For Everything a Reason...Pt. 8: One More to Go (Draft)

I stared at the ultrasound. Tried my best to process what my eyes were seeing. What the ultrasound operator lady was pointing out for me to see. Twins. We were going to have twins...shit.

I felt Sharon's squeeze of the hand and managed to tear my eyes away from the screen. I looked down at her half sitting, half half reclining on the examination table.

“You okay?”

I nodded. But I wasn't. Not that I was going to tell her that though. Because looking down at her it was obvious that she was more than just OK, she was ecstatic. Hell, she could barely hide her smile. Sharon had always wanted twins. Had talked about it on a number of occasions. A boy and a girl. Maybe Blake and Blair or Kanye and Kenya or--

“Would you guys like to know the sexes of the twins?”

The woman working the ultrasound asked.

Sharon gave an almost imperceptible nod. Of course she did but she would let me decide. And that was the thing, did I? I thought about it for a moment.

Well, it would make for easier planning.

Easier planning my ass, a part of me grumbled. It's fucking twins man. Not one but two babies. Everything that you thought you were going to have to endure, you now have to endure times two. It's not too late to back you know...

“Hey...hey.”

Sharon squeezed my hand again. Her expression was one of concern.

“I know its a lot. If you would rather not know--”

I shook my head.

“No, no. I want to know,”

Turned to the operator lady who was patiently waiting.

“Tell us, we want to know.”

“Are you sure?”

We both nodded our ascent.

“OK then. Just give me a moment,” the operator said while moving the ultrasound probe across the gelled surface of Sharon's stomach and watching the screen.

“Ah, there you go.” she said and paused with her roving. She then pointed at the images on the screen.

“Looks like you've got yourself one of each. A boy and a girl. Congratulations.”

I looked down at Sharon. She was beaming. One of each. Just like she wanted.



***


A little more than two months had passed and I still hadn't told anybody. Nobody particularly close to me anyway. Certainly not family. I was still figuring out how to. Our family has produced more love children than I care to count and I wasn't sure I had the stones to drop the bomb of knowledge of yet another one. Plus Sharon had asked me not to. Not until she had garnered up the courage to tell her people first. Or the courage to see the pregnancy through to the end. Because although she said abortion was not an option, I know she had at least thought about it.

Sharon had left the announcing until the last moment, when her baby bump had started to show. Then she had no choice. People were bound to notice, if they hadn't already. I had wanted to be there for that conversation but she had insisted that she could handle it. We weren't together and so it would be kind of weird if I was there.

“Even if we're not, I'm still going to be a part of this baby's life. My presence there would go a long way to show that I'm a 100% dedicated to that.”

And for a moment Sharon had looked like she was considering it but then blink-blink breathe and her resolve had hardened again.

“No, Ive got this.”

Personally I think that she partly refused because though my presence would show my intentions to “do the right thing” it would also serve as a reminder of the car wreck that was our engagement. No, she would handle it herself. And so she had. Said that people at home were more disappointed than angry, with her anyway, but just plain angry at me. And why hadn't I turned up? I was claiming I was going to be there for the Sharon and the baby and yet I didn't even have the balls to be there when Sharon was telling her family? I sure had a funny way of showing my dedication.

I gave Sharon my best “I told you so” look but had said nothing.

But I had tried to be as consistent as I could. Making doctor's appointments and showing up for check ups and the such like (thank God for insurance). And although it was highly unlikely that Sharon and I would ever get back together (undeniable sparks and all), we had managed to strike up an at least amiable friendship. And that was after a lot of pushing on my side. A lot of apologies as well. It had taken forever for Sharon to even accept the help that she not only needed but deserved. But like they say “Persistence pays” and after what seemed like ages it finally felt like we were on the same page.



***


Sharon and I walked out of the hospital and into the chill. The clouds were promising rain and the wind nipped at my ears. Sharon reached for my hand. I let her take it. She was a hand holder, always had been. Even before we had started dating. She had said as much herself. So me letting her take it wasn't sending out mixed signals...was it? At least I didn't think it was. We walked across the parking lot towards the special hire taxis.

“Thanx for coming today. It means a lot.”

She squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.

“You don't have to thank me.”

“Yes I do. You don't have to be doing this. A lot of guys wouldn't be.”

“But I am. And that's not about to change. So you better get used to it 'cause I'm in this for the long haul.”

