Tears were literally falling into his Vodka tonic. If you leaned in close enough you could hear the splash from the leaking eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed anything more sad. There’s homelessness, drug related violence, the devastation of crime ridden streets, all societal plagues, but this poor bastard was one sorrowful site. A grown man, crying over some skank, that repeatedly and carelessly shreds his heart like ground meat. It’s the theme of nearly every blues song ever composed. The love that cuts deep. The cold companionship of a dead relationship. What’s worse is he calls her wife.
Dorian was an average friend, and a slightly less than average human being. I can’t recall how our paths intersected. We were odd acquaintances riding the Hell train. But it was through his agonizing feuds with his habitual cheating, pain in the ass wife where I saw this genuine side of him. That’s what was interesting about the guy…about most people. The better parts of our nature surfaces during some trauma, a crisis that tests our will to continue in this existence. And these were the moments when Dorian shined…well, when he was tolerable. A certain humanness confronting a harsh reality. Dorian, the fool’s expert at the crap table.
And there he was next to me, in the familiar position, slouched over a drink, head down. A dark cloud just hovered there. If misery had the blues Dorian owned it. And this particular cheating episode, courtesy of his wife, trumped them all.
Dorian was a man of archaic tradition, a man’s man, a provider! He refused his wife to seek employment. Some say she was kept. Others would think she was kept back…much of her young adult life, lying on her back.
Dorian thought he rescued her. I guess that made his masculinity more appealing. If so, it surely wasn’t enough.
She was to be the ideal housewife and she was to enjoy and appreciate it. Maybe that was socially acceptable 50-60 years ago but Dorian wasn’t exactly considered the ideal husband, a member of the upper class or even in the ballpark of being financially secure.
On more than one occasion I advised him. Women were no longer cut from a subservient mold. Women need to love and know themselves, feel self-fulfillment, be educated and grow, contribute, knowing their worth and that they’re worthy. They need all this as well as to be loved and appreciated. Dorian wasn’t a believer. And when you foolishly select a disloyal, dissatisfied, empty, neglected, lonely wife, to take care of house, with an unhealthy collection of video porn, the Internet, social media, primed with an overactive sex drive, the horn toad will emerge. There’s the recipe of disaster. And this…
Dorian took on a part time job to make ends meet. That would be three jobs in all. Two full time and the new part time. Time seem to become one of several enemies of his marriage…the lack of.
Time away from home, he suspected his wife was making her “bottom-end” meet elsewhere. It didn’t stop her cheating in the past…when he landed the second full time gig, again when he got the first during their dating days. She was constantly on the hunt to fill holes. Every time he thought she was cheating, he’d buy her something big: jewelry, a vacation, a car. Trading material for her affections. Buying love. Sadly, his suspicions always led to the inconvenient truth of adultery.
This time, Dorian’s cell phone rings while at his part-time job, he again encounters the inconvenient truth. He sees that it’s his beloved phoning and he answers. Before he speaks, he hears:
“Ooooh yeah…yeah. You’re such a man…such a big, big man. My husband can’t do it for me. He couldn’t for such a long..long time. But I always knew you could. Your soooo sooo long! Ohhh…yeah…you’re so deep.”
It was clear. Dorian learned she accidentally dialed his number while in the throws of a side-street fuck, in the family minivan of all places. He painfully listened to the entire romp in the van, from start to the dagger climax, the fatal blow.
Dorian couldn’t speak a word as she went through with the act.
Then he hears:
“Quick. You have to get out of the car before our neighbors see us.”
OUR??? Suggesting she had the audacity to carry out the deed parked in front of the house…fucking a neighbor. Again, a neighbor.
It would be the 3rd neighborhood in 5 years. All three moves out the community were because she was caught with a neighbor railing her.
I sat there bewildered but quickly came to my senses.
“You can’t imagine the heartache…having to hear that on the phone” he said.
But I could.
It would’ve been the perfect time to confess to him that his wife once made a pass at me, yours truly. I’d run into her as she was walking home from church. She invited me to the house for lunch and when I declined she confessed that she was attracted to me, and if I was interested in a discreet quickly. Her eyes held a hunger that turned sadistic. Again, I declined. Quickly, I learned that even the devil’s women had easy access to the temple. I wondered how many men of God failed their Maker’s Commandments and accepted her lunch invite.
Poor Dorian. What makes a man fall for such an evil woman? What makes him continue to take the torture, expose himself to such cruelty? Tears continues to drop into his drink, disappearing into liquid upon contact. He drinks them. A man, long broken, weeps…one tear for every affair.