I don’t answer. I want to remember this night forever, to cling to it as much as I can, to hold on to what I can hope for, because tomorrow, it will be all lost like a shattered vase.
7
Day 1
David
Six days before the coma.
Liv bids me goodbye from downstairs. I’m still spaced out from the strong cold medicine I took last night. She’s her usual self, writing down lists and ordering me what to do. She’s acting like the superwoman she believes she is, thinking ahead and beyond, which leaves me left out since I’m the spur of the moment kind of guy who goes with the flow. My wife thinks she knows everything, but she has yet to figure out the surprise I have for her.
I’m tired of being known as Liv’s husband. Even the Asian vendor at the farmer’s market down the street where I buy my fresh vegetables never seems to remember my name. She often rubs her chin and says in her broken English, “Oh, yes, you Liv’s husband.”
I’m sick of it! Just because I’m a freelance graphic designer who works from home in my boxers doesn’t mean my job ain’t legitimate. My poor wife needs to prove to everyone what a good caretaker she is. The dark circles underneath her eyes reveal she barely gets any sleep from her swing shift job, and when she comes home, she cooks and cleans before going to bed.
I tried cooking and doing the chores for her, but she complains the food tastes bland or I poured too much bleach on the laundry. Nothing I do seems right.
No matter how I convince her she can’t do it all, Liv shrugs and stares at me like I’m some kind of loser as she opens her journal. That stupid journal is empty inside, a long term-plan according to her, some thirty-day wisdom project.
Guess what, Liv. I’m also going to work on a thirty-day goal project.
I miss the bold and beautiful Olivia Walters I met in college. Although Liv always spoke her mind, she made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. My thoughts shift to my first birthday spent with Liv.
“Now it’s my turn to surprise you,” Liv whispered. “No cheating. Keep your eyes shut.”
“Okay, but you know how impatient I am.” I forced myself to keep still.
She counted to three. “Open your eyes.”
Right in front of me was a rich-filled chocolate cake, balloons, and a wrapped gift, but the best part was Liv singing to me naked.
I grabbed her from behind and squeezed her.
She tickled me. “Not till you open your gift and take a bite of the cake.”
“You baked this?”
“From scratch.”
“Gosh. You never cease to surprise me.” I tore off the wrapper and opened the box.
“And you thought you were the one with surprises.” She winked.
Eying the watch, I pulled her toward me and kissed her neck. Her gift wasn’t fancy, but I knew she had saved up her money to buy it for me, That’s all that mattered. “Thank you for making my birthday special.”
I never took the watch off my wrist. I slept with it and guarded it with my life.
I don’t remember when I decided to stop wearing it. Perhaps it was when independence took over and the stronger she became, the less likely I existed.
A pen calls to me. I remove a notebook from inside my desk and scribble inside, Thirty Days Before I Leave My Wife.
8
Day 2
David
Five days before the coma.
Today’s my birthday. Thirty-five years old. As I stir my green tea in the kitchen, I check to see if there are any voicemails on the phone. Nada. Not even a card or note from my wife. Did she forget?
I circle to my office, the only room my wife never enters. She can’t stand the mess of Post-its scattered around my desk. The one time she came here was when I showed her the logo I created for the cousin of her best friend six months ago. Eyebrows raised, she seemed more concerned about the empty beer bottles lined up on the tray beside my desk, not to mention the futon bed I often take naps on.
“How can you work like this?” She coughed in disgust, not once complimenting me for the piece of work I did.
Turning on my computer, I check to see if my beloved wife emailed me. Disappointment stabs me on the inside. How could Liv forget? Liv the organizer! Liv the perfectionist! I glance at our photo with the dolphins.
I could still feel Liv’s smooth skin against my face on our honeymoon in Hawaii. Our bodies glued on a hammock, I traced my finger down Liv’s hips.
“When the honeymoon is over, are you going to leave me?” Liv asked.
“How can you say such a thing?”
She shrugged. “I might get fat, my breasts will sag, and you won’t want me anymore.”
I embraced her tight. “That will never happen.”
“You promise?”
“Promise.”
Where did all that love go?
“Shit!” I jab the letter opener on my desk. If she doesn’t care about me, then maybe I should just go ahead with my plan and leave her.
* * *
Later that evening, Liv and I are eating opposite our four-seater dining table. She sips on her Bordeaux wine, her green eyes glued to a book, blond hair tied in a bun. I’m chewing leftover pot roast from the night before. God knows how much I hate pot roast. Damn it! Couldn’t she even make this day special for me? Engrossed in reading her suspense novel, Liv hasn’t even said one word to me, not even a blink or a smile. Bitch!
“I’m not hungry.” I toss the plate aside, hoping she’d give me some attention.
She scans the table and nods.
After picking up the plate, I head to the kitchen and leave it on the dishwasher. I stride to the door and grab my jacket. “I’m going for a walk.”
She approaches me as our eight-year-old gray Persian cat, Wilma, trails behind her. “Can you buy some cat litter?”
My heart sinks, but I pose a fake smile. “Sure.” I want to blurt out that I can also purchase some rat poison.
