Collapsible Life

COLLAPSIBLE LIFE
by
Gerrie Beck

STAGE 1:
His hair was amber then, shiny like topaz, in a buzz cut. I loved rubbing my hand atop his head, fuzzy as a short-furred dog. He smelled of after shave and I often nuzzled his neck smelling the sweet perfume. His long arms cradled me on summer nights at the drive-in as we ate french fries and drank coke. His voice soft and melodious whispered in my ear how much he loved me. I wore his class ring around my neck on a silver chain. I was his girl.
We thought we couldn’t have kids; fifteen years later I was pregnant. Crissie is three. We both have straying grey hairs -- we are nearing 40 -- and occasionally our joints tweak with a tinge of pain but we continue to exercise at the health club. Jonah still takes me to a drive-in when one has re-opened and we fool around in the back seat for a while, eat our french fries and drink coke. Life isn’t very different. We both finished college and have good jobs. We live in a small college town outside of Chicago.
“Jonah, I have to get Crissie from day care. Wanna come?” I chirp these words as we finish making love on the back porch, the breeze playing in the holes of the screen, whistling, as our breath reached a higher crescendo.
He reaches for my back and whispers in my ear, confiding. If velvet had a sound, it would be his voice. “Hey, hottie, I’m with you. Let’s get our little love child.”
As Jonah struggles with the car seat, I set about for my shoes, very similar to sandals I wore in my youth, straps across the ankle, open slits across the toes and foot. I am happy but trapped, I think. I dismiss the thought quickly; to pinprick the bubble would have an enormous effect. These thoughts bounce in and out of my head more frequently this year. I hasten to get to the car, join Jonah, get our beautiful baby.
“Let’s get going,” I say, hoping the inspiration Crissie brings will deflect this gnawing pain.

Jonah bounds from the car, his spindly legs carrying him forward in locomotion. I hop after him. Crissie runs to the door. She must know the sound of the car, or maybe she is the last at daycare. Her rosy cheeks and high-pitched voice screaming gleefully brings me to the passion of my life, my marriage. I think silently: It must be this. It must be this.
Jonah picks her up as she nuzzles his neck and cheek like a welcoming puppy. I follow with my arms around them both. We are happy, I repeat to myself. We’ll go home, eat dinner, read aloud, watch a bit of TV, and head for bed, and if our hands reach in the night, we’ll make love again.
We fall asleep, awakening early to another day.


STAGE 2:

Crissie grew up, along with her brother, Lee. I meant to take more classes, maybe paint, but the children took so much time. Jonah helped enormously and our sex life never waned. We took vows years ago for better or worse. I never meant to break them. I still work at the life insurance office. I am an assistant vice-president. But my boredom, or is it deeper, I’m not sure, takes over, and little by little I become less emotionally attached to Jonah. My daydreams carry me through the hours of a day, and secretly I wish I could once again capture my youth, be with the one who got away. His name was Christopher. We made love one night at college.
“Being with you was wonderful, but we can’t do this again,” I blurted out.
“You can’t mean that,” Christopher said as we were dressing.
“You know I’m going with Jonah. We had too much to drink and well, it just happened. I’m sorry if it meant more.”
“We’ve been flirting in class for three months now. And I dare you to say you weren’t flirting, and now you tell me to get lost.” He was buttoning his shirt with a fury that whizzed in my direction. His eyes normally blue and sleepy were steely grey and glaring intently at me.
I swiped back my hair and bustled the blond layers into a ponytail hoping it would distract his gaze from my eyes. It didn’t. “Are you’re saying you want more?” I questioned in a flustered voice, not caring to know the answer. “I’ve promised Jonah. I’ve always been his ever since we were in high school. I can’t walk away from him. Not ever.”
Christopher turned around and I heard his faint whisper as the door slammed shut, “You bitch.”
I got through the rest of the semester, my last and Jonah’s too. Christopher and I barely looked at one another in class. He managed to sit in the front row and I gladly sat in the back. I attached myself to Jonah like a barnacle as I tried to appease my guilt. And soon enough, Jonah and I were married.
Now, in my fifties, I watch shadows flit across the bedroom wall as the first rays of sunlight become organic. I hear Jonah’s quiet breaths beside me and long for another night with Christopher. Maybe an affair. Then I think of the day ahead, Lee has a football game at the old field and Crissie has to rehearse for her junior high school play. I reach over to Jonah, kiss his neck, and tickle his back. “C’mon lazy bones, we’ve got a busy day. Beat you to the shower.”
Maybe I thought him into being, since every day I had rehearsed seeing Christopher again, having dinner and making love once more. And so when the phone rang and his voice shuttled into my ear, I was not surprised. He was in town and I had been on his mind for months, he mentioned. Could he see me?
The following evening we met. He was tall and tanned and his blue eyes shone brightly. My hair was still long and blond and it cascaded over my shoulders.
“You look terrific. The years have treated you well.”
“I can say the same for you, Christopher. Ever the bearer of blue eyes.”
We held each other’s gaze and hands, neither of us wanting to let go. He smiled and kissed my cheek.
He was married with two children, almost the same age as Lee and Crissie. He lived in Florida with his wife, Amy, a physician. They were very active in the community and had too many friends. He paused, smiled, and looked at his watch, as if time were pressuring him to eat quickly and get on with his next obligation.
I lamented on our small-town life, living in the outskirts of Chicago, and how I’d immersed myself in the family. “I’ve thought of you often. I wondered what you were up to in life, whether you ever forgave me.” I didn’t look at him and my breath jumped, leaving a lump in my throat.
“Why wouldn’t I? You were the prettiest girl I ever knew. His smile and gaze melted me and I reached over, clasped his head and kissed him full on the mouth. “Thank you. I always wondered and even fantasized about you from time to time.”
We booked a room in the hotel attached to the restaurant. We were there three hours, brimming with a yearning for the past. We made love, tenderly at first, and then with an energy hoping to ward off time.
“It can never be, you know.”
“Yes,” I said. “It can never be.”
We dressed hurriedly, and as the door closed behind us, we silently walked away.

STAGE 3:
Many times I thought I would leave Jonah. Our life was too perfect, I suppose. There were no fights and slowly we both eased into a peaceful boredom. We tried to make our arrangement different by going to couples therapy hoping we could dredge up some silent hostility. But to be honest, we had none. Our sex life continued to be good. Finally, we allowed ourselves separate vacations. For two weeks each year, we went our separate ways. Me to Hawaii, Jonah to Mexico. The magic returned quickly after that.
One cold autumn night as the stars shone brightly in the frigid air, we sat wrapped in a blanket on the porch. Jonah reached for my hand and from deep in his pocket he brought out an enormously bright object, shiny and flickering as if a star had landed in his hand. He held it a moment as he reached for my finger, and slipped it on. “Will you marry me again. Forever, and ever, I’m yours.” How could I have ever questioned our love. It was us, always, a quietness, a settling in. I kissed him with the passion of youth.