Stephen Dixon - What Is All This? - Uncollected Stories

“Touch my neat ass,” she said.

“Don’t know if I can. It might be considered an act of desecration. We have to consult the Book of the State first.” I found the driver’s book, thumbed through the index and located the right passage. “It says here ‘All immediate family personal privileges, such as embraces, hand-locking, body-fondling, lip, nose or any sensory coupling such as flesh-conjoining, may be done solely in the privacy of the couple’s legally designated residence, or if permitted in writing by the state.’ Now, a legally designated residence is defined as—” but her frenzied tongue plugged up my mouth.

Couple of minutes after she comes home from work she says “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to go.”

“What?”

“I want you to leave for good.”

“It’s not that I didn’t understand you. Just that you’re not kidding, right? And for good?”

“I know it sounds abrupt. But I didn’t want to talk about it. I only wanted to say ‘please leave’ and hoped you would know what I mean and get your things fast and go. That’s what I hoped.”

“Okay, so I’ll leave.”

“Good.”

“I’m going. Just give me a second to catch my breath,”

“Fine. If you don’t mind, I’ll wait upstairs.”

“No, I don’t mind.”

“I mean, I just don’t want to be around. This is as bad a moment for me as it is for you.”

“I know. Or I think I do. Sure it must be. It has to. After all, we’ve been together a long time. Almost three years.”

That long? I guess so. I’m sorry. Though no hard feelings, all right?”

“Right.”

She goes upstairs. I start getting my things together downstairs. I’ve an apartment in the city but have spent four to five of every seven days here in her house upstate. So I get my things. Books first. Work materials. I put them all in the canvas carryall bag I’ve lugged from house to apartment to house and back again the past three years. My favorite coffee mug? Sure, why not? Why leave anything behind? But why not leave most of it? She’d see the mug and know it’s mine and my favorite and maybe one day return it with all the other things I’d leave behind and that day we might be able to get something going again. No, don’t think like that. It’s over, finished, done. Get lost, she essentially said. All right. What I’m doing. Fast as I can and forever. We’ve tried. We lost. Lot of bull. Then what? What went wrong? Why think about it now? Plenty of time later on. What will happen? I’ll pack, upstairs and down, take the bus home with all my junk. If she was nice she’d drive me, as this stuff’s going to weigh a ton.

“You couldn’t by chance drive me to the city?” I yell upstairs.

“I’d really prefer not to.”

“Okay. I understand.”

Thanks. Especially for being so understanding.”

She’s in her room. Probably lying on the bed. Feeling sad, no doubt. Gets very emotional sometimes. We’ve had these scenes before. They always worked out, though. I’d pack. Ready to go, I’d say goodbye. We’d be sad. Maybe cry. She’d say “I obviously can’t adjust.” I’d say “I of course wouldn’t expect you to do or give up anything you didn’t want to.” We’d kiss goodbye. I’d hold her. We’d hold each other. She’d say “Why are we being so silly?” “I don’t know,” I’d say. “If there’s anything really bothering us,” she’d say, “why can’t we just talk and work it out instead of always taking the worst extreme?” Then we’d make love. Or take a long walk. But be lovey-dovey, though. And later she’d help me unpack and maybe say “How many more times you think we can do this?” But this time it’s not going to be like that. I can see. We gave ourselves one last time. And before that, one last time. We really are two different persons as she’s said. I’m much more sensitive and creative than her. She’s more straightforward and practical than me. Other things. Maybe the way I described us just now isn’t true. But I can see why she wouldn’t want me around very much. I’m not jolly. I get on people’s nerves after a while. Maybe everybody does. But we don’t belong together. Ill-suited, poorly mated, mismatched. I think she’s superficial, really. Deep down I want a woman to really give herself to me. Not all the time. But deeply. As I think I did with her. Not all the time. But much more than her. To stick with me. By me. I need that confidence. I said I was sensitive. I’m also insecure. Maybe we all are. And she’s not superficial. But I have to know she’s there and sexually only for me. But she can’t. She likes to see other men. I get jealous. They like to see her. She says “I can understand your jealousy but it annoys me.” So she resents me for annoying her and I resent her for going out with other men. Those two to three nights a week I’m not here. Not for going out with them but sleeping with them. I had to ask. She said “You know I’m unable to lie to anyone, so I have to say I occasionally do.” But her not lying isn’t altogether the truth. If I didn’t resent her sleeping with other men, we could continue as a couple. Those four to five days. But I do resent it. I’ve tried to sluff it off. Ho-hum. Who cares? What I don’t know doesn’t hurt me. But it does. It comes out. She’s told me to see other women. I can’t. “Sleep with them too.” But one’s enough. She is. I’ve even asked her to marry me. She really laughed when I asked that. Just a few weeks ago. I admitted it was funny. That I was actually proposing. Saying those words and for the first time too. This might sound funny, but will you marry me?” I thought marriage was what we both wanted and needed most. Or at least I did. But don’t go into it anymore. Just go. Get your things. Leave. Get lost. No goodbye. Take the bus. Go to your apartment. Drink a bottle of wine. Get drunk. Pass out. Do that for two days. Plenty of sleep. Then it’ll be over. Simple as that, really. Or I hope so.

I pack all my things downstairs. Only the books I borrowed from her village library are left.

“Could you return my library books here so I won’t have to pay a fine?” I yell upstairs.

“Where are they?”

“In the red bookcase, top shelf. About ten of them.”

“If they’re overdue now, why not run then over yourself?”

I look at the books. They are overdue. Ah, you’re so clever. I’ll take them there now.”

“You’ve time to both pack your things upstairs and catch the next bus?”

“It comes at five.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Library’s just a few doors down the road. Big pillars. Old baby blue colonial courthouse. Sarah the librarian’s there. “Returning these,” I say. I pay the fine.

“I was going to call you. Two of the books you ordered came.”

“Won’t be needing them now as I won’t be here to return.”

Things not right?”

“Right.”

“Too bad. You’re our best customer. Hate to lose one of those. County gives us an additional stipend for each hundred books borrowed over what it’s set as our regular load. Why not take the books anyway and mail them back in a jiffy bag?”

They don’t treat me like this in the city. I’ll miss you and your coffee urn and of course your books.” We shake hands. I kiss her cheek.

“Very sweet,” she says. “Keep in touch.”

I will miss this village. Didn’t think it before, but now do. Ribbon mill right on the river. Many of the villagers skating there in winter. Not swimming there in summer yet, but fishing and picnicking and watching the boats and ships. Lovely old houses. Winding bushy roads. Nice fall foliage. The springs here. Big snowfalls. Crazy Mr. McNally, the accepted peeping snoop. Better than the city. City’s grimy and stinks and rattles my ears. But can’t afford it here on my own. Soes it goes, as Mona and I made up a phrase. Her son. I’ll miss him too. Good kid. Likes me. And smart. Together we were like a family. Most times better than most families it seemed to me. She should have thought of that too. Pleasant Street. Three bars and a barber shop and a thrift and a liquor store and Millionaires Mart. Volunteer firemen’s parade every July 4 th. Village Hall and its slide shows. Even the baying dogs late at night. Raccoons and rabbits and skunks, and a deer once, trying to climb over Mona’s garden fence. I’m no longer the confirmed urbanite. Not really knocking the city. Just had enough. But got to get moving to catch the five after five bus.