Hey friends. My buddy Aaron has written and interesting and original story that I posted below. It is a first draft, so it holds rough edges and room for improvement. He asks that as you read it, you understand that it is raw and unrefined. I admit that I've never posted anybody's writing on my blog before, but this story struck me as being good enough to share, so here it is.
Written by A. D. Gansky
Email A.D. Gansky
Go to his blog
The Story of a Man
If I were to tell you a story of a man, a hypothetical story, you would not judge that man if you knew it was only a story. You would not judge him because you do not know him, and he is not real, and the story is only hypothetical. It is when he becomes real, and the story genuine, that you start to worry. You would be concerned if this story was not hypothetical but were in fact, true.
This man, in this hypothetical story, stands in line at a market in a small town. It is a retirement community in the middle of the desert where it is warm, often hot, and very arid. It is good for seniors, has a golf course of the finest design, tennis courts and a pool. There are a few kids from younger families that have moved here to get out of the city. This is not a real town. It does not exist.
This market, which also is not real, hides their sparse supply of condoms. The man who stands in line with a bag of ice wants to buy a few because he is out. He is embarrassed by this thought. It is difficult to buy those here because of the population. In line in front of him is a woman approaching eighty. He knows because he attends church with her. She likes to use exact change and counts pennies with arthritic fingers. Her knuckles are swollen and red like a short range of active volcanoes.
Behind him are two Jr. High students from the class he taught last year. They hold skateboards and candy bars, wear baggy clothes and bright colored hats. The hats, as is the fashion, are turned sideways, perhaps as a sign of disrespect for authority. They did not do well in the man’s class, nor did they care. They avoid eye contact with him, afraid he might lecture them on the evils of skateboarding. That is the furthest thing from his mind.
The old woman, who is only hypothetical and is not real, finishes counting her change, takes her receipt and her newspaper, and walks through the door, which is held open by a polite manager whose smile never leaves his face. Another manager, more dubious than the first, watches the students behind the man very closely.
The man sets the ice on the counter and looks at the cashier. She lives a few doors down from him. He sees her many times a week. Today, he looks past her to the last box of condoms in the store. They are old and look uncomfortable. “Another shower?” the woman asks. She was understated in her beauty, subtle with her seductive eyes. Her hair was pulled tight into a ponytail. Her skin was fair, peaches and cream, and unblemished. Her lips were well defined with a pink lipstick, applied by a skilled hand. Her name plate read “Sally” but he knew differently. She only wore that because she left her name pin at home. Her real name is Gale. “How far along is she now, eight months?”
The man nods and admired the soft sweater she wore under her work apron. The woman leans over the counter, smiles and says, “I hope he gets your eyes.” At this, the man returns the smile, his only a shadow of hers. There is confidence in his, maybe a little arrogance. She doesn’t seem to mind. He tells her, a whisper in her ear, that she already has his eyes. They giggle at the private joke. The students behind the man are too busy talking about the latest rap album to notice. The managers had all turned away. No one else is in the market. Gale hands him his change. He took it and let his thumb gently trace hers. “Have a nice day,” she called after him. The man, who is not real and is only hypothetical, assured her that he would.
You try not to judge people before you know them, but you still do. Already you have made assumptions about this man and this woman who, as I have already said, are not real. Still, you wonder if they are. They do not exist, but you feel as if you know enough to make a judgment. I’ve not given you the whole story, and you have already drawn your own conclusions. It would be quite meaningless for me to go on. However, for the sake of the story, as hypothetical as it is, I will continue and hope that you will give the man another chance.
He pulls up to his house where there are five cars parked. There are more on the next street but the rules of this made-up town prohibit too many vehicles from parking at one residence. The man has already been fined once this week and has no desire to incur more fees. He parks in the garage, moves the cat from the doorway with his foot more forcefully than necessary. He steps inside, drops off the bag of ice in the kitchen, and begins to pour drinks for the guest. Since his wife is pregnant, no alcohol is served. Instead, there are sodas of all sorts, especially orange-cream. It is his wife’s favorite and he enjoys it too. It is one of the few things this couple still enjoys together. The man thinks back to a time when he was happy with his wife. They were younger and more attractive. Age had set in around her hips and in the creases near his eyes. He still loves her, and tells her that each day. He loves the baby too, and can’t wait until it’s born. He is eager to meet his son. Though his wife wanted to name the son after him, the man refused. He said it would be highly inappropriate, a perverse idea, and would make him quite uncomfortable. This made his wife sad and a little angry with herself.
