Wounds of Time

by Stevie D. Parker

The night before was a blur. “Of all the memories to block out, the pizza? Oh my God, Isabel, I called Vincent last night.”

  “Yeah, I know, why do you think I am here?” she asked.

  “I’m such an asshole; he’s going to hate me.” I was sick to my stomach. Not only from the alcohol and apparent pizza, but also, what I did to Vincent last night. “He’s going to hate me!”

  “Bianca, Vincent doesn’t have a ‘Saint’ in front of his name. I’m sure he’s been drunk before, and I’m sure he’s done stupid things, too. I wouldn’t worry about it. Oh my God!” she exclaimed, after looking at a text message she had just received.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She passed the phone to me. There was a picture of an erect penis. “What is that? I mean, I know what it is—who is it?”

  “Ugh, this guy I’m sort of seeing. What is it with guys and dick pics? I mean, what am I supposed to do with this? Other than forward it to all my close friends and acquaintances? Has a woman ever in life received a pic like this and said, ‘well damn that’s a good-looking dick’?” she ranted. “Do you have a picture of Vincent’s dick on your phone?”

  She already knew the answer. The truth was, I didn’t have any pictures of Vincent on my phone, let alone that kind. He was way too mature and classy to send something like that.

  “Speaking of this guy, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” she continued. “He wants to have a threesome.”

  “And you want my blessing?” I asked.

  “No, I want you to be the girl, the unicorn.”

  I could still taste the vomit in my mouth as more was suddenly coming up. “I’m not having a threesome with you, Isabel.”

  “Why not? We kissed last night—same thing, you’d just have to kiss me somewhere else,” she said.

  “First of all, even if I said yes—which I am not, by the way—I wouldn’t be the one doing the ‘kissing.’ It’s your man, don’t you think you should be the one kissing something?”

  “You skeeve me?” she asked, sounding insulted.

  “No, I don’t skeeve you…why would I have to be the one to do it anyway? Why wouldn’t you do it? Do you skeeve me?” I threw the question back at her.

  “I’m not doing that!” she said. “Where am I going to find a girl who will?”

  “I don’t know, hire an escort,” I suggested.

  She sat up on the bed and gritted her teeth. “Look at me. I’m hot! You think I need to pay for pussy?”

  “You work in a strip club, so I don’t think it will be that hard to find a willing participant. Now excuse me, I’ll be right back—I have to vomit again,” I said, and then ran back into the bathroom.

  “That sounded bad,” Isabel said when I returned to the bedroom. She didn’t even look up from her phone.

  “It tasted even worse. What are you looking at?” I asked.

  “I’m on a singles site, looking for a girl,” she said very seriously, still not looking up from her phone.

  My own phone started ringing. It was Vincent. I walked into the bathroom with the phone, afraid to answer.

  “Hi,” I finally said, sliding down to the floor to sit against the wall. Just standing made me dizzy.

  “Hi… I wanted to make sure you were up for work,” Vincent said in a very monotone voice.

  “I called out sick,” I replied.

  “Can you do that?” he asked.

  “Yes, they prefer we do that if I were really sick. We have a strict sick policy, and they don’t want the entire cast getting sick at once. That’s why we have understudies.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense,” he said. “How do you feel?”

  I paused for a few moments before responding. “Like a complete asshole—Vincent, I am so sorry—”

  He cut me off. “I meant physically,” he specified.

  “Oh, you know, like my head is in a vise, and I’m throwing up so much that there’s nothing left to come up.”

  “Do you always dress like that when you go out?” he asked.

  “No, that was Isabel’s outfit. I guess you didn’t like it?” I said, half-kidding.

  “I’m sorry I called you a slut. I just find it unnecessary for a girl as beautiful as you to have to show off that much of her body.”

  “Where are you?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “Sitting in my car. I brought it to the car wash to have an excuse to call you,” he answered. “I didn’t sleep after I left your place. It really killed me to leave you there like that. I wanted to stay with you, just to make sure you were okay. Thank God Isabel came. I don’t know what I would’ve done if she didn’t.”

