Southern Cross x2

[Teresa]

Buck and Mary drove us back to their house where my former husband drank another vodka tonic and I pretended not to see the subtle play between Mary and the male babysitter, their eyes locked and heat rising up from the brown leather sofa cushions.

 

One year later the divorced thirty-eight year old explained to us how she could be so in love with with a fifteen year old, while forty-four year old Buck was busy courting Tina, a twenty-something with mischievous green eyes, double-D's, and a moderate gap between her front teeth.

 

Buck was now wearing pink Polo shirts, the back of the collar purposely turned up to look casual and carefree, to transform him from dull corporate accountant to contemporary wild rebel.

 

Mary shortly exchanged her pubescent boyfriend for fun-loving George, a white-haired fifty-eight year old with a bulbous purple nose, while Buck and Tina continued to explore sexual positions and Tina's awkward attempts to step-parent the four and six year olds.

 

As Buck and Mary's drama continued to unfold, my own marriage faltered, so to cheer me up a neighbor suggested the J. Larkins bar where five years earlier I'd agreed to meet my husband for a first date. 

 

I sat like a laundry basket while everyone else danced to lyrics about stars and callings, then I saw Tina across the room wearing a red leather jacket and miniskirt, her stilettos marching with a message that would abruptly end my evening and known world.

 

~~~

 

"I'm sick of him bringing his girlfriend to our house," Tina said, the shock of my husband's affair with a young NASA coworker delivered with the hubris of a cartoon avenger.

 

Tina's brown hair was teased high and wide, her tight red leather a devil's costume floating in the mists of a fog machine, and as I stared blankly at the gap in her teeth, the Southern Cross lyrics became a loud ringing sound, followed by the deep vibration of a heavy locomotive in my chest.

 

I drove home quickly while rehearsing what to say, feeling prepared by the time I reached the bedroom where my husband propped himself up on elbows to cheerfully ask, "Did you have fun?"

 

"Who's Kristi?" I said while jerking open dresser drawers and tossing his socks and underwear in a lawn-sized Hefty.

 

He played dumb until I told him to get out, then came his full confession, copious tears and snot collecting on a glass tabletop between us, my only thought being how good it felt to see him suffer, my detachment like a cat's role in a horror film.

 

I went through the typical crazies after my divorce just as Buck and Mary were finding stability, Buck marrying a conservative accountant his age while Mary wed George, a fun guy whose heart would give out six years later. 

[Mike Handley]

LOVE this. Ditto Floyd's dittoing of Michael.

[Bill Floyd]

Love.  Life.  Languishing.  Can't top Michael's description below.  

[Michael Brown]

Superlative. Can't think of any other way to describe this. Every sentence rises to the top like clotted cream with the milk souring underneath.

[Jadie Jones]

There are so many gems in these 6s. Brilliant brilliant use of perspective and weaving multiple stories together. This is one of my personal favorite details: my detachment like a cat's role in a horror film. favorited!

[Teresa]

@Gita ~ No wonder I wrote sentence 11 so many times.  I couldn't put my finger on the problem.  Nice edit.  And btw, just in case anyone's curious, one of the evil characters in this story broke his penis while boinking a girl -- the idiot told me this.  Then he dated and lived with a gazillion trillion women but never remarried, until this past year.  She kicked him out after three months.  He lost his hair and job two years ago and lives with friends, a couple married 30+ years.  They've recently considered divorce.

[Gita]

Joey just said what I would have said. The drama, the whittling down, the upturned collar. I felt that locomotive hit me in the gut, too. Oh, and hair teased high and wide.

If I could change one tiny thing, I would end sentence 11 after the word 'scene.'  Cat looking on  in a horror movie needs no explaining.  Fave.

[Joey Delgado]

So much heartbreak and delusion and betrayal in six sentences. It's like two or three seasons of Dallas and Melrose Place combined. But seriously, God help those who hurt you, because your writing can not only whittle them down to size but lift you way up high.

Loved poor Buck thinking that an upturned collar can turn him into a wild rebel.

[Sandra Davies]

I guessed nonfiction, but even so ... Gosh and golly, T, the life you've led makes me uncertain whether to be glad at at the unmomentousness of mine or sorry.   And double-whammied by your usual dispassionate tone.