The man’s father slaps him on the shoulder. He is very proud that his son has finally given him a grandson. He warns the man that he is likely to spoil the child, as is the child’s grandmother.
The man says he expects nothing less, excuses himself, goes to the bathroom and throws up. It is a loud ordeal that the whole crowd, who is also made up, could hear. They are concerned for his well-being and send the wife in to check on him. He tells her that he is fine, just a little embarrassed. He thinks he may have picked something up – maybe the flu from one of his students at school. She asks if that is true and he says no. What then? Nothing – he doesn’t feel well. He pushes past her and walks to the back bedroom to lie down and sleep.
Now you are wondering if you have misjudged the situation. You are still sure that you don’t like this man. You are convinced that he is cheating, and has been cheating on his wife. You think it’s the guilt, maybe, that has him throwing up. You think maybe he has some disease that he picked up from a random woman on the street, maybe even a hooker.
Again, you are too quick. The story is not done and the ending hasn’t been told. Until then, you cannot judge, no matter how much you wish to. You must hear the whole story, understand that it is just a story. It is not real. This never happened. You need to know that. When you think it is real, you will be a little uneasy perhaps. It is okay to feel that way, but you shouldn’t. It is not real.
The man wakes up from his nap and the crowd is gone. It is late at night now, the people left hours ago. His wife didn’t want to wake him because he was sleeping so soundly. It was nice of her, and he loves her for it. He still is not feeling well and decides that a warm shower might ease his stomach. He steps in the hot stream of water and lets the steam clear his head. He takes his wife’s shampoo, opens the cap and smells it. It reminds him of her, of the first time they made love. He does this each time he showers, and each time he is reminded of how much, despite her aging, despite her sins, he still loves her. But the man is not perfect. He regrets that he is not, but he is unequipped to deal with the events of the last year.
When he remembers that he’s not made love to his wife in over a year he becomes ill again, throwing up in the shower and collapsing to his knees. His wife waddles in and calls for him. “Are you okay,” she asks as she pulls back the shower curtain. She sees him huddled on the floor of the shower, knees pulled to his chest, shaking. “My god,” she says, but she doesn’t mean it. “We should go to the hospital.”
The man says no. Instead, he makes himself soup while she catches up on her television shows. He goes back to the room and watches the game. He is asleep again by eight. Sometime later in the evening, maybe eleven, his wife struggles into the bed. Her weight is awkward and she complains that she can’t sleep on her side. She grumbles about her back and her difficulty sleeping. He thinks she did this to herself, and he is partially right.
Again – you try to decide who is at fault, and what this “sin” is. You don’t know, but you are putting the pieces together. Now it seems as if the baby is not his. In this case you must determine if the man is justified in having an affair, as you assume he is. Maybe it is not the affair that is the real “sin”. Perhaps there is something more to this story. You do not know, because you haven’t heard the end. You still think, despite my pleading, that this is real. It isn’t. It is fictional. Maybe there is some truth in it, but largely it is hypothetical.
The man, who is alone because his wife is visiting her sister in Bakersfield, makes a phone call to Gale. She tells him that she doesn’t go into work for another few hours. He invites her over for lunch and asks her to walk, so the car won’t be parked on the street. She arrives ten minutes later. The second she steps through the door, she pushes him back on the couch, straddles him, and begins kissing him passionately. He kisses her back, holding her tightly and whispers that he’s out of condoms. “I don’t care,” Gale says as she unbuttons his shirt. “Maybe I can give you a son that actually belongs to you.”
At this, he pushes her away. This is wrong, he thinks. Gale, who is not real, presses harder. “It’s fine,” she says, “she cheated first.” The man wishes he were somewhere else. He is dubious about his choices. He sits on the couch, his face buried in his hands. She puts an arm around him, then unbuttons her sweater. She runs a hand up his thigh, kisses his neck, and whispers, “She cheated first.” It is against his better judgment, but the man kisses her back. He wishes he had those condoms – but she doesn’t give him time to think.