Sharon smiled. Was silent for a moment and then,

“Do you want to go grab a cup of coffee or something? Hang out for a bit?”

“I thought you weren't supposed to drink coffee.”

“'Or something' then.”

I smiled. Apologetically.

“I cant. I have a meeting to get to. Rain check though?”

Sharon nodded. Slipped her hand out from mine.

“Yeah, sure. I was stupid to think--”

“How about dinner tonight? We'll go somewhere nice, talk.”

A faint smile kissed her lips.

“I would like that.”

“I'll call you?”

“Yeah.”

And with that I bargained for her a 'specio', gave the man the money, gave Sharon a hug, one more “I'll call you” and watched, hands in pocket, as the taxi drove away.

Everything For A Reason...Pt. 7

“So she didn't take the pill?”

I shook my head. Did something funny with my mouth. Crossed my arms across my chest.

“Nope.”

Shrugged,

“But I can't really blame her though.”

I Ran my ring finger around the rim of my glass. Vodka and tonic.

My mother and I had migrated to the garden of her hotel after our waitress (if I can even call her that, it wasn't that type of restaurant) told us that if were weren't going to order anything else we would have to give up the table. My mother wasn't in the mood to cause and neither was I, and so we had left.

My mother shrugged as well.

“I guess so.”

My mother was drinking African tea with spices. She wasn't much of a drinker, in fact she never drank anything stronger than wine and even that on rare occasions and even though it was already past five by this time had looked at me with a queer look when I had ordered my drink. Had said nothing though. She was a firm believer in letting people live their lives and her son was no exception. Which meant that I had gotten myself into quite a number of scrapes over the years. She was always there to bail me out though. With a kind word in one hand and a how could you be so stupid slap in the other.

My mother glanced up at the sky; it was being moody. Mumbling and threatening bad things but I much preferred the nip and the wind to the stuffiness of the hotel lounge. My mother had her cuppa and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders so she was fine but I told her that whenever she felt the weather turned too nasty we could go inside.

She shook her head.

“No, I'm good for now. So...when did you find out that she was--”

“Pregnant?” I interrupted. “A few weeks. Maybe a month, maybe more. I was in Arua at the time, you remember?”

My mother nodded.

“So yeah, it was around that time. She kept on calling me and asking me when I was going to come back, that we needed to talk. I didn't realize at the time how urgent it was but I made a weekend trip down at some point and we had dinner.”

“Where?”

“Is that really important Mom?”

“Just...just indulge me Ben.”

I shrugged.

“Fine. At her place.”

“You didn't--”

“No Mom.” I interrupted before my mother could say it. Took a sip of my drink. “I didn't. We just talked...”




***



I set down my plate. Sat back in the couch. The black leather one that I thought I would never sit in again.

“That was, that was delicious.”

And it had been. It was just the two of us but Sharon had cooked a feast. Had insisted on me having two helpings. I. Was. Full.

“Are you sure you don't want any more?”

I waved away her offer.

“No, no, no, no, no. If I ate anymore I probably wont be able to fit into my shoes. But thanx. A doggy bag maybe? You know how us bachelor's be.”

Sharon smiled, if only briefly.

“How's Richard by the way?”

“You know him, busy still not getting laid.”

The smile began to creep back across Sharon's lips.

“And how about you, are you getting laid?”

She meant it as a joke but it came out as anything but. It was still too soon and both of us knew it. Most. Awkward. Silence. Ever.

Sharon cleared her throat.

“Wine?”

“Please.”

Picking up my twice scraped clean plate, Sharon headed to the kitchen. She was back a moment or two later with a glass of red wine in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She handed me the wine.

“What? You're not having any?”

Sharon shook her head. Took a sip of her water.

“I'm off liquor for a while.”

I coaxed a laugh out of myself. One of those nervous, vain attempt at trying to keep my mounting panic at bay kind of laugh.

“Why? Are you pregnant or something?”

I had meant it as a joke but it had come out as anything but.

“Actually Ben, I am.”

New. Most. Awkward. Silence. Ever.

Leaning forwards, I carefully placed my glass of wine on the small side table. Leaned back again.

“Are you sure?”

Sharon's head jerked back as if she had been punched.

“How could you even say that? You know Ive only slept with you.”

“No, no, no. I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean it like 'are you sure that it's mine?' I meant it like 'are you sure that you're pregnant at all'.”

