Happy Anniversary

She stood there with that look plastered all over her pudgy face while I finished loading the fishing gear into the back of the truck. I could see her through the big bay window I had installed in the living room at her whiny insistence. Her arms were crossed over her too-large breasts, the cleavage barely hidden by the now ratty bathrobe that once was so soft I couldn’t keep my hands off it. It was obvious she was cursing me. I could see her lips move with the scowling sneer that accompanied harshly hurled invectives whenever she was really pissed off. It was almost comical now; I was reminded of a Robert Crumb birthday card I’d seen once. It was of a frumpy, thick housewife in a silly hat frilled with gargantuan flowers and a loud floral-print sundress about 20 years behind the times. She had a round reddish face and a dangerous sly look in her eyes that tickled and frightened me at the same time. I had choked back my laughter then, I did the same now. As sad as it was to see her today, it hadn’t always been this way. 20 years ago, I lived and died with her every breath. Her skin was smooth porcelain, her body long, lean and toned. She commanded any room she was in and her eyes killed me every time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Would it be over-the-top to tell you that you are the prettiest thing I’ve seen in my entire terribly horribly lonely life?” I smiled my most suave smile and looked directly into her eyes. They were so blue I could almost swim in them.

She seemed dubious, leaning slightly back away from my forward pose. Looking down her marvelously sculpted nose, she quipped “Does that ever work? I mean, really now.” Beneath the disdain, there was enough of a hint of a smile hidden behind her full, curved lips to spur me on.

“Only on women that want it to work, my dear. Which, as you might imagine, isn’t all that frequent, leading to all the loneliness.” My smiled broadened and I leaned in a little more.

She snickered, shooting me an almost imperceptible invitation with her big blue eyes before quickly turning back to her near empty Martini.

“May I buy you another? I queried innocently.

“Yes, if you promise to drop the corny ‘I’m-so-lonely’ routine and take me out on the dance floor. I love this song!”

She grabbed my hand and bounded towards the dance floor, dragging me into a whirlwind romance.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jamie, my third child, came bounding out of the house, dancing down the front steps two at a time, right into my arms. “Have a great fishing trip, Daddy!” she exclaimed. A flash of guilt washed over me as I kissed her forehead. At 8, and the youngest child in the house, I doted on her, knowing she was all I had left of some semblance of sensibility in my miasmic life. She knew she was the adored child, and she ruled the roost, and could kill me with her huge blue eyes. Fishing trip, yeah, a great big mackerel for me, I thought. “Thanks, honey. I’ll miss you. You know that, right?” You’re what I miss most when I’m gone.”

I could barely look her in the face knowing what I was about to do would throw her entire world into convulsions. She hugged me tighter. “Do you have to go, daddy?”

“Yes, baby. I really have to go.” I stuttered, the melancholy surging in my breast. Marge banged on the pane, beckoning from the window, her fat hand angrily gesticulating first to me, then inside. “Jesus, what now?” I hissed under my breath. Sighing, I told Jamie to go to her room. She resisted at first. I held her at arms length. “I have to talk to mommy before I leave, ok?” She looked at me knowingly and quickly disappeared inside. I took a deep breath and headed in myself. Smiling slightly, I thought, ‘It’ll all be over soon, Edward, just be strong for a little while longer.’

Sitting placidly on the couch, I waited as Marge mentally prepared her tirade. This routine had become old hat. She would huff and puff and pace in front of the fireplace until she was good and ready to release. It took plenty long before she was ready today. Finally, after interminable minutes of mumbling and harsh looks, she turned squarely to me, “How can you do this, Edward?”

“Do what?” I asked innocently, my face completely open to her. Her face instantly turned beet red at this evasion. It was a tactic of mine she despised. She knew I was going to force her to say what was bothering her out loud, thus taking some of the steam out of her anger. She fought against caving in immediately, but she knew I wasn’t going to say another word until she did. “How can you leave on our anniversary?!” She resumed pacing in time to her raving. “How can you leave on our anniversary and go fishing? This fucking fishing again, for God’s sake, fishing!” I wondered what would happen to that inflamed face if she knew the bait and tackle had never been used. Not once in 12 years.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“You’re going fishing?” She was right to be perplexed, as I had never even spoken of the craft in the 8 years we’d been married.

“Well, yes. I thought it might be a nice change. I’ve gone on so many business trips over the last few years, and a few of the guys from the office asked me if I’d like to go on a fishing trip this time...for a change. And since it is only a couple of days…” I trailed off, not sure how to complete the thought. It wasn’t easy to tell the lie. I had never really done that before, lied to her, not about anything big anyway. But I certainly couldn’t tell her where I was really going, or what I was really going to do!

“It’s just so strange. You’ve never fished in your life!” Her face was getting pinkish and I knew if I didn’t placate her in some way, it’d quickly become something much more difficult to handle. Though her beauty had faded a bit, her fine taut figure now history after two children, she could still kill me with her brilliant blue eyes.

I took her in my arms, kissed her repeatedly on the cheek, and looked directly in her eyes. “Listen, our 8th anniversary is next week. How about this: when I get back, we plan a fantastic evening, just you and me? Huh? Would you like that? Whatever you want to do.”

“Anything?”

“Anything your little heart desires, Margery.” I felt her confusion and anger diffuse, leaking out slowly as the possibilities dawned.

“Ooooh!” She suddenly squealed, making me wince, “Le Chateau! It’s a fabulous new place over on Main. And fabulously expensive! I hear the escargot is to die for!”

I smiled to myself. It always worked.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“It’s bad enough that you go away every damn year the week before our anniversary, but to go on the actual day? I could just kill you for this, Edward!” Her voice had reached that high whine I hated so much. I winced at it, retaining my composure, unwilling to lose control so close to reaching my goal. I breathed deep and kept calm. It was the last time I’d have to hear it, after all.

