Broken Alibi (232 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by SpikeGoddess (View user info) at 2005-07-26 07:56:07 EDT
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There's one thing I will always remember about Sarah; she had a face that could make you forget any promise you'd ever made.
She was sitting on my couch with her leg propped up on a pillow cradling a mug of tea in her palms and trying not to look at me. I fiddled with the TiVo—something wasn't connected right. The bruise on her cheekbone was starting to turn green at the edges—I assumed the same was true of the handprint that encircled her neck but her black turtleneck covered the evidence. It also made her dark eyes look wide and wet and big enough to fall into. The afternoon was stretching itself out to feel like one of those boring Russian plays where every line is a landmine of subtext—as if "Thanks for the tea" meant "You are the only one I've ever loved" and everybody just sits on their asses saying everything except what they really mean and not doing much of anything until three of the main characters kill themselves at the end. Not to say that I minded. I'd have spent weeks that way with Sarah. Just having her in the house made my breathing better, and maybe it was only the hint of the Ukraine left in her inflection that made me think of those plays.
"Doesn't your wife mind that I come here every afternoon?"
I almost laughed; the question was that absurd. What was left of my marriage had condensed into a sludge of loathing and regret, like a dried-up pond that leaves behind the stench of rotten algae, dead crawfish, salamanders reduced to slime... I yanked another jack out of the television.
Sarah looked down at her mug. "I mean, I know that it's difficult for you, but I just wouldn't want her to think that there's anything improper, tip the scales irrevocably—you know?"
"Don't worry about it," I said. "If she ever asks, I've got a great alibi who will testify truthfully that nothing improper has occurred."
She stayed quiet.
"That would be you, Sarah."
She squirmed a little on the couch, adjusting the pillow under her leg. Giving up on the TiVo I turned off the television and switched on a CD. Joni Mitchell. Her favorite.
"Ooooh" she cooed, "I love this CD!"
I kicked the wires out of the way and walked over to the couch. She adjusted her propped up leg to make room for me to sit beside her—close enough to touch. Not touching though... Never touching.
"Tell me, Jake...it's ok...What's going on with you and Marina? It'll feel good to get it off your chest."
Women always think that I want to get things off my chest. Maybe it's the brooding appearance I've cultivated over the years or maybe it's one of their subtle ploys to leave me vulnerable to a swift blow, something that would create a chink in the armor. That was Marina's strategy, anyway. She'd pry me open like an oyster and then rub salt on the soft spots and watch me shrivel up.
"Have you ever tried to kill a slug by pouring salt on it?"
Sarah shook her head. I angled my body toward her and tried to explain. "Well, if you've got a problem with slugs eating your garden, you can kill them by rubbing regular table salt on their bodies. At first it doesn't look like it's doing anything but before long the slug's skin starts to disintegrate—it actually looks like it's turning inside out because its skin is literally being eaten up by the salt."
She put her hand on my hand. It was warm, soft, radiating some kind of heat. I locked my body into place so that she wouldn't see how much her hand was changing me.
"Sometimes I felt like that with Marina. Like that slug with my skin being eaten up and like she was standing there watching...That the only way she could protect herself was to pour salt on me and watch me shrivel. I wouldn't have left her though. I tried to be good enough because I believe in that promise I made to her...I believed in her too. I believed in her for a very long time."
"Yes...I understand what you mean by this..." She withdrew her hand and it instinctively found its way to her throat. Then she smiled a little and said, "I've always liked beer traps better. Then at least the slugs die drunk and happy."
For a moment it was silent. I watched Sarah's eyes and heard Joni Mitchell sing that she 'could drink a case of you and still be on her feet.' Sarah broke the silence.
"You still love her though...and where there is love there is hope. She must love you very much to try so hard to hurt you. It's so easy to hurt the people that you love the most...harder to do the right thing and not pour salt on their soft spots or let them get intoxicated and hurt themselves or strike out..."
I felt sick with myself for talking about Marina 'hurting' me. Sarah's beatings were staring me in the face and I was making analogies about slug skin. I told her that I loved Marina when all I wanted was for Sarah to stay, to be there always and let me earn her trust and make it easier for both of us to breathe. I didn't want to be alone. Without Sarah, I knew I would always feel separate.
"I believe in your marriage," she smiled. "I've always been a creature of hope."
"Yeah, well look where all that hope got you." It came out like a reflex. Before I could open my mouth to apologize she just shook her head and put a finger up to her lips.
"You're not completely wrong....After all, the Bible says that of faith, hope, and love—the greatest of these is love...And you're right...love is supposed to feel good...supposed to feel safe..."
I knew then that I loved her. I hoped that her scriptural paraphrase was her way of telling me that she felt the same. But we weren't in a Russian play.
"It's time for me to go, Jake. Don't worry," she said, "I'm safe there now."
I helped her to her feet and dared to kiss her cheek in the doorway. She let her face linger beside mine for a moment before walking to her car.
"See you tomorrow," she called across the yard. "And don't worry—remember you've got a great alibi!"
*
The time between when she left in the early evening and when she was to arrive the next afternoon stretched out like the desert at night—cold, empty, nothing but wind whistling over sand and unlucky bones. I wondered if she was safe, I wondered if I was a coward or a fool or both, I wondered if I would ever be brave enough to tell her how I felt. I wondered if Marina loved me with the same kind of love that had brought about Sarah's bruises.
The next afternoon Sarah was nowhere to be found.
Two days later the phone rang. It was Marina. Her voice had taken on the softness that it had when I first touched her breasts in the back of the school auditorium.
"Do you remember that little girl with the eyes like saucers that we went to high school with? Sarah Andreyvna?"
I couldn't speak.
"She's dead, Jacob."
Silence.
"I read it in the paper this morning, in The Sun. Her boyfriend stabbed her fifty-six times...seven times in the face and neck. Can you imagine?"
I was imagining. I was cursing myself for not having imagined it soon enough to prevent it.
"How could anyone have been that angry at her?" I could hear that Marina had been crying.
I wanted to wail on myself with a hammer. I realized that I wasn't standing up anymore. I had sunk down to the kitchen floor.
"Jacob, can I come over this afternoon? I really don't want to be alone today."
I didn't even hesitate.
"I don't want to be alone either," I told my wife.
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Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2005-10-30 05:27:16 EST (#)
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