I Don’t Let Doomsday Bother Me. Do You Let It Bother You?

Today, inspiration comes from Elvis Perkins and Rachel Kramer Bussel, who recently held up a copy of Tucker Max’s I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell and said “it’s not horrible, but I wish there were guys writing about sex in a little less macho of a way.”

The Now

She tried to hide it, but he could tell that she wasn’t ready. At the door, she leaned on the jamb and grimaced. That was when he decided. It was supposed to be about her. For her. Instead, she was doing it for him, and she was suffering again.

He stepped behind her and placed his hand on her right side. You know, he said, it’s raining out there.

Not hard. I’ll be ok.

It’s cold though. And windy.

So?

So, I don’t think that I want to go anymore.

Oh, come on. Yes you do. You’ve been talking about it for weeks.

Now that it’s here, I don’t want to. I’m tired. Let’s sit down on the couch together. I’ll make a fire.

He led her to the couch and arranged the pillows. She sat into them and chuckled. Now that we’re rich enough to afford a nice dinner, she said, we’re too old to enjoy it.

We’ll just enjoy each other without going out. A small flame began to gingerly lick the lower wood. He looked back at her. She was sitting with her head turned sideways against the top of the couch.

Are you ok?

I’m fine.

Does it hurt bad?

No. Not bad.

What are you looking at?

I’m watching the rain snake down the window. I’ve always loved that you know – how the drops fall down like abacus beads.

He sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. She nestled into him.

I love the sound too, she said. A soft rain against the leaves outside. A fire in here with you. This is very cozy.

I’m glad, but I still want you to have dinner.

No, that’s ok. I’m not hungry.

I want you to eat.

I’m ok, really. I’d just like some tea.

You need food …

Tea will be fine for now. The green one that we got last weekend from T & H.

When he came back, he knelt in front of her. Her eyes were closed.

Hi.

She opened her eyes and smiled. She sipped. It’s perfect. Thank you.

He stood up and kissed her forehead, then he knelt back down.

Why are you watching me like that?

I think you’re beautiful.

Oh please.

I do.

He took the tea and put it on the table next to her, then he lifted his hands toward her.

What are you doing?

I’m taking your top off.

No.

I want to see it.

No.

It can’t be something between us forever. It’s time for you to share it.

He unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it up. Just relax.

He worked her right arm through. Very gently, he threaded out her left. He knelt again.

Now what?

Now the bra.

Dear, she said quietly, I don’t want you to.

I want to, he said. It’s time for me to know you again.

He unclasped the band and slid the straps forward. Her right breast glowed in the firelight. He grasped it and kissed her. Are you ok?

Yes.

I want to do the bandage next.

No. I just wrapped it.

I’ll re-do it for you.

You don’t know how and it takes forever. Plus, the tubes. It’s really ugly …

Lean forward again. Just one more time.

No.

Lean forward.

As he got to the end of the unwrapping, he saw the dots where the tubes guided the seepage. He kept unwrapping. Her skin. The wrinkled gash. The stitches.

She was looking toward the window.

Are you ok?

No.

He kissed the scar. She closed her eyes.

It’s horrible, she said. You must be revolted.

No. Never.

I don’t think they got it all. They’re going to have to take the other one.

He stood up and put his lips on her forehead. His nose in the thinning strands of her hair. He breathed deep and they were young. Her thick hair spread out behind her on the sweaty summer sheets. Grasping his back, breasts rocking. It was the endless time of hope again. It was the endless time of hope. Then she turned, and he was back with her in the now.

Oh my girl, he said, my girl. Don’t talk to me of doomsday; there isn’t any sense to it. I don’t plan to die. Nor should you plan to die.