“Nothing I can do about it, Marge. The trip had to be moved back this year. All the boys agreed and that’s that.”

“To hell with the boys!” she raged, “You know how I feel about our anniversary! It’s the one thing that gives me hope, has always given me hope.” She looked hurt, but I was beyond feeling any empathy for her now. She was exasperated, “It’s…our…20th!”

“Dammit, Marge, I know it’s our 20th, but I have been going on this trip every year for the past 12 years, and business trips consistently over the last 18 years! Why are you giving me grief about it now?”

“Because it’s actually on our anniversary this time! Because you get to go and have fun while I’m stuck here taking care of everything, damn it all!” The reddish pout on her plump cheeks shone like a candy apple skin.

“I know, I know. I’ll make it up to you when I get back. I promise.” I was amazed I got that out without laughing out loud.

“You’d better mister. You owe me, but good!”

“Oh yes, I do. I certainly do, Marge.” I looked straight at her when I said this. She was unsure what to make of the statement and stopped pacing. Perfect. I sighed and stood up, walked over to her, took her in my arms, kissed her repeatedly on the cheek. “I already have a little surprise for you in the bedroom nightstand drawer.” Her sudden smile pushed her fleshy cheeks upwards, nearly obscuring her still brilliant eyes.

“A surprise? Oh, Edward, you haven’t done anything like that since our 16th! What is it? What? Can I go get it now?” She was positively bouncing up and down, the extra 50 pounds of flesh rolling around like lard in a hefty bag.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She was positively pouting, her fleshy jowls rolling like jello in a small bowl, “Jesus H. Christ Edward. Haven’t you outgrown those damned fishing jaunts of yours yet?” she jibed, “There are responsibilities here at home to take care of, for chrissakes.”

“Have I ever forgotten our anniversary, Margery?”

“What?” she said, taken aback by the odd reply.

I asked again, “Have I ever, even once, in our 16 year marriage, forgotten our anniversary? It’s a simple answer.”

“Well, no. You’ve always been good about that but…”

“No buts. I have this one time a year to get away from all my responsibilities. Just once a year, Marge. I don’t think it’s asking too much. Do you?

She was quiet for a bit and then mumbling, said, “No.”

“It’s settled then. I get my time, and when I get back, we’ll do something really nice for our anniversary, ok?”

Still not happy with the situation, but unable to muster an argument, she agreed feebly. I went to her, took her in my arms, and looked directly into her eyes. “Besides, I already have something nice for you in the bedroom nightstand drawer.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“No. Not until I’m gone. You have to promise me, ok? You promise? Not until I’m gone, Marge.” She didn’t notice the glee hidden thinly behind my stern finger-wagging. Pulling free, she clasped her thick hands low, pushing her pendulous breasts together, and tilted her head in an awkward attempt to still look cute and sexy. “I pwomise,” she lilted in a Betty-Boop-like voice, “Whatever ‘Mister’ wants “Mister’ gets.” I felt mildly nauseated.

I laughed falsely and loudly towards the ceiling to turn away from the dark comedic burlesque playing out in front of me, and I noticed Jamie looking down at us through the slats at the top of the stairs. My stomach clenched reflexively. How many times in the last few years had she seen her mother and I go at it like this? It was painfully obvious by her vacant stare that this scenario registered little more than her favorite video, which I had already replaced twice from wear. A fury rose up within me that threatened to explode, destroying everything I had carefully put in place. I was sickened that I’d subjected my beloved girl to this farce. I was saddened at the model of a marriage she might carry with her into adulthood. I was embarrassed that I hadn’t been strong enough to leave years ago. I closed my eyes and breathed deep.

Even though it had been 12 years since the vacation flings began, it still made me sick to have to lie to my children. What else was I to do? I certainly couldn’t tell them the truth, and the “fishing trip” had become an ingrained part of my life. Not that the older two, Jack and Elise, even cared. They were teenagers, and well beyond giving a damn what their parents did. But Jamie, still only 8 years old, was very much daddy’s girl. The last thing I wanted to do is hurt my baby girl. But I had to do this. It was time. Time was I had ached and fretted over the trips each year, especially early on, afraid I would somehow be discovered. The fear dispersed as the years came and went, but I certainly had made myself sick with worry about today. In truth, the trips were nothing but a release from the mundane, a short time of freedom in my otherwise mind-numbing existence. The women meant little, the sex even less. What I really craved was total freedom, and I was going to do something about that I had only dreamed about. Things had reached the tipping point, and I was going over to save my sanity.

“Well, I have to go.” I said plainly, regaining my quickly flagging composure. I called to Jamie as if I’d never seen her, hugged her tightly, kissed her on the forehead and headed for the door, stopping only to good-naturedly warn my thick and thick-headed wife, “Now you promised. Not until I’m gone.”

She raised her hand in mock solemnity, “I promise.” The grin threatened to crack that look plastered all over her pudgy face. “Have a good trip! See you when you get back!” She waved from the front door.

I had barely left the driveway when I saw her bolt inside in the rearview. A momentary pang of guilt hit me once again when I thought of the fight that would put Jamie through hell, but I knew it would be all right. I knew she would still be my girl. She was, after all, daddy’s girl. Laughter drove the melancholy away as the picture of my rotund wifey, panting heavily from running up the stairs to the bedroom, entered my mind. I could see her rifling through the drawers looking for a little box of some sort. I could feel her confusion as she withdrew the legal envelope marked “Mrs. Margery Page,” from the Law Offices of Taylor, Feinbaum, and Minetti. And finally, I felt giddy as the contents registered, slowly but surely, in her dim little mind.

After 20 long years, Happy Anniversary, Marge.