped my head back to look at him, his pale blue eyes knocked on the door to my heart, then let themselves inside. Just being near him dissolved any residual pangs of guilt I had over going out that night, leaving Levi behind.

  “It’s so great to see you,” Grant said as he sat down on the barstool next to mine. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

  “I know. It’s rare,” my voice quivered and so did my insides. “You sound amazing,” I said. “I loved ‘Werewolves of London.’” He shrugged off my compliment. “Seriously, you sound great,” I rolled my eyes, “like always.”

  He changed the subject, he didn’t like talking about himself. It seemed to make him uncomfortable. “Lake season is coming,” he said. “I can’t wait to listen to Marley and do our thing.”

  “It’s December. Summer’s long ways away.”

  “So what? I dream of lake season all year, don’t you?”

  No, I dream of you all year, and lake season only makes it worse.

  “Yes…I dream of lake season too. Are you going anywhere warm this winter?” I asked.

  He called to the bartender and ordered us our thing then turned to me, “I’d like to go back to Jamaica.”

  “I loved Jamaica,” I said, “and just think, this time you won’t be on my honeymoon.”

  “Yes. That’s right,” he dropped his head recalling and laughing to himself. “I was on your honeymoon…wasn’t I.”

  “You were definitely on my honeymoon,” I said and the tension grew thick between us.

  “How about you? Are you going anywhere this winter?” He asked, changing the subject.

  “Nowhere fun, just work, fitness stuff. Grant, is it just me or are these drinks just not the same without the sun and the Moomba?”

  “Something’s definitely missing,” he said as we clinked our long necks together then toasted: “To a short winter and another hot summer.”

  As we took a sip, one of the band members yelled and waved for him to get back on stage. Grant gave him the one minute finger but kept his eyes on me.

  “Are you going back to your brother’s tonight?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. You?”

  “I’ll go if you go.”

  He stared at my lips, waiting for my response, holding up his one-minute finger again. My heart raced toward an unshockable rhythm.

  “Well that’s an offer too good to pass up.” I said with a sly smile.

  “Good. I’ll make an excuse so I don’t have to tear down tonight. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Grant bounced with energy as he walked back to the stage. He was the Grant I knew again. He was happy to see me and it showed.

  I’d fallen for him so long ago, and being with him again confirmed that it would never go away. Having to live the rest of my life wanting him so badly was cruel and unusual punishment, even for my wandering heart.

  As he walked away, the same cluster of bitches stared at me from across the bar. I knew what they were saying…What’s so great about her? Magic pussy or something? I bathed in their jealousy and sent over a polite fuck you, he’s mine grin.

  I sat on my barstool and finished my drink, declined a few requests to dance, and fantasized about what it would be like if the ring on my left hand was from Grant. I walked up to the stage, smiled and waved good-bye. He moved to the side of the mic, “See you soon?”

  I gave him a half-hearted nod then waved goodbye to the rest of the band.

  “You better be there!” He called out to me as I turned to walk away.

  I was confused by his eagerness to be with me, wasn’t he still with Molly?

  Even though I knew Levi would be furious if I went to Dylan’s, I was powerless over my obsession. Seeing Grant in the winter months was rare and thrilling, and I was incapable of turning down any opportunity to be next to him. There was always a chance that Levi might show up at Dylan’s, throw a huge fit, break something or someone, but even that wasn’t enough to keep me away.

  Hey, going over 2 Dylan’s.

  Don’t wait up. I might

  stay overnite.

  When I stepped outside, snow fluttered in every direction swirling in blustery gusts. I tucked my nose into the faux fur lining of my winter coat and slid into my car. My poor summer VW Beetle was frozen to the ground like a tongue to a pole; the tires ripped off the ice leaving behind a little skin as I pulled away.

  A quick vibration buzzed in my pocket. It was Levi.

  Do what u want.

  That’s what u

  always do anyway,

  isn’t it?

  He was right. I always did what I wanted regardless of him. He just let me off easy, I thought as I stuffed my phone back in my coat, resumed shivering, and then punched my mukluks to the floor.

  The anticipation of seeing Grant made me quiver with excitement. Once I knew I was going to see him, I became scared to lose him again. I’d missed our friendship and I needed to tell him that, didn’t I?

  Yes, tonight, I will tell him how much I’ve missed him.

  ***

  Baby, I miss u 2. :)

  I’m here. I’m always

  here. :)

  Chapter 12

  “SOME CUPID KILLS WITH ARROWS, SOME WITH TRAPS.”

  ―WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, 3.1.104

  Be bold, take risks for what you really want, do it tonight. I told myself on the car ride over to Dylan’s.

  Find the courage to tell him I think about him, that I don’t know why but I dream of him every Sunday night, and that I couldn’t bear to see him with someone else.

  I pushed through Dylan’s frozen garage door and was blasted by the hot coils of a propane heater, and greeted by the sight of a dozen pairs of perfectly sculpted silicone breasts.
Posters of waxed kuchies and tight asses clung to the walls.

  Dylan’s garage was a man’s lair with a fully stocked mini fridge, surround sound, and plush carpeting that cradled a meticulously polished new Corvette that shimmered with golden flecks. The over-sized chair hiding in the corner, and the worn out blue couch had each hosted their share of indiscretions.

  I peeled off my winter layers and was kneeling down to greet Dylan’s little mutt Peanut when Dylan burst through the door. Grant was behind him holding a bag of fast food.

  Gross. He eats that shit?

  He held up the grease soaked bag as if to say hello, then pulled out two folding chairs and motioned for me to sit down beside him.

  “It’s so awesome you made it out tonight,” Grant said as he ripped into the thin paper sack.

  “I’m glad I got to see you too,” I said. “See you devour that crap so I can give you CPR when you drop dead from a heart attack.”

  A shameful expression grew on his face but he took another over-sized bite in spite of my comment. “But I’m starving,” he muttered with his mouth stuffed full of cheap food.

  “No. Children in Sudan are starving. That’s just gluttonous.”

  “You’re right, I shouldn’t eat like this. Are you grossed out?” A morsel of meat sprayed from his mouth and landed on the table. “I’m sorry!” He shouted.

  “Yes, I’m grossed out,” I said, “but if you want to eat that shit, go ahead.” I leaned back in my chair, “I’ll miss you when you die an early death but go ahead.”

  “You’ll miss me?” He said, in the softest, sweetest tone.

  “Of course I’ll miss you. Wouldn’t you miss me?”

  He nodded his head slowly. “Yes A lot.”

  Our eyes met, there was a trembling between us that could have been measured on the Richter scale. It was so intense we looked away from one another.

  A small entourage of Dylan’s groupies piled into the garage for a night of Das Boot and Hammerschlagen. Good, I thought. People to distract Dylan, so I can be with Grant uninterrupted.

  “You should have come up and sang a song tonight,” Grant said.

  “You didn’t invite me.”