THE CITY'S STILL DARK
by Queenie
for Christine Smith
Chapter One
the tired spaces
He drove back to the old place again. He did not know why. He had not even noticed he was doing it, until he saw the red car parked in his space. Swearing under his breath, he went to turn his car around and drive the 35 minutes out of the suburbs and into the city. And to his new home and to his new bed.
Five hours later, he would be up and on his way back to the airport and to a long three days in Milwaukee.
She was happy in her new home. She loved the living room windows; so big. She loved the fireplace in the kitchen; so not-needed. She loved that she could sit outside her front door and see what was going on.
And she loved looking at her red car. Parked in her driveway.
And she really liked her new bed too. So, usually when he was pulling in next to her car, she never noticed.
Except this night. This rainy, spring night, when he decided not to turn his car around, but to sit in his car in front of his old home and think, she was sitting on her front porch.
And it kind of scared her, when he did not leave. Will they kill me? Is it someone I know? Is it a robber? She decided not to move. And she decided five minutes later that it must be a drunk passed out. She decided to make sure.
And he was embarrassed, when she tapped on his window. He laughed, "I used to live here. Remember me?"
And when she looked closer at him, she realized she had seen his face before.
And it had been on moving day.
She paused to think before answering him. "...Do you want to see what I have done with the place?"
She showed him every room, but the bedroom.
Chapter Two
what you wanna be
He found himself thinking of her often. Her hair and her smile. The touch of her hand. He never wanted to make her cry.
And everywhere he went, something would remind him of her.
He liked thinking about her.
She only thought about him when he was in front of her. Making sure the governor kept his job was her top priority.
She let him fondle her breasts twice and secretly liked it both times, before she let him see the bedroom. About three weeks later.
And the bed was on the opposite wall from where it used to be, and after their lovemaking, he thought that he was glad the room did not feel like his old room. The bed was so much nicer too.
And he always wanted to know."Was it good for you?"
"Yes. This is good for me" was her answer.
So he slept there that night.
And then the next night too. He liked the warmth of her body. "I'll be the one that will hold on to you," he whispered more than once.
Chapter Three
the steady shore
He talked to her on the telephone every night. Usually for half an hour. No matter what. Both liked to talk to each other over the phone. They would laugh and smile. And then sometimes cry.
They always had sex in the city and every other night that he was over at her house. They only went to the city three times in the six months. There was all that traffic and neither could sleep very well.
He was usually over at her house.
He loved running his fingers through her hair.
She loved the 1000 smiles he seemed to own.
The living room was yellow now, instead of white, but the furniture was where he thought it should be, instead of where his ex-wife had it.
They watched football and Jerry Springer on television. They played golf at the club. She gave him back his parking space and they went to Hawaii together. Twice.
He walked into her home whenever he wanted to.
He gave her a key to his.
Chapter Four
she's walking wrong
And she had the key for three months and she never used it.
Except this night. This rainy winter night, when she used the key to let him in because his arms were full of lots and lots of packages from the stores. She let him in first and then she ducked into the washroom, right inside his front door, just as he managed to turn on the hallway light, with his elbow.
And then he walked into his living room.
And a minute later, so did she.
She walked into a room, where there were two people kissing.
And she said outloud, "Oh, my god."
And the couple jumped back from each other.
And the next voice said, "Jesus. You could have told me someone was here." And then the other woman continued, "I am going to go get dressed. And then I am going to leave."
The other woman did not say sorry to her, as she walked passed her. Nor did cover herself. She felt cold.
But she looked at him and he looked at her.
And after a pause she asked, "How did she get in here?"
To which he replied, "That is my wife."
And when his wife came out of the bedroom and in the entry way, to put on the brown shoes neither had noticed before, no one said a word. The other woman did not slam the door behind her.
But she kept her eyes locked on him.
Even though he was turned to the wall, covering his eyes with his hands.
"How did she get in here? Answer my question." she repeated.
"I did not think she would be here." He turned around to look at her and then walking towards her, he said again, "I did not think she would be here."
"How did she get in here? I want to know the answer to that. I am asking you that."
"She is my wife." He stopped in front of her.
And she slapped him. "How did she get in here? I am asking you that."
And then she could not help it. She started to cry. She was really sad.
