Wednesday, December 5, 2007

The Affair

My lover is having an affair. In our own house. Night after night I am alone in bed, hugging a tear-stained pillow, wanting to talk, longing to be held. As I head upstairs I look over at him, hunched over his paramour, enraptured, and I say, "I'm going to bed now."
"Yuh," he grunts.
"I hope you'll join me soon," I beseech him, casting away any remaining pride.
"Yuh," he responds without looking up.

When it's nearly dawn I hear him slink into our bedroom, like a cur, head down, ears back, a little foam around the mouth. Of course he showers before getting into bed, erasing any lingering scent of Lulu. French whore! Does he think I don't know? What exactly is the lure? I don't get it.

We were at a mall recently and I noticed that he was shopping for her, right in front of me. "This red one would look beautiful on her, wouldn't it?" he asked me. He tenderly fingered the quilted material, wishing to dress, and then undress her. I recall the last article of clothing he bought her, a little black dress. He put it on her and the two of them existed only for one another, impervious even to the sun, cooing and touching and laughing.

I suppose I deserve this. I remember not long ago when I was the intruder, the muse. Day and night my lover and I sat together, holding hands, besotted. He listened to my every word, looked deeply into my eyes, hoping to win me, to possess me, to touch me. I remember Lulu sitting there on the desk. Dust-covered, pathetic, lonely. I think I even wrote my name across her screen in a brazen act of superiority. Maybe it was insecurity. Maybe I knew even then that it couldn't last.

How happy you must be, Lulu, to have him back. He never leaves home without taking you. His thoughts are never far from you. How adored you must feel. Oh, I am envious of your position.

I'll bet you're smarter now. Maybe even a little jaded. You'll never feel entirely secure again, will you, Lulu? You'll always hold back a little, protect yourself just a bit. You know how it feels to be cast aside, if only for a moment.

I think it's time for me to understand and accept my fate. I've lost my sweetheart to an enticing French pomme. But I shan't linger in my misery! I shall grieve my loss and look to the future. I will head to a nearby computer store and buy the biggest, blackest, most rigid tower I can find....I will install it in my bedroom and I will name it Pierre. He will have eyes for me alone.

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