Power Outage Ch. 01

George Murphy stirred from his sleep. Damn, I need to piss. In the dark, he rolled out of bed and looked at the nightstand to check the time. Nothing.

'That's right; the power was out when we got home last night.'

Illuminating his wristwatch, George discovered it was four A.M.

Still, as he wobbled towards the bath, he wondered why it hadn't been restored. The warm summer night hadn't been interrupted by any storms. Earlier, he'd just chalked it up to some yahoo using his car for impact tests on a power pole. Surely, the power should be back by now.

Upon returning from the bath, he fumbled around on the nightstand for his cell phone. Its display would make do as a flashlight so he could make it down the stairs without taking a Brody, look up the number for the electric company and find out when the power would be back on.

No sooner had he gotten the phone illuminated and taken a couple of steps, when his wife Lyn stirred.

"Where you going, sweetheart?" She sounded surprisingly alert for the hour.

"To call Public Service and find out when the fucking power will be back on," he growled.

"I already did."

"And?"

"It was turned off because...the bill wasn't paid."

"Well, isn't that just peachy!" he replied with as much sarcasm as he could muster at this ungodly hour, turned off his mobile and flopped back into bed.

Although the room was deadly quiet, his mind seethed with a cacophony of thoughts.

There was enough money in the account to pay it, he was most certain about that and would check it in the morning. But more disturbing was the notion that Lyn was reverting to her old ways, just like when they had nearly gotten divorced a year or so ago...

It had been a Friday, that much he remembered, a gorgeous spring day in May. Or was it April? However; his mood sat in juxtaposition to the weather - a storm that had taken years to develop and would make landfall upon his arrival home from work.

That had been about four in the afternoon and Lyn was at the table reading the paper as he entered the kitchen from the garage. It was still the same shambles as when he left that morning. Dirty dishes stacked on the counter, pots soaking in the sink with various piles of mail scattered about the counters.

It didn't seem possible, but his mood soured even more.

After quick "Hi!" and a peck on the cheek, George went to the pantry.

'What do we have to drink in this joint? Looks like it's vodka or...vodka.'

George took the bottle from the shelf and proceeded to make a screwdriver martini.

"Would you fix me one too, please?" she asked.

He did. Not as strong as his, but healthy nonetheless.

"Since it's so nice out, why don't we take these out to the deck and sit in the swing?" she suggested.

George took a healthy swallow before replying vaporously, "Sure, why not?"

After settling into the swing, Lyn began the routine evening conversation by asking how his day was.

Calming himself with another slug, he sat with his elbows on his knees, holding the glass in both hands with his eyes fixed on his beverage.

"Lyn," he began, "I really can't go on like this."

"Like what?"

"Being married to you," he replied flatly.

"WHAT?"

"You heard me."

"But why?"

"You mean you really don't have a clue?" he asked incredulously.

"Not really."

"That's hard to believe," he said coldly and shifted his gaze to meet her now watery eyes. "I'm just tired of being the only one with an oar in the water around here."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't know what the fuck you do all day. I'm busting my ass at work ten hours a day to make sure my business succeeds so the bills get paid and when I come home, it's obvious you haven't done shit all day. The same dirty pots and pans are in the sink, the bathroom still needs cleaning and the dust bunnies are still at large.

"Wait, that's not exactly correct. You have managed to read the paper and probably a couple a magazines and a romance novel."

"Well," she replied meekly, "maybe if you were home more, I'd feel it was worth it."

"Just wait a minute," he replied, as the anger crept into his voice. "I tried that for a couple of months. I was home by six and had dinner with you and the kids. They enjoyed my company, but you kept your nose buried in whatever you were reading. There didn't seem much point in being here just to be ignored. I even started taking some Fridays off, but that's when you chose to make a big show of doing housework as if it were some gargantuan, overwhelming task, and I guess it is when you haven't done any for a couple of weeks! But to me, it was just another way for you to ignore my presence."

"I suppose you're right," she conceded dejectedly.

"What's more, when we met with that financial adviser back in January to talk about paying for the kids' college, the bottom line was that my income was too high to qualify for any financial aid even though there really isn't much to spare for tuition and his advice was that you needed to get a job. As far as I know, you haven't sent out one resume, made any application or been on any interviews, and that meeting was almost six months ago!"