“Thanks.” She scoops Wilma in her arms and kisses her nose. “And please make sure you wipe your shoes before coming in. Mud sticks to the carpet.”
I roll my eyes. “Will make a note of that.”
Eager to leave, I march the streets of San Francisco. Perhaps I can do something nice for myself. It’s my birthday. I need to get laid. When was the last time we had hot, raw sex? I rub my eyes. Liv and I are like old boring couples going through the routine of life. We don’t have kids, and we basically live different lives.
After perusing the various bars in the city, I step inside Skyline. Dim lights, drunk sexy women, and lots of booze greet me. A lady dressed in a bikini dances on a pole up on the stage while people cheer for her.
“Hello, cowboy.” A woman tucks a strand of brunette hair around her ear. Her full lips curl into a smile, her tank top and jeans so tight on her body.
Her friend clutches her arm around me. “What’s a handsome man like you doing alone?”
I grin, perching on a bar stool while they both sit down beside me.
The bartender eyes me.
Raising a nod, I order, “I’ll have a Budweiser.”
“So, what’s your name?” The brunette traces my jaw. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
A group of rowdy men continue to cheer for the lady dancing.
My chin needs a good shave. “I happened to be in the area.”
“I figured.” She inches close to me, pressing her breasts against mine. “I’m Emily.”
We shake hands. “David.”
Her friend winks and leaves us alone.
Emily pulls my hand and takes me to the back dressing room where there are mirrors, makeup, and wigs displayed.
“Wait,” I say.
“Sh!” She locks the door and whispers, “Don’t worry. I own this place.”
An erection arises as she removes my jacket and kisses me on the lips. She’s so hot and well endowed and totally wants me, unlike Liv who doesn’t give a shit about me.
Eyes shut, I allow her to undress me while I fondle her tits. Gosh, I’ve forgotten how breasts felt. I caress her and she strips naked and reaches for my belt. A part of me can’t believe this is happening, but I pull my pants down. Lost in my tracks, I realize I didn’t bring a condom, but as if on cue, she digs inside her purse and hands me one.
Body tilted, I raise her on top of the counter. She spreads her legs, welcoming me inside her like a king entering his palace. Happy Birthday! A song plays in my mind. I deserve this.
She moans in my ear. “I want it rough.”
“Yes, baby. I’ll show you what rough is.” Against the wall, I slam inside her, my frolicking hands caressing her huge, juicy breasts in delight.
A loud knock interrupts our activity.
“Shit!” I pull away from her.
“In a minute,” she shouts then grabs me back inside her.
I close my eyes, fear and a combination of adrenaline crawling upon me, but it’s my birthday and I’m going to enjoy myself.
We savor the moment, lingering until we both release in ecstasy.
Emily tosses me my clothes before she quickly slips into her jeans and tank top. She leans close and wipes the lipstick of my lips. “I had fun.”
I break into a smile. “You made my day.”
Beads of sweat drip down my nape as I head back to the bar. Emily joins her friend and pretends nothing happened. I continue to drink, my eyes glued to another stripper dancing on the pole. Did I just have sex?
An hour has passed since I left, and I still need to buy the cat litter.
Emily is out of sight, but I wish I could say goodbye and thank her for a special night. Instead, I put on my jacket, exit the bar, and walk a few blocks to the twenty-four hour convenient store.
My shoulders slump when I reach the front driveway to our Victorian home. The lights are out. Liv’s probably asleep, but I don’t care. I got laid.
Unlocking the door, I step inside. Silence beckons me the minute I enter, not forgetting to wipe my shoes per Liv’s request. I can swear I hear a whimper.
When I inch closer, the lights flash open and people shout surprise.
My jaw drops. The living room is filled with gifts and balloons.
Liv approaches me with a birthday cake with candles. “What took you so long?”
Sweat continues to pour down my neck. I’m speechless. Everyone sings happy birthday while I set the cat liter aside. I hang my jacket on the coat rack.
Liv reminds me to make a wish.
Guilt washes upon me. Suddenly, I’m the center of attention while my wife mingles with the other guests.
Stealing a glance, I wonder how she pulled this off. Did she do this because she loves me or to show off to her friends what a good wife she is? She fooled me again, proving to everyone else what a good wife she is. I make a mental note. Goal One: Be ahead of the game.
9
Day 3
David
Four days before the coma.
Light spills inside our bedroom. I’m still bedazzled from what happened the night before. Reaching out to the opposite side of the bed, I hope my wife and I can share a morning after rendezvous, but she’s gone to work and I’m all alone to collect my thoughts. Well, not really. I remember the lazy Sundays we’d share in bed playing footsies and how Liv would just stare into my eyes like I was the only one that existed.
Wilma jumps into my bed and goes under the sheets, locking her tail in between my toes. Maybe she’s aware of how I feel, deserted and lonely. But, hey, I got laid.
I push down the comforter and rise out of bed. What’s today going to be like? Checking a few emails on the phone, I decide not to work. Perhaps I can continue celebrating.
* * *
A stroll along the streets of San Francisco without a schedule can be so liberating. The cool breeze uplifts my spirit. I’m free to indulge in whatever makes me happy.
