by Unknown
“What do you say?” Gazoo asked. “It’s up to you. It’s not a mandate, just a practice. Twenty-four hours of your life.”
Laura grabbed the microphone from Rick, blurting, “Yes! We’ll do it.”
Her response had the whole auditorium laughing as Rick sat there, dumbstruck.
Gazoo chuckled too, his dark gaze settling on Rick. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, man. Is she always like this?”
Rick grimaced and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Not always…” Laura interjected, sitting forward. Gazoo held up his hand to her again, shaking his head.
“Did he tell you to speak?” The man raised his eyebrows. Laura’s mouth dropped open as he took the microphone from her. “Consider the practice started.”
Rick’s eyes widened and he looked bemused as he glanced over at Laura. Gazoo appeared satisfied and moved on to another couple. She crossed her arms and sat back in her seat, her face flushed.
Maybe this whole thing was like some strange time warp—she felt stifled and put into her place. That wasn’t at all how she imagined this would feel. She swallowed and glanced at “The Great Gazoo,” working his magic on another couple—if magic is what it was. I wish it was that easy, she thought and gave a deep sigh. Rick didn’t seem to notice.
* * * *
Rick had to come back for her at dinner time. She didn’t know how far he made it before he realized she wasn’t with him, but the auditorium was nearly empty and her stomach was growling. She saw Gazoo watching her, his eyebrows raised. She just sat there in her chair, arms crossed, waiting and fuming. She knew those rosy patches had appeared on her cheeks—she could never stop that.
She glared at Gazoo as he shuffled through papers on the podium. This was what she was supposed to do right? Wait for Rick to tell her what to do? She imagined she had laser beams for eyes to cut Gazoo in two for suggesting this little “practice” in the first place. Her jaw clenched and unclenched. She was so hungry she was getting shaky.
“You know…” Gazoo stopped by her on the way out, speaking softly. “There are nonverbal ways to communicate your feelings. Have you considered that?”
She looked up at him, opening her mouth to speak and then remembering she couldn’t—without Rick’s permission. She whirled to look for him, but he was still nowhere to be found. She turned back to Gazoo, sticking out her tongue at him.
“Yes!” He gave a little laugh. “Good! Gimme some more of that!”
She felt her anger welling, bubbling to the surface. She gave him the finger, eyes blazing.
“Yeah!” His voice moved lower. “That’s what I’m talking about. Give your man some more of that. He not only wants it—he needs it. Trust me.”
She glowered at him, reaching out and shoving her hand against his hip. He didn’t move, but she saw his eyes brighten and widen, with that same look she’d seen before, as if he was looking right into her.
“Trust him.” Gazoo grabbed her hand as she reached out to shove him again. “Just keep giving it to him, whatever it is—whatever you’re feeling. You’re doing great.”
His praise made her stop, and she turned as she heard Rick puffing down the aisle, jogging toward them. “I’m sorry.” He held a hand out to her. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”
She stood, putting her hands on his chest and pushing hard. He didn’t expect it, and he stumbled, catching himself on the back of a chair.
“Hey!” Rick’s brow wrinkled. “I said I was sorry.”
“Word of advice.” Gazoo walked around them. “Stop apologizing.”
Rick snapped his mouth shut, frowning.
“She doesn’t care what you did a minute ago, or a year ago,” Gazoo continued, saying it over his shoulder as he walked past. “She cares about what you’re doing now. Right now. Good luck, you two.”
Laura stood with her arms crossed, mouth drawn, feeling faint from hunger, her bladder full to bursting. They stood there, looking at each other, neither sure how to proceed.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. Laura nodded, fast and furious, taking his outstretched hand. He pulled her to him in the nearly empty auditorium.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he said into her hair, holding her so close she could barely breathe. “I’ll do whatever it is I have to do, whatever you want…”
Laura growled, wiggling and writhing against him.
“What?” He let her go and shook his head. “What did I say?”
She smacked her forehead, rolling her eyes.
Rick sighed. “Come on, let’s go eat.” He was nearly to the door again before he realized she wasn’t following, and he had to go back and grab her hand to pull her along.
Dinner was a disaster.
They were all supposed to eat dinner together in the island retreat center’s cafeteria, and she felt everyone’s gaze on them as they made their way through the line. Rick kept asking if she wanted this, or this, or this—and she just kept shaking her head. She watched his tray fill up with food, while hers stayed empty. They got to the end of the line, and Rick realized all their money was in her purse.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” Rick unslung her purse from her shoulder and looked for her wallet. He handed a twenty over to the cashier to cover their drinks, which were not included. “I thought you were hungry.”
Laura grabbed her empty tray and threw it on the floor. She threw it so hard the orange surface cracked as it skidded across the tile. Everyone was definitely looking at them now!
“Hey!” The cashier frowned. “What the hell?”
Laura stomped her foot, her arms crossed over her chest. She felt her cheeks burning with color, tears pricking her eyes. Her stomach protested—it was nearly seven o’clock and she hadn’t eaten since noon.
Rick stood with her purse in his hand, his mouth hanging open. The look on his face infuriated her and she screamed. It was something primal, rising from deep in her belly.
