This is my 100th story which also completes my third time through the alphabet. No need to remind me that I’m in serious need of professional help. As with the preceding 99, this one is hopelessly flawed.
Just troping along, as is my norm, as if I had a norm. Please read my profile for my stance on comments. Feel free to email suggestions or to start a conversation. Private messages work too.
An aviation warning: “Time is your friend, until you run out of time, at which point time becomes your enemy.”
G G Gobel: “Look around you, look up here. Take time to make time, make time to be there.”
= = = =
It all started on a Friday night. My husband Gavin answered his cell phone, talked softly for a minute then slid his phone back into his pocket. I was in the kitchen cutting vegetables for our salads.
Gavin walked towards me “That was my brother Bill. Apparently we’re supposed to be over there for a dinner party tonight. He said you talked with Candy earlier this week.”
“No, I don’t remember the last time I talked with Candy. Bill’s mistaken.”
“Whatever, put that stuff in the fridge and go get dressed. I told him we’d be over as quick as we could.”
I felt like screaming ‘Don’t roll your eyes at me!’ but I didn’t. Candy is Bill’s wife and I did NOT talk with her earlier this week.
Of course men can get ready to go in like thirty seconds so Bill was waiting for me when I came out several minutes later. He was holding my cell phone.
“Looks like Candy called you Tuesday night just after 7 Pm” as he handed me my cell phone.
What the fuck? Sure as hell, my call log showed a call from Candy. I don’t remember it. The worst part of the evening turned out to be ME being the butt of all sorts of blonde jokes. At best I’m a dishwater blonde, but I screwed up so I played along.
+ + + +
The following Saturday morning I couldn’t find my favorite alumni sweatshirt. My gut feeling was that there should have been more clothes for me to search through.
“Gavin, have you seen my Golden Gopher sweatshirt?”
“Since the last time you wore it? Not really. Have you checked your closet?”
“Dumbass, of course I checked my closet. It’s not there. That’s why I’m asking you.”
“Was it in those sacks of clothing you gave to Goodwill this week?”
What the fuck was he talking about? I hadn’t given anything to any thrift store in ages.
“I didn’t give away any of my clothes. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever. You said you were going to drop them off after work on you way to the gym. That would make it Wednesday, right?”
“I did no such thing.”
“Whatever, I’m running late for golf. Good luck in your search. I can’t imagine anyone wanting that sweatshirt so it should still be for sale at Goodwill. You should stop in and do some shopping.”
Good thing his back was to me as I flipped his arrogant ass off! I did NOT take clothing to Goodwill and you won’t find me dead or alive in a thrift store.
I went through everything I owned and it certainly appeared I was missing clothing.
+ + + +
Monday night, when I tried to jump Gavin’s bones, he had the audacity to stop and put a condom on.
“What the hell Gavin?”
“Well as forgetful as you’ve been, I don’t want to find out that you forgot to take your birth control pills. That could result is us starting a family a little earlier than we planned.”
I was pissed. Marching into the bathroom, I pulled my birth-control pills out and stomped back into the bedroom. This stunt of his cost him any chance of getting a little loving tonight.
“Here, check for yourself” as I threw the pill sheet at him.
After a quick glance “What day is it Micah?”
“Monday!”
He turned the pill sheet towards me “Then why are the pills for Sunday and Monday still here?”
Gavin tossed the pills at my feet and left the bedroom quietly. I was stunned. Slumping onto the bed, I began crying softly. What’s happening to me? I know I took the pills.
Gavin and I had sex on Thursday. No, it was not love making. I refused to make love to someone wearing a condom.
+ + + +
When I dressed for work on Monday, I couldn’t find my diamond earrings. They were a gift from Gavin for our first anniversary four years ago. I wear them every Monday so I searched, in vain, until giving up.
Gavin had already left for work, so I went looking for something else to wear. It seemed like there were several pieces of jewelry missing.
Monday night I approached Gavin “Honey, have you seen my diamond earrings?”
“Other than when you wear them?”
“Yeah, I usually wear them on Monday but I couldn’t find them this morning.”
“Were they in that sack of jewelry you took to Cash-Fer-Gold on Saturday?”
Pausing before I erupted, I reviewed what I’d done on Saturday. Selling my jewelry wasn’t anything I had done or would ever do.
“Gavin, I did NOT sell any of my jewelry.”
Holding up his hand, like a stop sign, he went into our makeshift office area. After shuffling a few sheets of paper, he returned with a receipt, which he handed to me.
I sank to my knees. Dated Saturday, with my signature, was a receipt from Cash-Fer-Gold. It listed two rings, four pairs of earrings, and six necklaces.
“What have I done?” I screamed as I raced back into the bedroom. My engagement ring and my grandmother’s ring were gone. My pearl earrings were gone. I was sobbing and threw myself on the bed.
