Happy Endings
Unlike many of my male counterparts, I have always been a romantic fool.Not only do I relish seeing movies about love but in most cases I cry when there's a happy ending. Not just a couple of sniffles as the closing credits roll by but I'm talking half a package of tissues. As much as women claim to be looking for romantics, I can't count the number of first dates that ended up being last dates because of my teary-eyed response to romantic movies with happy endings.
Contrary to what they say, women seem to want cold and unfeeling men as partners and romantic fools only in their fantasies.
I guess that's why I fell so hard for Melora.
To this day, I have a hard time remembering which movie we first saw that brought me to tears but it convinced her to take me home and console me as I've never been consoled. I think we went through a three-pack of condoms that first night. She said that my romantic nature found a soft spot in her heart that she couldn't ignore. I guess she was also a fan of happy endings.
Well it wasn't too many movies later that she asked me to move in with her and being the fool that I was [and probably still am], I suggested we make it a permanent arrangement. You know, marriage; joint checking account; weekly dinner with the in-laws. Most of our relatives and nearly all of our friends thought it was a hasty decision but romantics usually listen with their hearts and not their heads so we were soon married.
Generally, the dating stops when couples tie the knot but I promised myself to remain true to my romantic nature and continually surprised her with gifts and outings in hopes of keeping that initial spark alive. The saddest night we had during that first year was when we realized how few romantic movies were being produced. If the plot didn't involve a serial something or other it was a traditional cut-and-slash horror film.
With the recent military victories our country had enjoyed came a plethora of patriotic movies of war heroes, dashing spies more likely to kill than love and similar films. It became necessary to find refuge at the video stores for older movies; even some black and white films which lacked stereo and surround sound. This didn't bother us too much as the importance lay in the message and not the format.
It was probably the third or fourth year before I realized how devious Melora was. Unlike me, she was really not romantic. She chose a romantic because she viewed this as a weakness she could exploit. She began disappearing at night without any explanation or with some story too ludicrous to believe. None of the accidents she purported to have delayed her return from work ever seemed newsworthy and in a community as close as ours, they should have. Her occasional overtime never seemed to appear in her paycheck.
I redoubled my efforts to please her in hopes of reducing whatever doldrums had settled into her mind, alternating outside activities like restaurants and concerts with evenings of massages or whatever she could imagine. I was willing to become her slave. I even made a point to apologize frequently for my inability to produce children even though I knew that Melora had secretly been taking birth control.
This was apparently not enough as she seemed to drift away from me with each passing day. Admitting that I'm not necessarily the sharpest knife in the drawer, I changed again. This time substituting household chores for my attentions to her. I made a point of getting home earlier than her so I could prepare some culinary masterpiece two or three nights a week; making sure I also did the dishes. I got up early on the weekends to do the laundry at the laundramat and came back with shirts, pants and sweaters on hangers while the linen, socks and other items were neatly folded in the basket.
As soon as the clothes were hung and put away it was off to the store to do the weekly shopping. She initially appreciated this and would feign interest for my efforts but one day I returned to find her gone with a note saying simply 'Gone out. Be back later.'
It hurt me immensely that she not only failed to sign it but didn't take the time or effort to write Love at the bottom. Had I not been a romantic fool looking for happy endings in life, I might have suspected that she were having an affair. But I was and am romantic so I suspected nothing.
That is probably why it hit me like a ton of bricks when I found the hotel receipt in one of her skirts while doing the laundry. We had not been to a hotel for over a year and the no-tell hotel on the receipt was certainly not the type of place one takes a wife. During the early years we played a few romantic role-playing games which resulted in us finding a room but I would certainly remember having gone to one with mirrored ceilings. That and the date of the check-in being a time when I was traditionally doing chores convinced me that it would be necessary to check for myself.
I had hoped that I was completely wrong and that a reasonable explanation existed. I would follow her the next weekend and hopefully end up feeling incredibly stupid when I discovered the reasons that currently eluded me.
To allow me the time to do this, I completed the laundry on Friday evening and was astounded that Melora didn't even notice the changed sheets when we went to bed that night. [Not my best move but habits are hard to break.]
I rose the next morning and gently kissed her goodbye as was my norm. I then parked across the street from the exit to the cul-de-sac where we lived and was disgusted when she drove past no more than fifteen minutes after I left.
