Confronting Infidelities
The nightfall wouldn’t do me a solid and hide my white lies as the moonlight spread through retreating clouds, bouncing shadows over my quivering lips with glimpses of light to disinfect my tall tales. When honesty withheld its composure, I shriveled up at her touch. Cynthia rested her fists on her hips. Her blue, dagger eyes murdered my train of thought over her screaming out my infidelities. I motioned for calm before the neighbors called the cops, and after all, she had to go to work. I’d cut myself with a dull butter knife before I took the blame for her mistakes. Mom fed me my share of emotional blackmail. Cynthia asked for the truth, and I said it, just as she wanted. I slept with her best friend before we were together last Christmas.
Cynthia laughed and slapped her thigh. I eyed Cynthia with confusion. She said that I slept with her friend at night. I told her that’s right. I didn’t see her face. Because it wasn’t her best friend, it was her. She wanted me after the Christmas party and slipped something into my punch. I sipped from the red cup and was woozy on my feet. I headed to bed and woke up to a woman with a birthmark on her breast. I slowed down with each thought. Cynthia pulled down the neck of her shirt. She had the same birthmark.
I grinned. “You naughty girl.”
Cynthia inched closer, biting her bottom lip. “And you did the same to me on New Year’s Eve, you naughty, naughty boy.”
We kissed and agreed never to let our kids attend a party.
Twitter — @AC0040
(© 2024 AC)
(My new poetry collection: Screaming At Anxiety)