Sharon took a moment to digest this. She closed her eyes then opened them.

“I am. I went to my doctor and everything. It's for real.”

My breath began to come in short and shallow bursts. She was pregnant. She was fucking pregnant. For a moment, for a split second I wanted to lash out at her. I told her, I told her, I told her to take the fucking pill. Her with her “whatever happens, happens.” bullshit. Now see what had happened...but I didn't. Took a moment to imagine what she must be going through. It was a pretty messed up situation.

“But I'm not expecting you to do anything.” Sharon said, cutting into my thoughts.

“I abdicate you from any and all responsibility.”

My voice was low when I said,

“That's not your decision to make.”

“You don't have to pretend to be the good guy Ben. I know you want nothing to do with me. I'm giving you a way out. Take it.”

I scoffed.

“You think I'm trying to be the good guy Sharon? Because I'm not. And you know what? You're right, you're absolutely right, I don't want anything to do with you but there is no way I'm going to walk away from that child. And if you think I'm going to do so willingly, you've got another thing coming.”

By this time I was perched on the edge of the couch and my voice was just a few decibels below shouting.

“You. Broke. Up. With. Me. Then you fucked me. On the floor. Like I was nothing more than a common whore.”

Sharon had moved from her seat and was standing above me. She was fuming. More than a little intimidating. I stood up. Matched her height and then some. Looked down at her.

“Why are you surprised Sharon? You were acting like one after all.”

There was a pause. Neither of us said a thing. Glared at each other. I couldn't even hear us breathing. It was like time had simply stopped. Suddenly I regretted what I had said. Was about to try and take it back when,

Slap!

Time began to move again.

Reason... Pt.6: With No Plan B (Rough Draft)

Reason... Pt.6: With No Plan B (Rough Draft)
by
L.A. Lutara

“...I'm not going to do it.”

I kneaded my forehead with the finger tips of my left hand.

“Sharon, listen-”

“I'm not.”

She sounded adamant. I had never heard her this adamant before. About anything. Not even with her no sex with no ring rule. This was serious.

“I told you what happened the last time. I'm not going to put myself through that again.”

I rolled onto my side. I didn't feel all that good. My head was pounding, my mouth was dry, my throat felt raw, my joints were aching and every inch of my skin was dripping with sweat. I felt like I had malaria. Fucking vodka man. I knew I had too much.

The 750ml bottle was empty by the time Richard had gotten home and I was babbling like an idiot. Not that I remember. Richard told me later, much later, when I told him about Sharon and everything that was going on. He had helped me with my jelly feet to my room and made sure that I fell onto my sturdy mattress and not face down on the floor. I was unconscious in moments. Didn't wake up until the following morning, the sun shining in my face, the sickening mixture of bile and vomit rising in my throat. Eyes snapping open I rolled over, hung my head over the edge of the bed and purged my stomach as best my body could. Lucky for the floor there was a red basin between it and a steady stream hot and steaming vomit.

Richard man, he was that type of room mate.

Once my stomach had stopped feeling like it was being wrung by a pair of herculean hands I rolled back over I wiped my mouth, my face and patted around for my phone. Finding it, squinting. I scrolled through my dialed numbers for Sharon's, found it, pressed call and put the phone up to my ear. Did some minute calculations as I waited for her to pick up. 7:00pm to 9:30ish am...that made about 14 ½ hours...I sighed. Relief, muscles relaxed, flick sweat from brow...she still had plenty of time.

Sharon picked up on like the sixth or seventh ring.

“Hello?”

Her voice was hoarse, she sounded tired...she must have been crying. I tried to soften my voice as much as possible without coming off as pillow talky.

“Hey...”

Pause. I cleared my throat. My voice had come out a croak. Too much vodka, too much puking and not enough water.

“How was your night?”

I almost heard her hold back a scoff as she said,

“Ive had better Ben...what do you want?”

“I...I...” I shook my head; didn't know how to say it without coming off like a complete asshole.

Please, that's never stopped you before...

I cleared my throat again and told her. I wanted her to take a morning after pill. She still had a good 58hours or so on the clock before it officially turned into a “situation”.

My ass hole alert went off but I kept on going.

If she didn't have any, I could stop by a pharmacy and bring some over. What say she?

“Fuck you Ben. I'm not going to do it.”

And the truth was there was nothing that I could do or say that could convince her otherwise.

Did I even remember what happened the last time?

