Frozen Moments

Nearly every generation has that one perfectly horrific moment where any person over the age of ten can tell you exactly what they were doing the very second catastrophe happened. In the forties it was when Pearl Harbor was bombed. The sixties watched in sick awe as JFK was shot. And when we hit the double ohs, it was nine eleven. But I happen to think that each person also has this one moment in time that seems to freeze everything around them, forcing them to remember each and every single detail. At least that was how it was for me February fourteenth, two thousand and five, the night I meet my husband’s lover. 1

I can tell you every mundane detail from nearly every angle of that night; the song (Paul Simon’s “Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover”) that was playing on the cracked jukebox that no one could hear over the football game (Skins tromping the Ravens, thirty-one to fourteen) or the very large group of Mexican men yelling at the bottle blond waitress to show off her obviously fake tits. I remember that I was wearing my least flattering jeans because they were so soft and comfy, even if they did sag in the rear and had tears, which were hard won, at the knees. My hair was actually behaving that night, the ringlets of reddish gold hanging just perfect around my tired and lined face. In my hand I held a glass of my favorite drink (a double jack and coke with no ice and just enough coke for it to have a fizzy taste), and in my heart I held the hurt of being screamed at by my husband for “wasting my time at school”. 2

He was deployed, surfing the blue while serving the red, white and blue and had been gone nearly the entire six month punishment (as I called it from time to time), due home in seven weeks, three days and nineteen hours. During the whole cruise (and, well, the six months before that to be completely honest) we had fought over some of the most inane and asinine things ever created by god, man or beast. School, me working for StarBucks and not getting a “real job”, my new hair cut, his not calling, my not answering when he called, the lack of e-mails between us, the over abundance of e-mails, his mom being sick, my mom being arrested… anything in the world that could be a fight, was a fight. Anything and I mean anything. This particular day’s fight had been even worse than normal since he called as I was headed out the door to school, dressed in my dull blue scrubs and feeling pretty decent for once. 3

I was more than excited to talk to him, especially since we had only ten minutes on the phone three weeks prior to this and about seven of that was fighting. I answered, thrilled to hear his voice and did a little shimmy-shake as I headed towards my car. 4

“Honey! Hiya! Hap-“5

“What are you doing up?” said my love’s voice, only there seemed to be no love in his tone. 6

I could see my puckered forehead in the reflection of my car’s window, keys dangling uselessly in my hand. “I…I’m on my way to class. Why-“7

“Jesus, Melissa, can’t you stop wasting my money with that bullshit! It’s not like you are actually going to graduate from massage school! And, besides, how many classes do you need to learn how to rub people for money?” Chris said; his voice loud and sharp, like a metal toothpick in my ear. 8

It was an old fight, one that I had heard enough that with a mirror and the proper motivation I didn’t even need him; I could recite it perfectly all by myself. “Chris, sweetie, I am doing really well though. I mean, not super well, but I have a high three point something average and Mr. Henderson said that my technique was improving with each practice massage!” 9

He snorted, and I could picture his face with my mind’s eye, how his so red hair would be stuffed under a ball cap with the ship’s insignia, lounging against the wall of the rec- space, his eyes dropped to the tips of his high polished boots. “Yeah, well, how hard could it be? I mean, if even you could be doing moderately well? Look, the reason I called is that I need to drop a few hundred in this next port, so shut off the cable so we can afford it okay.”10

“The cable? But then I won’t be able to email you!” 11

“Then make it your phone! Something, I don’t care,” he retorted, missing the point. “Look, I’m already running late. Just do it before the eighteenth, okay? Talk to you later.”12

“Chris, wait, I luh-.“ The phone buzzed in my ear and I stared at it dumbly. I closed it shut and started heading back to the house. “Of you,” I told the silent phone. I threw my keys over there, tossed my phone over here, and shed my clothes till I was naked and did the only really smart thing I could think of; I crawled back into bed and cried myself to sleep. 13

I was rescued from drowning in my own tears about four hours later by my dearest friend in the whole world, Katie. She had been on her way home, having to drive by my place to get to hers, and saw my car parked in the driveway when I should have just then leaving school. She called, which I didn’t hear. She banged on the door, which I also didn’t hear. But, resourceful little squirrel that Katie is, she used the spare key under the fake rock in the garden and came in to see me sprawled under the blankets, emotionally comatose. 14

“Lissa, what are you doing?” Katie asked, shaking my bare foot to wake me up. 15

I took a look at the clock across the room on my dresser, and bundled up under the covers. “Hiding. Leave me Fritos and go away.” 16

Katie sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “C’mon, what’s wrong?” 17

I didn’t answer, shrugging under the blankets. My house was ice burg cold, just the way I liked it, but even I had to admit that the mink fur blanket on top of the afghan on top of the quilt on top of the flannel sheets was a bit stifling when you were hiding from your friend. “Go. Away.”18

“Can’t do that, against the code of friendship or something equally lame. You have to come out and let me cheer you up or they take my Girl Club Card away,” Katie said with a smile that was so bright and cheerful it made me want to stab her. In the face. With a pencil. “C’mon, get up, we’ll get coffee and pie and you can tell me all about it.”19

After much prodding, I showered and let her take me out for Village Inn coffee and some equally sugar laced chocolate silk pie. Which lead to crying in the bathroom, over the complete and total unfairness of not even getting a Happy Valentine’s day out of him before the yelling had begun. Which lead to the bar, where I stood near the pool table, drink in hand and having a miserable time. “Lis, it’s your shot!”20

I had just bent over the table, lining up the cue to hit the nine ball, an easy shot even on my worst day when a voice seemed to cut through the room like an axe through a Borden. “It’s that bitch’s fault that I can’t be with the one I love!”21

