The “Two People” short story in its complete form.
PART 1
HE never took a day off. The times might change but the repetitive act of walking would always happen, no matter the weather or his mood. In fact the mere routine of putting one foot in front of the other was enough to focus his mind to a pin prick, all other mortal concerns floating away down the river. The route took him along a set path that follows a creek for about 10 kilometres, snaking between trees and diverging into small ponds and marshland along the way. The only concern to him was the innumerable number of cyclists who thought they owned the path more than bipeds. There are usually at least five or six instances during a two hour walk where he would start as a shape made of fluorescent spandex and metal would fly past, mere inches away from his shoulder. Just raising his arm by 45 degrees would initiate a rather glorious tumble. One of the great things about the path itself is the duck pond that seems to always appear from the behind the trees, always just like the first time. There were also swans, geese and even an ibis calling this little suburban paradise home; they would flop on the bank, drying out in the sun before flapping madly and plunging in again when the humans got too close. He liked to sit and stare out into the duck pond and glance at the human (and animal) traffic that converged on this natural hub of calm and peacefulness.
SHE wandered over to the pond, a bright pink leash dangling from the plaid canine harness attached to a tan pug. For her these walks reminded her of those childhood strolls on the beach with her father, the low-hanging elm and birch brushing past her thick overcoat during winter and lightly scratching her bare skin in the summer. “Bailey” was a three-year-old pug her family adopted from the RSPCA. When she saw him, she had to have him and so she did. His eyes seemed to reflect something tired and worn out; it was a look that belied his youth, and perhaps it was something she felt a certain kinship with. They immediately bonded and enjoyed merely sitting, enjoying each other’s company. These forays to the duck pond involved a relatively short walk from the two-storey townhouse she called home. She and her canine prince savoured these times like a fine cup of artisanal coffee. Bailey would gaze upon the avian species dotting the pond in curiosity, his head cocked to one side whenever the birds would waddle close or when they took off in a gaggle of feathers and water. There was no malice in his gaze, but merely a recognition of the collective animal unconscious – “That’s an odd way to live”.
HE saw her before the dog, which was odd because he has always been fascinated by the relationship between canine and Man; a bond that was borne out of a mutually beneficial, though tacit, agreement. The dogs would get shelter, relative safety and a regular meal and the people would get a loyal companion who could be called on as a deterrent or as the last line of defence. For him, he just likes the way the fur and the unalterable pulse of life flowed together to create a sense of existence that was difficult to describe. He also believed that there was something about humans somehow feeling a sense of vicarious enjoyment with how they provide for their animals – all they do is perform their homeostatic functions and hang out. It’s a life that many people strive to achieve but few could actually pull off without earning the ire of those around them. He watched as she moved seemingly at random amongst the low-hanging trees only to end up on the banks of the pond, staring out into the still, grey water. He watched as the breeze ruffled her ponytail; he watched as the dog pawed at something on the ground then sniffed the air; he watched as she peered down at the dog, a look of quiet contemplation on her fine features.
SHE looked out at the water. She really liked seeing the ripples splay out in concentric circles, a physical manifestation that was so real, consistent and predictable. This was nature at work – the physical world playing out in front of her. No mumbo-jumbo religiosity or superstition. A rock falls in the water, the ripples flow away from the splash…every time. Not like people. People changed. They were mostly unpredictable. She knew Bailey. What he likes; what he does; his reaction to things. Consistent. Predictable and reliable. These were what she valued above all else. But there were also other things she liked – secret things that she dare not admit to even herself.
Unbeknownst of the unseen machinations of the universe, the two disparate individuals met at that spot for the first time. In their heads the typical fireworks display of doubt and exultation; of fear and pleasure. No physical contact was made, but their mental connection provided goosebumps, provided a warm spreading sensation throughout their bodies. Words became foreign, a once common language turning to dust in their mouths. All that existed was the feeling. The feeling that shall not be named because it can’t be explained because it shouldn’t be understood. There are things in the universe that exist on the plane of the metaphysical, one of them being love. This is for the good of humanity: no one wants to know why, they just want to know.
PART 2
They walked to her house after her tentative invitation back at the duck pond. They spoke of their lives in roundabout ways, tacitly avoiding anything even resembling real life. They walked and felt young again. Like the first time they met that other one. These seeming strangers began to experience that wonderful, glowing feeling in their belly, growing steadily, to reach its full maturity in her bedroom.
They reached her two-storey mini-mansion, with a modern style that suggested it was a recent development. Nerves and anticipation made it hard to think (or breathe).
“Come on, let’s not waste time. We don’t have much of it.”