For the first time in days—weeks, months, perhaps years—her throat felt unconstricted. She screamed and stomped her feet, jumping up and down on the tray. She nearly fell, catching herself on the tray rails, and she shook those too, for good measure, although they didn’t move.
“Uh, Laura…?” Rick blinked fast, looking around at the crowd, his face turning red.
She screamed again, long and sustained, grabbing his tray and swinging it around, throwing it like a discus over her shoulder. The woman behind them in line yelped in surprise, taking an instinctive step backwards. The tray sailed through the air, spilling packaged rolls and fruit cups and salad as it went.
Laura was breathing hard, hands clenched into tight fists. Rick’s jaw tightened, and she saw the line on his forehead appear, the one that showed up when he was really angry.
“All right, Helen Keller…” He grabbed her arm before she could throw anything else. Laura gasped at the tightness of his grip.
“I’m sorry about that,” he apologized to the cashier. “Do you need me to clean it?”
The woman shook her head, waving him away. “Just… why don’t you have her go lie down or something?”
“Or something,” Rick repeated with a grimace, yanking Laura’s arm nearly out of its socket as he headed toward the exit. She stumbled behind him, glad her hair hid her face. She felt the room’s gaze on them as they made their way out of the cafeteria.
Rick was quiet in the elevator, but she knew his angry silences well enough. She tucked herself into the corner, spent, and watched the numbered lights counting up to their floor. When the doors opened, he remembered to grab her arm, pulling her along the corridor to their room.
He found the key card and opened the door, yanking and shoving her in front of him into the room as he turned on the light. He slammed the door and Laura sat on the edge of the bed, wincing when he threw her purse into a corner.
“What in the fuck was that?” he demanded. “I asked you, ‘Do you want spaghetti?’… ‘Do you want salad?’… ‘Do you want
a banana?’… Did ‘no’ suddenly become ‘yes’ in your fucked-up version of reality?”
Laura sank to the floor, tears coming now. She wanted to speak, but realized she couldn’t, at least in terms of the practice.
“You tell me you want me to take the lead,” he went on, watching her slide down the side of the bed. “But ‘The Great Gazoo’ must have a fucking crystal ball, because he’s right—you don’t trust me to do it for a minute.”
She felt her whole body clenching again, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, hiding her feet under her skirt.
“You decide we should come here.” He paced, back and forth, hands behind his back. “You decide this relationship guru is the next magic thing.” His jaw clenched and unclenched. “You decide we’re going to do this stupid practice. What’s next?” He stopped pacing, breathing hard. “You decide you want to end our marriage? Is that the next decision on your checklist?”
Laura shook her head, sobbing and wiping tears away with her palms. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go at all.
“When do I get to decide?” His quiet voice trembled. “When are you ever going to trust me to make a decision?”
Laura screamed. It wasn’t a planned thing—it just came out of her. She grabbed her shoe and threw it at him. He dodged and it hit the wall behind him.
“I wanted you to make a decision!” she screamed, her voice hoarse from strain. “You spent that whole time asking me what I wanted—and all I wanted was for you to decide!”
“That’s great.” Rick snorted, shaking his head. “Except I’m not The Great Fucking Gazoo, ya know? I’m Fred Flintstone, babe. I ain’t got a damned clue what you want—unless you tell me!”
He sat on the chair near the desk with a sigh, leaning his forehead against his palm. “It’s like you either want to make all the decisions—fuck me and what I want—or you want me to make them all, but you don’t want to tell me how you feel about my choices.”
She swallowed hard, her lip trembling. She knew he was right but she didn’t understand it.
“Sometimes I think you pull stuff like that little Helen Keller incident downstairs just to sabotage me.” Rick rubbed his eyes with his thumbs. “What I really think is that you just want to find a way to blame it all on me when it’s fucked up.”
“Oh, Rick…” Laura felt something break open in her chest. It was like an iceberg dislodging from a glacier. “Oh my god…”
“And we’re failing right now.” He looked sad. “We were supposed to do this practice, and here I thought it would bring us closer. I’d finally get to hear what you want… and what happens?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered with a sniff.
“You know how often I’ve heard you apologize over the years?” He sat forward in the chair, hands laced together between his knees. “I think I can count your apologies on one hand.”
She didn’t look up at him. She couldn’t.
“I think I deserve that apology,” he said. “In fact, I think the entire cafeteria deserves that apology.”
“What?” she whispered, her eyes wide.
“Come on.” He held out his hand to her. She shook her head, but she let him help her up.
“My shoe,” she said, limping along.
“Forget it,” he replied, and she sighed, kicking off her other one, following him barefoot. “And you can stop talking. We’re still doing this practice.”
She swallowed, watching him poke the elevator button a few times while they waited. The trip down went much faster than the one up. Rick led her back to the cafeteria—she heard the low rumble of talking, the clinking of glasses and silverware.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, imagining how humiliating it would be to face everyone who had witnessed her childish tantrum.
“I said stop talking.” Rick pushed her in front of him as they went through the double doors. “It’s just two words, Laura. I think you can manage.”