Soon, they are lying naked on the floor in front of the dim amber glow of a mute television. Her leg is draped over his, her hands gently explore each crevice of his body. He is slightly uncomfortable and imagines for a second, lying here with a son from another man, born by his wife, resting on his chest. The child would not know that it did not belong to him. The family, while curious, would have no reason to doubt. His wife would know. Gale would know. He would know. Is that enough, he wonders. It would be easier to think if Gale’s tongue was not in his ear.
If I told you that the man’s wife was raped, you might want to believe it. The thought makes you uncomfortable, but you might be happy to know that they decided to keep the child and raise it as if it were their own. You might be upset at the thought of a woman being violated in that way. It would explain the situation these two find themselves in.
You wonder if the man is not at fault, but you are eager to place the blame on Gale. You have not heard her story and you are already thinking of words to describe her: “slut,” “whore,” “hussy.” You pick the word, the sentiment remains. You have not heard her story. Perhaps there is a reason for her actions. You do not know. You may not care.
I will tell you that Gale has her own set of problems. Her life, like that of the man and his wife, has been ill-fated. Her decisions, her actions are entirely her own. She has been dealt a bad hand and has played it poorly. This does not excuse her, nor should it. But you don’t care about that. It is easier for you to think less of her so you can think more of the man and more of the wife. It does not matter. The story is only hypothetical.
Gale is not real. When she was eight she had an uncle who was attracted to her. He manipulated his work schedule to spend more time around her. Often, he would pick her up from school. Gale was uncomfortable with him, but was too shy to address her parents. They were busy at work and at play. The kind uncle was more than willing to baby-sit her. When the parents went out of town, he was the first one they called. Gale went to his house and did not leave for five days. He promised her that he was sorry, then threatened her life if she told anyone. Gale was sweaty, scared, and her eyes hurt from crying. She was ashamed and did not speak for several weeks after. Her parents didn’t speak much with her to begin with, so they did not notice. She had a teacher at school who noticed, but he was dismissed from the school because a few students complained about the language he used in the classroom. He soon forgot about Gale.
When she is with the man, Gale forgets about her uncle. There is something about him, his demeanor, his kindness, the danger of dating a married man. It is exciting; he is soothing. She once told him about her uncle. When she did, he held her and apologized for hours. He told her that his wife had a similar experience with her mother’s boyfriend. As awkward as it was to hear the man that held her talk about his wife, she found an awkward comfort in his words. She felt strangely safe, and would voraciously defend that feeling of safety at any cost.
She remembers all of this as she lays next to him beneath the TV. She rolls on top of him, kisses his neck and ears, runs her fingers through his thick black hair. She notices the creases by his eyes and how his eyebrows are a little bushier than most men’s. His lips are thin and are usually chapped. His shoulders are broad, his chest wide and firm. Here, she is comfortable. Here she is safe. She tells him this. He says that he knows.
Now you don’t know what to think. You were quite sure at the beginning of this story that you knew what was right and what was wrong. When you hear the whole story, you begin to doubt. Then, you remember what I’ve told you – this is not real, it is only hypothetical. You worry that most “hypothetical” stories are based in fact, and that the central character generally is the person telling the story. I can assure you that I am not the man. As I said, the man is not real. This story is mostly made-up.
The man’s wife loves her husband very much. Nearly a year ago she had a lapse in judgment when she flew out to New York for a week. Her boss, who flew with her, flattered her. By the end of the flight they were holding hands. She was afraid of being alone. A week close to her boss, who is also married, was better than sleeping alone in a king size bed in a big, frightening city. They booked two rooms and used one.
She felt dirty and guilty, but safe. Since the ordeal with her mother’s boyfriend she had established a pattern of moving from man to man. She thought it was all that she was good for, the only reason anyone liked her. Her husband was the first one to tell her that this was not true. She was immediately attracted to him because he refused to sleep with her before marriage. He knew of her history and didn’t care. It was in the past, he said. Today was a new day. This is why she felt so guilty about her activities in New York.
