Voice

Sometimes I’ll call my voicemail and I’ll listen to you speak.  “Hey,” you’ll say, “could you stop at Jewel on your way home from work and pick up some Diet Coke for me?  If you want, get some chicken too.  I’ll make dinner for you.”  I’ll hear movement, something clicking in the background.  Then, just before you hang up, I’ll hear you say, “I love you.”  I’ll listen to the message and then I’ll hit the number nine to save it to my cell’s memory.  I’ll close the phone and I’ll squeeze it in the palm of my hand.

I’ve been doing this for more than two years and I know that I’ll continue to do this so long as I have access to the voicemail.  This is why I still have a RAZR in 2010.

****

I sat on Jennifer’s unmade bed and she offered me a glass of water.  I took it from her quickly, to hide my shaking hand.  She sat next to me and she put her palm on my knee.  She was too close to me and I shifted away from her.  As I readjusted my position, I felt a small disc of hardened wax on her bed sheet.  It distracted me for a moment and it gave me an opportunity to regain my composure.

“Thank you for the water,” I said.

“Anytime.  Are you okay, sweetie?” Jennifer asked.

“Yes –No… I don’t know.”  I took a sip of water and then I paused and then I continued speaking.  “I love my wife.  I really do.”

“I know you do.”

“It’s just… I don’t know.  It’s hard sometimes.”

Jennifer said nothing.

“She’s not happy.  I want her to be happy, but I don’t know what else I could do.”  I felt my chest start to shake.  “I don’t know what else I could do.”

“She asks too much of you,” Jennifer said

I widened my eyes and I turned my head and I looked at Jennifer.  “That isn’t fair.”

“I’m sorry.  That’s just how I see it.  This chick makes you do all the chores, she makes you do all the laundry, all the grocery shopping, all the cleaning -everything.”

“I do that stuff because I want to do that stuff.  She doesn’t make me do anything.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” she asked

“I gave up sex when I got married,” I joked, weakly.  “It was in our wedding vows.”

“I’m sorry, honey.  That sucks.”  Jennifer leaned into me.  I felt her breast push against my upper arm.  It was all I could focus on.

“I have to go,” I said and then I didn’t move.  She began to rub my back.  I felt my penis begin to harden.  “I really have to go,” I said.  I left without a hug.

****

I’m in Roger’s Park, walking along Lake Michigan.  I’m less than two miles from our apartment.  I have my cell in my hand and I rub my thumb across the lid, feeling the difference in texture between the matte of the phone cover and the gloss of the clock screen.  I flip the phone open again and I look at my saved texts.  None of them are from you.  I close the phone.  I thumb it.  I open it.  I dial my voicemail.  I listen to you speak.  I cry.  I hit the seven button.  I erase your voice.