Before we had opted for the injection, we had tried the infamous morning after pill. Once, when in the peak of passion, with an empty box of protector condoms peeking out from underneath the bed, I had gone in raw. Had tried to pull out but Sharon had clung onto me saying,

“No. I want you to come inside me. I want your seed inside of me.”

She had hooked her legs around me and raised her hips ensuring that I didn't go anywhere. We had gone out and gotten the pills the following morning. She had ended up in bed for two days afterwards. Vomiting, spitting and with one hell of a fever. The drugs, apparently, didn't agree with her...

And I wanted to put her through that again? Hell to the no.

“Whatever happens, happens.”

I let out a long and worried sigh. Rubbed at my eyes. I had to get her to take that pill. I was not going to go with 'Whatever happens, happens.' Hell to the fucking no.

“Sharon-”

“Ben. I've made my decision. It's my body and I'm not going to subject it to that. Now, if you have nothing else to say, I'm going to hang up now.”

She said nothing for a moment or three. She was waiting for me to say something. Sorry maybe? I don't know, but in any case, I kept my trap shut.

Sharon sighed. She must have realized that I wasn't going to say anything.

“Good bye Ben.”

And she hung up.

I stared at my phone for a moment or two. Let what had just happened sink in. Then leaning over the side of the bed, I puked again.

Reason... Pt.5: The Walk (Rough Draft)

I don't think Ive ever had a more shameful walk of shame. Before or since. And trust me when I say that Ive made plenty of them. Hands stuffed into my pockets, laptop bag strap slung over one shoulder falling snugly across my chest. Every single time. As long as I can remember.

Home was halfway across town but my feet didn't seem deterred, placing one in front of the other. Taxi's hooted at me, boda bodas zipped past me shouting “Boss, we go.” or “Ssebo, tu kende.” or something of the sort but I insistently ignored them all in favor of scuffing and muddying up my favorite pair of sneakers in the name of “clearing my head”.

As I put one foot in front of the other, lost in thought, I pulled out my right hand from my pocket and put fingers up to nostril. Sniffed. An odd thing to do at such a time I know, but what can I say?

They still smelled of her, my fingers that is, my middle and my index if you want to get specific; my skin that grainy, dried sweat uncomfortable that served as a constant reminder that I would probably regret spreading my jelly all over her bread that one last time. Why? Well, because it was depressing and angry and weird and at some point she even cried. And oh yeah, did I mention weird? I mean, we ended up doing things that we would have never thought of doing when we were together. The kind of things that would have made it hard for me to look her in the eye afterwards. Sticking things in places that had no business being stuck with anything. Whether it was an act of desperation on her part or a savage release of my sexual inhibitions on mine, I'll never know. All I know is that when she had asked me whether I wanted to be treated like a porn star, the truth was I had. And so she did, treat me like as well as act like one.

Deep breath...nerves calmed...mind blown. And as far as acts of desperation go, it almost worked too...almost. But almost has never won first place and so I had gotten up, dressed up and left her lying there, knees and elbows rug burned wondering whether everything she had just done, everything she had allowed me to do to her had been for naught. And if not for naught, then what for? Because I think that even then she must have realized that there was no going back, no amount of kinkiness was going to pull the veil back down over the pretension of our entire relationship.

An hour and a half later and I was home.

I had worn ankle socks on high tops and so some how the sock of my right foot had slid halfway down the length of my foot causing my sneaker to abrade my ankle. Painful shit. By the time I got home I was limping.

Hobbling into the house, I stripped down and climbed into the shower. Water had never felt so good. Soap never so heavenly. I scrubbed myself and switched between scalding hot and icy cold enough times to leave my skin numb and tingly. To the point that rubbing myself down with my stiff towel actually hurt.

Boxers...vest...vodka...ice. Glass in one hand, I set down the half empty bottle Smirnoff triple distilled on the coffee table and plopped down in front of the TV.

Richard wasn't home yet, thank God. I really didn't feel like talking. And God knows that when Richard got home he would want to. He was that type of room mate. Hopefully I would be too far faded by that time to give a damn.

Scrambling for the DVD remote I pressed play; Entourage was in. The first season from the looks of it. I had watched it so many times that I could literally act out every episode line for line by myself.

And so I zoned out.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes and then...as the closing credits began to roll...

Shit.