  “I’m so sorry about last night. I know I put you in an awkward position,” I said.

  “Hey, it’s okay. Just get some rest, I will see you tomorrow afternoon for lunch. Eat something greasy,” he said.

  I went back to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed next to Isabel. She held up a profile picture of a pretty black girl.

  “What do you think of her?” she asked.

  “Cute,” I said, not really looking. “I think I need to go back to sleep.”

  Vincent never brought up the drunk call. Even though I saw him all the time now, I still looked forward to our Christmas dance every year on that rooftop. He was getting good at our traditional holiday meet-up, too. We had the whole dance routine down.

  This year, the weather was abnormally warm for Christmas, in the sixties. When we finished our dance, he asked me, “Does anyone else call you Sarah?”

  “Only my mother,” I answered. “She refuses to call me Bianca, says it sounds like a stripper name.”

  “So, I take it she didn’t know you stripped?” he asked.

  “Oh, hell no, my parents were super religious. I would have been disowned,” I said. “And yeah, I stripped, but not really. Like I didn’t give lap dances or anything. Just a few shows a night.”

  “I’m surprised they even hired you, to be honest,” he said.

  “If it weren’t for Isabel, they wouldn’t have. But she pushed, and Frank really liked me, so I guess I got lucky.”

  “I think I’m the one who got lucky,” he said. “If you weren’t there that night, I never would have met you.”

  “Eh…you’d be up here with some other chick,” I joked.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Did I make you at least like Christmas a little more?”

  “I don’t look at it as Christmas. I look at it as our anniversary,” I said.

  “I mean, it kind of is.” He placed his hand in mine.

  “What about your parents?” I asked. “What are they like?”

  “Parent,” he specified. “I don’t have a father.”

  “He died, too?” I asked.

  “No, at least I don’t think so. My dad was an executive at a pharmaceutical company, and my mother was a professor at a university. She tried so hard to get pregnant after me, but for whatever reason, she couldn’t. Finally, when I was eight, she got pregnant again and was so excited to tell my dad. But I guess he wasn’t as excited. He left for work the next day and never came back.”

  He paused, gazing out into the city, before continuing. “The next week, she wasn’t pregnant anymore. I assume she got an abortion but never had the nerve to ask her. My parents quite clearly weren’t as religious as yours. My mom never dated again. I think the whole experience made her not trust men, period. But she took really good care of me. She made a good salary. I became the most important thing in her life, and I was okay with that.”

  “You’re a mama’s boy?” I asked, surprised.

  “Oh, big time! I speak to her once a week, and the first thing she asks is if I ate lunch yet and wants to know what I had.” He laughed.

  “She must have been devastated when you moved to New York.”

  “She handled it well. She wasn’t too upset. More concerned, I’d say. Not that I wouldn’t succeed. I think her b
iggest fear was me marrying someone I barely knew and then eventually leaving my wife, same way my dad left her.”

  We stood silent for a few minutes.

  “What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?” He changed the subject, sipping his wine.

  “Matt’s having a party. I’m going with Isabel—you?” I asked.

  “My best friend, Jimmy, is married to my wife’s best friend, Lisa. We go to their house every year. They have two kids, twins—much younger than mine. Hailey and Hayden. They’re eleven. I guess they’re like my niece and nephew,” he said.

  “I love the name Hayden,” I said.

  “I’m not sure he likes it too much, it’s different though,” he said. “I hope you’re going to be looking for an outfit in your closet and not Isabel’s for the party,” he added.

  I playfully slapped him on the chest. “Are you going to bring this up for the rest of my life?” I asked. I knew I deserved it for the way I’d treated him that night.

  “No, not the rest of your life, just a large portion of it. I can’t help it. I’m jealous—you make me that way.”

  He put his arm around me and pulled me into him. “Would you rather be with a guy who didn’t care so much?” he asked.

