Still life

  In St Louis a middle-aged couple boarded the bus and created an immediate disruption by bickering over whether to sit in the front, middle, or back of the bus. 

  “I don’t care, sit wherever you want,” he said through his large lips. He wore a well worn knitted paisley sweater which looked rather baggy on him, like it wasn’t his. His eyes were set deep in his sockets, and his nose much too small for his face which gave him a comical look, as if he were never to be taken seriously. His wedding band was on his middle finger. 

  “Right, you don’t care about anything,” the wife snapped back. She was dressed rather inappropriately for a bus ride. Dressed to kill, she had on fashionable black, strapped heels, a long, black pleated skirt, and a tight, dark blue sweater. She was fit and good looking with a dark complexion and a wide mouth. She looked like a dark skinned Japanese, maybe an Okinawan.  

  “All right, then. Let’s sit here,” he said carelessly. He put his bag overhead and sat down. 

  “It’s right under the air conditioning,” she said. 

  He sprung up, ripped his bag from the overhead and stomped to the middle of the bus where he found a seat not directly under the AC. He didn’t say anything. She crawled over him to the window seat and sat down. She took out their drinks they’d purchased, a couple bottles of water, a milk tea, and a Coke Zero, and set them on the seat tray. 

  “Want your drink?” She asked.

  “No, I’m fine,” he said. He set his eyes up ahead at the small tv playing “Mrs. Doubtfire.” 

  “What’s the matter with you?” She asked.

  “Nothing. Just leave me alone.”

  “You’re so cranky recently.” She stared at him trying to get eye contact but he refused and continued looking straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of him. It had been months since they’d had sex. She was stressed from her work and he had started to resent her for it. Why couldn’t she spend a few minutes to forget about work and think about him? In fact, she did think about him, for she loved him, but she failed to think about him sexually. He had nearly always been the one to initiate sex between them, but having recently been shot down rather often by her he grew tired of trying and disheartened. The last time they tried she was so disinterested and dry that he couldn’t penetrate her. 

  They went on a short vacation to a little Bed and Breakfast in the country a weekend ago. This had always been a surefire way to be intimate, as just the case of being away from work, out of the house, away from it all, relaxed her so that she could loosen up, sleep well, and make love. But last weekend, it wasn’t the case. And he, being stubborn and feeling sorry for himself, didn’t want to make the first move. He was tired of feeling like the only one in the relationship who not only wanted sex but needed it. This brooding and resentment started to build up in ways he could have never imagined. Not only did he start to lose his appetite and lose weight, but his taste started to dissipate. Cooking and baking was one of his passions, and had loved to cook for his wife and friends, and for himself. He was good as well, and had a good taste for baked goods and sweets. But recently, the chicken he cooked was bland and the skin was soggy, the salad he made was wilted and over garlicky, the puff pastry was rock hard and not flaky. Just the day before he made a braised pork belly with gravy which tasted like garbage. 

  “It’s fine,” she said.

  It was the first time she’d ever said something like that about his cooking. Usually she would moan, close her eyes, and savour it. Usually she would have another piece, and another. Usually she would sit back in a satisfied state and from the lick of her lips and the look on her face didn’t need to say anything at all. Why didn’t she want to have sex with him? Shouldn’t he just tell her? I want to have sex. But he knew in order just to get it over with she’d agree, but she wouldn’t be interested. Did he do something wrong? Was he doing everything he could do? He was not one to hold grudges, to be stubborn, or to be grumpy. He would also consider that he was the one at fault and fix the situation. He thought perhaps that he had let romance slip out the window, and though he didn’t entirely think so, he thought it could be the reason, so he increased his romance level. He bought lilies every week for her since they had gotten married, but now he also got her a rose. He increased their date nights to twice a week and to new restaurants in different parts of the neighbourhood, rather than going to the same places, for they had always tried new restaurants when they were dating. He gave massages, he opened wine, he rubbed her feet. And yet he continued to go to bed alone, fall asleep, feel her get into bed an hour or two later. She didn’t rub him awake, she didn’t throw her leg over him and thrust her hips into his, she just lay next to him and slept. After a month of this, he gave up. And now they were on the bus ride to Memphis. 

  “What’s wrong?” She asked again.

  “I’m fine,” he said. 

  “It makes me sad when you’re like this,” she said. “You think you’re upset and it only affects you but seeing you with this poo face makes me not want to be around you. You were like this yesterday too. And I thought maybe I shouldn’t come home for lunch. Maybe you didn’t want to see me. You know how upset that made me feel?”

  He stared ahead at the tv. Robin was dancing on the table. Sally turned off the music and seethed. 

  “Hows your sex life?” He finally asked.

  “Not good.”

  “So why don’t you want to be intimate with me?”

  “Who said I didn’t?”

  “Well, you never are.”

  “You’re the same.”

  That wasn’t a fair statement, he thought. Although it had been the case recently, the reason for that was merely out of dejection. 

  “I’m always the one to make the first move. But recently you’re always stressed and don’t seem interested so I feel like you’re not attracted to me.”

  “I’m stressed because I feel like I’m doing everything on my own. Do you ever ask me about my work?” Her eyes were desperate. Her voice started to crack.

