Wednesday April 5, 1950 “You’re going to do what?” “You heard me. Why do you always pretend that you don’t hear me?” “I just can’t believe you’re man enough to meet him. That’s all. I mean, where were you for the last six months? I left clues about what was going on. Why do you want to meet him now? Is meeting him your ego thing? Do you want to feel that you’re better than Tom? Well, you’re not. That’s why I’m leaving you.” I slumped into the chair behind me. Sally stood over me. She knew how to insert her knife and slowly, ever so gracefully, like the dancer she was, twist the blade as she pushed deeper into my soul. Momma warned me about Sally. “A dance hall girl without a proper background,” Momma said. “She’ll keep dancing long after the music stops.”
Thursday April 6, 1950 Where is he? It’s so damn dark in here, a fella can’t see his Bulova watch let alone meet his wife’s lover. He must have picked this joint ‘cuz this is where he meets all his shady business cronies. Hey, maybe that’s him in the corner? I sidestepped between tables so closely arranged I could have walked across them if I were man enough. Zorro would jitterbug from tabletop to tabletop to defend a woman from this bum. “Are you Tom?” My voice broke between octaves. He extended his hand, a pinky ring clinked a nearby wine glass. “Yeah, I’m Tom. Can’t say I’m pleased to meet you, but damn curious why you’re here.” He gestured toward a chair in front of me. “Sit down. Care for a drink?” A waiter appeared. My voice firmed. “I’ll have Johnnie Walker on the rocks.” “Make mine a double Martini.” I leaned toward Tom. “Let’s get to the point.” Tom’s back stiffened. “What’s that?” I sipped my scotch. Booze burned my throat. “What the hell do you think? I want you to get out of my life.” “Why would I? Sally wants me. Not you.” “Sally’s confused with you around. If you were out of the picture, things might be different. And what about our son? Do you want to bust up our family?” Tom leaned back in his chair. “That’s up to Sally, not me. Whatever she decides is okay with me. It’s not my decision. This is a pointless conversation.” He reached for the bar tab like he grabbed everything that was mine. With the flash of a lightning bolt Zorro’s arm flew across the table and seized Tom's pinky ring. His fleshy hand trembled in Zorro’s vice grip. I laid a five-spot on the table and stood to leave. “Not on my watch.” If this essay is meaningful, please like or tweet below or leave a comment. Thank you for your interest and possible action you may take. Richard Wilberg, MS, PLCC, ACC Creativity Coach for Personal Fulfillment and Career Success
2 Comments
Wayne Brabender
12/27/2018 11:53:11 am
Wow. A change from your usual posts. I could see the knife twisting in your gut as you faced your wife, then her lover. It took guts to do both. For those of us who are older, your post hits home for most of us because somewhere, at some time, we have faced a breakup, whether with a partner or spouse. Never pretty. Your entry gives us a chance to revisit our own challenges and assess how we handled them. This entry stands on its own; I could also see you expanding it to give us a heads up on how it all ended. Thanks!
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Richard
12/31/2018 10:04:06 am
Wayne, Thank you for your thoughtful reply. Yes, several themes, including courage, endurance, and small wins in the face of a huge loss. The post is fiction of course, but it rings true for all of us who have lived life and moved forward to a better place.
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About the AuthorI write personal essays, creative non-fiction, flash fiction, and self-development articles from my home in Madison, Wisconsin.
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