My jaw became slack. I clutched my glass extra tight so that I wouldn't drop it.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

I counted back three months. 92 days or whatever. Where had we been? What had we been doing? Had she gotten the injection yet? Or were we still going through those packets of threes by the box full?

I threw back my drink. Emptied my glass. Which probably wasn't a very productive thing for me to do considering the task at hand.

And which injection is this, you ask? You kid...right? Come on you know, the one that makes baby making baby free.

Snap...snap...snap...Depo-Provera. Yeah, that's it. Depo-Fucking-Provera.

But wait, even if her 12 weeks were up, didn't it take over a year for a woman to regain full fertility?

I tried to think. Tried to remember but my mind was a blank.

Shit.

Leaning forwards, I grabbed the bottle of vodka and poured myself another drink. This one stiff. I held up the glass as if I was making a toast.

“So here's to hoping I didn't just make myself a baby daddy.” I mumbled to myself and setting down the glass, I upended the bottle.

Reason... Pt.4: Swim Good

Reasons... Pt.4: Swim Good
L.A. Lutara


I struggled for an answer. I knew what I wanted to say but to say that would be even more heartless than what I was already doing.
But what was the greater evil, I asked myself, sparing her feelings, if only a little bit, by denying myself the peace of mind that being honest would bring or to laying it all out on the table and praying to God that there would be someone nearby to pick up the pieces?
Using honesty as a guise for selfishness, I steeled myself and decided to tell it how it was.
“I don't love you anymore...” I said almost wistfully. “If I ever loved you at all.” I added almost as an after thought. An unnecessary after thought, I thought afterwards. A mean after thought. A cold and callous after thought...but an after thought none the less.
Sharon said nothing. She had never been the teary type but I could see the tears begin to well up in the corner of her eyes.
Oddly, I felt the familiar sting in the corner of my eyes as well. It was like I could hear the hairline cracks in her heart begin to crag their way across its surface and as unbelievable as it may seem, I empathized with her. Knowing that I was literally breaking her heart made my heart break. But not as much as what she said next.
“But you asked me to marry you. You bought me a ring. You bought you a ring. You're wearing it right now. Doesn't that mean anything to you?”
It did. Or it had. At the time. I was horny and you weren't going to let me hit that unless I promised to marry you. Yeah, you were that type of girl. And so in the heat of the moment, with my balls on fire and my penis pressing all hard against my jeans, I said that I would marry you. And the thing is, I've never been that type of guy before but that night, with our bodies pressed together on the very carpet that I'm rubbing my stockinged feet against right now, you turned me into that type of guy. And so after that I was forced to lie. Everyday. And I thought that if I lied long enough that maybe, just maybe that it would become real. And for a while it did. But you can only lie to yourself for so long...
But I wasn't going to say that. That would be too much. That would have destroyed her. That would have made her hate me. And so I said nothing.
“Was there someone else?”
I had been avoiding her gaze. She was too painful to look at. But when she asked this I looked up. My eyes said everything that she needed to know.
“Was it Samantha?”
I Swallowed. Gulped. My eye brows involuntarily kneading themselves into an expression of consternation.
It had been Samantha. I had never gotten over her. Sharon had known about her even when we had started dating. Had known that Samantha had been to me 'the one who got away'. Had even been willing to give me the time and space to deal with whatever I felt I had to deal with. But instead of dealing with it, I had simply cheated on her.
I nodded. But she had already known this. What she didn't know was,
“When did it start?”
I looked her up and down. She looked as if she was on the verge of breaking. Like the slightest tap would smash her into a million tiny pieces.
I know I had decided to lay all the cards out on the table but this? This was not what I had expected.
“It's not important.” I said softly. “It doesn't matter.”
“Well it does to me!”
Sharon's voice was shrill. A near shout. Coarse. Damn near hysterical. Taking a deep breath she swallowed, taking a moment to get herself back under control.
“It does to me...now, when did it start?”
She wasn't going to let up. She would keep on asking until I told her.
I let out a resigned sigh.
“Her birthday. Two months ago.”
Sharon let out a bark of a laugh.
“Did you at least fuck her right?”
I stared. I had never heard Sharon actually say the word 'fuck' before.
“Did you make her come?”
I was starting to worry.
“Did she wet the bed?”
Something was really wrong.
“Or did you fuck her on the couch like the first time you fucked me? After you said you would marry me.”
Sharon...didn't...talk like...this...
I heard the sound of couch leather rubbing against nylon. Sharon was moving closer to me on the couch. She ran a hand up my thigh. Down then up again.
“Did she do this?”
She got her other hand and started doing the same to my other thigh.
“Does that feel good baby?” Her voice was becoming huskier, she was lending it a seductive lilt I had never heard her use before. She reached for my zipper.
My hands shooting out, I grabbed her wrists. Hard.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Isn't that what you want baby? To be treated like a porn star?”
I would be lying to you if I said that I wasn't turned on.
Somehow managing to wriggle her wrists free from my grip she again went for my zipper. And this time, as much as I hated myself for it even then, I let her...
When it was all over (after both times) we lay on the carpet of her living room; sweaty, out of breath and without a condom or wrapper in sight.