She felt faint, and she knew it wasn’t from hunger. The thought of making a public apology made her dizzy with fear and shame. She hung back by the doors as Rick went over to “The Great Gazoo’s” table. Gazoo said something to the blond man next to him, who took off.
Pacing, she watched them talking, Rick squatting down next to Gazoo’s chair, listening to whatever the facilitator had to say. He was doing a lot of nodding. She glanced back at the doors, considering going back up to their room. Lost in the fantasy of escape, she imagined packing her suitcase, checking out, taking a taxi to the airport, changing the tickets.
Rick strode back toward her, pulling her with him as he turned and led her toward the other end of the cafeteria. She saw the tall, blond man Gazoo had spoken to standing there, and with dawning horror, she recognized the thing he was carrying—a cordless microphones.
“No,” she whispered.
Rick looked back at her. “Not another word, Laura. I swear to God.”
The blond guy handed the microphone to Rick and he took it. “Is it on?”
“This button.” He showed him.
Rick turned it on and there was a brief moment of feedback that seemed to get everyone’s attention. He cleared his throat and put the mic to his mouth.
“Excuse me.” He pulled his wife forward as she tried to shrink behind him. “Most of you probably witnessed what happened here earlier, when my wife threw her dinner tray.”
Laura stared at the tiles, biting the inside of her cheek so hard she could taste blood.
Rick leaned toward her with the mic as he spoke. “She’d like to say something to all of you.”
“Two words,” Rick whispered, holding the microphone up to her mouth.
Laura didn’t look up. She felt everyone’s gaze on her. If she had anything in her stomach, she knew she would have thrown it up. She almost wished that were the case—maybe it would get her out of this humiliating scene. Why don’t you just leave? That voice in her head nagged her. You don’t have to put up with this!
When she met her husband’s eyes, she saw he wasn’t angry, or spiteful, or even gloating. It was as if he could see right into her in that moment, like he knew just what she was thinking and feeling, and it didn’t matter—he loved her. He was making her do this terrible, awful, horrible thing, but he loved her. There was something in that. Her gaze fell on Gazoo in the corner, and she remembered his words: “Trust him.”
With that thought in her mind, she opened her mouth and choked out, “I—I’m… sorry.”
Her husband gave a satisfied nod, flipped off the microphone and handed it over to the blond guy. Rick had her by the hand, heading back toward the exit. Laura stumbled when she heard the first wave of clapping start, turning to look back at the crowd of workshop participants. Some were even standing in their seats and applauding!
She looked up at her husband and saw that he heard too. She had a brief moment of flushed pride but then she wondered—were they clapping because she had apologized, or because Rick had made her? The applause died down and Rick stopped at the cafeteria line.
“Can I get some fruit?” Rick asked the woman behind the counter. She was the same heavyset redhead who had witnessed the tantrum, and she stared at Laura.
“There’s a bowl of it down there,” the redhead directed, pointing, still staring. Laura shuffled after her husband and he stood there for a moment, pondering the bowl of fruit.
“I’m going to ask you some questions, and all you have to do is nod ‘yes’ or shake your head ‘no.’ Is that clear?” He slipped an apple and two bananas into his jacket pockets.
Laura nodded a vigorous “yes.” For some reason, her apology had given her a thrill. It hadn’t been as awful as she thought it would be—in fact, quite the opposite. Being humbled was exhilarating. How could that be?
“Do you want an apple?”
She shook her head no.
“Do you want a banana?”
She nodded, smiling at him. He took another banana and put it into his pocket.
She shook her head.
“A peach?”
She nodded, and he put it into one of his now bulging pockets.
“Is there any other fruit you want?”
A vigorous “no.”
Rick looked over the counter at the redhead, still watching them warily. “How can I pay for these?”
“Just go ahead.” She waved him away.
“Thanks.” He took Laura’s hand and led her back out of the cafeteria. They made the same trip in the elevator up to their room, although this time, Laura noticed she felt much, much lighter than she had the last time.
Rick emptied his pockets, creating a fruit line-up on the dresser. Laura sat on the edge of the bed watching him. Her stomach was rumbling again, reminding her how long it had been since she had eaten, but the ache in her bladder was worse. She had been temporarily distracted from those sensations for a while, but they were back now, with a vengeance.
She reached over and tugged at his suit jacket as he slipped it off. He looked at her, his face a question. She made a small noise in her throat, pointing to the bathroom. Unfortunately, the bathroom was also the same direction as the exit.
“What?” He shook his head. “You want to go back out?”
Laura sighed, pointing between her legs and then back to the bathroom. He shook his head again, confused. She stood and crossed her legs, making little noises while doing what she used to call “the pee-pee dance.”
“Oh!” Rick’s eyes widened. “Right. Just pee?”
She raised her eyebrows, but nodded.
“Okay, you can go.” He waved her toward the bathroom.
She shut the door behind her, sighing in relief as she emptied her bladder. She heard him moving around out there, and now that the physical complaint had eased, all she could think about was the fruit on the dresser. She was starving! She washed her hands in a hurry, barely drying them. She noticed a banana peel in the garbage, and knew he must have eaten his.
“What are you doing?” Rick asked from the bed as she picked up a banana and started to peel it.