Her plan, when she realized that she was pregnant, was to immediately go to bed with her husband. Unfortunately, she was fired shortly after. The boss, in a moment riddled by guilt, had confessed to his wife. The wife had called the man, and the man was so infuriated he left for a week. In that time, he thought of having an affair to pay her back. It was a disgusting thought, but he knew of no other way to handle the situation. He was a self-proclaimed emotional cripple. Growing up in a stable home, he was sheltered from adversity and therefore did not learn coping skills. This was an excuse, but he used it effectively, and rationalized his actions in his mind. When Gale showed interest in him, he saw an opportunity to act on his impulse.
Now, a short year later, he feels trapped. He wonders if it’s okay to love two women.
You know about Gale, you know about the wife. Who you do not know about is the man. You wonder if there is something more to his story as well. Maybe there is something about him that would explain his actions. Otherwise, having an affair for the sake of revenge is little more than childish. You say it is an immature and dangerous game. If you were telling this story it would be vastly different. You wouldn’t allow these people to do what they’ve done. The fact is that they did. There is nothing they (or you or I) can do to change it.
The man takes a day off to go fishing. Though there are two man-made lakes fully stocked with fish in the town, which does not exist and is not real, where he lives, he drives two hours to a small mountain community. This community, which is fictional, is built around a lake. The residents are quiet and rarely leave. On a day like today there will be a few fishermen on the shores. The man rows a boat to the middle near a large rock that sticks from the lake like a hitch-hikers thumb. As a child, his father used to take him here. When he married his wife, the man looked forward to the days when he could take his own son to this spot. He wonders if he could take the forthcoming child here. Would he be able to share this special spot with him knowing what he knows?
The man did not have a difficult childhood. His family was supportive and loving, and raised him to be the same way. He loved most anyone and everyone. He wasn’t angry at his wife anymore, but he was still unable to make love to her and he hated himself for it. He hated himself for his affair with Gale. He agrees with you that he was childish and immature. He does not deny, however, that, despite his best efforts, he has learned to love Gale as well. What he is doing is not fair to Gale, his wife, or himself. It is his fault.
He watches the fish swim under his boat. They do not take his bait. They are smarter than he. He likes the fish; he wants to be a fish, to swim all day. Fish do not marry. Fish do not have affairs. Fish do not father children that don’t belong to them. The man wants to tip his boat and see how far down he can swim. He wants to swim to the bottom and never come up. That would be easy. Life is not complex at the bottom of a lake.
Long he sits and looks down as far as he can until the water becomes murky and clouded. It is dark at the bottom. He thinks how nice it would be to look up, toward the light. That would be a better perspective on life. Maybe there is a heaven. Maybe, when he gets there, he will hold his wives son as if it were his own and not be concerned with how the child came to be – only that the child is. Maybe his wife will learn of the affair and forgive him anyway. Maybe, in heaven, he can forgive his wife.
He takes off his shoes, puts his feet in the cool water, looks between his toes at the fish that swim so swiftly. Do they have a heaven?
And now you are sad that the man decided to kill himself. You are amazed at the poor choices he makes. You cannot believe that a man can be so defined by his misfortune. He will not tell you that he is unfortunate. If you asked, he would tell you that he was happy, though his face may say otherwise. He insists that his happiness comes from his wife and his child, though it is only his through adoption. He would tell you that he has two intimate friends – his wife and Gale – and that they know everything. They know because he called them on his way home that day. He did not jump in the lake.
So you are confused. This story is not real, it is only hypothetical. Gale is not real. The wife does not exist. There never was a child. But you know the man. We all know this man. He may live in your town, perhaps next door. It is possible, though you wish to think otherwise, that he lives in your house. You may not be comfortable with that. That is okay. Life is not about our comfort – but you knew that. You knew a lot of things.
My take. I read it and was amazed at its originality and the way it puts the reader into an awkward position. It exploits your automatic responses and as it reveals the character's flaws it reveals your judgmental flaws .
Now that you've read it, Aaron and I ask that you leave comments about it. The comments can range from how you felt when you read it, to improvements you think could be made in the sentence structure. You are not limited to what you can say. Aaron and I both feel that being bound by politeness or avoiding offense restricts you from telling the truth, so be honest. Thanks.
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