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"Neglect" - Short Story
It is almost time, and yet again I find myself baffled as to whether it will be worth it. The black alarm clock that sits upon my brown bedside cabinet reads eight o’clock, and I will undoubtedly be meeting her at precisely half past the hour. Whilst I myself am considerably indecisive, she is not. I contemplate meeting her every single time, but she always tells me that our time together is always cherished and that it is the most favourable part of her week. In fact, “seeing your bright-blue eyes are what allows me to persevere with my week” she tells me every Friday night.
The reason that I dwell on our consultations is because I know that the longer that they are continued, the harder it will become to let go. I’ve been seeing her routinely for two-and-a-half years since she moved out, and that is probably two-and-a-half years too long. Tommy, my seventeen year old son, is downstairs playing a video game with his friend. This is the most thought provoking fact, as I feel as though every time I leave him – he thinks that my shift starts at eight-thirty on a Friday – a lump appears in my throat, each week’s lump more difficult to swallow than the last.
My family are everything to me, yet I consistently seek something from her that I know that I can receive at home, after all I have been married for the best part of sixteen years. What is it that draws me to her? My wife touches me and I cannot help turning away. Facing another direction is the only method obtainable to me that helps to hide my shame. Well, alcohol normally does the job but I cannot always rely on a bottle of beer and ninety minutes of football to take away the pain.
I’ve driven to our focal point on a number of occasions – one-hundred-and-thirty times to be precise – and I could practically trace the route with my eyes closed. We agreed to meet at this location because that way it is completely out of town and the chances of any family member finding us is relatively low. As I arrive at the run-down bar my heart begins to pump blood around my body faster than one would believe is humanly possible. I sweat a substantial amount too, which makes me even more worried that I would arrive smelling horribly.
I walk through the half-shattered doors and the barman recognises my face, without hesitation he pours me a large glass of wine. He walks it over to the table in the corner of the room even though I’m still standing frozen at the door. The seat at that table closest to me is occupied by a blonde-haired woman in a blue cardigan who so happens to be sitting with her back to me. I slowly walk over towards her. She must have heard my footsteps as she stands up to greet me. A hug is followed by a kiss on the cheek before we both sit down.
She too has the “bright-blue eyes” that she endeavours to see every week. It is initially awkward but she never leaves it long, I suppose living away from the family means that she is tired of hearing her own voice and therefore desires to hear me speak. If only Tommy knew that I was seeing someone who once meant so much to him. I promised him I wouldn’t see her, but I have done religiously since she was born. Oh, the shame. I suppose you never give up on the ones you love. She took a sip from her wine glass and smiled.
“I knew you hadn’t forgotten me, father”
