by Lis Anna
The prince who awakened me from my slumber was not my husband.
Samuel is sitting on the sofa reading The Times. “Penny for your thoughts.”
I point to my day planner. I’ll give you a nickel if you just go away.
“Oh,” his eyes say, dropping back to the page.
Need, Want & Desire play a game in my head. I follow them out to a dark labyrinth where they talk gibberish and take shape. The fire sings a song. They take my hands, laying them against my own skin and they chant, rattle, shake, across dark skies with no moonlight. They part my legs and plead. I obey. They dance into ferocious cries of pleasure.
Everything happens in reel time now. I am starring in the French Film that is my life. Sometimes it is black and white with no sound. I turn the volume up. When I open my eyes, my lover is watching me. He says, “I had to get up in the middle of the night to get a blanket because you had the sheet wrapped around you.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Because you look so good in it.”
We are making the film of us. The unrated version. You get the picture.
My bathroom mirror has become my psychologist. I don’t understand, I am whining to my other self. I am confused. I am driven to live my life at the expense of destroying another. Driven. I hear Larry Adler backing his car out of his driveway next door. He is tall, blonde, dazzling and doesn’t cheat on his wife. “Not me,” I say, confidently looking the psychologist in the eye, applying gloss to my cheating lips. “I am having an affair.” I hate myself for being so flip about it but today at 3PM I am having a board meeting in room 504 of the Waterford Inn. Naked.
The curtains are pulled so tight that I can only see an outline of my lover’s face. “I have to be back before dinner,” I say, rolling over, biting into his neck. His hands ride up to my hips. I am scaling the tower walls. We begin making sense.
Out in the cool, evening air he wraps his arms around me. The French film that is us drifts off around the corner. Then we cut.
We’re having defensive behavior for dinner again.
“I’ve seen you for two hours all week,” Samuel says, squeezing his wine glass, laying blame. “I wish you’d never taken that job, Marla.”
I think I am an incomplete human being cloned from an earlier version of myself that was damaged. I want to think I’m on the verge of a breakthrough but what I’m really doing is cheating on my husband. I’m not stupid. I do it everyday, habitually, like a chain smoker, sneaking out back, or upstairs, or to the broom closet for my fix. I want to travel across the distance of my lover’s chest, and ride a caravan down to his lips where his tongue waits like an oasis.
to read the complete story you can find it here: http://www.themonarchreview.org/the-descent/
where it was published in the 2011 Winter Edition of the Monarch Review
Welcome to my world.
Copyright 2011 (c) Lis Anna All rights reserved