He thought she was hysterical.
So he slapped her back. "I didn't fucking kiss her."
Taking two steps back, but not falling down, she was still crying from behind her raised arms. "I am going home. And you're not." And then she turned to leave and caught glimpse of one of the bags he had brought in a few minutes ago; slid under the Christmas tree, with his foot. Inside of the bag was toliet paper.
She let herself in through the kitchen and threw her keys on the counter. She made herself a cup of tea and the telephone rang a few times. But she did not answer it.
He had never spent much time in the kitchen of the house before. Made toast there once or twice, but she had made him cook. Every other time he was over.
Her only telephone was in the kitchen. The same black rotary one that had been there, up on the wall, when the place was his.
He imagined her sitting on the floor beneath it; her knees up. Wishing the phone with stop ringing. A lone tear sliding endlessly down her face.
He knew she was hurt.
He did not know for how long.
In reality, she drank the tea she made herself. She read a book. And she cried.
And she thought, isn't it ironic about that toilet paper?
And she did this all in her bedroom, where she could not hear the phone anyway.
Chapter Five
second hand heart
All he wanted to think about was her.
He started doing things like buying matching towels and feeding the birds that came to perch on his patio. He would light Cinnamon scented candles and sit in the dark rooms, listening to Enya. He kept his television turned off and he started taking long walks.
One time he went to her place. And the door was locked.
She wanted to call him once. Then twice. But she never did. Sometimes, the thought of him made her angry and sometimes, she missed him.
Sometimes she thought about using the key she still had to his apartment. Sometimes she even thought, what if she did use the key and his wife just happened to be there too? Would they drink all his coffee or all his wine? It would depend on the mood.
Sometimes when she would masturbated, she would think about drinking the wine and kissing his wife for herself.
Sometimes he thought of her while he masturbated too.
He wanted to call her. Tell her the things he had been thinking about. About how they should meet up. For coffee or something.
Sometimes, he imagined just bumping into her.
He wondered how she was doing.
And he wondered who was telling her she was beautiful. She liked being told she was beautiful.
He knew someone had to be doing it.
He was always thinking about her.
Because she was his wife.
by Queenie
for Christine Smith
Chapter One
the tired spaces
He drove back to the old place again. He did not know why. He had not even noticed he was doing it, until he saw the red car parked in his space. Swearing under his breath, he went to turn his car around and drive the 35 minutes out of the suburbs and into the city. And to his new home and to his new bed.
Five hours later, he would be up and on his way back to the airport and to a long three days in Milwaukee.
She was happy in her new home. She loved the living room windows; so big. She loved the fireplace in the kitchen; so not-needed. She loved that she could sit outside her front door and see what was going on.
And she loved looking at her red car. Parked in her driveway.
And she really liked her new bed too. So, usually when he was pulling in next to her car, she never noticed.
Except this night. This rainy, spring night, when he decided not to turn his car around, but to sit in his car in front of his old home and think, she was sitting on her front porch.
And it kind of scared her, when he did not leave. Will they kill me? Is it someone I know? Is it a robber? She decided not to move. And she decided five minutes later that it must be a drunk passed out. She decided to make sure.
And he was embarrassed, when she tapped on his window. He laughed, "I used to live here. Remember me?"
And when she looked closer at him, she realized she had seen his face before.
And it had been on moving day.
She paused to think before answering him. "...Do you want to see what I have done with the place?"
She showed him every room, but the bedroom.
Chapter Two
what you wanna be
He found himself thinking of her often. Her hair and her smile. The touch of her hand. He never wanted to make her cry.
And everywhere he went, something would remind him of her.
He liked thinking about her.
She only thought about him when he was in front of her. Making sure the governor kept his job was her top priority.
She let him fondle her breasts twice and secretly liked it both times, before she let him see the bedroom. About three weeks later.
And the bed was on the opposite wall from where it used to be, and after their lovemaking, he thought that he was glad the room did not feel like his old room. The bed was so much nicer too.
And he always wanted to know."Was it good for you?"
"Yes. This is good for me" was her answer.
So he slept there that night.
And then the next night too. He liked the warmth of her body. "I'll be the one that will hold on to you," he whispered more than once.