  “No, I guess not. I just want you,” I said.

  He kissed me. Afterward, once we finished the bottle of wine, he handed me the cork. The same way he did every year.

  “Here’s another one for your collection. Happy Anniversary,” he said.

  VINCE

  The day after Christmas, we were sitting at brunch with my mother and the kids at a restaurant in the theater district. The spot was one of my favorite places, and we went there often. Not too fancy, but they did a really good brunch spread with unlimited mimosas and Bloody Mary’s. I particularly liked this place because the customers were more New Yorkers than tourists, and everyone knew each other. There was a real old-school neighborhood feel to it: classic jukeboxes at each booth and a newspaper machine outside. My mother especially liked this spot. Even though she was from California, she said she felt like a real New Yorker sitting there.

  As a retired college professor, my mother was very well spoken and always dressed like she was going to work. Dress pants with blouses and blazers. I’m not even sure she owned a pair of jeans. She as very attractive for an older woman: dark hair, an olive complexion, curvy. It was a shame that she never dated again after my father left. She would have had no problem getting a man, especially if she cooked for him. No matter how busy her schedule got while I was growing up, she made sure I always ate a home-cooked meal.

  Before our brunch, Samantha had informed me that she’d be giving my mother our Christmas gift at the restaurant, and also not to make plans for afterwards. She always took care of all the gifts, so I never thought to question it. As I was drinking my third Bloody Mary, Samantha looked over at me to signal that she was ready. I motioned at Nick and Casey to stop talking while Samantha eagerly produced the gift.

  “Mom, we really wanted to get you something special this year—we hope you like it!” Samantha smiled and clasped her hands together. As soon as my mother opened the box and peeked inside, a huge smile spread across her face.

  “Thank you so much! I’ve been dying to see this! When is it, and who’s going?” my mom asked.

  Samantha clapped her hands. “Me too!” she exclaimed. “Today, at 2 p.m. All of us are going.”

  I glanced over, puzzled as to where we were going at 2 p.m. Though, I didn’t want to ask the question out loud because then my mother would know I hadn’t helped pick out her gift.

  “Where are we going?” Casey asked.

  “The Broadway show, Wounds of Time,” Samantha blurted.

  I almost spit out my drink. My heart dropped and I froze.

  “Really? Cool, I heard it’s awesome!” Casey said.

  Nick didn’t seem as excited. Meanwhile, I was still motionless. In shock, suddenly sick to my stomach.

  “Do I have to go?” Nick asked, clearly not wanting any part of this gift.

  Samantha and I answered at the same time. As she said yes, I simultaneously said no.

  She looked over at me, looking aggravated that I had an opposing answer.

  “If he doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t have to,” I said. “As a matter of fact, why don’t you make it a girls thing, and Nick and I will do something else.”

  Samantha shot a look at me that said she wanted to throw her drink straight in my face. “Vince, these tickets were extremely hard to get—you both have to go. Since when do you dislike Broadway so much? You watched the Tony Awards this year!”

  “Who’s going to feed the dog?” I asked, desperate.

  Samantha ran her tongue across her top teeth and leaned over the table toward me. “All of sudden, you’re so concerned about Rocky?”

  Nick and I both argued profusely. Nick somehow weaseled his way out of going, but she wasn’t having it with me. I could feel my underarms dampen with sweat. FUCK. This was so bad.

  The theater was only a few blocks down. I kept my head down for the entire short walk over, and while we stood in line. I silently prayed that no one would see me, especially Sarah. It was when we were going through security that one of guards, Joe spotted me. I tried to pretend like I didn’t see him, but he hustled right over.

  “Vincent, buddy, what’s going on? Merry Christmas!” he asked, shaking my hand. Joe was a built guy, in his twenties and had a very thick Brooklyn accent.

  “Merry Christmas! And, oh, not much,” I said.

  “How many you with?” he asked.

