Harmless by Ernie Lindsey Read Free Book Online Page B

the drawer
closed.
    The next one down: rows
of intimates, arranged by cut, color, and material. 
    The attention to detail
was staggering—yet another instance of what might have been .  My own
unmentionables are arranged exactly the same way.  Kismet?  Planetary
alignment?  I told you we would’ve been perfect for each other.
    You’re probably
wondering why I didn’t get all gooey ( ugh , sorry, even I’m aware that’s
a horrible choice of words) after looking through her underwear drawer.  By
that time, some semblance of reality had inched its way into my head and I was
no longer looking at the possibility of a future, but the ghost of a fantasy. 
And besides, I hadn’t been able to shake the thought of Clarence and his
stupid, desperate, horny grin.  That’ll ruin anyone’s lustful thoughts. 
    My mind, your mind,
everyone’s minds, they all go to some terrible places at the most inopportune
moments.  Denial ain’t just a river…  For example, the next time you’re in
church, try not to think about sex.  It’s like telling someone not to think
about a white elephant.  And now that I’ve said that, let me ask you this: what
did yours look like?  Random side note: did you ever read Hills Like White
Elephants by Hemingway?  So powerful.
    The bottom drawer was
empty.  I liked her style.  An empty drawer either meant a lack of things to
store inside it, or it left room for hope of things to come.  I prefer to think
that she exited this world full of hope, which no doubt included a world full
of Steven Allister Pendragon.
    Am I delusional to
think that?  Some would agree, i.e. Shayna.
    I moved on.
    Beside the dresser, a
single photograph hung on the wall.  A picnic somewhere.  A lake.  Lots of
sun.  A water skier in the background, being tugged along by a speedboat.  A
large group of people behind Kerry, Clarence, and some unidentified woman who
was thin and tan, with a nice smile that pushed back the loose skin of her
cheeks, like someone who used to be fuller as a person.  Dark circles
under her eyes.  And on her head, a universal sign that initiates an immediate
thought of I wonder how the treatment is going?
    You know what I’m
talking about.  A blue bandana, covered in paisleys, stretched tight across a
hairless scalp. 
    I wanted to vomit.  The
nerve.  It had to be a company outing of some sorts, and Clarence—bastard that
he was—was brazen enough to pose for a picture with his dying wife and his
mistress. 
    Let me be clear, I had
no intention of laying any sort of blame on Kerry.  If anything she’d been the
victim of his scheming.  Older man, likely someone in a position of power. 
Kerry with a healthy, justifiable fear of losing her job.
    Know this: the truth
can stay hidden, even when it’s visible.  Do you remember those pictures that
were popular in the 90s, the ones that looked like nothing more than a
mish-mash of weird designs, but if you stared at it long enough, if you were
able to relax your perception and see what was really there, another image
would appear?  Something like a 3D picture of a dolphin or a sailboat.  The
hidden image was there all along—you simply had to allow yourself to see it.
    That night, I certainly
wasn’t in a position to see the sailboat.  It would take another encounter with
Clarence for that to happen.
    I moved away from the
photo, so revolted by him and the treatment of his sick wife that I actually had
to brush off my arms and shoulders to shake the sensation. 
    Call me a hypocrite if
you must.  A wretch, whatever.  The fact that I had encounters outside
my marriage isn’t lost on me.  But, as I’m sure I’ve mentioned, I had been
driven to these trysts by an emotionally lonely bed and the black heart that
occupied the other side of the king-sized mattress.  We might as well have been
in different zip codes.  And not just between the hours of eleven to seven.  It
was constant.  Shayna, do you hear me?  Do you