Our drive took us onto the new thruway and into the seedier section of town where she drove to another establishment that charged by the hour as opposed to the day. Soon after she entered the front door of her room on the second floor, a mutual acquaintance arrived and hurried up the stairs; going to the exact room Melora had rented. I was fooled into brief relief when her female guest arrived but when they exited wearing each others blouses and with hair and make-up disheveled, my happiness faded.
As they passionately kissed each other goodbye, I was able to escape from the parking lot with neither being the wiser. It was a terrible process to mull on my drive home. On the one hand, adultery is adultery; regardless of the gender of the third party. But I was also still a hopeless romantic looking for a happy ending and if her excursions into lesbian sex made her happy was it really up to me to interfere?
I agonized over that decision for the next week and decided on Friday morning that my only solution to keep her happy was suicide. One quick shot through the mouth and our problems would be solved. She'd get the house, both cars, my life insurance, enough amenities for her to pursue her current love and still remain physically comfortable. Perhaps not the ending I anticipated in my fantasies but none the less a happy ending for Melora.
It was good luck that I live in an area without a dreaded waiting period on the purchase of guns so I stopped on the way home from work and bought a new Glock nine millimeter pistol. I had owned one previously but since guns made Melora nervous, had given it to a co-worker when Melora and I married. The clerk was a kind soul and thinking the weapon was intended for self defense or to ward off would be burglars; offered and sold me hollow point bullets.
These are normally illegal because of their devastating effect but most gun dealers keep a stock for policemen to use in their 'throwaways'. I thought it would certainly assure my success so purchased some. I returned home and hid the recent purchases in the basement. Melora was squeamish around bugs so rarely ventured there.
The next morning, I loaded the laundry as usual and went about my traditional Saturday tasks with renewed vigor. Between the wash and dry and while folding, I envisioned various scenarios around my death. The obvious questions were when [there's no time like the present], where [the dreaded basement] and other details. I had a large tarp I used to cover bushes during the winter which would suffice in keeping the resultant blood and other parts from staining the walls or ceiling. An old recliner took space in the corner of the cellar and this would at least afford me some comfort in my final moments.
My excellent cooking and attention to Melora since our nuptials had resulted in a few extra pounds but I was still in good enough shape that I wasn't ashamed of my nudity. Therefore I wouldn't have to leave any stained clothes for her to wash or even view. My only remaining task, as far as I could see, was the wording of the suicide note. I would have to take great care to see to it that Melora didn't suffer any anxiety that she might be the cause; although she was. While inspecting onions and peppers I decided to refrain from even mentioning my investigative efforts and would take her secret to my grave.
Choosing the correct pasta was rote enough for me to concoct a perfect alibi. My lack of interest in my job; perhaps feelings of inadequacy as a husband or my apparent inability to father a child. I dismissed the daddy part when I realized she might feel guilty about her birth control. Hmm. Bad husband and inadquate employee. Seemed reasonable to me. I was almost elated when I paid for the groceries so I could hurry home and put everything away before I sat down and wrote my note.
My heart nearly stopped when I approached my house and saw a police cruiser in front and immediately feared my plans would be curtailed because the police must have discovered my illegal purchase of the previous day.
I nervously pulled into the driveway and tried to be as pleasant and calm as possible when I said good morning to the approaching cop. I answered her query as to my identity and asked if I could be of assistance. I knew it was serious when she told me she would prefer to discuss the problem in the house. I grabbed my bags of groceries and allowed the officer to unlock and open the door into the kitchen. I tried to remain pleasant and yet curious enough not to reveal my criminal purchase. I paid in cash although I didn't think this was enough to keep me from prosecution if that was their intent.
With the groceries put away and my offer for coffee declined I sat across the kitchen table from her. It was then that she revealed that my wife had been involved in a serious automobile accident on the highway and was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. I barely heard much more of her conversation. Details of the event, where the body was taken, services available for the grieving, etc. I was in quite a haze after she left and called on my sister to help with the arrangements.
So here I sit in the funeral parlor with my beloved Melora just a few feet away. I've lost count of the number of people who have passed by with their condolences and offers of a shoulder or ear when needed. Even her lover volunteered to stop over if I felt she could be of some solace. I'm sure I'm on my third box of tissues as I've never been ashamed to cry. And like I've said before. I'm a hopeless romantic who can't help but cry when there's a happy ending.