She led him and Bailey through the pale double doors, the ceiling suddenly disappearing into the void above their heads with the winding staircase twisting behind an ornate chandelier. He couldn’t figure out if his breathlessness was due to the woman beside him or the unexpected beauty of her place. The place she shared with her husband. He tried blocking this thought from his mind but the house felt cloyingly close; it felt alive with the shared history of a family. His own moral boundaries began to shift and tear away from his consciousness like a bandage torn away from tender burned flesh.
Desire remained steadfast, strong and impervious to any good sense.
She led him up this staircase, the soft luminescent sconces creating a stairway to heaven of sorts. She felt that adolescent heady rush of being bad. There was something about the shut-in marital life that had brought her to this terrible cross roads. On the verge of something irreversible, something that used to only exist within the safe confines of her mind’s eye. Those innumerable fantasies she enjoyed by herself, mostly in the bathtub were now coming true…well, one of them at least.
“Here we are. We can’t back out now.” She looked at him intently, those smoky eyes transmitting a silent challenge. All he could do was nod his head in tacit understanding. Nothing needed to be said.
He stepped into her bedroom and was immediately confronted with a more overpowering version of her scent. A scent he only picked up as tiny sparks to the nervous system on the walk from the duck pond. Of course he was tentative and so was she. As time slowed, their breathing quickened. Their movements languid, floating through a form of space of their own making. The layers of social inhibition slowly being stripped away as the primal instinct takes over. Life begins to occur in flashes. A river of spasmodic electric shocks. The fumbling becomes smoother, more in tune. The walls of consciousness are broken down. As one in darkness, enveloped by the light of their desire.
They lay side-by-side in meditative contemplation.
“You want something to eat? To drink?”
“Sure. Coke?”
“Yup. Coming right up,” she breathed as she leaned over to kiss his dry lips.
Their voices were raspy and cracked. Their lips dry yet their skin wet and soft to the touch. He couldn’t remember ever feeling a softer surface his entire life as the small of her back where his hand rested. He was rough and hairy, but manly. Maybe that’s what she missed about the trysts from her past. That unbridled masculinity of youth. Sure, they were numbskulls but the testosterone was completely overwhelming and addictive. She carefully leaned out of the bed, and he watched her go.
He considered briefly the possibility that they may be caught. Him sitting up in her husband’s bed with a Coke in his hand and her resting her head on his chest, slowly drifting off to sleep. It was only a fleeting thought because in his current state of bliss, nothing bad could happen. EVER.
She padded softly to the kitchen. The cool marble flooring sending pricks of ice through the soles of her feet. This felt good contrasted with the warm closeness of the bedroom. The bedroom she shared with her husband. The bedroom that will never be the same again. She new that every time she walked into that room she would smell HIM. She would see HIM, resting casually on the bed. All her sense would instantly remind her of this day, this auspicious afternoon. Some inconsequential afternoon in some inconsequential week in some inconsequential month in the year 2015. She woke up this morning not thinking that this would ever happen. But then no one really does. That’s what makes life worth living. You never know when you have the opportunity to ruin your life and marriage because of some pithy sexual desires.
Ding Dong.
The doorbell sent a high-pitched alarum throughout the house and a stab of shock through its inhabitants. Bailey responded with his own insipid little yelps, informing his human benefactor of someone at the door. It couldn’t be anyone living in this mini suburban palace, but it could be one of her neighbours; those nosy vultures always probing where they have no business. She bolted back to the bedroom leaving the 2 litre bottle of Coke to drip on the marble counter top. Instead of her silk robe she threw on some sweat pants and a t-shirt then made her way downstairs.
“Bailey! Shoosh!”
He just sat there, bolt upright in the bed afraid to even twitch, breath or think. His heart seemed to be jumping around twice as fast as before, beads of moisture popping out on his shiny forehead and his mouth turned to sand. He couldn’t run, jump out the window or pretend to be the plumber. That stuff only happened in ridiculous romantic comedies.
She slowly composed herself, straightened her unkempt hair and walked quickly down the winding staircase to the ground floor, Bailey close with his nails tapping lightly on the floor. Scenarios intruded upon her mind from the inconsequential to the disastrous. The walk to the door seemed to occur in slow motion; she saw her hand reach up to the peephole and move aside the cover. A young man. Seemed to be wearing some sort of uniform. A package. Phew. Just a courier. Relief overtook her. A deep breath found its way into her lungs as she unlocked the door.
“Sign here ma’am.”
PART 3
They met at least three times a week, sometimes more. Their embraces became more insistent, out of control; their personal lives, a hinderance; an obstacle in the way of more mutual self-gratification and their assured self-destruction. Living on the edge of a volcano affords some wonderful views and the fumes block any good sense or inhibition. They were living their darkest dreams and imaginings; a faint sense, in the furthest reaches of their minds, tried in vain to remind them of their morality. They were living on an island. Away from civilisation, in an artificial reality of their own making. Floating through life wearing the death mask of humanity; lying to the very faces they professed their love to. Lying to themselves.