Chapter Three
the steady shore
He talked to her on the telephone every night. Usually for half an hour. No matter what. Both liked to talk to each other over the phone. They would laugh and smile. And then sometimes cry.
They always had sex in the city and every other night that he was over at her house. They only went to the city three times in the six months. There was all that traffic and neither could sleep very well.
He was usually over at her house.
He loved running his fingers through her hair.
She loved the 1000 smiles he seemed to own.
The living room was yellow now, instead of white, but the furniture was where he thought it should be, instead of where his ex-wife had it.
They watched football and Jerry Springer on television. They played golf at the club. She gave him back his parking space and they went to Hawaii together. Twice.
He walked into her home whenever he wanted to.
He gave her a key to his.
Chapter Four
she's walking wrong
And she had the key for three months and she never used it.
Except this night. This rainy winter night, when she used the key to let him in because his arms were full of lots and lots of packages from the stores. She let him in first and then she ducked into the washroom, right inside his front door, just as he managed to turn on the hallway light, with his elbow.
And then he walked into his living room.
And a minute later, so did she.
She walked into a room, where there were two people kissing.
And she said outloud, "Oh, my god."
And the couple jumped back from each other.
And the next voice said, "Jesus. You could have told me someone was here." And then the other woman continued, "I am going to go get dressed. And then I am going to leave."
The other woman did not say sorry to her, as she walked passed her. Nor did cover herself. She felt cold.
But she looked at him and he looked at her.
And after a pause she asked, "How did she get in here?"
To which he replied, "That is my wife."
And when his wife came out of the bedroom and in the entry way, to put on the brown shoes neither had noticed before, no one said a word. The other woman did not slam the door behind her.
But she kept her eyes locked on him.
Even though he was turned to the wall, covering his eyes with his hands.
"How did she get in here? Answer my question." she repeated.
"I did not think she would be here." He turned around to look at her and then walking towards her, he said again, "I did not think she would be here."
"How did she get in here? I want to know the answer to that. I am asking you that."
"She is my wife." He stopped in front of her.
And she slapped him. "How did she get in here? I am asking you that."
And then she could not help it. She started to cry. She was really sad.
He thought she was hysterical.
So he slapped her back. "I didn't fucking kiss her."
Taking two steps back, but not falling down, she was still crying from behind her raised arms. "I am going home. And you're not." And then she turned to leave and caught glimpse of one of the bags he had brought in a few minutes ago; slid under the Christmas tree, with his foot. Inside of the bag was toliet paper.
She let herself in through the kitchen and threw her keys on the counter. She made herself a cup of tea and the telephone rang a few times. But she did not answer it.
He had never spent much time in the kitchen of the house before. Made toast there once or twice, but she had made him cook. Every other time he was over.
Her only telephone was in the kitchen. The same black rotary one that had been there, up on the wall, when the place was his.
He imagined her sitting on the floor beneath it; her knees up. Wishing the phone with stop ringing. A lone tear sliding endlessly down her face.
He knew she was hurt.
He did not know for how long.
In reality, she drank the tea she made herself. She read a book. And she cried.
And she thought, isn't it ironic about that toilet paper?
And she did this all in her bedroom, where she could not hear the phone anyway.
Chapter Five
second hand heart
All he wanted to think about was her.
He started doing things like buying matching towels and feeding the birds that came to perch on his patio. He would light Cinnamon scented candles and sit in the dark rooms, listening to Enya. He kept his television turned off and he started taking long walks.
One time he went to her place. And the door was locked.
She wanted to call him once. Then twice. But she never did. Sometimes, the thought of him made her angry and sometimes, she missed him.
Sometimes she thought about using the key she still had to his apartment. Sometimes she even thought, what if she did use the key and his wife just happened to be there too? Would they drink all his coffee or all his wine? It would depend on the mood.
Sometimes when she would masturbated, she would think about drinking the wine and kissing his wife for herself.
Sometimes he thought of her while he masturbated too.
He wanted to call her. Tell her the things he had been thinking about. About how they should meet up. For coffee or something.
Sometimes, he imagined just bumping into her.
He wondered how she was doing.
And he wondered who was telling her she was beautiful. She liked being told she was beautiful.
He knew someone had to be doing it.
He was always thinking about her.
Because she was his wife.
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