One Little Thing

I have reached an age where I can look back on my life and note a handful of key moments; turning points that changed the trajectory of my existence. Some veered my focus in a new direction, others catapulted me further along the intended course. Each of them could be condensed to a single action, usually something so mundane that only in hindsight could it be named the cause. The most catastrophic, a result of obsessive desire.

It was a winter evening, the chill of the season seeped up through misaligned floorboards and frost collected at the corners of thin windows. Alone and not needing to heat the full expanse of the house, I donned a blanket, trapping a cocoon of warmth between the cotton layers. Robyn and our children were absent, held hostage at her mothers by icy roads. I had raised my head to the heavens and thanked all that was holy for the home renovations that had kept me from joining them. One of those lesser made decisions that snowballed into a windfall of fortune. A night alone was rare and infinitely preferable to sleeping on the dragon-in-law’s couch, bombarded by excited toddlers and berated by judgemental family. 

The television flickered relentless blue-tinged images into my eyes, yet I saw none of them. The couch beneath me felt rough as stone, where it usually offered comfort. The warm blanket suffocated. I pulled my fingers back from where they had been scratching at the arm rest, the nails catching, a day of relentless projects having brutalised my hands. I had done the work promised. I had called to hear about their day. I had soaped the dishes and tidied the house. There was nothing she could chastise me for this time. Still, I could not relax. I knew what I wanted, I knew where it was and I knew I couldn’t have it. 

I drew my gaze over the photographs on the walls, gaining resolve from the faces looking back. The children with their unpractised smiles, their pain evident through the ordeal of holding still. I examined our wedding portrait, the same pain displayed by the false creases around my own eyes. I cherished my life, worshipped my family, but there were things I wanted that I was constantly denied; my loved ones blocking the way and keeping me stationary. That night, a particular item had gripped my mind. With no eyes on me in the silent house, the temptation to indulge was growing beyond my control. I stilled my bouncing leg and pulled the blanket from my lap. A stinging cold bit through the warm air that was released, abandoning me when faced with the attack. I stood and hurried to the kitchen, searching for a distraction.

I took a glass dish from the drying rack, previously holding leftovers Robyn had marked for me and swept it dry with a soft tea towel. Two luxury wedding gifts that we constantly smeared with filth, only to cleanse and then repeat the same process ad infinitum. An apt representation of our marriage since the big day. The counsellor said it was normal to dirty the union on occasion and that it was how we cleared it that mattered. Memories of my wife’s angry words worked against the theory. Akin to the spots of grime that stained the corners of the dish, they never truly washed away.

Apparently it was the compounded little gestures that mattered more, no single thing would break us, it would be a combined assault on all fronts. So I placed the dish gently in the spot Robyn had insisted it must reside, hoping that when she found it there, she would recognise my defensive efforts.

I still wanted it...I knew where she had hidden it. I could have it inside me in moments. All I had to do was give in.

I wrenched a heavy garbage bag through the back door and hauled it down the long garden path. Hoping the putrid stench would nullify my desire, I flipped open the bin and dropped my deposit in, inhaling the gust of sweet rot that was displaced. Shoving my hands into my armpits I shivered my way back to the house and flipped on the kettle. The warm, sweet nectar provided by ground coffee beans and a hefty dose of sugar would surely satisfy. It was the accepted addiction we all celebrate, even laughing when a loved one suffers through a painful withdrawal, rushing to get them a fix and stave off the effects. Another hit would surely remove the need for alternative gratification.

At any other opportunity, I would have simply taken it. Had my moment of ecstasy and moved on, not expecting any consequences from indulging in such a small object of desire. This time was different. Robyn had issued a warning and one that replayed in my mind on repeat that night. If she caught me again, if I betrayed her once more, it would be the action that ended us. She would pack her bags and my evening of freedom would become commonplace. The empty beds and quiet cold remaining my only companions. It was the reason I fought so hard against my instinct, I couldn’t lose her…not after everything. I gripped the coffee cup handle in one hand, squeezed the TV remote in the other and white knuckled my way through a favourite movie, hoping the feelings of comfort it invoked would settle my craving for the forbidden.

My hands remained clamped as the end credits rolled, I had no memory of the previous two hours of story telling. Ageing to maturity over time, my want had turned into a need. No matter what Robyn had said there was no way she would react so strongly to something like this. It was nothing…unimportant and easily forgivable. It was so small. It wasn’t cheating. It was a just reward for all the hard work I put into our family. I had spent all day working on the house after all. Didn’t I deserve recompense? It was owed to me. I could have it. I would have it. It was mine.

I tore the blanket from my legs, greeting the barrage of cold gladly. I dropped my gripped items, returning colour to my knuckles and raced to the bedroom. Falling to my knees in front of her bedside table in worship of its contents, I gingerly slid open the top drawer. There it was, just as I had imagined, hidden underneath some lacy underwear. Thought beyond my knowledge and reach by a suspicious wife. How wrong she had been. I plunged it into my mouth, sucking the hard outer shell, running my tongue over the soft dimples that began to melt in the warm, wetness I provided. Groaning in all consuming pleasure, I bit down and within a few seconds, the last cookie in the house was gone.

I sat back against the bed, eyes wide as the regret over what I had just done took hold. Shame formed a pit in my stomach. She wouldn’t follow through. It was such a small thing...just one more little thing.