Reason... Pt.3: Prelude to A January Heart

“And so you dumped her. Just like that.”

I sighed. Shook my head. We were still at the restaurant. Plates had been cleared, the table wiped down and more beverages purchased. My mother had insisted that we were not going anywhere until I had finished my story.

“No Mom. Not 'just like that'.”

“Then how? Did you like take her out to dinner, buy her a bouquet of flowers, got a Mexican string quartet to play her favorite song and then drop the bomb on her?”

“No Mom.”

“Wait, you didn't do it in a text message did you? Because I swear Ben if you did-”

“No Mom!”

“Then how?”

“Well if you let me, I just might get around to telling you.”

That managed to shut her up.

My mother sat back in her chair.

“OK then,” she said gesturing with her hand, “you may proceed.”

“Thank you, gosh.” I took a sip from my replenished bottle of soda. A Krest bitter lemon this time though. Fantas were only for mealtimes and children below thirteen.

“Anyway, so after work that day I gave her a call and asked if I could drop in, there was something I needed to talk to her about...”

***

I could practically hear her breath catch in her throat. Even over the phone. It was a moment before she said anything.

“People only say that when it's something bad Ben. It's not something bad is it?”

Pause.

“What time do you think you'll be home?”

“Why don't we meet somewhere for a drink? SOHO maybe, it's nearby work. Or if not that then maybe Bike Mike's. Or-”

“Let's just meet at your place, OK?.”

Pause.

“OK then. I'll be home around 7.”

“Cool. Then I'll see you then?”

“Sure...I love you Ben.”

Beat...beat...beat...

“I'll see you later.”

Call Duration: 00:1:38

***

She asked me whether I wanted any juice. Was I hungry? There was some Uganda Waragi if I wanted any.

I said no to being hungry but said that a drink would be nice. Some juice with some Uganda wa maybe?

She nodded.

“Coming right up.” She said doing a little curtsy and disappearing into the kitchen.
I made myself at home. I had always liked her place. The African art, bright colors, potted plants and eccentric post modern paper weights and vases gave it a traditional cum western fusion that was shocking as at the same time attractive. I especially loved the black leather chairs arranged in the shape of a horse shoe. I had always wanted a set for myself but had never really gotten around to it. We had talked about how when we moved into together we would toss my old ratty ones and stay with hers. Sitting down I ran my hand along the grain on the leather. I was going to miss this place. Hmmph. But what about her? Were you going to miss her?

Before I could consider the question Sharon walked back into the room with a tray. On which sat two tall glasses of what looked to be passion fruit juice and a plate with biscuits. She placed the tray on a nearby side table and handed me my glass.

“Thanx.” I said taking it.

She took one for herself and sat next to me. Not right next to me but nearby.

“So,” she started after taking a sip from her glass, “What is this thing that you wanted to talk to me about?”

I took a sip from mine. Almost blanched.

“Wow, you were really generous with how much you poured into this thing, weren't you?”

“You seem tense. I thought maybe you needed some loosening up. Was I wrong?”

I took another sip.

“No, no...I just didn't expect it to be that strong, that's all. How was your day?”

“What are you doing here Ben? You're doing that thing where you're skirting the issue. How about we just right to it, huh. Might make things easier for both of us.”

I took another sip. Then another. Then a gulp. I was really hoping that it would work fast. I was nervous as shit.

I could feel Sharon's eyes on me. She was watching me. I'm sure she could tell how nervous I was feeling. Well of course she did, she had spiked my drink pretty strong. Had said so herself that she thought I looked like I needed it...

“You need a second?”

“No, I'm good.”

I set down my glass. I was appalled to see that I had just about drained the whole thing, save for a few drops.

