1979 by Ray Robertson

Author:Ray Robertson [Robertson, Ray]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Biblioasis
Published: 2018-01-24T20:32:35+00:00

SPECIAL TO THE CHATHAM DAILY NEWS:

‘Chubby Hubby’ Responds to Charges

of Erotic Anemia

HARD TO HEAR, good to know, so it goes…

It wasn’t as if he thought she was wrong. Not when tying his shoes in the morning was a daily challenge. Not when two flights of stairs was his own Mt. Everest. Not when his favourite pair of blue jeans didn’t button up anymore and there are only two possible explanations: either he was getting bigger or his pants were getting smaller. Her telling him—with her usual tact, compassion, and because she wanted him to be healthier and happier—was only putting into words what he didn’t need words to know.

But this other thing—the thing between her and him and who they used to be and the things they used to do and what could be done to make it more like it was—wasn’t the same as cutting down on before-bedtime snacks and taking the stairs and not the elevator whenever possible. It would be easier if he didn’t love her anymore, but he did. Both of them knew they were among the fortunate few and that it was the extraordinarily lucky who were left alone as devastated elderly widows or widowers, a few years of stunned grief in exchange for half a century or more of having someone in your life worrying when you’re not home yet when you were supposed to be.

So he didn’t feel like fucking much anymore. It wasn’t about her—he didn’t really want to have sex with anyone. Maybe it was his weight. Maybe it was sage nature just saying that at his age his sperm wasn’t required anymore, so no more itchy urges down below for you, Sir. Maybe he’d simply had enough, maybe it was like Saturday night roaring with the guys: what once had seemed so essential becoming just one more thing he couldn’t really remember when he’d stopped or why, he just had. Maybe it was the existential essence of what people meant when they said they didn’t give a fuck.

But he’d keep fucking. Fucking, after all, was living. He’d keep fucking until there wasn’t any living left for him to do.

~

Girls were like that. They weren’t supposed to be as strong as boys—and sometimes, when it didn’t matter, they weren’t—but if they cared about something they would try harder and stick with it longer and you’d hear yourself say that whatever it was they were doing was dumb and you didn’t care about it anyway. Jogging in the cemetery with Allison was like that. She was on the cross-country team and I wasn’t, so I knew I might be rusty, but I wasn’t prepared to have to stop so the pain in my side would go away while Allison jogged in place waiting for me to catch my breath. And she wasn’t even trying to make me feel bad—was only doing what she needed to do until I was ready to jog again—which only made me feel worse.

I needed help. It wasn’t enough to build up my wind; I had to build up my body, too.

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