the time. That’s the reason why so many people are unhappy in life—the rules keep changing. There’s really no way of knowing what will happen from one day to the next with this. That’s why it’s so hard for us to convince people of what’s going on. And because it’s happening so much faster now, that’s why Beeflow has become more directly involved.”
“Why doesn’t the Devil stop him?”
“Arrogance. He doesn’t see Beeflow or us as a threat. There’s your house. Do you know what you’re gonna do?”
“Stay here. I’ve got to see something.”
They stood by a light pole while I went and opened the front door. Closing it quietly behind me as if someone nearby was sleeping and I didn’t want to wake them, I just stood in the hallway a minute, being home, breathing home. My mother used to say after we’d come back from a trip, “At home, even the walls heal you.” And that’s just how I felt standing there, smelling my life in those near rooms, my eyes running over our possessions and photos on the walls that I knew the whole history of. Lucky me—all of them showed in different ways what a very good time I’d had right up until that day. Lucky me. But the Brothers had earlier said a moving van had been in front of my house. That’s why I’d come back in here—to see who had taken over our house and how they had changed things. I needed to see what was different so I could prepare my wife and somehow protect her from what was happening. But why then was nothing different in here?
Then I heard it—the zhunk of furniture being shoved hard across a floor. Someone else was in my house. Someone upstairs from the sound of it. The back of my neck prickled and my eyes opened wide of their own doing. I wore sneakers so I was able to cross the floor and climb the stairs with very little sound. While climbing I heard that same sound a few more times, sometimes louder and longer, sometimes short and sharp. Zhunk-silence-zhuuunk. Like that. I couldn’t figure out what it was but it was definitely real and I needed to find out about it.
At the top of the stairs I stood still and waited till the next time it came.
It was down the hall in our bedroom. Zhunk. From where I stood I could see that door was open about a third and something white was on the floor just inside the bedroom. I couldn’t make out what it was. Tiptoeing down the hall, I kept trying to focus in on what that white thing was. It came to me in stages. A piece of clothing—a shirt—a white T-shirt. And just when I realized that’s what it was, I heard the other sounds. Sex. A woman having sex and liking it a lot.
Rae doesn’t like sex. That’s been the major problem in our marriage. Once in a while she’s sort of in the mood, but it’s like when you’re sort of in the mood for pizza but can easily do without it if there’s none around. I always got the feeling she’s doing me a favor when she said yes and I can’t tell you how dry and lonely that made me feel. She’s a woman I have always wanted to touch but is more than clear she doesn’t want that.
A T-shirt was on the floor and when I looked I saw writing on it and knew it said “Hard Rock Café.” It was my shirt but it was very big and Rae liked that so she often slept in it. Her sounds kept up and they would have made any man hot. I’d known them once but not for a long time. Still, I recognized them instantly. I walked as close to the door as I could and looked in.
My wife was on our bed naked, straddling a guy whose face I couldn’t see. She was working him so hard that their banging bodies made the bed slide on the floor. Zhunk.
Even when we did have sex, she’d never do it like that with me because she didn’t like me seeing her entirely naked. It was always in the dark and she’d wear some kind of clothes—a shirt or sweatshirt so she’d never be completely stripped. As if wearing something meant she was still distant from me and this act even when it was going on.
Did I