"Fine!" she shot back. "I'll start looking on Monday."

"That won't cut it! I've had it! It will just be more of the same old shit. I'm not falling for more of your empty promises. I've put up with those for years, despite all of the discussions we've had."

"What discussions?"

"Jesus! Are you really that clueless?" he growled. "It should seem like I'm whipping a dead horse, but how many times have I tried to talk to you about our sex life..."

"Oh, that again," she said flatly.

"Yeah, well, you're going to hear it again. For at least five years, probably longer, I've talked to you about it and it's always ended the same way. You cry and give me a bunch of 'I'll try's' or 'maybe's' that I have learned really meant no. Frankly, I'm tired of living with a lazy bitch in a sexless marriage."

"It's not sexless!"

"It might as well be. A couple of times a month that always require I give you a massage first and then a quick fuck doesn't cut it. When was the last time you actually initiated something?"

She just stared at him as a tear rolled from the corner of her eye.

"You can't remember," he said coldly, "Can you?"

More silence.

"Well," he said while rising from the swing, "If you've got nothing to say, I'm going for a walk."

Downing the remainder of his drink, George walked back into the kitchen; made a refill and went to the front porch to brood. Sitting in a wicker chair, he stared vacantly at the road beyond the front yard, thinking and muttering to himself in justification of what he'd just told Lyn.

It still tugged at his heart to make her cry, but he'd also had enough sleepless nights and was exhausted by going through life pissed off at the world. No matter where he was, he didn't want to be there and that was ruining the relationships he had with his friends and family. She'd sucked all the joy out of life. Yes, it was time to take a stand, whatever the consequences.

George was still blankly staring into space and unaware of the time passing when Lyn opened and leaned out the screen door to report that dinner was ready.

"I'm not hungry," he replied absently, still lost in thought.

The door closed.

Dusk was falling and his drink long gone before George wandered back into the house. It was quiet, too quiet. The kids were all out. Well, at least she cleaned up the kitchen. And one more drink; what the hell!

At a complete loss for what to do next, George settled in for some baseball on TV. He didn't pay much attention and never knew the outcome, but at least it broke the silence. He missed the extra innings, and woke with a start at some point during the lat night news. He went upstairs, opting to sleep in the spare bedroom. As he fell back asleep, the only certain thing in his mind was that the next move was up to Lyn. He'd said all there was to say, at least for the time being.

The next morning came too soon and the headache throbbing in George's head was an unwelcome companion. He tried to go back to sleep, but between the pain and his swirling thoughts, it proved impossible. Reluctantly, he got up and went downstairs to the kitchen for a large glass of ice water and a couple of aspirin. Agitation forbid sitting still, so despite it being only six AM, George knew he had to occupy himself somehow or lose his sanity. First and foremost, make coffee.

Lyn was still asleep so he silently retrieved some old shorts, socks and a tee shirt from their bedroom and dressed where he had slept. Back in the kitchen, he quickly grabbed a cup of coffee and exited the kitchen into the adjoining garage, where he put on his work boots.

It was too early to fire up any power equipment, but he was sure that there would be some weeding required somewhere, so taking a couple of tools and a large plastic tub, he went into the yard, searching for victims to his aggravation.

And that was basically how the weekend went. George and Lyn avoided one another as much as possible, speaking only when absolutely necessary. Although George was curious when Lyn suddenly took off in her van late Sunday morning as he was working in the front yarn, returning about an hour later. Perhaps she was getting a gift for the niece's eighteenth birthday -- after all, they were attending her party that afternoon, but he never knew for sure.

But the time came to get cleaned up for the party, which was being held at the house of her boyfriend's parents. Good thing, they had a pool and the afternoon had turned ungodly hot and humid. George was the last to get ready -- their three children were also going -- so Lyn was downstairs when he exited the master bath into their bedroom to get dressed.

"What the hell?" he blurted upon seeing a very obvious 'gift' from Lyn on the bed -- an envelope and a copy of Dr. Phil's Relationship Rescue. "Oh shit! Not that asshole and his substanceless advice! Let's see what bullshit Lyn wants me to buy into now."