  “Well, it’s your work. That’s your thing.”

  “It’s not just my thing. We’re in this together. You don’t know if I’m struggling or losing money because you don’t care. I’m by myself. It’s like we’re independent of each other but we shouldn’t be. We’re one unit. What’s the point of being together if we don’t share, if we’re not doing things together, if you don’t know about my situation and I yours. And because you don’t show interest in me, then I don’t feel like being intimate with you. We used to do so much. How come we don’t go out as often? And we always go to the same places. It’s difficult being at home. I went out with my friend the other week and I thought it was the best time I had in several months. I used to feel like that always with you.”

  “So it’s all my fault.”

  “I didn’t say that. That’s how I feel.”

  “But in effect you’re saying I’m not doing enough.”

  “That’s just how I feel the situation is. How do you feel?”

  “I told you. You don’t try to initiate sex ever, so I feel like you’re not interested in me sexually. And if we do do it, it’s just because I asked. Like I’m forcing you to do it.”

  “You think just about that. If that’s done, then everything is fine. But the sex is the surface thing. Or the icing on the cake. All of the other things we do together is the foundation. And you don’t care about any of it.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She was crying and dabbing under her eyes with a tissue.

  “I think being intimate is really important.”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

  “You said it was a surface thing.”

  “I mean doing it doesn’t solve any of our financial or work problems or relationship issues.”

  “But we’ll always have those. And just because of that you’re ruining something that brings us together to forget about all the other junk in our lives.”

  She cried again. She felt the thump of her heart against her ribs.

  “But, I guess, I’ll try harder.”

  “To do what?”

  “I don’t know, I’ll figure it out I guess. I’m not doing enough is what you’re saying.”

  “You can’t try to do something if you don’t know what you’re doing. And I didn’t say you’re wrong. I just said that’s how I feel.”

  “Right, I heard you.”

  He began to grow impatient. He knew that if they started talking about this he’d be the one to be at fault, he always was, whether or not it was actually true. But this time he thought for sure that she would also own up and say she could try harder to do something, anything. But she never said that. It was always he who tried to end it on a positive note. He was getting hot and upset and angry and didnt feel he could go on talking anymore for the time being. But it seemed she was just getting started. He said he wanted to have something to eat, so she took out the sandwiches they’d packed and awkwardly nibbled them. It was a poor pretence they made. Then he said he wanted to stretch his legs so he walked up and down the bus for a few minutes. He noticed that she had shut her eyes and put her head back, he lingered for a few minutes before returning to his seat.

  “So maybe we can start having dinner together in the dining room at the table instead on the sofa watching tv.”

  She thought that may be a decent idea. She nodded in agreement, her eyes still shut.

  “Well, thanks for the talk,” he said with a faint smile. 

  “What do you mean?” She asked, irritated. “You see? Even that. You sound careless.”

  “No, that’s, not what I meant. Wait a minute. I’m the one who brought it up, this whole thing. You think that’s easy? You didn’t say anything. You also haven’t had sex in a few months, how come you didn’t say anything?”

  She remained silent.

  “I’ve been trying to tell you for awhile now but it’s not hard. Obviously I just tried to think of things to do better. Did you? Because I knew if I mentioned it I’d be the one to blame, as always. You think that’s easy? So I tried to fix it myself, because that’s how it always seems to be.” 

  “I didn’t say that. But when we were dating you’d call me every night and ask how my day was. Because you cared enough, or at least wanted me to think you cared, about me.”

  “That’s because I wasn’t with you all the time.”

  “You go to work in the morning and come back at night and I don’t see you for the whole day. You don’t know what I did all day. How is that different?”

  He took a deep breath. He realized it wasn’t all that different. And he wasn’t all that interested in what she was doing. Was that the case? No. It couldn’t be. He loved her more than anything. He just felt dissatisfied with his sex life, and everything else came after that. When they were dating they had sex often, and so he didn’t have to worry about it, and he could talk and care about everything else about her. But he was worrying about sex and that clouded his mind. So yes, he wasn’t interested in her work. Not until he was sexually satisfied. But she was the other way around. Did she know that? He was trying to think of how to formulate the sentences in his head but didn’t know what to say and she had started getting louder and more frustrated. 

  “You’re careless about how I’m doing, if I’m ok, if I’m surviving—” her features were all twisted.

  It was just too much for him to take. At that moment, he lost his way forward, and only wanted to escape. He wanted more than anything to put an end to the conversation. So did she. She didn’t like arguing and just wanted him to show he cared for her. It was the little things that she sought after. A simple “hi” would suffice, she thought. Maybe, then, a simple “bye” would, too. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. No, that wouldn’t do. She wasn’t going to give up so easily. She grabbed him by the neck and pulled him in.

  “We’re not done. You still haven’t asked me how I’m doing,” she said. She watched him intensely, as if studying his every twitch.

  He resisted a little her pull but he felt the strength in her arm and realized she wouldn’t let go. It was the kind of super strength you show in states of desperation. He watched her back. He slowly lifted his hand to her cheek and wiped a tear away. He said the words she longed to hear, but before he could finish, she pulled him in and they kissed. And the tears streamed down her face. And they held each other.