The routine was always the same:
Coded instant message from him or her stating time and place. Confirmation within seconds. He would show up at the motel first, parking around the corner, short walk and book a room. Different place each time. She would do the same. They were both vigilant and would constantly peer over their shoulders, searching for the snipers hiding in the bushes that would eventually lead to their destruction. A part of them wanted to see someone. Someone who cares enough, strong enough to put a stop to this madness. Their ‘meeting’ would last for an hour at least. It was always much too short, everything over much too soon for either of them to be completely content. They would wander out into the real world, feelings of guilt and strangling fear fighting to be heard. Parting was always accompanied by a slight tinge of pain. Would this be the last time?
Every rendezvous brought them closer to coming undone; closer to being exposed as the demonic King and Queen of Babylon. But in this society, they’re not the only ones. Unscrupulous adults have tasted the forbidden fruit for millennia. Acting out their base nature; bathing in their own narcissism. These two were no different; meeting in such innocent circumstances yet determined to butcher as many sacred cows as possible before judgement.
It was on their 17th meeting that things began to change.
For the first time he feel asleep. There was never really enough time for anything except what they came to do. But this time, a month of late nights had left him exhausted and he drifted off in a haze of ecstasy.
Seeing her new love drift off so contentedly, she too decide to close her eyes and listen to his breathing. However the pull of oblivion was too much and she also flew to its shores.
The insistent, high pitched, electronic tone of the mobile phone awoke them with a start. Never before had their phones been left on. They were either silenced or switched off completely, but now, during their 17th meeting, on some random day in 2015, the outside world decided to come calling. The real world, for the first time, decided to lay siege to their island paradise. It was a simple phone call, inconsequential. No one that was missing them at that very moment but it was, nevertheless, a sobering reminder of what they were up to. Two renegades insistent upon their own wish fulfilment at the expense of their moral duty and responsibility.
Each of them experienced this intrusion differently.
He took it less seriously. His pragmatism allowing him to place this incident in the ‘oops, forgot’ category and promise to do better next time. He didn’t pick up the slight change in expression, the disappointed tone and imperceptible slump of the shoulders of his new beloved. The haze of pleasurable fatigue still wrapped its tendrils around his mind, dulling his perception.
The reminder of the real world, of reality, was something she couldn’t shake. As the one with the most to lose there was something growing in her mind, something warning her that this needed to end. And soon. She looked down at the screen and answered it.
“Hey.” She managed to split this simple greeting into two syllables, such was her overly affable tone.
“Oh, you know, just out and about. Might pick up some stuff for dinner. Maybe…marinated lamb or something.”
“Really? No way, I mean, that’s kinda impossible, really. There’s no way I could be anywhere near where she said she saw me. Hehe.”
“Yeah, I think she might be losing it. You know the other day she said she thought she saw Patrick doing the gardening…yeah…he’s been dead for ages…nothing like that at all.”
“Love you too. See you”
She tapped the red button to end the call and sat in silence, looking down at the home screen.
He could hear her husband’s voice muffled through the tiny iPhone speaker. Another reminder of what he wanted for himself but couldn’t have; she belongs to someone else. It ate at his guts to think of someone else being closer. No, closer than him. He didn’t have consistency or permanence. But the man on the phone did.
For the first time the unfamiliar yet pervasive feeling of shame intruded upon their insulated bubble.
“There’s no way he suspects anything. No way.”
“No.” He sat up to lend some support.
“No, I mean it. I’ve been careful…so careful,” she trailed off almost whispering the last words to herself, moisture springing suddenly in her eyes.
“Listen. We didn’t get caught today. I love you, just be cool.”
He tried to read her expression but all that met his concerned gaze were wisps of dark hair clinging weakly to the side of her face.
She wished to share his self-assuredness but there was something about her husband’s tone that terrified her. There was something growing in her stomach: a cancerous sense of dread and foreboding. The flashing clarion bell of desire that she carried with her these past weeks suddenly fell silent, replaced by a rigorous sense of duty and loyalty to someone else. The duty she vowed to uphold seven-and-a-half years ago. She finally looked at the man sitting next to her, as if it was the first time. It was like looking at a stranger, an interloper in her perfectly crafted existence. What was happening to her?
“Baby.”
She smiled then, though a little sadly. She could sense the end.
He could too but refused to even acknowledge the possibility.
She kissed him lightly on the forehead and suddenly felt that keen sense of desire return in full bloom but it didn’t last. All that remained was the vapour trail of a comet that had already passed overhead and was flying away, never to be seen until the next lifetime.
They got dressed in silence, sharing furtive, hesitant glances. Lost was the usual sense of satisfaction and contentment, commingled with smiles and banter. The room definitely felt more frigid than it had an hour before.
It was hard to articulate but something had changed between them.
A kiss on the lips.
