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Like a Marriage

Mike Schneider

    Like clockwork they met every Sunday morning at 11:00 at the Motel 6 in Amherst, Ohio. He would come from Parma, she from Middleburg Heights, both suburbs of Cleveland, and far enough from Amherst that chances of running into neighbors, co-workers, or relatives were remote.
    They had originally met at American Greetings where she worked in shipping and receiving. He drove for UPS, made deliveries and pickups there.
    He was fortunate to never have to make up excuses so his wife wouldn’t suspect anything. Every Sunday she left for late mass promptly at 9:30. After church she, her four sisters and three brothers, all drove out to, il vecchio fattoria, the old homestead, in Lyndhurst where they spent the day visiting with their parents and each other, speaking Italian, and preparing a huge spaghetti dinner that always included home-baked bread still warm from the oven when they sat down to eat. He was a Presbyterian, had words with some of them early on and never went back. She’d get home between 7:30 and 8:00, totally exhausted and not caring at all about what he had done all day. Sometimes he told her something anyway, hiked at one of the metroparks, drove up to Lake Erie to read the paper, or some other nebulous story there was no way to challenge even if she might have been suspicious.
    Her situation was similar. Her wife grew up as an only child in Lima, where her elderly parents still lived in a two-bedroom condo. She generally left every Saturday morning, headed across the state to help them with things like cleaning, laundry, shopping, and everything else people need to do to live that requires balance, agility, strength, mental acuity, and other abilities folks tend to lose to one degree or another as they age. She never returned home until Sunday night.
    He always brought an ice chest and a bottle of wine to the motel. One week it would be Oak Leaf Merlot from Walmart, her favorite, the next week Oak Leaf White Zinfandel, his favorite. Not fine wines by any means but they were fine with them.
    In the beginning they would make love several times, always lying in bed afterward drinking their chilled wine in stemmed glasses, while having shallow conversations about sports, movies, TV programs, and other subjects about which they cared little but were good for passing the time.
    When the glasses were about empty one of them would usually tantalize the other, she perhaps raking her fingernails lightly down the side of his neck, or playfully twirling a lock of his hair. He might run his hand along the inside of her thigh, circle the tip of a finger lightly around her naval, or something else to indicate the urge was returning. Sometimes one of them would say, “God I want you,” or a similar phrase, to leave no doubt as to the immediacy of the situation. Every so often they would fall asleep. When they did, whoever awoke first gently awakened the other in a sensual way.
    After about six months they cut their lovemaking from the usual three times down to two, most of the time, as that was enough to satisfy both of them, and now he often brought two bottles of wine instead of one so each could have their preference. This led to more conversations that neither of them really cared for but they kept talking and drinking anyway until the point at which, if they drank any more, it might interfere with their ability to safely drive home.
    One time he forgot to shave and she made him go to the store, buy a razor and shave before she would kiss him, explaining if she came home with a chin burn her wife would notice.
    As the talking increased arguments did, too. Never big ones, just little ones, in what nevertheless should have been normal, instead of slightly hostile, conversations. Like the Star Wars versus Star Trek thing, why are you so taken with Pink, and whether Gorgonzola or Feta belonged on a fancy tossed salad after you had tired of cheddar and mozzarella. They learned a lot more about each other but retained little that didn’t have to do with their physical relationship.
    A year later they were down to usually making love once, occasionally twice but never more. By then they sometimes met at the Bob Evans restaurant in front of the motel if one of them needed a little more time to get in the mood. They felt nearly as safe there as they did in the motel, as a common franchise restaurant was hardly the type of place anyone they knew would drive 30-plus miles to get to. She always ordered Classic Meatloaf and mashed potatoes, while it was Fork-tender Pot Roast for him. He unfailingly chewed gum after they finished because he felt the pot roast didn’t smell good on his breath. She asked if he would switch from the minty stuff to Juicy Fruit, and he did.
    The arguments became more serious, the most verbally combative ones spurred by one or the other not wanting to engage a second time. They both offered physical excuses, he got too carried away the first time and his back was about to go out, she felt her period coming on and was having the cramps that always preceded it. Or whatever other reasons they could think of to not do what they had come there to do.
    They also started skipping every so often. The text read the same regardless of which direction it traveled: ‘She’s home, I can’t make it today.’
    By the end of two years they were only meeting about once every three weeks, the sex had become routine, the food bland, and the wine didn’t give either of them the same buzz it did in the beginning. They mutually agreed to stop seeing each other. No big fight, no name calling, they just decided one day to end it, and both appeared relieved, as though they had been thinking about it for a while and were pleased it finally happened.
    During their affair she found a better opportunity at a plant not on his route, so after the split they ran into one another only once. It was six years later at a Cleveland Indians baseball game. They spoke politely at the refreshment counter—nice to see you...how have you been...how’s your wife...oh good, glad to hear that..., and so forth, then went back to their seats.
    When he died a few years after that she showed up at the viewing with her new wife, a Chinese woman named Yu Yan. She told his family and Yu Yan they had worked together years ago, he was always nice to her and she wanted to pay her respects. His wife and kids thanked both of them for coming.

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