“More?”

I shook my head.

“We wouldn't want me getting piss poor drunk would we now?”

Sharon shrugged.

“It might help.”

I though about it for a moment and then,

“No. it wouldn't be a good idea. Anyway, I guess I should just get down to why I'm here.”

“Yeah, you should.”

I took a deep breath.
“OK. The truth is, I don't think we're going to work out.”

I think Sharon had probably expected but it still must have come as a shock to her. She looked like she had been slapped in the face.

She said nothing for a moment. Took a sip of her drink. Then another. Then a gulp. Once the glass was empty she set it down next to its husband and then looking at me asked me,

“Why?”

Reason... Pt.2: There Will be Tears (Edited)

Reasons... Pt.2: There Will be Tears
by L.A. Lutara

I reached under my pillow for my phone. It took me a moment or two but after some feeling around I managed to latch onto it, pulling it out. Pressing the menu button, although I could have very well pressed any other, I lit up the phone's face, in turn partially illuminating my own. It was 3:59AM. I blinked, watched as the numbers blinked in reply and it became four. Letting my hand fall, it landed on the small patch of mattress next to me with a light pat. 45 minutes. I had managed 45 minutes, bringing my grand total for the past four nights to a whopping 3 ½ hours.

Sleep had been playing hide-and-go-seek with me you see. Slipping behind curtains, crawling under beds, climbing inside closets and piling under musty blankets. And every time I clamped onto her shoulder, or tugged at her foot or grabbed onto the tail of her blouse she always somehow managed to get away, as if evaporating into thin air. After four nights of this I simply stopped trying, staring zombie eyed like death warmed over at the ceiling as I waited out another night...night number five...

And you know what the funny thing was, for all of her unwanted attention, Sharon was completely oblivious to what was going on. Sure, she noticed how easily agitated I had become, which was quite a change seeing as I was usually the pretty cool headed one. But here's the thing about that, my perpetual agitation had nothing to do with my lack of sleep and everything to do with her. We had crossed the three month marker a week or so before and as if on cue, the magic of the honeymoon period was beginning to wear off.

All the little things that I used to find cute and if not that then at the very least tolerable were beginning to irritate the hell out of me. Like that little wink of hers that she clearly thought was seductive cum conspiratorial and that even at the very best of times I had found a little suspect now just made me want to smack her. And not in a kinky way either but in a; I-would-probably-break-her-nose-if-I-put-enough-weight-behind-it kind of way. But you can breathe easy mate, I only thought about that shit, never once acted upon it, Momma taught me much better than that. Even if I did think about it more than I probably should have.

And that's even before mentioning her constantly clutching, clingy, touchy-feely neediness. She always had to be touching me. Holding my hand, gripping my thigh, running a finger along the length of my neck...in the beginning it had been really charming, she was just really affectionate but now...now I slept on one side of the bed and she slept on the other. And it was a pretty big bed too. I could stretch my arm all the way out and still have a few inches to spare before touching skin.

Sharon's breath came calm and easy and evenly. She was facing me and the light of the security bulb right outside the window seeped through the curtain and cascaded down onto part of her face. She was smiling. A lips slightly parted, slightly turned up at the corners kind of smile. She was pretty when she smiled. She was pretty when she didn't. Her being pretty had never been a problem.

It must be quite the dream, I mused to myself. But everyone has to wake up sometime., continued my train of thought. All dreams must come to an end. Just like all good things and misplaced affections. And misplaced, I was beginning to realize is what my affections had been. All this time. Although to be honest “All this time” was really nothing more than three months. Three months and a few days if you really want to get technical. Surely not enough time to get to know someone. And now that I had, gotten to know that someone in question that is,. or at the very least just beginning to; I suddenly realized that I didn't even like her. Much less loved her.

My breath escaped from my lungs with a slight wheeze...

Fuck.

I suddenly felt cold.

Then what the hell did that leave me with? Leave us with...?

Once again I turned my eyes to the ceiling.

With getting out...

I sniffled. The room hadn't been swept or mopped in quite a few days and had become quite stuffy.

It'll kill her. You know that right?

Yeah, I know. How could I not know that?

Well, you can be pretty clueless at times.

Yes, I know that as well. But not right now. Not about this.

Hmmph. So when are you going to do the deed?

Scratch...scratch...scratch...

Tomorrow...I'll do it tomorrow.

