The Object of My Obsession

Mark stood before the bedroom mirror and studied his reflection.  His curly hair had gone almost completely white and his face looked sallow and drawn.  Here he was only fifty years old, but he looked, and felt, eighty.  His life was almost over and he had done nothing.  So many places he wished he had visited; so many concerts he hadn't played.  Hell, that he hadn't even attended!  So many parties he could have enjoyed.

His gaze moved to his graduation portrait and the young man, full of hope and assurance of a bright future, smiled back at him.  The vision of Valerie appeared at the young man's side.  How different his life would have been if he had only met Valerie back then.

His wife's cheerful voice interrupted his reverie.  "Come on, Birthday Boy!  Dinner's ready."

He turned, plodded to the dining room and took his seat at the head of the table. 

Kristen, their teenage daughter, looked up from her current writing project.
"Happy birthday, Daddy."

He gave her what he knew was a half-hearted smile, and wished he could do better.

"I've made all of your favorites," his wife, Angela, said brightly, beginning to fill his plate.

His gaze traveled over the feast spread before him and then settled on his wife.  She was only two years younger than he, yet she looked ten, fifteen, maybe even twenty years younger.  Her hair had only a few wisps of gray; her skin was still smooth.  Good genes were such an advantage, why didn't she take better care of herself?  Over the twenty years they'd been married, she must have gained at least 60 pounds.  She was obsessed with food - took comfort in it.  Did she need so much comfort?  Why couldn't she understand that food didn't mean anything to him?  He only ate because he had to eat to keep from starving.  Now he was supposed to be grateful?  She set the laden plate in front of him and began to fill her own.

He pushed the food around on his plate, admiring the image of Valerie's face.  Valerie had always been friendly.  He knew she respected his intellect, but did she feel the same way as he did?  How would she react if he actually worked up the courage to confess his love for her?  Would she return it?  Or would she laugh at him?  Did he really love her?  He looked across the table at Angela, she was chatting away, her face animated.

He had thought that he'd always loved his wife of so many years, but had he really?  How was he to know?  She was the only girl he had ever really dated.  How would she react if he did have an affair with Valerie?  Would she leave him? 

"Mark!"  Angela's voice broke into his reverie.  He looked at her.  "You're not eating," she said, a worried frown creasing her forehead.  "Are you okay?"

He nodded, shoved back his chair and rose from the table.  He wandered out of the house toward his workshop.  Got to find some place quiet, he thought, where I can think.  He unlocked the workshop door and flipped the light switch.  His gaze swept over the expanse of tools and rested on a half-finished table.  His fingers automatically sought the tiny flaw where he had let the router slip.  I should have been a full professor at the University by now, instead of just a high-school teacher.  He thought of the unfinished dissertation crammed away in a drawer someplace.  His life was nearly over and he hadn't accomplished anything. 

He turned on the radio and sat down, cross-legged, on the floor.  It had been nearly a year since he had met Valerie.  When she had come to Jefferson High as a new, young teacher he had been assigned to be her mentor.  He was immediately enthralled by the wide-eyed wonder with which she accepted his counseling.  He blushed with pleasure when she frequently enthused.

"Mr. Martin, you are simply brilliant!"

He began to thrill at the closeness of her body and at the tingle he experienced when their hands casually touched. Soon he had realized that he was falling in love.  How much he had missed in his life.

As the music softly played on the shop radio, he envisioned himself walking into a grand ballroom, filled with the most distinguished faculty members from the University.  He nodded in response to the friendly greetings and his gaze swept the room.  Then he saw her.  Valerie was standing with some of the faculty wives, her flowing blue gown enhancing her great figure.  As he approached, she saw him and her eyes brightened. 

He stopped by her side and bowed.  "May I have this dance?"

"Of course," she replied breathlessly, offering him her hand.  He could feel the softness of her skin and hear the rustle of her dress as he led her onto the dance floor.  Taking her tenderly in his arms, he thrilled at the warm closeness of her body and the smell of her perfume.  He could hardly contain his excitement as he imagined how they would leave the dance together; how they would spend the entire night making love in her studio apartment.  He could imagine her body, clothed in only a filmy negligee, floating toward him across the room.  What would it be like?  Certainly it would be different from being with Angela.

So deep in his fantasy, Mark had no cognizance of time until he tried to move.  He slowly straightened his stiff legs and clambered to his feet.  He glanced at his watch.  Hopefully, Angela would be asleep by now.  He turned off the light, locked the door and crossed the lawn to the house.  Easing open the back door, he slipped in and locked it behind him.  He crossed the kitchen and was taken aback to find Angela sitting in the living room, her hands folded on top of an open book in her lap.

"Mark," she said.  "We have to talk."

He sighed and dropped into a chair across the room.  "About what?"

"I think you know what about," she said.  He shrugged and spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.  "You need to tell me what's bothering you."

"I'm fine," he mumbled.  He didn't need all of this prying.  Why couldn't she just leave him alone with his thoughts?

"You're not fine," she said softly, a look of concern on her face.  "Is the depression getting worse?  Maybe you need to increase your Prozac.  Why don't you call the doctor and make an appointment?"

"I'm not depressed."

"Well, you're certainly acting just like you did before.  You're withdrawn, always moping around the house.  If it's not the depression, what is it?"

His eyes flashed.  "I told you, I'm fine."  He stood up.  "I'm going to bed."  He could feel her eyes probing into the back of his head as he turned and walked away toward their bedroom.

He lay in the dark, thinking about Valerie and visualizing what their life together might have been.  He saw them sweeping down the aisle of a crowded lecture hall where he was the featured speaker and heard the comments from the audience as they passed.

"There's Professor Martin."

"Isn't his wife simply lovely?"

"He's brilliant!"

"What a stunning couple!"

He smiled and nodded to individuals in the crowd.  He tenderly handed Valerie into her front-row seat.  She looked up at him with adoration in her eyes.

"Knock 'em dead, Sweetheart," she whispered.

He stood smiling benignly down at her for a moment, then turned and mounted the steps to the platform.  "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said into the microphone.  "Tonight we're going to explore the 'Language of the Ages'."

He would then launch into a brilliant lecture that his audience would find totally enlightening.  He would be acclaimed for providing insight that had never before been even considered. 

He would publish articles in all of the major trade journals.  His name would be on everyone's lips.

He heard the creak of the living room floorboards as Angela crossed the room.  He deliberately slowed his breathing and feigned sleep, waiting for her to come into the bed.  Then he heard her punching in numbers on the phone.

"Hi," she said in a low tone.  "How are you doing?"  Who could she be calling at this time of night?  Was it her mother?  A friend?  Why was she calling anyone?  "I'm sorry to call so late," she said, "but I just had to talk to you - about Mark."

He strained to hear her words.  "No, he's asleep."  The voice paused, then continued.  "I'm really worried about him.  I don't know whether his depression is getting worse, or what's wrong."  He could almost see the frown creasing her forehead.  "He's so withdrawn.  He's been spending all evening, every evening, out in the workshop.  He won't even talk to Kristen and you know how close they've always been."  Again she paused.  "No, he's not working on anything.  That's part of the problem.  I went out there the other night and he was just sitting there, on the floor, staring off into space.  I sit here every evening, just waiting for the sound of a gunshot.  You know he's got a gun out there.  I'm worried to death about him, but I can't get him to go to the doctor about it."  There was a long pause punctuated with murmured 'Uh-huhs'.

"When I ask him about it," she continued, "he just says he's fine.  I know it's been bothering him that he was about to be fifty.  You know how that's supposed to affect people, especially men.  I can't help but wonder if he's having an affair.  Do you think that might be what it is?"

So she suspected he was having an affair, did she?  He smiled wryly.  If only he had the courage, he and Valerie could have a fantastic life together.  He still had a good twenty, maybe thirty, years yet and with Valerie by his side, encouraging him, it was no telling how far he could go.  He could finish his dissertation and get his Ph.D. They could do all of the things that he had missed out on when he was younger.

His mind drifted to images of he and Valerie traveling the world.  He could easily picture the two them cruising across the Atlantic on a ship.  He could smell the salty breeze as they strolled, arm-in-arm, along the deck, the wind lifting Valerie's long blond hair.  Of course, the renowned Professor Martin would have a prominent place at the Captain's table.  Every night at dinner, he would explain his various theories to the distinguished company and they would hang onto every word.  In Paris, they would walk hand-in-hand along the Seine, stand atop the Eiffel Tower and view the city spread out before them - a kingdom waiting to be conquered.  They would have to spend days at the Louvre discussing the artwork; viewing the original Mona Lisa.