“See you.”
PART 4
“I dunno, I never really had any competition growing up, I mean in terms of getting whatever I wanted. Never had any brothers or sisters, just us three in this…house. Got me thinking, how much does going through hard stuff actually shape your personality?”
“Well, sometimes the hard stuff is necessary. Like when you’re sick and you take drugs that mess you up for a bit…but at least you get better. Life is all about hard shit, it…builds character, right?”
“We a couple’a immoral, unethical damn cheaters. What kind of ‘character’ is that? Sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out that way but…it’s the truth. Look at us. What have we done? It’s been a blast, I’ll admit.”
She turned to look at him, but turned her head too quickly so that she felt slightly ill as her head swam from the vodka.
“So…you just want to quit? Tonight? Is…that what you’re saying?”
He blanched at her tone. There was a speckle of truth to it.
“No…not exactly. But, listen. I’m a practical guy. You might say I’m what’s called a ‘pragmatist.’ I see things as they are and…you know, tragically honest…”
She contemplated this and tried to consider the truth of his words despite the momentary lack of cognitive ability.
“I know, I know. I’m just…after the last time, that phone call. I was just so confused, you know? I didn’t know what to think, how to react to something like that. It was such…I’m just remembering how I’m screwing things up, for me, my family…my family! My God, I hope nobody finds out about this.” She shook her head, her hair flying in all directions only to settle back down her shoulders and back. He particularly enjoyed her hair: such femininity, such beauty, such a wonderful example of womanhood.
“…”
“I’m rambling…it’s the vodka. How much did you pay for this? It’s good…or maybe it tastes better with you…or…I don’t know. What are you thinking?”
“…”
“Babe? You know, sometimes I wish we had met like, 15 years ago, before our lives became stuck in the mud. Where am I going with this guy? Seriously! I mean, I could’ve had any guy at uni when I was there for those years, but you know….Paul. He…there was something about the way he carried himself…so calm, self-assured, like there was nothing that he couldn’t take care of, no problem he couldn’t solve. He had this hat he wore sometimes, I’d imagine him to be some sort of mysterious stranger that did important things and solved crimes and stupid adolescent shit like that when I was there. When I didn’t really know him…sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about this…”
He shook his head.
“Thought so…”
She stared out the window at the darkness surrounding them. The clouds had closed in during the afternoon and now threatened showers in the early hours of the morning. They were up on the 37th floor of a relatively fancy hotel building in the middle of the city, drinking and having fun. Reality always seemed to set in during these trysts, the burden they had to endure to experience these encounters. Her thoughts drifted to ancient times, 12 pounds and 2 kids ago to be exact. Such ambition, possibility. Everything seemed possible. Now? Who knows? Who the hell ever knows?
“You know, there should be someone in everyone’s life to tell them that this is the best it’s ever going to get unless you do something to keep it going. We all sort of understand this to some degree but it doesn’t really hit you until you’re drowning in your own cynicism and recrimination…and you can’t escape.”
She realised her cynicism was completely antithetical to where she wanted to be. Why was she wasting their time with these negative thoughts?
He got up suddenly, and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. He bent down then, lowering his face close to hers with his hand resting on her thigh.
“Then just leave him.”
The statement hung in the air like the lingering resonant frequencies of a thunderclap. It was an option that both of them thought about often but to her it was unthinkable.
The scandal it would cause, the irreversible ripples that would spread throughout her life was incomprehensible. Her kids; her job; Paul…did he deserve to be treated like this? Her guilt was too much. She had to get out, suddenly the room seemed to close in on her, trapping her in suffocating claustrophobia. Sweat popped on her forehead and her breathing became laboured. She clutched the sheets to steady herself and waited for the wave of panic to pass.
“Are you O.K.?”
He touched her back, his hand running over beads of moisture.
She calmed herself then and looked at him. Who was this stranger? She felt she needed to see Paul immediately. He would know what to do. He always knew what to do. He was so reliable. She picked up her phone then.
3:37 am.
Call Paul.
He saw what she was doing and quickly tried to snatch the phone from her but she held it away from him at a safe distance. The alcohol made her head swim but she was thinking clearly now. Clearer than she had during the past two months.
“No, leave me alone. I know what to do now! It’s the only way!”
“You don’t know what you’re doin, it’ll blow up in both of our faces! Think about it!”
The struggle for the phone continued but neither person had the strength or energy to truly gain an advantage over the other. Their bodies were slick with sweat so it was difficult for either of them to get a sturdy grip on the small black object. They moved in a macabre dance of desperate struggle, the iPhone blinking intermittently in her steel clutches.
Knock, knock, knock.
This simple wooden tattoo was enough to stop both of them in mid-struggle.
“Daphne? Are you in there? Open up!”
The Musings of a Functional Lunatic - Ian Fonnie 