Like tomorrow-tomorrow or like later today tomorrow?

Like later today tomorrow.

Then you better try and catch some zzzzz'z man. You're gonna need all the energy you can get. Because whether you like it or not...there will be tears...

For Everything a Reason...

“Why do you still wear that thing?”

I blinked. Looked down at my hand, at the finger between my middle and my pinky; examined the 'thing' to which my mother was referring to.

It was made of stainless steel and was inset with a small stone. The stone was fake of course but somehow it still managed to add something...extra to it.

'It', as you may have guessed by now was a ring, and I wore it on my right hand.

Looking up from the ring I reached for my half empty bottle of Fanta orange and took a sip.

“I'm surprised it's taken you this long to ask.” I said after setting the bottle back down on the table. “You've been eyeing it ever since we walked in.”

My mother sat back in her chair. Pushed away her barely touched plate of avocado rice (she had wanted pilao but the restaurant didn't have any and so the avocado rice was the best that they could do) with the finger tips of one hand and reached for her bottle of water with the other.
She allowed herself a slight shrug.

“That doesn't really answer my question Ben.”

Unscrewing the top, she put the bottle up to her lips; took a long, deep swallow.

“What are you holding onto? You left her.”

Holding up my hand with the ring in question, I aimed for casual and tilted my head slightly to one side.

“It looks good doesn't it?”

Another sip of water.

“It looks expensive.” My mother answered noncommittally. “And how much did you pay for them anyway? For yours and for hers?”

I shrugged. Assumed a noncommittal tone of my own.

“Enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“Enough to make it feel real.”

Something about this must have amused her because just then my mother smiled. Even though the smile lasted no longer than a second or two. After that, her mouth set itself into something closer to disdain.

“It wasn't, you know. Real.”

I shook my head.

“You're wrong. You weren't there Mom...I loved her.”

Scoffing my mother picked up her fork and began scraping her plate, piling the rice on top of each other, forming a small mountain in the center of the plate.

“No, you didn't. You were lonely and she made you feel special. That's not love.”

She stopped. Pointed the four pronged plastic fork at me.

“You know what real love is...and you let it slip right through your fingers.”

I nodded my head. I suddenly got it. Or at the very least thought I had.

“So that is what all of this is about? I can't believe it. You still haven't forgiven me for messing things up with your picture perfect daughter-in-law, have you?”

My mother leaned forward in her chair.

“Don't use that tone with me Ben. This is about you not letting go and me trying to understand why.

She waved her hand in a slight flourish.

“Would you mind explaining it to me?”

I sighed. Looked down at my empty plate. Empty save for a few rogue strands of cabbage and a small pool of brownish soup. I had eaten chips and liver. A pretty safe bet in any fast food joint and had wolfed it down in what had seemed like two minutes flat.

“Well?”

I looked up from the plate, met my mother's gaze. It was not until much later that my mother told me that my expression had looked haunted. Like I had looked death square in the face. And in a way, I had.

“What Ben? What is it?”

I let out another sigh. Swallowed, cleared my throat and swallowed again. Averted my eyes.
“There was a baby.”

My mother leaned further forward.

“What?”

I cleared my throat again, this time speaking up.

“There was a baby Mom. Sharon was pregnant. And she had decided...we had decided to keep it. You were going to be a grand mother.”

My mother took a moment to process this.

“You said 'going to be'. What...what happened?”

I ventured a look at my Mom. I was surprised to find that she looked as shell shocked as I felt. How I had been feeling for the past few months. I think she was finally starting to get it.

“The doctor said it was the stress. She was having a hard time dealing with the break up. She wasn't eating, was constantly in tears...there was just so much going on...the baby couldn't take it.”

“You broke up with her when she was pregnant!?” My Mom was incredulous. She was also pissed.

“No, no, no.” I said quickly. “she didn't find out she was pregnant until after we broke up. When I broke it off I had no idea.”

This seemed to pacify her a bit. I could tell she had been about to go ape shit over the fact that her only son who she had raised single handedly had dumped his fiancé when he knew she was pregnant, possibly even because she was pregnant. She had been ready to tear me a new one.

“Tell me what happened.” She demanded, if a bit plaintively. “I want to know everything.”

I nodded.

“Ok...I guess it's time you knew the whole story anyway.”

I reached for my bottle of Fanta. Upended what was left of it and setting the empty bottle back down on the table I cleared my throat and began.