Fred

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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.”