Wasted Beauty by Eric Bogosian Read Free Book Online Page A

this. A long time ago we fell in love. And we have remained in love. We have kids. And that’s all good. But there’s a problem. You don’t stay in love forever, do you? What we have now is not what we had then. Now we’re companions. Roommates. And I don’t like her anymore. And she doesn’t like me.
    The family is an organism composed of parts. No. The family is an organization composed of parts. No. The family is a pain in the ass composed of parts. A state of being created by God to reveal how inept you can be. I spend time with the kids, but I don’t like being with them. Why should I? My father never spent time with me. His father probably never looked at him twice. Ergo my father never really liked me. He endured me. Loved me from a distance. Maybe I’m a sociopath and don’t know how to love my own family? I spend time with Laura, but we’re not happy, not the way we used to be. Or pretended to be. Is familial love just a biological trick to fool us into nurturing what we’ve created? Then what? And if I weren’t being a dad, being a husband, what would I be doing? I should write her a letter, that’s what I should do. Tell her how I feel.
    The midmorning sun leaks under the door, casting the empty computer boxes and hangered clothing into unrecognizable shapes. The scent of dust and shoe polish embraces Rick. Voices outside twitter, “Where’s Daddy? Mom? Where’d Daddy go? Did Daddy go out? Is he hiding?”
    Am I hiding? Not really. I could have stormed out of the house. Slammed a door. Grabbed the car keys and put some miles between me and them, between me and my life. Could have dropped in on the steak house down the road, knocked back a few Johnnie Walkers. But who needs all that drama? Laura would be worried. The kids would be filled with fear. “Where’s Daddy?” “Oh, Daddy’s down the street getting shit-faced.” Never sounds good. The closet is a much better choice.
    A space between his heart and the pit of his stomach cracks open and hurts. Why am I so lonely? How does it happen, in the midst of my happy family meal on a sunny Sunday afternoon that I am on the verge of tears in my suburban walk-in closet? Am I overtired? Am I angry about something? Fuckit, just tell the therapist next week.
    Eventually, since no one comes searching for him, Rick emerges. Voices rise from the backyard and he wanders down to the kitchen, spies the family from the window. He catches Laura’s eye and it’s devoid of emotion. He thinks, like a fish, cold-blooded. Why should she worry? I was just “acting out” and so she treats me like a child, she’s ignoring me.
    He watches them from the back door. Look, they’re happy together without me. They don’t need Daddy. Daddy is a useless appendage, a fifth wheel. I inseminated Mommy, fought my way into her and made her pregnant. I provided her with a home, provided her with a ways and means for bringing up kids and now I am a meaningless adornment to their lives. What is that Yiddish word Uncle Morrie always used to use? Schmuck—loser, knucklehead. The word means prick. Yiddish has more words for penis than any other language. Penis, prick, whatever. And then in med school I learned the German root, Schmuck, meaning, “useless ornament.” Uh-huh. Here I am!
    Laura has me figured. My ups and downs are just something to endure, like a rainy day, ultimately inconsequential. There are children to raise. There’s a life to live. Q: “Who was that man you were with last night?” A: “That was no man, that was my husband.”
    Rick smiles in their direction, but they can’t see him through the screen door. He wants to call out to Henry, to toss him the ball, but he can’t do it. Henry will need a father figure soon. I wonder who’s going to do the job, ’cause I suck at it. Maybe Henry would be better off without me? I could walk away, like my dad did. Solve the whole mess. Laura would find someone else, a better dad for them. A dad with nice