“You’re not the man I fell in love with, George,” she said, her voice trembling. She touched her hands gingerly to her wrists, wincing as pain shot from the bruises. “I don’t know what’s happened to you, what this change is…” Her voice trailed off wistfully.
“I…I’m sorry Marge,” he stammered, looking at his hands. He knew he had become a monster. He knew he had to tell her. But how could he?
“It’s been thirteen years,” she shot back through tears. “Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore. Ever since that day.” She closed her eyes and bowed her head in pained recollection.
“What do you mean?” he asked. He knew the answer. He just wasn’t sure how much she knew.
“It was the day everything changed,” she sobbed. “You just came home and sat there. In that chair. That same damned chair you’ve sat in for years. We used to do things together. We used to talk, to laugh. We used to have fun. Now it’s just quiet. Now it’s your chair. Now it’s silence. What have you spent all these years thinking about? Why won’t you let me in?”
“Because if you knew you’d hate me Marge,” he blurted. “You’d be done with me. Everything. All of this,” he swept his arm around their home, “would be gone.”
“It already is, George. Can’t you see that? All of this stopped meaning anything to me years ago, from the first time you laid your hands on me. I’ve loved you. I’ve tried to be there for you, to understand. But I can’t do it anymore, George. I can’t love you when you can’t be open and honest with me.”
“You’re right,” sighed George. “You’re right. Of course I’ve seen the change in us. And worse, I know how much I’ve changed. I knew you’d never love me if you knew.”
“Well I don’t now, so you may as well tell me. Exorcise your demons.”
George looked into her eyes, knowing it would be for the last time. He had hurt her far too often to expect any different. The least he could do was be truthful. She folded her arms over her chest in a guarded mode, waiting.
“It all started thirteen years ago. I was on my way home from work, the same as always. I was making the turn from Airport onto Dent road, and I didn’t have my signal on. There was another car coming in the other lane, and they were turning down Dent too. I knew I had it, so I went ahead and turned. The other car was going a bit faster than I thought, though, and I wound up cutting him off.”
“This better be going somewhere,” Marge interrupted.
“It is, it is,” he waved his hand. “The guy swung around me and cut me off. He slammed on his brakes and came to a stop. I nearly ran into him. I was furious, so I got out of my car, and he did too. Honestly he scared me. He had this viking beard and intimidating walk, but I was angry. I knew exactly what I was going to say to him. Right when he got close enough I opened my mouth to scream at him…and that’s when it happened…”
“What?” asked Marge. Angry as she was, he could tell she was intrigued.
“He spat in my mouth,” he whispered. “A giant, glorious loogie. He just cocked his head back and spat it full force into my mouth. I could feel it hit the back of my throat. At first I gagged. I nearly threw up. I doubled over, and I could feel tears in my eyes. Tears of shame, tears because I had been assaulted in such an disrespectful, disdainful way. In that single instant he had just shown me how weak and pitiful a man I was. By the time that I looked back up, he was gone. I just sat there, stunned.”
“My God, George, that’s horrible…” Marge began, but he cut her off.
“That’s not all, Marge. As I sat there, I realized…I realized I liked it. I got back into the car and drove home. It was all I could think about, the only thing on my mind. When I got home, I couldn’t even come inside. I just sat in the garage. I didn’t want to, but I had to. I sat in the car, viciously masturbating to the thought of that bearded man spitting into my mouth…”
This story was adapted from a conversation that I had with a colleague concerning drivers in the local area. It was, frankly, disturbing…so much so that I told him I was going to have to turn it into a short story. Think before you drive!