I spot an old gentleman playing chess. One man keeps his gaze steady on the queen, while the man seated opposite from him rubs his chin, deliberating his next move.
That’s it! I’m going to treat this like a game of chess until I kill the queen.
I march down the road and enter my favorite gelato shop.
The owner, Roberto, greets me with his jolly cheer. “We carry new flavors.”
“Indulge me.” I slant my gaze to the selections displayed. My mouth waters. I didn’t eat breakfast.
Roberto takes a spoon, scoops dark chocolate ice cream, and passes the cup to me. “Cioccolato con Peperoncino. Hot-pepper infused dark chocolate.” He winks.
“I love it. Anything to spice up my day.”
Liv’s words from two weeks ago come back to me. “You shouldn’t consume chocolate ice cream in the morning. It’ll ruin your digestion and leave you with a tummy ache.”
My mouth waters. “Make that a double scoop.”
Roberto grins as he fills the cup. “Glad you like it.”
I’m in ecstasy. Acting like a rebellious teenager, I lick the spoon and moan. “Oh, Liv, if only you can see me now.”
People trot down the street−couples holding hands, women walking their dogs, men rushing to cross the street. As I stand across Skyline bar, thoughts of Emily arouse me. The sign says they’re closed, but I knock anyway.
The door opens, and a young lady with a ponytail wearing a gray hooded jacket and jeans pops outside. “We’re closed.”
I stare at her. “Thought I’d try.”
“Hey, it’s you.”
Finger pointed to my chest, I ask, “Me?”
“It’s Emily, remember?”
This lady seems a decade younger than the woman I had sex with last night.
Emily blushes. “It’s the makeup and the heels.”
I shake my head. “And you own this place?”
She purses her lips. “My dad does. I just work here so I can earn extra money.”
My face is covered in shame as I mumble, “Oh, God, how old are you?”
Reaching for my hand, she says, “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t be working in a bar if I wasn’t old enough. If it makes you feel better, I’m twenty-two.”
My heart skips a beat. I remember when I was twenty-two. Liv and I were like rabbits, fucking each other like there was no tomorrow. It must have ended when she lost the baby. She never looked at me again like how she did. The twinkle in her eye was replaced with bitterness and shame.
Emily pulls me inside. “What do you say you and I… you know.”
I can still taste the last spoonful gelato I ate, but all I want to devour is Emily. After locking the door, she pushes me against the table. I allow myself to take it all in, inhaling the sweet jasmine scent from her hair. Emily rubs her breasts against my face while I rip down her panties. I shove myself hard against her, holding her thighs. Her skin feels smooth as silk and smells like honey.
“Oh, Emily, you don’t know how you make me feel. It’s like being twenty-two again.”
She moans and cries a bit each time I release and push. Emily bends down toward the table, and I enter her from behind, rough as she likes it. With a playful spank, she flexes her body up and down. Moments later, we’re doing the sixty-nine and I’ve forgotten how crappy I thought my life was. When it’s over, our bodies collapse on the floor.
I trace her nipples and spot the tiny freckles on the bridge of her nose.
She giggles, rises from the floor to grab her sweater, and throws my shirt at me. “You know where to find me.”
A big smile plays on my lips. “You bet.”
I not only know where to find her, but I’ve explored more of her waist down then I’ve done with Liv in the last year. And if this is going to loosen me up a bit before the rage takes over me, then I’m in it for the ride.
* * *
Later over dinner, as Liv stirs her potato leek soup, I hum a tune.
She glances at me and furrows her eyebrows.
I clear my throat. “Can you please pass the
olives?”
Liv pushes them close to me. “So, how was your day?”
I almost break into a grin as images of Emily flash through my mind, but instead I give her my poker face. “Same old, same old.”
“I’m working till late tomorrow and will need to cover for Janice who is sick.”
Spreading butter on my bun, I imagine it’s Emily’s thighs and continue to hum.
“Are you okay? Did you hear what I said?”
“Sorry. I’ll leave the hallway light on.” I finish my food.
“Thanks.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Liv watching me.
I stride to my office, mulling my next goal. Have fun no matter what my situation is.
10
Day 4
David
Three days before the coma.
Emily and I are lying down on the rooftop of her bar, staring at the sky. I saw her yesterday, but couldn’t wait to spend time with her today.
“You’re sure your dad’s not coming up here?”
“Relax.” She lights a joint, takes a puff, and passes it to me. “He’s out of town, and the bar doesn’t open for four hours.”
Don’t remember the last time I smoked pot. Gosh, must have been in college with some friends. I take two puffs and lean my head against her shoulder. “So, this is the life, huh?”
“Pretty much.” She faces me. “What is it that you do? I don’t know anything about you.”
“Nothing interesting. I’m a graphic designer.”
She rises. “Seriously?”
Seeing the twinkle in her eyes makes me realize this is the approval I seek from Liv.
Pulling her toward me, I nuzzle her neck.
She giggles. “Please tell me more. You’re an artist.”
I like the sound of that. “Well, technically not. I design logos and websites, that sort of thing.”
Thirty Days of Red Page 4
