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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Suggested Torture” cc&d (v261) (the March/April 2016 issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Clouds over the Moon the cc&d Jan. - June 2016 collection book		get the 318 page Jan. - June 2015 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

April Fools

Liam Spencer

    It was a long time coming. Samantha and I had been together for a year and a half. She had been stuck in a failed marriage with a childhood sweetheart who had discovered his gayness. They were from Utah, and, at the time, gayness in Utah didn’t happen.
    There were so many elements to the impending divorce, as there always are, but that’s the simplistic version of events. At any rate, despite the all but official divorce, they were stuck with their home of twelve years, as the housing market had fallen off in the suburbs. Perhaps not so oddly, if they had bought a condo in Queen Anne, as Samantha had wanted, selling would not have been a problem.
    Yet, there they were, in Shoreline, also known as “Snoreline,” fixing up a nightmare. He had decided on a real estate agent who failed to sell. I thought it was on purpose. Samantha disagreed. After six months, they went with her choice of agent. The house sold in three weeks.
    I had mixed emotions. I had been the transition guy before. The signs were there. Samantha would be soon divorced, and free to go for whoever. I feared for the end of what had been an amazing, although rocky, relationship. The possible loss of love would be devastating.
    At the same time, she would finally be free. Free of a ruined marriage, fourteen years of hurt and lack of support. Fourteen years of varying struggles. Samantha and her sister Faye (who moved in with them after her failed relationship) could begin a new life at last. I was happy for them. Fearful for me.

    Samantha and I found it; the perfect apartment. It was huge! We automatically dubbed it “The Palace.” It was a fitting name. Everything anyone could want; huge, beautiful living spaces, two bedrooms, a large wraparound patio. It was perfect, and priced perfectly.
    I was looking for a new apartment at the time. Samantha joined me in the search. We barely missed out on one with a fireplace. We found one that I didn’t care for, near a park, not far from where she would be living. I had been accepted.
    It was then that she came up with the idea. I would move in with her and her sister for a month or so, while we looked for an apartment that we both liked. That way, Samantha and I would have two homes; mine and hers, plus plenty of space. I readily agreed.

    I moved into the palace first. It was the last week of March. Samantha and Faye would move in roughly a week later. The huge Palace echoed my footsteps perfectly as I would walk down the long hallway back from taking a piss, only to start sipping wine and writing again. The Palace seemed almost haunted of great times ahead.
    I walked out to smoke one night. The apartment above had a party going. I lit a smoke and exhaled from deep, unsure of what was to come. I could tell Faye was not happy with my being around. I wondered how long it would be before Samantha would drift toward being totally free. It seemed inevitable somehow. Forces were pulling her toward a whole new chapter in life, with all of the past totally left behind. I had been there too often.

    Drops landed on my head first, then a stream. It was beer. I jumped forward and looked up to laughter from prissy fucks.
    “What the FUCK?!”
    A beer bottle hit my shoulder. I caught it with my right hand and threw it back with force. It hit some frat boy twit on the cheek just as another bottle landed near me. It too was returned with force, shattering against the pillar.
    “Fuckers.”
    They went inside, laughing and smoking. I poured more wine and wondered.

    The day came. Samantha and Faye were moving in. it was a huge event. Everyone would be there. I took a very rare day off work, and rightfully so.
    The Palace was just right, totally scrubbed even better than it was before I had moved in. All that was left was to run the dishwasher and get booze for everyone. Dishwasher loaded and running, I went to the state store and bought everyone’s favorites.
    I returned to a nightmare. The dishwasher had flooded the kitchen! There wasn’t much time! I raced with towels, sopping up the water and suds, slipping and sliding in panic. They were all due any minute! ALL of them!
    Cusses flew as I raced against time, falling six or seven times. Finally, at long, long last, I cleaned all signs of disaster, and put the dishes away. Soon thereafter came the text from Samantha. I had two minutes.

    There were all of Samantha’s friends, lined up near the back of the Uhaul. Samantha’s soon to be ex, Seth Roger, was in the back of the truck carefully handing down prized possessions to eager, yet mournful friends. I joined the line. When my turn came, Seth sat down the table he was going to hand to me and offered a handshake.
    Seth had long held back resentment, refusing to acknowledge my being in Samantha’s life. He refused to leave their house for fear she would have me over for dinner. He fought furiously against my being involved with her, or anyone knowing I was a part of her life. Now, suddenly, he was offering a handshake. I, of course, accepted and smiled.
    As mentioned, Seth had run their house in “Snoreline,” despite Samantha paying fully half the mortgage. I laughingly referred to the area as “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood.” Samantha laughed until tears appeared.
    Anyway, they we all were, unloading a lifetime into a new chapter. Samantha’s friends eyed me, not exactly in the friendliest of ways. I understood it to a point. I was getting a steal. Samantha was amazing, and fresh off an impending divorce. They still saw Samantha and Seth as a couple. And yet, there I was, her new man. An outsider. A total outsider. A writer, of all things. A drunken writer.
    Everyone piled into the kitchen when all was unloaded. Seth sat there glowing in some sort of memory. Samantha sat too, seemingly torn between memories and eagerness for a new life. Booze was poured and downed. Memories flooded. I stayed quiet. Let the past reign while the future waited.
    Faces glowed as friends slowly left the new. There was to be a gathering later, at one of their early haunts. We were all going.
    Soon it was the four of us. Samantha and Faye took to organizing some of the things that needed to be unpacked. Seth and I ended up putting Samantha’s giant bed back together.
    Yes, you read that right. Seth, the guy who refused to acknowledge that I was any part of Samantha’s life, was in charge of putting together the giant bed that Samantha and I would be sharing, and I was helping.
    Oddly, he sat there glowing, as his carefully labeled pieces came together. The giant wooden pillars were held together by giant bolts. Slowly it began to take shape. Not fully trusting Seth, I stayed on the other side.
    Samantha and Faye came in to help. Samantha knew to stay away from the giant pillars that went on top, holding the top together. She knew too. Faye came bounding in. Within seconds, a giant pillar came down within an inch of her head. Samantha and I both gasped, and asked, “Are you ok?!” Seth just laughed, as if he had planned it.

