They'll Be Here Till Tuesday (unfinished) 2007

I could title it They’ll be here till Tuesday. But I know I’ll never take the picture of their embroidered towels, Judith, Brad, Allison, hanging over my toilet. As an image it will never fit into a series. Where would I stop if I began? Would I photograph all their stuff, the room they’re sleeping in, them asleep, them awake, all day, in front of the TV? No, I’m not that kind of photographer. I like a catchy image, a photo joke, but not from me.

My friends saw it too, the photo, not as art but as my grief. The grief of having my apartment invaded for what I thought would be two days and three nights, by Ma Black, Pa Black and sister in-law Black. But of course, for my graduation, I got a little something extra, their Thursday arrival, followed by their announcement a day in of their Tuesday departure. What are a few extra days?

But what good did my child-like fit in whispers to my wife do, the same it did aloud over a period of weeks as they manipulated their way into our apartment. If the $230.00 they saved by staying here really did go to our graduation gifts were they really only going to give us $145 smackers each?

The money meant nothing anyway, I was where so many married men find themselves, in defeat. I was defeated long before the argument began, long before they asked if they could stay. As a married man I was defeated the day I thought about getting married. There should be P.S.A.’s made to warn, the gospel should be rewritten to spread the truth. The man is a selfless being the day she says I do. Of course it begins long before that but whatever. And I don’t want to sound spiteful or hateful. I’m just saying the way it is. Many men have said this before, single people laugh, and laugh, and take the warning as seriously as they take mine.

I awoke the other day a wreck. I don’t dream but I did. I dreamt of her. Her ears must have burned so much over the years she doesn’t even notice as her name falls from my quivering lips. I dreamt of C. No relationship since we lived together has gone un- compared to the idealized representation of C. created in my mind. And yesterday it was proven, marriage was no match for her, as I spoke with her dad in my sleep, walked through the moonlit woods with her in my arms and in dream time her clothes seemed to vanish, wearing only a blanket, we spoke of how we could never be together. And I burst into tears feeling sanctity in knowing the amount of my heart that she has taken has been wasted on something we both know won’t ever occur again. But then she said, as I wept furiously on her shoulder, “you won’t get me back doing that anyway” and as fast as the tears stopped and my head jerked up from her shoulder, ready to make my move of reclamation, I awoke, in my apartment packed with in-laws. I lay there wrapped in my blanket hiding from the life that I have, wanting so bad to go back to my dream. Wanting so bad to rewind quickly five or 6 years to never let myself leave her, to rejoin her knowing the weight and regret I would feel if I left her and using that knowledge to cherish her more. I quickly assessed all the things in the world that would be different, had I been able to stay with her, if god would only let me return to her, no loss seemed to matter as I only care to be back in her arms, to admire and idolize her as she deserves.