He tore open the envelope. At least she admits that she fucked up. Ok, she wants to work things out. But no fucking way am I going to read this clap-trap. I'm not the one who needs to compromise. Nice try bitch, but I'm not buying!

George rummaged in his nightstand for a pen and hastily wrote, "No fucking way! It'll be MY way from now on, or nothing."

He angrily threw the letter and pen back on the bed, went to his dresser, grabbed some clothes and got dressed. Walking downstairs, he encountered Lyn and the kids in the kitchen. He looked her squarely in the eyes and said, "Nice try."

Dread filled her face as she bolted upstairs.

She returned a few minutes later and after a few curt remarks to acknowledge everyone was ready, they drove to the party in silence, although George was certain he could hear the gears in Lyn's head redlining.

Well, let her stew.

George parked the car, and after some hello's to the hosts, went in search for some beer. Avoiding Lyn throughout the party, he bullshitted with everyone he knew and some he didn't. The food was good, the pool refreshing; the ice cold beer went down easily on the hot summer afternoon and well into the muggy evening. Another silent drive, but with Lyn at the wheel this time and shortly thereafter, George essentially passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Lost somewhere between hung over and inebriation, George moaned when he woke up at five the next morning. Although about an hour earlier than normal, he decided it would be best to get out of the house and go to work. Coffee was made. A quick shower and a couple of Tylenol later, George was fixing a mug to go when Lyn entered the kitchen.

"You're up early," she said blandly.

"Well, I woke up and couldn't get back too sleep. Might as well get going. Lots to do," he lied. He just wanted to get away.

"Can we talk?" she asked, emotion creeping back into her voice.

"I'm not in the mood," he snapped. The hangover was definitely going to rule the morning.

"What was all that about your way or nothing?"

"I said I'm not in the mood!"

"When will we talk?"

"Tell you what," he said, "find somewhere for the kids to go and I'll come home early so we can talk. But this place had better be fucking cleaned up when I get back!"

"Okay. Sure."

George didn't reply. He grabbed his coffee and left for work, the tires chirping as he pulled out of the driveway.

Work was a waste of time. All George could think about was the upcoming conversation with Lyn. It wouldn't be easy. Worse, he really wasn't sure what to say. He knew what he really wanted, but would Lyn go along with it? Doubtful. Could he communicate it properly? Hell, could he really go through with all that he'd schemed for so long or just wimp out again? Worse, the more he tried to push those thoughts from his mind, the more insistent they became.

Mercifully, three o'clock came around and George drove. He wasn't about to call ahead. Either she had done what he'd told her or Lyn's inaction would be answer enough.

Upon entering the kitchen, George noticed immediately the difference with Lyn sitting rigidly in a wicker chair in the adjoining sitting area. Things hadn't been this tidy since...since...actually he could not remember, but probably since some party a decade ago. Without a word, he made a lap around the house just to be certain that everything was equally pristine. Satisfied, he sat in a chair next to Lyn.

"Kids gone?" he asked

"Yes," she replied, "they went to various friends houses. I even finagled them to stay overnight."

"I hope it will worth all the trouble. So let's cut to the chase do you want to start or should I?"

"Maybe you should so I can understand what this is all about."

Determined to not let the tears already welling in her eyes be a distraction, George found a spot on the rug to fix his gaze.

"What's to understand? I thought I was pretty damned clear about it on Friday, was I not? And didn't you admit as much in your note?"

"Yes," she replied on a soft quiver. "But why do you want to end it all so abruptly?"

George knew the tears were flowing, but refused to look her way.

"Suddenly? That's fucking rich!" he shouted, "You mean all the times I've tried to talk to you in the past -- what is it? Five, six, seven years? -- didn't give you some kind of clue that there was something wrong?"

"Not really," she sobbed, "You always seemed content."

"Content! What a great choice! At least you didn't say happy. I was just buying into your lies and empty promises. By nature, I'm pretty mellow and go out of my way to avoid confrontation. You took advantage of that. Repeatedly.