He and Valerie would take romantic cruises on the canals of Venice and Amsterdam.  They would visit Florence and tour Rome; then cruise on to Greece.  He could visualize visiting the Parthenon.  Ah, Athens!  He would be right at home in the land of the greatest philosophers of all ages.  With a serene smile Mark drifted into sleep.

Over the next several days, when Mark noticed his surroundings at home, he found subtle differences.  One morning he stepped out of the shower and noted that his closet was devoid of clean shirts.  A quick search of the crammed laundry hamper revealed that there were only a few items belonging to Angela and Kristen, most were his.  He couldn't remember when Angela had not kept his closet full of clean, freshly-ironed shirts. 

As he considered this oddity, he remembered that he hadn't been called to dinner for the last few evenings.  When he had gotten hungry, he had simply taken something from the refrigerator and stuck it in the microwave.  His brow creased in a puzzled frown.

Wearing only his towel, he padded to the kitchen where Angela stood at the range scrambling eggs.  "I don't have any shirts," he said.

His wife turned toward him, her eyes flashing.  "So?  Maybe you should get your girlfriend to do them for you."

"But . . . But I don't have a girlfriend," he stammered.

"Maybe you don't," she retorted.  "And maybe you do!"

"Wh . . . What's wrong with you?"

"I'm fine," she said coldly.  "Isn't that what you've been telling me?"

He sighed.  "You wouldn't understand."

"I wouldn't understand!  You don't understand!  You don't have a clue as to all the hell that you've put me through over the last several weeks, months even.  You know that you have an Obsessive/Compulsive Personality; the doctor told you.  Every day I've been worrying about you and here you've just been going around having this sordid little affair!"

"I'm not having an affair."

"So you said.  You could be telling the truth and you could be lying.  Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm telling you, I'm not having an affair."

"Sorry, Charlie, but the days of gullible little Angela believing every word her all-knowing husband utters to be gospel are gone!  No more!"

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't care what you do.  You can do as you please, but I will not tolerate a husband having an affair.  You can get out.  That's fine with me.  I hate to think how Kristen will take it, she simply worships you, but we'll manage."

Mark looked sadly at his wife and sighed heavily.  "I don't want to lose you," he said, "either one of you."  Maybe I should go to the doctor, he thought.  Maybe he could help him rid himself of this obsession with Valerie.  Maybe that was the only thing he could do.  He looked directly into Angela's eyes and hoped he could convey the remorse he felt for worrying her, hurting her.  "I'm sorry," he said slowly.  "I really am.  I'll go to the psychiatrist like you wanted, maybe he can help."

He turned back toward the bedroom to find yesterday's shirt.  What would Valerie think of him wearing the same shirt two days in a row, he wondered.  No, he thought, you have to push Valerie out of your mind.  You can't indulge an obsession.  To divert his mind, he began humming a little Chopin and hurriedly got dressed. 

He'd call the Doctor at lunchtime and see how soon he could get an appointment.  Tonight he'd have to do his laundry.  That would be a start anyway.  He hoped Angela would be patient with him.

Over the next few days he vacillated back and forth between his desire for Valerie and guilt for betraying Angela, even in his mind.  Angela was still an attractive woman, he reasoned.  If she thought he was having an affair, would she retaliate in kind?  He met with his doctor and told him about his preoccupation with the young teacher and the fantasies he had imagined.  He explained his fears that his obsession with Valerie would result in the breakup of his marriage.  The doctor nodded.

"Sometimes," he said, "long-term marriages can get into sort of a routine.  Maybe you and your wife should do something different.  Take dancing lessons or plan a weekend getaway.  Live out some of your fantasies together."

Mark left the doctor's office deep in thought.  They certainly couldn't afford to tour Europe, but they could take in a concert and spend the weekend in a nice hotel.  It could be almost like the honeymoon they'd never had.  On his way home, he stopped by the concert hall and bought tickets for the next weekend's performance.  When he got home he'd call one of the downtown hotels and make a reservation.  Maybe he'd even try to find that old dissertation.