“Micah, maybe you should see a doctor. This is like the tenth time you can’t remember doing something.”
I would have acknowledge the suggestion had I not been crying so hard. Tuesday morning found me running late for work. I felt like shit. What’s happening to me?
Gavin was still fucking me with a condom on, and got it over quickly. It still pisses me off, but maybe he has a point.
+ + + +
After talking with my girlfriends, I decided to see my general practitioner. She referred me to a Neuropsychologist. My first appointment was set for the following Friday. I wish it had come sooner.
On Saturday, Gavin told me we were expected back at his brother’s house for another party.
“We’re supposed to bring our wedding album as Jim and Maura are getting married and wanted to see what everybody else had done.”
Rather than embarrass myself, as I didn’t remember meeting Jim and Maura, I simply nodded and went to the promise chest which contained our wedding memories.
When I opened the chest, I started hyperventilating. My dress was gone along with both of the large albums of pictures. I locked the bedroom door so that Gavin couldn’t see me tearing the room apart. I never found them.
When it was time to leave I apologized to Gavin “I thought I knew where the wedding albums were but I never could find them. Sorry.”
The look Gavin shot me wasn’t very loving.
When Gavin greeted Jim and Maura like old friends, I stood there like a mushroom. I’d never seen them before. How is this possible? I faked it but couldn’t wait to get home. As couple after couple shared their wedding albums, Gavin seemed to get more agitated.
It was a tense drive home and Gavin didn’t speak three words to me on Sunday. My marriage seems to be following my memory into the toilet.
At least Gavin allowed me to suck him off without a condom on Monday night. That lifted his spirits a little. I’d gone over every inch of the house and my wedding dress was nowhere to be found. Same with the wedding albums. What the fuck did I do with them?
+ + + +
My meeting with the neuropsychologist went well enough. I explained all of the issues I’d been having. She ordered a CT scan to check for any irregularities. The analysis came back by noon on Saturday, negative. Finally some good news.
Around dinner time Gavin yelled out from in front of the television “Hey, want to go out for dinner?”
Although I was chopping up veggies again “Sure, when did you want to go?”
“As soon as you’re ready. No hurry. I know a place about fifteen minutes away.”
After cleaning up the kitchen, I dressed casually and we left for parts unknown.
It was a little burger joint with about a dozen tables and booths. My legs got weak when I spotted a family of four in one of the booths. The wife was cute enough and they had a pair of young boys. The problem was that the man was Greg, from the gym, with whom I’d had an on again off again affair over the last six months.
Although there were several tables available, Gavin plopped down in the one right next to them. I almost upchucked.
Gavin calmly read the menu. I stared blankly at mine. The waitress took our drink order.
“How’s your memory tonight Micah?”
“Good, I think, why?”
“You remember Greg don’t you?”
I squeaked “Greg?”
Gavin turned to Greg “You are Greg Webber aren’t you?”
His wife quizzed “Honey, what’s going on. You look sick.”
Gavin stood and addressed the lady “Hi, my name is Gavin Brown. Seems like my wife Micah and Greg are very familiar in a biblical sense. Isn’t that right dear?”
Upchuck it was. I was busted. Greg’s wife was screaming at Greg. Their kids were crying. I thought it was the manager standing next to me.
“Are you alright miss?”
I lied “I’ll be okay. Give me a minute.”
“Are you Micah Brown?” he continued.
Looking up at the man “Yes.”
“You have been served.”
I don’t remember much after that. When I awoke, I was in my childhood bedroom. Apparently Gavin left me at the restaurant and refused calls to assist me. My mother was listed as an ‘In Case Of Emergency’ contact in my cell phone.
What little of mine which was left in our house was in boxes in front of my parent’s home. Just like that we weren’t a couple any longer.
+ + + +
Epilogue:
It all makes sense now. Little by little Gavin destroyed anything we had in common, and convinced me that I was the one who had done it.
Greg was nobody to me. I’d met him in the gym and thought I could get away with a little time-out from my marriage. Instead, I ran my marriage out of time. I didn’t fight the divorce as Gavin made it quite clear that we were through.
Bill and Candy helped Gavin out. Candy uses the same birth control pills that I do and switched her sheet with mine, making it look like I’d forgotten to take the pills. How do I know this? An anonymous phone call taunted me with all of the deception Gavin had succeeded in pulling off. All of my treasured memories are gone forever. Who do I blame?
Gavin wouldn’t really talk with me. He’d listen and give two word replies. If irked me but who do I complain to?
I’m back dating again, but am severely depressed and rarely get asked out a second time. My neuropsychologist was replace with a general psychologist. She says I’m making progress, but I’m not so sure.