I stood up, confused as my eyes wormed their way around the room. I knew that voice, why did I know that voice? Then my gaze settled on Bryan, with a Y he was always telling people, staring at me. Katie came next to me and glared, just out of principal. Bryan (with a Y) was my husband’s best friend and my greatest hater. On our wedding day the man had refused to stand up at his friend’s side because he didn’t think Chris should marry me, a fact that lead to a very loud screaming match; between Chris and I. I was of the mind that if his friend was such a dick, then I didn’t want him at my wedding! Chris refused to tell Bryan that he couldn’t come and the whole thing was nearly called off. And now, on the worst day of my life, here was Bryan again, giving me the look of doom. 22

He saw me looking at him and grimaced to his small coven of openly gay and/or wanna be gay friends. His boys, who wore pink and drank fruity martinis while discussing Brittney this and Madonna that, as if they went to AA or whatever together, all glared back at us. I always thought that Bryan (Don’t forget the Y) looked like Hitler got drunk and took advantage of a weasel once before he died and the thought made me giggle in my slightly drunk haze. “Weasel and Hitler,” I said soft enough that only Katie could hear me. She giggled and waved the blond waitress over. 23

The waitress smacked her gum at us, and my mind recorded the fact that it was Big Red, a fact that seemed a little funny to me later. Much later; like months later. “Yeah?” Her name tag said Rachel, and that seemed important too.24

“Get that guy over there a red headed slut shot, huh?” The waitress nodded at Katie, took the money and sent the shot. Katie clapped her hands as he accepted the shot, and then glared at me. Bryan dumped it into a near by trash can and then started to walk over. “Crap, what the hell? Like he can just toss his nose up at me?”25

I looked over at Katie with a troubled sigh. She couldn’t just leave well enough alone. This was one more thing in the pile of things that I didn’t want to deal with. But here he came, swinging his more than metro hips in a really lewd way to stand at a table right next to our high top. His gaggle of gushing gay groupies swarmed over the table, casting baleful eyes at us and commenting, quite loudly, about my hair or clothing. As if I had suddenly gone deaf. I rolled my eyes and turned to go when Katie put her hand on my arm and with a commanding shake of her head, took her shot. Looks like I was stuck here. 26

“I am the only one that had ever gotten him.”27

“We know Bryan. It’s so unfair!” 28

“See this necklace?” Bryan said, looking over at me to see that I was paying attention as he pulled out a long sliver chain with a jeweled lion on it. “It’s his zodiac sign. He sent it to me for Valentine’s Day!”29

They oohed and ahhed over it, casting looks my way to see if I was reacting. I rolled my eyes at Katie, shaking my head. Really, who cares that some Leo bought Bryan some god awful necklace from some cheap commercial place? Chris was born in August too, but you would never catch me wearing anything with like that around my neck! Hell no! I was a proud Aries. And being an Aries, I ignored those that weren’t worth my notice. Or tired, seeing as the gay Shoppe Quartet over there were getting louder and louder as the drinks kept coming. 30

“We were meant to be. Do you know what he calls me? His little Squid Eater. Isn’t that cute?” 31

Not really I thought, finishing my drink. I took a few more shots, of both the pool and the alcohol and was feeling pretty mellow when it all escalated. I had just sat at the table, waiting on Katie to come back from the sticky floored bathroom when Bryan stared right at me. “Stupid cunt bitch thinks she can just take away the only thing that ever mattered to me.”32

Finally, unable to take one more look, or one more snide remark, I stood up and stumbled the two steps over to him and his pink polo wearing, to much hair product, eye makeup wearing fudge packing followers and glared at him. “Look. We don’t like each other, but you don’t see me lamenting my love life loudly to my friends. Why not just buzz off somewhere else, jerk?” 33

“I am here, loudly telling you that you are a whore and you stole the only person to ever love me!” 34

Katei came back to stand by me, her face confused as my own. “What are you talking about?”35

“You know what I am talking about, bitch. He deserves better than some fat cow with no skills in the bedroom and less skills in what makes him happy,” Bryan sneered. 36

“Who?” I asked, completely lost. I was only with one person, my husband. Had Bryan finally lost what little brains he had left? What was he talking about? I looked over at Katie as Bryan refused to answer me, trying to puzzle it out on my own. Katie’s face was a mask of apprehension and dread and I felt sick for a reason I couldn’t name. I turned back to Bryan and grabbed his arm. “Who?”37

“Lis, let’s go.”38

I shook off Katie and stared into Bryan’s glittered face. “Who! Who are you talking about?”39

He just giggled with his friends and pushed past me. “When Chris gets home, we’ll see who he chooses, Fattie. Have a great night!” He called gaily. 40

I stood there, stuck to the wooden floor that gleamed from spilled drinks and cheap lighting. I could hear the music, and smell the cigarette smoke. But it seemed as if it was a dream, a memory of a dream, a memory of a dream that someone else once told me about. Nothing seemed real. My…husband? My Chris? Bryan was saying that he was sleeping with, actually with with my Chris? What did that mean?41

“I am so sorry, Lissa. I am so-you don’t think he really-oh, Lis. I am so so sorry!” 42

I looked over at Katie, blinking as if trying to understand her. Only it sounded as if she was translating Latin into French through a loudspeaker that was set to a decimal over my range of hearing. Chris? My Chris was …gay? Or Bi? Or whatever! I started to feel faint and had to grab a hold of the table to stop from falling. Katie had tears in her eyes that seemed to physically hurt me and I tried to say something but all I could do was moan. She reached out to hug me, and that was when I stopped thinking and just let the world slip away.