"Well, I'm not buying anymore. Your latest incarnation of being just a lazy bitch and letting the house go to hell was the straw that broke the camel's back. Believe me, if I took care of my business the way you take care of this house, that wouldn't be a problem because we'd be living in a fucking cardboard box by now!"

"I'm...sorry," she managed to say between sobs.

"That's nice," he replied sarcastically. "I've lost count a very long time ago at how many times you've been sorry. What you're really sorry about is the fact that life as you know it is over. I won't be your enabler any more."

"Didn't I clean the house like you asked?"

"It's going to take a hell of a lot more than that blip on the radar. That's only the beginning."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she challenged, defiance creeping in.

"It means that you'll keep the house this clean at all times, for starters."

"I can do that."

"I'm sure you can. But housework is only the beginning..." he began, but his nerve was beginning to fail.

"You're not going to start the sex thing again are you?" she interrupted, unwittingly strengthening his resolve by hitting the 'sex thing' button.

"You bet your ass we're going to start the SEX THING! If you're not interested in doing things willingly, you can do them unwillingly. Either way, you're going to be slutty little sex slave and do what I want, when I want and where I want. No more 'headaches.' No more 'I'm tired.' And you'll do it or I'll spank your ass til you do!"

"You wouldn't dare!" she challenged.

"Try me! But right now the choice is still yours. If you say no, I'll move into the guest room tonight and see a lawyer in the morning. If you say yes, you'll start your training tonight."

"But what about the kids?'

"Don't worry, I'll close the door. They won't see what we're up to," he said, knowing that she was trying to change the subject, but refusing to go in that direction.

"That's not what I meant!" she countered, clearly pissed off that he misinterpreted her.

"What does it mean?"

"I mean," she said, pausing for emphasis, "what a divorce will do to the kids."

"Oh, you mean as opposed to having a father who can't stand being home and wants nothing more than to get away? On balance, I see divorce as better for them in the long run. But what really fries my clams is that throwing the kids in my face is your way of dealing with this. You've been unwilling to compromise on anything for ages and I was the one who let things go for the sake of the kids. Now that you've wrung all the compromise out of me, you make me the bad guy for wanting a divorce because you've made my life hell. Where's your contribution to the sake of the kids fund?"

"That's not fair and you know it!"

"Of course it's not fair," he replied. "This isn't about the kids. It's about you and me. But you're not willing to see that, so I guess I have your answer. I'll start moving my stuff into the guest room."

George started to rise from his chair.

"Can I at least think about it? I mean this is a big decision."

Standing before Lyn, he finally looked at her upturned face and said, "I can be reasonable. I'll give you until Friday morning. I'll make my appointment with the attorney for then. If you agree to my terms, I'll cancel the appointment. But you need to be aware of several things. There will be consequences regardless of your decision. If you say no, then consider that you'll have to get a job, this house will go on the market and we'll both probably end up living in apartments. If you say yes, I will be testing your sincerity immediately. I will not put up with any vacillation on your part. And for the time being, I'm still moving into the guest room."

As George walked towards the stairs, she replied, "I'll think about all of it, but what'll I tell the kids?"

"Tell them I'm snoring too much or some such thing. Meanwhile, let's at least be courteous to each other."

"Okay," was her distracted reply, obviously her mind had moved on to other things.

Naturally, the next few days were far from normal. George and Lyn were polite to each other, but icily so, and the contrast in there dispositions was vast.

Relieved by finally unburdening himself, George was upbeat and active, talking and joking with the kids much more than usual. He was still anxious about Lyn's decision, but rather than focusing on the date, George was fully occupied with planning his actions regardless of her decision. He made the appointment with the lawyer and organized all of his financial information and fully expected to spend his Friday in a laborious review of his situation. However slim the odds might be, it was still wonderfully heady to contemplate the alternative and it was Thursday before he'd finalized 'Plan B.' Come what may, his lines were well rehearsed for either scenario.

Meanwhile Lyn was practically mute, speaking only when necessary and even then her words had an odd hollow sound, like an actress in a hypnotic trance out of a cheesy horror film. And rightfully so, the schism in her mind diverted attention - she was just an observer, not a participant, in the events of her days.