driggs ave (short story #1)

everyday, i caught the 8:01 am L-train to brooklyn, got off at driggs avenue, and walked my ten blocks. on bad days i walked briskly; on good days i strolled. being that i usually got off the train at the same time everyday, i usually saw the same things. there was the stray dog that hung around North 6th street. there was the guy walking his son to school around North 4th street. there was the bartender that was running late around North 3rd street. everyday i usually saw the same things. there was a green Impala sitting on the corner of driggs avenue and North 2nd street with a for sale sign. on driggs ave and North 1st street, there was a concrete park that two kids were usually playing baseball in. i always wondered why they weren't on their way to school. and then, there was her.

somewhere between North 3rd street and South 2nd street, i could always look forward to seeing her. she was about my height, but smaller than me. i think. i mean, she had a body. small hips, and perfectly shaped everything else. but that wasn't what got me, what got me was the look. each day, as we passed one another, she would look at me in the eyes for a moment, then look down, or away, or at her watch. she would look at me long enough to indicate that she knows she passes me everyday. it would be a look quick enough to say 'good morning', but not 'hi'. it was a look that intruiged me for the rest of the walk to work. then i would forget about it until the next morning.

this happened for two years. the look never changed. the silent good mornings were constant and never exceeded beyond that. one morning, a lukewarm sunny april morning, we did what we usually do. we were coming up on each other and, like always, were looking everywhere but at each other. you see, the glance couldn't happen until we were right up on each other, close enough to see the tiny grin that inched at the edge of her lips, or the slight head nod i would give to acknowledge her presence. this particular morning though, right before our glance, the stray dog, that's usually around North 6th, darted pass and made her drop her purse. of course, everything she owned rolled out her pocketbook and found its way to every inconvenient spot on the sidewalk possible. under a neighbors gate. the edge of the curb filled with rainwater from the night before. in a puddle of questionable liquid substance further up the sidewalk. so of course i helped her. and in helping her, i had to say "hi".

that "hi" turned into a 15-year-old marriage. if thats what you want to call it. i mean, legally, we are married. but two weeks after the honeymoon, i realized that i was in hell. and not "hell" in the over-exaggerated sense. no, i mean, i really think my wife is satan. and i hate her. some things i could deal with - leaving used tampons on the bathroom floor, talking to ex-boyfriends in the middle of the night, taking money out of our joint account to spend at male strip clubs. that just made the marriage difficult, but i could handle it. but that was only year one. since then, she doesn't come home some nights and when she does come home, she has her boyfriend walk her to the door. she told our 3 year old daughter that there was no such thing as the Tooth Fairy and that Santa Claus was a child molester. she doesn't clip her toe nails. she called my mom a "gap-toothed bitch" at the Thanksgiving table for not passing her the salt. she refers to me as "the failure". she wears too much makeup and insists on wearing a perfume i'm allergic to. i haven't had sex with a real woman in 3 years and she punched holes in the inflatable doll i kept in my closet.

at night, i lay awake and think of ways i could kill her without anyone blaming me. if i try to divorce her, she'll end up with my daughter because she makes more than myself and the house is in her name. no woman respects me enough to go through with an affair. masturbation has lost it's grandeur. my confidence and my penis are now synonomous in size. i'm not sure which one started to shrink first though. i disdain my life and i haven't even made it to 50 yet. i'll probably commit suicide at 49.

if i had it all over to do again, i'd keep walking past that woman on driggs ave and later write about what could have been on my blogsite.