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‘The Crux’
by
"The truth of the matter is that I
can't marry you. Not while I'm in love with someone
else." The static silence of the phone line burned
my right ear. I shifted my weight from my left foot to my
right. I could sense the varicose vein behind my knee
bulging. I ignored it. "Are you still
there?" A brief, barely perceptible sniffle could be
heard from that tiny kitchen with its cracked marble floor, its
only imperfection. Beyond that, it was pristine.
She wouldn't have it any other way. She ate apples
with a napkin to catch any stray juice. She cleaned
fanatically. But she left the floor. She wasn't the
kind of girl who praised inadequacies on their charm or their
ability to lend things "character." I'm not
sure if she preferred the floor out of nostalgia or what.
Sometimes she was a mystery to me. "Hannah?
Are you there?"
"Of course I'm still here," she
spurted out in a whisper. She never spoke when she was
upset. She was too strong for that. She would not
have her voice crack and betray her. She would not have
the rest of us believe in her humane side. Not for
something so trite. "You do have to admit that this
is awfully selfish of you."
I heaved a sigh. "I'm
aware."
"Then do something about it," she
spat. "You're telling me that this decision is for
the greater good, I take it? That less people will hurt
because of it?" She was calling my bluff.
"I don't imagine you're going to end your liaison
with her"-she meant Yvonne-"because you're in love
with me." Finally, she cleared her throat. She
was through crying. It was anger that was in her voice,
full-volume. "You're taking the safe road, the easy
way out. It's not commendable, I'll have you know.
You won't marry me because I would want you to cease your
forays with all others and the fact that you're enamored with
one of them complicates matters. But you'll spend the
rest of your days, a thing as close to marriage as any, with
this girl who 'doesn't need to get married.' My dearest,
sweetest love, every girl needs marriage. She'll bend and
break just like the rest of us did. One day, you'll wake
up and she'll be looking at you with that needy stare that
overtakes every woman who realizes that age is catching up with
her and no matter how much anti-wrinkle cream she uses, her
crow's feet will stand in the way of every welcoming tryst for
the rest of her thirties and secure her a lonely den well into
middle-age. Well, it's not fair. And I won't have
it."
"Am I to understand that your marriage
proposal wasn't multiple choice?" I ventured.
"I don't have the strength for your
facetiousness right now. I really don't."
"Hannah. It wouldn't be fair to
you if we were to marry. Any time I would act distant or
stay late at work, you'd wonder. You'd second-guess every
move I make because you'd know in the back of your mind that
I'm not yours alone. Not emotionally."
"Francis," how I loathed her
addressing me by my full name, "this is not merely your
decision to be made. Besides…" It was
now that I felt myself wriggling in her grip. From her
tone, I knew she was about to toss down her largest bargaining
chip, something that would thwart any argument I could fathom.
"…I took a test today."
"Oh?" I asked, fearful.
"How'd you do?"
"I did positively. Very, very
positively."
My head hit the top of the pay phone.
"Hannah. That can't be true. We took
every precaution." We did too. She'd make me
wait in the dark, after I'd "suited up," as she
squirted spermicidal foam into her vaginal cavity. And
she was on the pill.
"You took every precaution," she
said in a voice which much resembled the one she reserved
merely for gloating. "There was the time in the
shower." She was right. It was during her
placebo. Curse my aquaphilia.
It then occurred to me, "That was
months ago."
"Yes. And I'm two months
late."
Fuck. Fuck it all.
"Hannah. What you're suggesting.
It's wrong. We'll each grow to resent that
child."
"I will love you and this child for
the rest of my natural born life." Never had I heard
a deadlier threat. I was screwed. I was so screwed.
I let out an audible groan.
"Now," she addressed me, "I
will start boxing up my belongings and start moving them over
little by little."
"Where?" I cried. "Not
to my place!"
"You can't be suggesting that we move
into my apartment. It's far too small. And I can't
be alone during this. Not in my condition."
She cooed her condition.
"Dear God, you're enjoying this."
There was a silence during which I can only imagine she
wore a dawning expression.
"You're quite right," she said.
"I am."
She laughed a bit then. And I heard a
click followed by the dial tone.
I tried. I did.
I hope you can forgive me. I am,
after all, only human.
I do love you, Wendy. More than
anything.
But I have to do what's right. I can
understand if you'll not be speaking to me again. Please
know that those three months with you were my happiest.
Best regards,
Frank
PS - Do you think she was right about all
women needing marriage? That's sticking in my side a bit.
