Sometimes too much of a good thing is too much...
I sat on the dock early each day. A few fish broke the surface leaving ripples behind. Back in the house Chris’s breasts were rising and falling slowly with the pulse of her breathing as she still slept. Nothing was going to be any different today than any other day not now not ever.
“I don’t wanna keep going like this,” the redhead said to me at our regular lunchtime get together. “What’s the option?” I said back. “The option is to stop!” She was getting angry — Her husband was still out of town — He went out of town too much. I remembered Chris, Earlier that morning — Me sitting on the dock, Her still sleeping . . . The redhead interrupted my thoughts, “You’ll never leave her!” “No,” I answered, “probably not.” “Fuck you!” she said. “Good idea,” I said back, walking across to her, grabbing her by her thick red hair, almost gently, but only ‘almost’. “I hate you . . .” she said, but her voice was soft as she unbuttoned her blouse, while walking towards her bed.
Chris said, “Hi” as I came into the house. “Hi” I answered. She came over and kissed me. I kissed her back resisting the mild impulse to run my hands up her sides and cup her breasts. Are you hungry?” she asked. “Not really,” “You eat already?” “Nope, just not hungry.” She laughed, “I’m gonna make some popcorn.” I said, “I’ll probably eat some.” she laughed again, “You always do,” she said as though she knew me so well.
Next morning out on the dock again, I saw the blue heron I often see when I’m up early enough. It circled over the lake to the south. I began to think. ’I know these two women, one who loves me and one who hates and loves me.’ Both were likely sleeping in that moment. Both had husbands gone from their beds. There seemed to me to be nothing else to know, not that knowing this helped anything. The heron dove down, snatched a fish and rose up flying away. The water where he’d hit rippled out in weakening circles, growing fainter the wider they went. There was nothing any different from one ripple to the next. I thought, nothing much ever really changes anyway. No one ever gets a gun out presses it gentle/firm into his own or anyone else’s ear and pulls the trigger. Well, in truth, some people do. But not most of us.