     Everything was put together as much as could be. Seth and everyone else had gone. Samantha and I caught buses to get to the goodbye party. We held hands, held each other. It was such an emotional time. One for the ages. From old to new, sweet, sentimental, bittersweet.
    Seth was the only one there when we arrived. His eyes shot wide when he saw Samantha, then sad when he saw me. It was tough to deal with. His expression hardened. Samantha’s weakened. I just sat there. He smiled weakly. I went to smoke. They needed to talk.
    I paced outside, Manhattan in one hand, smoke in the other. It was all hard to take. The end. The beginning. Probably the beginning of the end. Not only had he lost Samantha, I might well be on my way to losing her too.
    Back inside, friends of theirs were there. Seth was the one going away, really. He was moving out of state. Gone for good. Memories were relived. Laughs were shared. I was silent, sitting there beside Samantha, her hand gripping mine to fight back tears.
    Slowly, with friends coming and going, both Seth and Samantha gained strength through distractions, and so I floated off to allow nature, only glancing to see how she was doing. She didn’t need me for those moments.
     Soon Linda was sitting across from me. She had been Seth’s best friend, and clearly did not like me. I ordered another manhattan and said hello. She looked away, and so I did too. I got my drink and went for a smoke.
    Linda was still there when I got back. She was snarling my way. I looked away, hoping for someone to talk to.
    “I have to say, I’m not a big fan.”
    “Of what?” I asked.
    “Of you. Actually...”
    I braced for it, already knowing it.
    “Actually I don’t like you. No, really, I hate you.”
    I just looked at her.
    “but you somehow keep her, and she is amazing. So there’s that.”
    I raised my glass.
    “Now there is something we can agree on. Samantha IS amazing.”
    Linda refused to drink the cheer. She got up and left.

    Eventually, the party ended. There were no tears. Faye and her boyfriend had already left. Samantha and I walked the three miles back to the Palace, mostly in silence.
    We poured drinks in the kitchen. All was totally silent around us.
    “Welcome home, Beautiful.”
    “Welcome home to you too. We finally have one.”
    We glowed as we kissed.

    That was April first, two thousand eleven.

    A year later, I paced my tiny shitty apartment with no heat, in wait. Workers’ comp had not been kind to say the least. My income had gone from $3500/month to $900/month, and that was after a long fight. I was ruined, and nearly on the streets. Such is life for those who work for a living.
    Samantha had had enough. She had been stuck between me and those who hated my being in her life. She had tried everything exhaustively, only to meet impossible everywhere. Enemies were winning, and I had become negative after too many attacks, making things much more impossible.
    Priorities were priorities, so I had scraped together money for roses, and had four poems written and rehearsed. If she could last it all out with me, things would be better than ever. We had been there for each through so much for so long. She was the most loyal I had ever known.
    I prepared and prepared. We had taken a week’s break from each other. I was ready. I had been through worse times, and always came back stronger. I would this time too.
    It was the Her of poetry. It was the Her that has my heart. It was the her. I was prepared to do anything....

    A text came. It was the Her.
    “It’s no use. The week without you has been great without you to be concerned about. I’ll be back to get my things around noon.”

    My heart dropped. I couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be real.

    The rehearsal crashed. Roses, already bought, wouldn’t do any good. My suit wouldn’t matter. Love would be no match for hatred after all. There was nothing I could do.
    Soon they were there, bringing stuff I had left at the Palace. Faye looked at me with a mix of sorrow and satisfaction. I brought Samantha’s stuff out, all boxed up. Even with a bad back from very recent spinal surgeries, I brought heavy stuff, glancing at Samantha’s amazing ass for the last time.
    It was all done, except for things that remained lost. Done in a hurry, there was no way to fully divide it all. We stood in the Palace awkwardly. Faye glared at Samantha.
    “Where’s the key?”
    “At my place. I thought there was more to bring.”
    Faye glared harshly.
    “OK, I’ll go bring it up. Give me two minutes.”
    “We’ll go get it.”
    As we went to leave the Palace, Samantha stopped.
    “Want to share a bottle of wine?”
    “Sure.”
    She grabbed a bottle of Trader Joes, and we were on our way.

    We settled into my dumpy apartment and poured two glasses. Our talk was abrupt. Her complaints were met by cautious objections. She teared up.
    “You were never given a chance!”
    Still in total shock, I didn’t comfort her. She withdrew.

    As we slowly began reconnecting, the text came. Faye. Samantha dried up immediately. Within moments, she was ready to leave. Forever.
    I handed her the roses. She frowned.
    “You can’t afford to eat, but....”
    “They’re for you, Samantha. At least this.”

    I watched as she walked away, roses in hand, around the bushes that she always appeared from when she was coming for an amazing night.

    Samantha was gone.

    I grabbed my wine and chugged. Some dripped onto my suit. I chugged more. The sun shined brightly, and I cussed at it. The second magnum emptied in no time. The third hit harder, and was never finished. I woke up around three am, passed out against my own wall, mumbling about what a fucking genius I must be.

    It had been April first, two thousand twelve.

    What fools allow such love to die in such ways.

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