  I didn’t want to answer the question, but Samantha was now staring at us, no doubt wondering how this young random security guard knew me.

  “Four,” I responded.

  “Stay right here. Let me see if I can get you better seats,” he said.

  “No, no, really—not necessary,” I said. He laughed, waving my reply off as he hurried away.

  “How does he know you?” my mother asked.

  Good question. Think, Vince. How does he know me? Um…

  “I get tickets for clients all the time.” The lie flew right out of my mouth.

  “Wow, my dad is a big deal!” Casey said, seemingly impressed.

  I didn’t make eye contact with any of them. Instead, I stared at the floor, silently praying that there were no better seats. Then Joe came back with an excited expression on his face.

  “Follow me,” he said.

  Reluctantly, I followed him, practically yanking the playbill from usher’s hand. He led us down the carpeted ramp and, sure enough, he’d found seats for us right up front. Extremely up front. Like, right-under-the-stage up front.

  If this were any other day, I would have been ecstatic. Given the circumstances, I was scared shitless. Sarah couldn’t see me. Not there. Not with my wife. The theme song of the show played softly, and the props of first bedroom scene were on the stage. There was still fifteen minutes before the show started, and people stood in the aisles, talking and shifting around to let others reach their seats.

  Samantha was seated to the right of me. She squeezed my hand, so excited that my so-called connections had paid off. My cheeks felt numb, and I guessed that my complexion had turned white.

  I stood up. “I’m going to go get drinks, who wants one?”

  After getting their drink orders, I hurried out and frantically went in search of Joe. I spotted him across the room. I tried to squeeze past the crowd at the bar.

  “Joe! Joey, over here, Joe!” I called over to him, waving my hands in the air. He spotted me and came right over.

  “Hey man, like your seats?” he asked, with an expression filled with self-approval. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know how I was going to say this to him.

  “Joe, listen—I need to tell you something, and it needs to stay between us,” I began. “That woman that’s with me, the one in the black dress—”


  “Yeah, I was going to ask you who that was. She’s hot,” he said.

  “She’s, um, well…she’s actually my…she’s my wife,” I said.

  Joe’s face dropped. “Your wife?” He glanced down at my left hand, noticing I was suddenly wearing a wedding ring.

  I nodded yes. When he looked at my face, I think he could tell I was in panic mode.

  “Damn bro, you a dog,” he said. “Does Bianca know you’re married?”

  This was not a conversation I’d been prepared to have, not right now.

  “Yes, she knows,” I said. “I’m not that much of a dog—like a cute little one, maybe a Chihuahua.”

  Joe stared at me, looking serious all of a sudden, like I’d hit a nerve.

  “You know everyone thinks Chihuahuas are so cute, but my sister has one and that little asshole isn’t cute. For starters, he humps everything! Also, he’s a rowdy little thing! Did you know Chihuahuas are the most vicious breed of dog? Worse than Pit bulls?”

  I just stared at him in shock. Here I was having a nervous breakdown, and he was giving me a National Geographic lesson on Chihuahuas.

  “Okay, not the best example, but Bianca cannot know I’m here,” I said. I think the reality of my situation finally sank in.

  “Oh, damn dude, you got bad seats if you don’t wanna be seen,” he said.

  “You think?!” I asked, aggravated.

  “You want me to move you?” he offered.

  “Well, you can’t now—that would be too obvious. I’ll figure something out—just please, do not let her know I’m here. Please,” I reiterated.

  Joe nodded, so I thanked him and then turned to head to the bar to get the girls their drinks.

  “Hey, Vincent,” he said, after I’d only taken a few steps. “In my next life, I want to come back as you, man! You have great taste in women.”

  He sounded like he admired me as he shook my hand again.

  “Gee, thanks,” I said, and then left to order the drinks.

  I returned with drinks just in time for the show to start. They were all so excited, especially when they saw that the drinks came in souvenir cups. At exactly 2 p.m. the lights dimmed, and a man’s voice came from the loudspeaker.