Last Session

13 Aug

The woman coming to pick up my son is my husband’s new wife. She isn’t anything like I thought he’d ever choose. None of his girlfriends have been, but out of all of the ones I thought were suitable for him to marry, she was the least likely to appeal to him, in my opinion. She is short and portly. She has thick fingers on large hands. A cut that most people consider a hairdo or a coiffure. Next to her, his head is not too big. Neither is his waist. I feel strange standing beside her. I feel awkward and bony and fragile. She is coming to pick up my son—who is mine and my husband’s—to take him to the beach with them for a week, while I go to my last session. It’s been almost a year now I’ve been going. The first time they came together, my husband and his new wife, I had been doing two sessions a month. I had been going all through the winter and I could barely hold myself together to even walk. They came to visit as newlyweds and I made them dinner and they had no idea how horrible and nauseous I felt smelling everything. Garlic. And cumin. And onion. It was horrendous. I went into the washroom three times to throw up. And then they asked for frozen pink drinks with pieces of fruit in them, and tiny umbrellas, to remind them of their honeymoon. I made those for them, too. I thought it would be best to just try to get along, for the sake of my son. The entire time she was looking at my left side, curved in like a sugar bowl, where my breast had been. Last time they came, I gave my husband a few things that they had left when they stayed for two weeks during the spring to visit with my son. There were mostly personal grooming things that she had forgotten in my bathroom: a lipstick, a few hair clips, a small, foldable travel toothbrush. And one of his socks. He had left one half of a now unmatched pair under the bed. When I gave it to him he put it quickly in the back pocket of his trousers and mumbled something about his mother being sick and his having to drive her to some hospital in Lakewood which was horribly out of the way and why couldn’t the insurance pay for the one in Elyria. Or even in Sandusky. The one in Lakewood was old and paint on the walls contained lead and more than likely had asbestos in the ceilings. I wanted to answer those questions properly, but I didn’t have the strength. He looked at me awkwardly and, feeling self-conscious, I adjusted my wig slightly. But probably he didn’t notice anything. He always looked at me awkwardly; throughout our entire marriage. He never noticed anything, really.

Advertisements

6 Responses to “Last Session”

  1. Anonymous 13/08/2007 at 10:04 AM #

    Wow, incredible. Two things: first, you have amazing control over this story. I don’t believe I have ever read something this well guided and tight on a blog before. This kind of story is professional. It needs to be published. IT’s the perfect length for flash fiction. Second, I love that you write from a woman’s point of view. I went back through your archives and this is the first time you’ve done that, right? Anyways, I love your writing and alway come back.
    Petra

  2. Anonymous 13/08/2007 at 11:12 AM #

    Yea I like how you let us think the session is with a psychiatrist at first, and almost until the end it’s clear it’s a cancer chemotherapy. Awesome. Simply awesome dude. You have the best nuances in your short stories. Yea like the commenter said, control. You really know how to pull back or let go in your storeis. I can’t imagine what you do with long form.

  3. Lx 13/08/2007 at 12:38 PM #

    thanks for reading.
    i’m hoping soon to put together a collection of some of this better stuff and publish and sell it independently.
    so don’t mind if sometime in ’08 you start seeing me peddling my “product” on this site.

    as for longer formats, or a novel–it’s sort of in the works, but it’s very much in the brainstorming phase, so it’ll be quite a while before that comes to fruition. but when it does, it’ll be the same–independently financed and published and marketed/sold. i’m through with the games i have to play with agencies and publishers. i believe the publishing industry is pretty much dead financially and creatively. i am amazed at how independent artists in the music industry (and technology) have managed to bring down the music label giants, and how they’ve made their dynamic and unique, high-quality art available to people for cheaper prices–circumventing the whole corporate culture of packaging and marketing garbage and image.

    as for what longer formats hold, i try to sustain the same quality and energy you find in short form here. of course, dialogue and scenes are expanded more and more detail is introduced, but overall i try to keep the same level of quality (or lack thereof, if you happen to think that) in the longer stuff. i hope you end up snagging a copy of my collection; it’ll be well-priced–i can at least guarantee THAT.

    thanks for reading, always.

  4. slyboots2 13/08/2007 at 2:31 PM #

    What I really want to experience next after reading this is the rage that she’s suppressing being spilled out in her son. Because I would bet money that it would go there next. Kids are like sponges. The poor little things.
    To quote Borat (too early, I know, but humor me here), “Very nice, very nice!”

  5. Krissteen 13/08/2007 at 8:37 PM #

    Wow, you had me completely!

    I felt the rage welling up inside of me of knowing the feeling of the anger, envy, jealousness of being the “former wife” and having to deal with the “new wife” and even more but we don’t need to go there. LOL

    Wonderful perspective!

  6. Lx 13/08/2007 at 10:03 PM #

    thanks krissteen.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: