You’re Fired!

“PATRICK, you’re fired!”

I was 10 minutes late; it had been one of those mornings when everything goes wrong.

The bus that took my daughter to school in Kingston was late and the e-mail that I was trying to send from my phone was not going through. It eventually did, but only after multiple attempts and pulling the battery. Then the normally reliable taxi-man had an accident. I had to call another taxi. Now here I was looking into the mouth of my boss. He was within two feet of my face and he was just berating me. My co-workers stood frozen, all eyes and ears.

It was not the first time that he had fired me. A threat of firing was his way to start cussing out his workers. I was not one to answer back, however, and this made me his favourite target. He would never scold Cherese who sat in the cubicle next to me; the first and only time he had, she’d told him some deep things that questioned his manhood. I thought I would never see her at work again, but here she was five years later.

Today, though, I exploded like an overheated radiator. Before I finished he would retreat six feet. My explosion was due not only to the morning’s disappointments but also to prior experiences starting one day the week before. ~

That morning had started off well enough. My wife and I had fantastic sex at day-break, and I was beaming as I stepped through the office door. “Somebody get something last night,” Cherese said, laughing.

“Better you seh this morning.” We both laughed and I winked at her. Then I started editing a financial report I had for my supervisor.

Something must have been in the tuna, cheese, onion, and mayonnaise sandwich I had for lunch. About an hour later I felt a twitch in my stomach and from experience I knew I had to find the toilet. Each time I thought I was finished I had to go back. Seriously, where did so much sh-t come from?

Eventually I found my way to my supervisor’s office and he surprisingly sent me home. He must have seen the look of frustration and despair on my face.

The taxi overtook long lines of traffic and took shortcuts. Normally, I would have frowned on this but on this occasion I was secretly appreciative when I reached home.

Now things took a twist, as in addition to the diarrhoea I started to vomit. What could have been in the sandwich? Probably the cheese, I thought; I remembered it having a slightly rancid flavour which strangely made the sandwich nicer.

I grimaced as I took turns sitting and standing over the toilet.

Then suddenly I felt immensely weak and compelled to sleep immediately, my body seeming as though it was experiencing the effects of some powerful sleeping drug. My eyelids were so heavy; I could not stand up. I found myself on my knees crawling to the bed, which loomed before me. But it was underneath it that I would be heading. In my sickened state I imagined I was a bear heading to a cave. There was dizziness and the spinning sensation that usually came over me after drinking too much.

Then there was darkness.

In my dream I was in an aeroplane and it was shaking as if going through turbulent weather. Then I was awake and hearing all kinds of sounds. It was dark. My senses were working rapidly along with my brain trying to establish where I was. Eventually it all came rushing back. I was at home, under my bed. But somebody or somebodies were frolicking in my bed. My thoughts zoomed in on my daughter Priscilla. Her grades had not been of the usual high standard that my wife and I were used to. Could it be that she and a boy were having a romp in the matrimonial bed? My thoughts led to feelings of anger and as I was about to drag myself from under the bed my eyes caught sight of a machete in the corner. Then there was a shriek that made me freeze; it seemed as if my heart stopped.

“Oh, Ricky! Oh, sh-t!” That was the voice of a female, and she was definitely enjoying herself. “Harder! Harder!”

It seemed as if time slowed down. That was not Priscilla’s voice; it was my wife’s Sherene’s. Can’t be, I thought to myself. It was as if somebody had taken all my emotions and put them beside me. I did not know what to feel or do. All the while the bed above was being abused.

Sherene and I had been married for 20 years. We were both 45 and had what I thought was a remarkable marriage. We did almost everything together. We had date nights once per week and worked together to ensure that Priscilla had a good life. We attended church on Sundays. We volunteered at a homework centre for children. Sherene had been my high school sweetheart, for God’s sake. In third form I would accompany her home from school. Well, let’s say I walked behind her, because, at the time, she did not know I existed. She was on the school’s netball team and I was a fan.

Her boyfriend was captain of the school’s football team. I was envious of him, it was true, often wishing I could walk in his shoes, even for a day. Once, she called me beside her while we were walking home, and started a conversation. I was extremely shy but she was patient. Eventually, a friendship evolved. It was not until fifth form that she started to see me as a possible boyfriend and by the end of that year we had our first kiss. I was a rebound, I knew, but I made full use of my chance and gave her my heart: all of it.

Now here I was, under the bed and listening to a man pounding her. The moaning was becoming louder and I wondered if passersby could hear her. I thought about the disrespect of doing such on act on our bed; the bed we’d made love on that very morning. The machete was in my hand but strangely an eerie sense of calm came over me. Suddenly my phone screen lighted up and I managed to hang up the call before it started to ring. That was the only advantage of having a song with a second delay before it starts to play as your ringtone. It was Cherese from work probably calling to find out my whereabouts.

On Wednesdays I went up to the Barbican football field and played six-a-side football with some college friends of mine. I usually came home around 9:00 pm. It was now 6:30. Priscilla would be at her grandmother’s. How long has this been going on? Who is this guy Ricky? What did I do to cause this? All these thoughts swirled around in my head as I lay there, waiting.

Then they were done.

“That was amazing! Thank you, Ricky.”

“I should be the one thanking you. My wife treats sex like a chore,” the man’s voice responded.

“What do you mean?” Sherene laughed, but I could hear her being inquisitive.

“There’s no passion. It’s like she is doing me a favour, like I am the only one who wants it.”

“Really, Marsha’s like that? I don’t believe you! Patrick tries, you know, but he just can’t hit that spot like how you hit it, Ricky. And, besides, you’re, well, you know. Bigger.”

My head felt suddenly hot. Cringing beneath the bed in the dark I felt like I was suffocating. For a while, there was no movement above. I imagined they were cuddling.

After about 10 minutes they got up. She told him she was going for Priscilla and they made plans for next week. I stayed under the bed for a few minutes after they left, then I crawled out, overwhelmed and without the will to go on.

~

The football games in Barbican were almost finished when I arrived. I went over to the sports bar and ordered a shot of vodka, then two more and then a cold beer.

“Ricky! What’s happening, man?”

Instinctively, I turned around. Ricky? Two men were greeting each other. Could this be the infamous Ricky of recent memory? That hot suffocating feeling again began crawling over me. Then my paranoia dissipated and I relaxed when I realised they were two elderly men who were always there on Wednesdays.

~

My ego was naturally crushed at my wife’s betrayal. But it was my reaction that I wondered about. Why wasn’t I angry? There had been times in my past when my friends and I would have conversations about infidelity. Most of us were vocal about the mayhem that would ensue if we caught our women cheating. Now here I was: here, but not really

here.

I continued to live with Sherene and she did not suspect a thing. I was in awe of her now. She was good. She should have gotten an Oscar for her act. Here was a woman cheating on her husband but there were no obvious signs. Even though I knew, I could not find any proof. That afternoon under the bed might just have been a dream.

At work I got back into my routine, but today was just a bad day.

“Are you alright?” Cherese’s pen had fallen under my desk. We both made eye contact as I picked it up and handed it to her.

“No, but I can’t talk about it.” “Are you and Sherene alright?” “Cherese!”

I watched her for a while as she retreated to her cubicle, and then got back to work. My work kept my mind off my problems.

Priscilla was over her grandmother’s house. It was another Wednesday and I deliberately stayed out later than usual. I knew this was the meeting day. I wanted to tell somebody but each time I mustered up the courage to tell my best friend Vaughn I pulled out at the last moment. It was just embarrassing and I trembled slightly just wondering what his response would be.

I am no psychologist and yet each day I found that I was counselling myself. It was as if I had two persons within me. I was not angry and this was in a strange way affecting me. ‘Why am I not angry? Why don’t I feel like killing them?’ Then there was a voice telling me that I was a coward and this voice seemed to be a set-on, forcing me to get angry. But I just could not. Instead, what I felt most was depressed; her careless words about my inadequacies had scarred me. There wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

~

Weeks turned into months. I had started experimenting with pills and other sexual enhancers that I had researched on the Internet. Each time we had sex I checked to see if there was any change in her. I saw none.

~

“Patrick, I was worried about you. But you seem back to your old self.” Cherese glanced at me, then back to her nails which she was filing.

“I didn’t know I was behaving differently!” I was slightly unnerved and she picked it up immediately.

“Listen, man, don’t get upset with me. You are the only person who I have any concern for at this slave shop!”

I looked around to see if anybody had heard.

“You’d gotten quiet, Patrick; I noticed it. And your eyes had this faraway look.”

I was lost for words and just looked at her for a bit. Then, embarrassingly, a tear slid out of my eye. I turned back around, tried to hide it. But nothing escaped Cherese. “I am glad you’re back,” she said softly, but I knew she’d seen it.

She was right, though. I was more or less back to my normal self. Over the past weeks, I discovered that I did not love Sherene anymore and I had started to pretend, too. My thoughts were now preoccupied with getting out of the marriage and not hurting our daughter. I’d applied for several jobs overseas and there were favourable responses but I wanted to make sure I would be financially secure so that Priscilla would be alright. ~

One Saturday morning I got up and made breakfast. I was reading the newspaper when Sherene came up behind me and hugged my neck. “Babe, it has been a long time since we went out.

