The Struggles We Know

I know this sound.  Have known it for memory out of time, as it seems.  I have felt it shudder through my body, draining the civilised thoughts of a man in control.  In this room.  My room.  Our room.

And yet, I find myself here, on the other side of a door I know so well.  Her breath ragged and terse, emanating from the room, was joined by another.  Animal like grunts that, from her answering, high pitched moan, seemed to excite her.  Perhaps on another night, like so many before, it would have been me, us, in this room.

I couldn't take it.  My knees gave way, and I slid to the floor.  The blood in my fists clotted, clenched and hard as I sought to vent this cacophony of emotion that assailed me.   

But not a sound escaped me.  My body shaking, my head bowed, tears hot and wet slipping down my face unheeded.  The rant of lust amplified by the confines of the house bored into my mind.  She screamed, piercing my heart and tearing my soul.  Erratic noises formed a sickening beat, the rocking bed coming to bear time and time again on the adjacent wall.  

It was almost over, the tirade of life and lust slowing, their energy nearly spent but savoured to the last.  Her discordant moans mingling with his harsh breathing as I fought with my thoughts.  How could she do this, knowing that at some point, in some place, her husband would be thinking loving thoughts of her. Maybe I shouldn't have come home early.  What have I done?

I snapped out of my daze.

Lifting my head, I looked around.  I had to move now.  Slowly I found my feet, almost reeling into the wall.  Walking through the house I stopped only once at the kitchen table.  Moving quickly now, somehow knowing that she would follow soon after, I made my way to the front door.  

Then I heard her voice.  It was no longer the husky voice of a lover.  Nor was it the guilty voice of betrayal.  She sounded happy, joyful.  "Stop it, you have to go now".  He wasnt just a piece of meat, casual entertainment.  She likes this man.  "I have to pick up the kids and my husband will be home any minute".  

Slumped and resting against the wall, I heard the jingle of keys and a low scrape I identified as her shoes.  Rising once more to my feet and leaning against the door, my back to the hallway, I waited for her to see me.  Laughter rang out, clear and sweet.  Peals of silvery laughter, eating me alive.  

Abruptly, the sound ceased.  

She was here at last.  An odd sound escaped her as a dark and brooding silence enveloped us.  Why had I stayed?  Whatever the reason, I could find none now.  My shaking hand descended slowly to the door handle which turned, clicking, and the heavy door swung wide.  I made to follow its failing ark, descending to the concrete step as a strangled whisper caught my ear.  She said my name.

I was walking still, following the path that lead inevitably to my car.  Once again her voice touching me as I opened the drivers side door, this time lost to the noise of a passing car.  I slid behind the wheel, buckling my seatbelt, the key turning in the ignition.  Leaving the curb, I was sure that she could see the trail of blood that wept from my shattered spirit.

She found herself standing in the open doorway, staring out, lost for a time to the world.  Closing the door, she headed for the kitchen.  Trying to make sense of what had happened.  Thoughts slow and hard won in her haemorrhaged mind.  A strange feeling began to creep over her, light headed, her energy spent, she began to faint.  

Hands reaching out, seeking purchase on the table top, a rectangular box jumped, displaced and over turned.  For a time she bent, hands resting in the table, trying to regain her energy.  Her eyes, opening, fell upon this strange rectangular box.  She had never seen it.  Couldn't make out its purpose.  

Like lightning it hit her.  Grasping the box in trembling hands, she pried it open, revealing its contents.  She shrieked, the box falling to the table spilling what appeared to be earrings, and a necklace.  Light from a fading summers day shone through the kitchen window, piercing cut and polished stones, sending brilliant prisms of pure white dancing around the room, reflecting off pots and plates, recently washed.  

She had seen these before.  Had looked at them with longing given only to the most treasured of dreams.  Clouds dark and ominous massed on the horizon.  In the west, the golden disk of the sun looked down upon the world in the fading light of lost memories.  But even the sun cannot fathom the burdens of men, or the struggles we know.

What have I done?