Flight, Part One: August 31, 1994
The phone rings, and for no reason I feel a little chill.
It is late on a beautiful August night and I am watching Archie Bunker in the den of my mother-in-law’s house. I know I will be leaving here soon; I just don’t know when, exactly, and my brain and my body are both screaming, keyed up to the highest possible pitch.
I have spent most of the night in the room at JP’s mother’s house, where we go to be together when his roommates are around. They don’t approve of me, ever since they figured out that I was married; they have told JP that they don’t want me around, in case David finds out and shows up at their front door. “We have a baby to think about, you know,” they finally tell him, and so we abandon the room where everything started. He still lives there, technically, but each night I pick him up out front and we move on to the room at his mother’s house.
We have agreed, JP and I, to try to suspend our affair for now. I want to make sure I’m leaving David for the right reasons, I tell him. I don’t want to feel like I’m leaving one man to go straight to another. He agrees with me, and so that’s all settled, and it lasts exactly and precisely until the moment when we are alone together. Reason and resolve are abstract words, powerless against lips and tongues and hands on skin.
Finally I call a halt. I should go, I tell him. I don’t think I’m going to be able to stick to the plan if I stay here any longer.
Yeah, I know, he says.
We have allowed ourselves one more small indulgence before we make this temporary break: the Nine Inch Nails/Hole concert on the third of September. I had bought the tickets the day they went on sale; there had never been any question of whether or not we would go together. So as I leave I know I will see him in a few more days, spend a few more hours with him, and then I will be on my own to find a way back to him. I have no job; I have no savings, and even my old gray Escort is sitting on two flats over a puddle of oil in my mother-in-law’s driveway. I kiss JP goodbye, one long lingering last kiss, and drive David’s Nissan back to the North Side, park it on the street, and go inside.
David is out with his new business partner, Marco, and so when the phone rings a little before 11:00, I ignore that momentary chill and answer the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey baby,” David says. “How are you doing?”
“Not bad,” I say. “How about you?”
“Pretty good,” he says. “Listen, I’ve got a question for you.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Did you at least use a condom when you fucked him???”
My stomach drops and freezes. “What are you talking about?” I ask. I try to sound convincing and innocent, but even to my own ears it rings completely false.
He recites a very familiar address. “Ring any bells?” he asks.
“No,” I say.
“Where were you tonight, then?” he asks.
“I was out with Carissa,” I tell him. She has been a faithful alibi all summer long.
“Yeah, well, I found the disk you left in the computer downstairs,” he says. “And I’ve put it away in a very safe place, in case I need any more evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” I ask. “It’s FICTION, Dave. God.” Finally the panic has abated for a second. He has my disk? How dare he? I think of the hours and hours of work I’ve put into the stories on that disk. "I want that disk back," I tell him.
“Whatever. Listen, I’m coming home now. We’re going to talk about this when I get there.”He hangs up.
I stand shaking in the kitchen of my mother-in-law’s house and ponder my next move.
It is late on a beautiful August night and I am watching Archie Bunker in the den of my mother-in-law’s house. I know I will be leaving here soon; I just don’t know when, exactly, and my brain and my body are both screaming, keyed up to the highest possible pitch.
I have spent most of the night in the room at JP’s mother’s house, where we go to be together when his roommates are around. They don’t approve of me, ever since they figured out that I was married; they have told JP that they don’t want me around, in case David finds out and shows up at their front door. “We have a baby to think about, you know,” they finally tell him, and so we abandon the room where everything started. He still lives there, technically, but each night I pick him up out front and we move on to the room at his mother’s house.
We have agreed, JP and I, to try to suspend our affair for now. I want to make sure I’m leaving David for the right reasons, I tell him. I don’t want to feel like I’m leaving one man to go straight to another. He agrees with me, and so that’s all settled, and it lasts exactly and precisely until the moment when we are alone together. Reason and resolve are abstract words, powerless against lips and tongues and hands on skin.
Finally I call a halt. I should go, I tell him. I don’t think I’m going to be able to stick to the plan if I stay here any longer.
Yeah, I know, he says.
We have allowed ourselves one more small indulgence before we make this temporary break: the Nine Inch Nails/Hole concert on the third of September. I had bought the tickets the day they went on sale; there had never been any question of whether or not we would go together. So as I leave I know I will see him in a few more days, spend a few more hours with him, and then I will be on my own to find a way back to him. I have no job; I have no savings, and even my old gray Escort is sitting on two flats over a puddle of oil in my mother-in-law’s driveway. I kiss JP goodbye, one long lingering last kiss, and drive David’s Nissan back to the North Side, park it on the street, and go inside.
David is out with his new business partner, Marco, and so when the phone rings a little before 11:00, I ignore that momentary chill and answer the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey baby,” David says. “How are you doing?”
“Not bad,” I say. “How about you?”
“Pretty good,” he says. “Listen, I’ve got a question for you.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Did you at least use a condom when you fucked him???”
My stomach drops and freezes. “What are you talking about?” I ask. I try to sound convincing and innocent, but even to my own ears it rings completely false.
He recites a very familiar address. “Ring any bells?” he asks.
“No,” I say.
“Where were you tonight, then?” he asks.
“I was out with Carissa,” I tell him. She has been a faithful alibi all summer long.
“Yeah, well, I found the disk you left in the computer downstairs,” he says. “And I’ve put it away in a very safe place, in case I need any more evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” I ask. “It’s FICTION, Dave. God.” Finally the panic has abated for a second. He has my disk? How dare he? I think of the hours and hours of work I’ve put into the stories on that disk. "I want that disk back," I tell him.
“Whatever. Listen, I’m coming home now. We’re going to talk about this when I get there.”He hangs up.
I stand shaking in the kitchen of my mother-in-law’s house and ponder my next move.
posted by GJC at 11:26 PM
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