The Moron
(EXCERPT)
Martha turned her
head and looked out the car window at the shoulder of the highway
that rushed by and then further out at the open fields that moved so
much smaller and then further out at the horizon which appeared to
keep pace with the BMW. Her long red hair flapped and tossed around
like a flag. God she was beautiful.
“You never had
friends,” I responded.
We slowed down. Up
ahead the road was clear. We turned onto an older two lane highway.
After passing by a gasoline station, some houses and a farmer’s
co-op, I sped up.
Martha turned and
looked at me.
“I did so,” she
replied huffily.
“How come I never
met them?” I said smiling.
“What’s so
funny?” she asked.
“You are when you
retreat to that child like tantrum. It’s cute.” I said.
“It could become
permanent.” Her smile like a threat.
I shook my head.
“The sun was flickering off your hair. It looked like it was on
fire. You are beautiful.”
Martha smiled
forgivingly and taking off her seat belt moved closer. I put my arm
around her shoulders.
“For an ugly man,
you are very romantic,” she giggled. “And I did have friends. Lot
of girlfriends. I remember sleepovers, and dances, and times we went
to the fair and stuffed our faces with junk food and conned boys into
taking us on the rides.”
“What happened?”
I asked, taking my arm from around Martha and reaching into my shirt
pocket for my cigarettes.
“Matthew,”
Martha said sadly. “It wasn’t that he didn’t like my friends.
There wasn’t enough time for them. Matthew had all that energy and
it was all I could do to keep up with him. And than after Allan was
born, I had no time. You know that smoke dries your skin up, don’t
you?”
I laughed, smoke
chugging out of my mouth in small moons.
“Remember what
you said. I’m ugly already.”
Martha leaned
closer to me, resting her hand on my leg.
“I said you were
a romantic,” Martha responded with a smile. “How things might
have been different if I’d met you before Matthew.”
There was a few
moments of silence. I could feel Martha brooding.
“I’m worried
about Matthew,” she continued. “After he had that period of
success, he fell into a real dry period. Nobody is buying any of his
ideas. Bill told me he’s drinking a lot. Can’t pay his bills. Got
thrown out of his last apartment for not paying his rent.”
“He thinks
they’re poisoning him,” I said, flicking the ashes of my
cigarette out the window.
Martha looked up at
me.
“You’ve seen
him?”
I nodded. “He
hardly eats. He even filters his beer through tissue papers before he
drinks it. He thinks they’re afraid of his ideas.”
“Whose afraid of
his ideas?” Martha asked.
“Well, you’re
going to think this is right out of The Twilight Zone. Matthew thinks
that machines are trying to kill him. I know. I tried to talk him
into seeing a shrink. But when he talks, he seems so rationale. He’s
not raving or shouting or wild eyed. He’s very matter of fact.
Maybe he’s always been nuts. We just excused everything because he
was so damn entertaining. Remember all the television sets he used to
collect?”
“We had dozens,”
Martha replied.
I could hear her
voice breaking. A tear ran down her cheek. I flicked my cigarette out
the window.
“Remember this
highway?” I asked. “Remember the first time I took you up to the
family cottage. It was a day like today. We drove along this very
stretch of highway. Remember?”
Martha giggled.
“Yes,” she
said. “I remember thinking that if the police caught us we might
have spent a night in jail. And that it would probably get into the
newspapers.”
With my free hand,
I undid my belt.
“What are you
doing?” Martha said raising her head from my chest.
“Take it out,”
I said.
“Freddy! We’re
not kids anymore.”
“Sure we are.”
Martha smiled and
unzipped me.
“If we get
caught, I’ll never forgive you.”