Let’s just pack a few snacks and drive to Dunns River.” I heard the smile in her voice, and she rubbed my head.

“Why don’t you go with Ricky!” I blurted out, surprising even myself. My voice was loud, icy. She started to tremble. I’d caught her off guard. She fell to the ground. I studied her face. She tried to speak but her brain was apparently not ready.

I got up and went to take a shower.

She was busy washing plates when I was leaving. Priscilla was eating breakfast. I said a general goodbye and left.

It was after 10 that night when I came home. I did not plan to but I ended up spending most of the day at Cherese’s house. I went to work to finish up a report and she was there. There was a family reunion at her house and she inveigled me to come. I had fun. Her family was nice. They were bubbly and made me feel like I was one of them.

Sherene was waiting for me when I pushed open the front door. My normally excitable wife was now very subdued.

“Pa-pa-patrick, I’m s-s-so so-so-sorry.” She was stuttering and sobbing. For a moment I felt like holding her but those feelings quickly subsided as I remembered everything. Eventually she began to speak. She’d met Ricky and his wife Marsha at a conference. He found her afterwards on Facebook. He started to pursue her aggressively and despite trying to put him off he would not take no for an answer. She said it was after we’d had a major argument that they had sex for the first time, and then it continued.

What she said did not make me feel any different about her, though. There were times when I had felt hurt after arguments and, despite society more or less accepting that I could have an affair, I had stayed away from the many offers on the table. I was loyal to my family. Yet at the same time I could understand but I could not forgive her. I had the gist of what happened and I could not hear anything else she was saying. I was thinking about Ricky.

After she went to bed, I went outside and sat on a metal chair that my grandfather had made, which had been passed on to me by my father. My two-yearold dog Chaos sat beside me, panting. He seemed to sense my thoughts and he gently rubbed his head against my hand.

~

Two months had passed since I had moved out of the matrimonial home. The overseas job that I wanted had not come through. I was still paying mortgage, and I saw Priscilla on weekends.

She had taken our separation hard, and I cried when one of her teachers had called saying that she had become disruptive in school. I’d known this might happen but I was not going to fake loving her mother. The strange thing about my separation was the amount of people who wanted me to move back in: my parents, her parents, her siblings, my siblings, and her friends. I was amused by it all. I’d started life over with huge debts, I was paying rent and I contributed to my daughter’s care. I hadn’t spoken to Sherene since I moved out. She’d tried calling me a couple of times but I just did not want to talk to her. Then one day I received a call from the pastor who had officiated at our wedding. He was talking about counselling and second chances. I listened to the man out of respect because I had known him since I was a little boy. Then I asked him. “Pastor, would you forgive your wife if you caught her having sex on the matrimonial bed?”

There was a pause. I expected him to say yes he would because he was, after all, a pastor. He didn’t answer. Then I heard a click when he hung up.

The interesting thing was that after three months Ricky became visible. Priscilla mentioned him when we had father/daughter time together. She disliked him, which secretly gave me great pleasure. She told me that he was at the house every day and stayed there until late in the nights. The following day I was in contact with a lawyer to figure out how to get out of my mortgage. She advised me that the house would have to be sold or Sherene would have to take on the responsibility of both payments. I did not want it to be sold because of Priscilla, and it would be unfair for Sherene to make both payments. However I was not pleased with Ricky visiting my house when my daughter was there, and she was not comfortable with it.

One Sunday when I was dropping Priscilla home, I came face to face with Ricky and the bastard had the nerve to tell me good evening. I did not answer but looked him straight in the eye. He took his eyes off me and turned back in the house, but I had marked his face.

“Priscilla, call your mother for me.”

When she appeared, I said,

“I am not comfortable with that man visiting the house so often.” My voice was calm and my eyes picked a spot on her forehead to focus on.

“You don’t live here anymore!” “That is true, but I am still paying mortgage!” There was a pause and she looked down.

“You could still be living here, you know.”

“No, if I want a prostitute I know where Back Road is.”

“F—k you, Patrick!” she shouted and she turned sharply back inside, putting her hands on her head.

As I turned to go into the car I had borrowed from a friend, I saw Ricky storming out of the house toward me.

The crook lock for the steering was on the passenger seat and instinctively I grabbed it. I ducked his wildly thrown punch and swung the steering lock hitting him in the knees. He fell to the ground, and I was all over him. He used his hands to protect his head as I pummelled him with my hands.

Then, through the corner of my eye I saw Sherene running out with a machete. I jumped into the car and, speeding away, I laughed out loud. I felt good. Ricky might have been bigger than me, but I had just beaten him up.