Marriage Crash pt. 1

MORE BY ME & REGGIE E.!!!!

Part 1 by Reggie:

I can’t tell you much about today, except I hate it. Sitting on a leather couch telling a complete stranger about my life kinda puts a damper on things, but what can you do when your wife thinks you have a failed marriage? So here we are, talking things over with a marriage counselor. But just how did we get here?
She says I never want to talk, which is completely true. After 5 years of marriage, what is there to talk about really? After the first couple of years you go from horny jack rabbits, to just having an understanding.

“He always wants sex and doesn’t understand that sometimes I’m just too tired.” I quickly snapped back: “Too tired? Jess, all you have to do is fuckin’ lay there. You’re too tired for me to do all the work?” Even though I’m responding, my mind is somewhere else. There’s this woman I’ve been seeing for a few months now. Never thought I’d be that guy that cheats, but I just can’t take this anymore. I met Stacey on one of my depressing nights out with the boys at the pool hall. Not only is she beautiful, but she’s smart, and funny, too. She listens to rap music, has the cutest giggle, and is always up for sex where ever we are! (Last night, she surprised me in the men’s bathroom at Olive Garden). She’s only 19, but I can mold her, you know? “Greg, babe, when are we gonna take the next step?” is what she always asks. I respond with a sly, “In due time”.

Another hiccup is she doesn’t know I’m married! The way I see it, this will be over soon, anyway, but my wife is determined to make this work. It is now lunch time, and the counselor says she is gonna get a bite to eat and resume with us in 45 minutes. Jess jumps up and runs to the bathroom crying, and I feel I’m to blame, so I get up to follow. As I did so, the counselor instead insists I take a walk with her. Greaaattt. We begin walking towards the food court and chatting a bit about my failing marriage and her concern for Jess. We sit down and talked as she takes out her packed lunch, and assures me everything will be okay if we just work at it. She dashes a smile across her face: “Over here!” she says. “Greg I want you to meet my daughter Stacey! Completely slipped my mind she was suppose to be taking me to lunch.” I just died.

Part 2 by ME:

Married?

Fucking married?

He’s standing there, looking at me with this stupid little nervous smirk on his mouth, stuttering out a “hello, good to meet you.” I can’t reply. All I can do is stare daggers at him as everything, the whole past six months, becomes a little more clear to me. Like if I’d been seeing it all through a thick haze, and the air just cleared. It takes all the self-control I can muster not to reach out and slap that stupid, (but so handsome, even with the dopey deer-in-the-headlights look it has on now) face of his.

I turn to my mother. “I can’t eat with you today.”

She frowns. “You came all the way here to cancel?”

I shrug, already breaking away from the situation. “Yep, didn’t wanna break it to you over the phone. Tomorrow, maybe?” I look at Greg and spit an acidic, “Nice meeting you, Sir,” before I rush out of the cafeteria. Behind me, I hear him stammer something to my mother about looking for “Jess”. Jess. Is that her name? Stupid name.

Before I know it, he’s next to me. For a moment, we walk but he says nothing, and I sure as hell say nothing. As a matter fact, I keep my lips pressed tightly together, afraid that if I open my mouth, fire will burst out instead of words. “Stace,” he says, finally, just as we reach my car.

“How old are you, anyway?” I suddenly lash out, spinning to face him. That’s yet another one of his secrets, along with where exactly he lives, where exactly he works… I don’t know if I’m angrier with him for being a conniving asshole or with myself for being just a plain fucking idiot for not seeing this sooner. “Are you, like, forty? Do you have five kids, too? A dog named Rex?”

He scoffs. “Rex? C’mon, give me more credit than that. I’m way too witty to ever name my dog anything like Rex-” He cuts off as I turn away from him. “No, wait! Wait! I’m not forty! Do I really look forty to you? I’m twenty-five, and I don’t have kids. And my dog’s name is Sir Georgoff Van Barken-Dugen XIV.” Again, I press my lips together, this time so my laughter won’t ruin the intensity of my glare. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you I’m married, but it’s complicated.”

“Obviously.” Sometimes my mom comes home and talks about her cases. Nothing but drama, issues, and dysfunction. It occurs to me that she may even have told me a thing or two about Greg and his Jess before.

“We’re on our way to getting a divorce! I swear, this isn’t going to last much longer, it’s over-“

“Marriage counseling isn’t the road to divorced,” I say. “And I know I may have been stupid for not seeing through you before, but don’t even think you’re gonna reel me back in with the, ‘I’m leaving her, just give me time’ bit.”

He moves closer to me, his brows furrowed, his shoulders sunk. He looks like a sad little puppy. Way different from the strong, confident, sexual devient I’m used to. Everytime I see him, a part of me is prepared to be pulled into some dark corner or the back of his car to be taken, and most of the time that’s the case. Stupid, stupid me. He’s probably just not getting any at home. Maybe she’s always too busy or too tired. Or maybe she’s just boring. One of those who prefers missionary and thinks oral is degrading. No wonder he’s grovelling. “She was my high school sweetheart,” he explains. “It’s not so easy. Listen, why don’t we meet later so we can talk about it?”

“Later?”

“Around eight. Please?”

I glance over his shoulder and cross my arms over my chest. “Eight? Sure, eight’s fine. Let me just make sure it’s alright with Jess.” He looks confused for a moment and then turns to see his very confused looking wife headed in our direction, questions clear on her expression. Greg turns back to me, horror and please-don’t-say-anything in his eyes. He has no time to say anything else, though, because in seconds, she’s right there, standing beside us.

“Hello,” she says, looking expectantly at me. She’s pretty. Goddamn it. Then she looks at Greg. “What’s going on?”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

%d bloggers like this: