Paula Bomer - Inside Madeleine

Oh, baby, look you’re bored of me already. We’ve been married less than a day and already you’re bored of me, Maddy said and she pushed him on his back and started giving him head, hoping to revive his erection.

No, no. I’m not bored of you baby. I’m just drunk.

Maddy pulled his cock out of her mouth for a moment, saying, you’ve fucked me when you were drunk before.

I just fucked you twice.

He lay back, feeling her on him, her mouth working away, but he was not aroused. Come up here and kiss me, he said and she flopped next to him. He leaned over and licked her neck, saying, how could you ever bore me?

I don’t know.

You could never bore me. I just swore my life to you. I fucking worship you.

The next morning they took a long bath together and ordered breakfast delivered to the room. They watched a movie, hungover and tired, and checked out of the hotel an hour late. Maddy had found an apartment and Mark said okay and they were planning on moving in that day.

10

Their apartment was perfectly fine and in a decent neighborhood. It was the top floor of an old house. They had a separate entrance and could park the car in the driveway. There was a tree in the front yard and some grass. Maddy hadn’t looked for long — maybe she could have found something a little bigger further away from the central part of the town. But they couldn’t wait. They were eighteen and impatient. Maddy got really excited about it, cooking and cleaning and buying lace curtains for the bedroom. They smoked pot in the living room, had sex in the kitchen.

The air didn’t move around well in the apartment. This bothered Mark. He took it as a bad omen, but he didn’t say anything to her. There was no cross circulation.

He had never spent so much time with someone in such a small place. He had had his own room at home. Every night she lay next to him. Every morning he woke up next to her.

The place didn’t contain Maddy that well. Before, Maddy and Mark spent a lot of time in his car, or at his parents’ house if no one was home. Or they went out to eat, sitting in some booth. Everything and every place had been momentary, transitory. But once they had their own place, time stopped and he learned new things about her.

She walked around in the apartment, back and forth, back and forth. Into the kitchen, out to the living room, into the bedroom back to the kitchen picking up this, putting away that and always cooking. Her face was in the fridge or in a drawer or in a cabinet. Her hands wrapped around a bowl of cookie dough or a vacuum cleaner or a basket of laundry.

When they sat around together, smoking and drinking on the dark green couch (a gift from her parents), watching a movie, he could feel her next to him. She’d get up during commercials and go into the kitchen — do whatever — go into the bedroom, fluff a pillow. If they were watching a video and there were no commercials — she’d get up anyway. He’d say, Maddy, you want me to press pause? She didn’t give a shit. She’d say, no that’s alright, and go into the bathroom and put green stuff on her face. I’m just putting on a facial, she’d say. I’ll be right out. And he’d hear her tinkering around in there. He’d hear the cabinet shut and open and shut and open and the water run. He wouldn’t be able to pay attention to the movie. He’d miss what happened.

Then she got pregnant. She went off the pill without telling him.

When she told him, she was excited and red in the face and ashamed. Sweetie, she said, I’m pregnant. No way. Not until we have money. I’m nineteen, he said. We’re too young. He took a day off of work to drive her to the clinic. She sat silently next to him. Her face was puffy from crying.

I don’t want to get an abortion.

I know, honey.

I’m scared.

Maddy bit the palm of her hand and looked at Mark hunched over the wheel.

I’ll be with you, he said.

They won’t let you past the waiting room.

I’ll be there when you get out.

I know. But I’m still scared, she said, the pitch of her voice altered. Her palms were salty and slick And she sucked on one of them.

Don’t be scared, Maddy. It’s a quick operation. It’s much less dangerous than childbirth. You don’t even have to go under.

I know. It’s not that shit that bothers me.

Mark shifted in aggitation, saying, well, what’s bothering you?

I’m just not excited about this okay.

We can’t have a baby.

I know. You’re right. I was wrong. I don’t want to have a baby. I just don’t want to have an abortion, she said and she started to cry. Mark pulled over.

Oh, honey don’t cry. In a few hours this will all be over, he said. He tried to lean toward her — to kiss her.

Get away from me.

Don’t be mad at me, Maddy.

I am.

This is not my fault.

So it’s mine?

Go back on the pill.

I’m going to, she said. Mark started driving again. They pulled into a parking lot.

We’re here.

Oh shit. Oh shit. I’m scared.

It’s okay. Come on. Let’s go.

Maddy sat in the interior waiting room, separated from her husband who had to wait in the outside waiting room. She bounced her leg around nervously. Her stomach felt sour. She looked at a magazine. A thick, cruel looking girl sat across from her.

Is this your first one? the girl asked, cracking her gum loudly.

Excuse me?

You can always tell the ones that haven’t had one. You look scared. Don’t worry. It ain’t nothing. I’ve had eight.

Nurse. Nurse, excuse me? Can I move back to the outside waiting room, Maddy said, standing up, chasing down a nurse coming toward her. The nurse was not much older than Maddy, wore no make-up and had dark hair pulled back tightly in a ponytail. She looked at Maddy with a professionally toned friendliness and pity.

No, I’m sorry. You’re next.

I need to talk to my husband.

You can go into room five now. The doctor will be right with you.

I’m scared, Maddy said and started to cry.

It’s okay. It will be over before you know it, the doctor replied. Maddy had requested a female doctor. The woman was from Eastern Europe and spoke with a harsh accent and had a perpetual scowl across her lined face.

Oh shit.

Don’t cry, the doctor ordered.

It hurts.

It’s almost over.

Oh, it hurts. Oh jesus!

Sshh. Quiet! Tell her to be quiet, the doctor said, glaring at the nurse.

You heard the doctor. Quiet down. Sshhh. That’s it. Ssshh. There you go. You’re all done.

I want to see it.

Stop that. Don’t move. Stay still.

How big is it?

Sit back. Sshhh. Come on.

Stop her crying.

I want to see it.

Sssshhhh.

Maddy was stoned on pain relievers and asked for more juice in the post-op waiting room. The same dark-haired nurse brought her a tiny paper cup filled with cranberry juice.

Here you go.

Thanks.

The nurse smoothed her ponytail and asked, do you still want to know how big it was?

Yeah.

It was this big, she said, holding her thumb and forefinger apart in front of Maddy’s face, about an inch and a half. You were seven weeks pregnant.

Okay. Thanks.

Mark drove her home and she kept her head in his lap the whole way.

What movie did you rent?

The Getaway . How’re you feeling?

Okay.

Do you want me to order a pizza?

Okay.

Are you cold?

No. Hey Mark?

What sweetie?

It was this big.

What?

It was this big. One and a half inches.

Don’t think about it.

The day after the abortion she broke all the plates in the kitchen and emptied the food in the fridge on the floor. Then she took three Codeine pills and went to bed. He heard her wake in the night and vomit.