Chronicles of a Midlife Crisis Read Online Free
Author: Robyn Harding
how long it’s been there, but this is no time to be fussy. With the bottle and a full glass in my hand, I return to the sofa. I try Camille one more time, but she’s still not home. For some reason, this fills me with an almost unbearable desolation. It’s not like Camille is the only other person I can turn to; I’m on friendly terms with a number of neighbors, co-workers, and mothers of Samantha’s friends. But she’s the only other person I want to turn to. I’m not ready to admit to the world that my marriage—my whole life—is a failure.
When the bottle of wine and my tear ducts are empty, I head to bed. Until He Comes Home sits untouched on the bedside table. I’m too exhausted, too confused, and a bit too drunk to focus on it right now. And I don’t even know what I want. Do I want to wait patiently for Trent to realize he loves me and come home? Or do I want him to die in a fiery car crash? Wait— maybe something more horrifying, like being eaten by a shark while he snorkels off the coast of Aruba. Better yet, it should be something really embarrassing, like reacting to the anesthesia during his brow lift. Or maybe a heart attack while lying naked in a tanning bed? With these pleasant thoughts in my head, I drift off to sleep.
Trent
THE ROOM IS DARK WHEN THE ALARM GOES OFF , and it takes me a second to remember where I am. Right. I did it. I left. After months of worrying and stressing, I finally made a move. In the dim light of early morning, it all seems a little unreal. This could easily be a hotel room in Calgary or Seattle where I’m attending a conference, but no. I’m in a hotel in downtown Vancouver, having walked out on my wife and daughter.
Obviously, there’s a bit of a negative connotation when it’s put like that, but I’m not going to be eaten up by the guilt. Plenty of men reach the same decision that I have: life’s too short to be stuck in a passionless marriage. I feel bad for Sam, but she’ll get over it. I can still be a good dad to her, and I know Lucy won’t let her down. Besides, what kind of example were we setting for her, living separate lives in the same house? She should know there’s more to life than that.
I get up and head to the shower. If I don’t think about Lucy crying on the sofa, I feel pretty good. I’m a single man again. Okay, maybe one night in a hotel doesn’t make me single, but I took a step that needed to be taken. One day, Lucy will see that. Now, it’s time to look forward.
My stomach does this weird, nervous, butterfly thing as I think about seeing Annika … voluptuous, sexy Annika with those big tits and that wild, curly hair. I decide to jerk off. It’s a relief not to have to worry about Lucy walking in on me.
“Yuck! What are you doing?” she’d said when she walked in on me once. Those were her exact words—“Yuck! What are you doing?” Like masturbation isn’t the most normal, healthy thing in the world. When did Lucy become so fucking uptight? She used to be fun and sexy, but now … I tear my thoughts from my wife and focus on Annika. Now that’s more like it.
Lucy
WHEN THE ALARM GOES OFF AT 6:00 A.M. I feel confused and extremely thirsty. It would be completely acceptable to call in sick under the circumstances, but I somehow feel the distraction of work might help. After a jarring shower, a piece of toast, and a few sips of undrinkable coffee (Trent always made delicious coffee, but I refuse to let this upset me), I go to my daughter’s room. “Knock, knock,” I say cheerfully as I let myself inside.
Samantha’s sanctuary is an exercise in organized chaos. She’s a talented artist, and her walls are plastered with numerous school projects: a surreal self-portrait in charcoal; a scattering of ink drawings featuring stylized, metallic insects; a papiermâché lantern; and my favorite, a watercolor of sailboats off Jericho Beach that she did when she was only twelve. Interspersed among her artwork are posters of
When the bottle of wine and my tear ducts are empty, I head to bed. Until He Comes Home sits untouched on the bedside table. I’m too exhausted, too confused, and a bit too drunk to focus on it right now. And I don’t even know what I want. Do I want to wait patiently for Trent to realize he loves me and come home? Or do I want him to die in a fiery car crash? Wait— maybe something more horrifying, like being eaten by a shark while he snorkels off the coast of Aruba. Better yet, it should be something really embarrassing, like reacting to the anesthesia during his brow lift. Or maybe a heart attack while lying naked in a tanning bed? With these pleasant thoughts in my head, I drift off to sleep.
Trent
THE ROOM IS DARK WHEN THE ALARM GOES OFF , and it takes me a second to remember where I am. Right. I did it. I left. After months of worrying and stressing, I finally made a move. In the dim light of early morning, it all seems a little unreal. This could easily be a hotel room in Calgary or Seattle where I’m attending a conference, but no. I’m in a hotel in downtown Vancouver, having walked out on my wife and daughter.
Obviously, there’s a bit of a negative connotation when it’s put like that, but I’m not going to be eaten up by the guilt. Plenty of men reach the same decision that I have: life’s too short to be stuck in a passionless marriage. I feel bad for Sam, but she’ll get over it. I can still be a good dad to her, and I know Lucy won’t let her down. Besides, what kind of example were we setting for her, living separate lives in the same house? She should know there’s more to life than that.
I get up and head to the shower. If I don’t think about Lucy crying on the sofa, I feel pretty good. I’m a single man again. Okay, maybe one night in a hotel doesn’t make me single, but I took a step that needed to be taken. One day, Lucy will see that. Now, it’s time to look forward.
My stomach does this weird, nervous, butterfly thing as I think about seeing Annika … voluptuous, sexy Annika with those big tits and that wild, curly hair. I decide to jerk off. It’s a relief not to have to worry about Lucy walking in on me.
“Yuck! What are you doing?” she’d said when she walked in on me once. Those were her exact words—“Yuck! What are you doing?” Like masturbation isn’t the most normal, healthy thing in the world. When did Lucy become so fucking uptight? She used to be fun and sexy, but now … I tear my thoughts from my wife and focus on Annika. Now that’s more like it.
Lucy
WHEN THE ALARM GOES OFF AT 6:00 A.M. I feel confused and extremely thirsty. It would be completely acceptable to call in sick under the circumstances, but I somehow feel the distraction of work might help. After a jarring shower, a piece of toast, and a few sips of undrinkable coffee (Trent always made delicious coffee, but I refuse to let this upset me), I go to my daughter’s room. “Knock, knock,” I say cheerfully as I let myself inside.
Samantha’s sanctuary is an exercise in organized chaos. She’s a talented artist, and her walls are plastered with numerous school projects: a surreal self-portrait in charcoal; a scattering of ink drawings featuring stylized, metallic insects; a papiermâché lantern; and my favorite, a watercolor of sailboats off Jericho Beach that she did when she was only twelve. Interspersed among her artwork are posters of
Readers choose
Sean Williams, Shane Dix
Elizabeth Kelly
Bruce Sterling
Simon R. Green
Katie McGarry
Annastaysia Savage
Maxim Gorky
Michele Martinez