The Survival of Marvin Baines by Michael Meyer

Author:Michael Meyer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: humorous fiction, humorous midlife crisis, contemporary fiction, dysfunctional midlife crisis humor, humorous contemporary family fiction
Publisher: Pacific Books
Published: 2014-06-20T00:00:00+00:00

MARVIN BAINES STOOD in his bedroom, taking his clothes out of his closet and drawers and throwing them into his suitcase.

“Can’t we talk, Marv? Please,” said his wife, Martha, standing just behind him while he worked.

“We did talk.”

“You talked.”

“What’s the difference?”

“There’s a h...” and Martha, with an effort, controlled her voice and her words. “There’s a lot of difference between you talking and us talking.”

Marvin stopped his packing and turned and silently looked at his wife.

“Please, Marv.”

And once again Marvin Baines knew that he was defeated. Here he was a man, an individual man, but he was smothered once again, completely smothered, by the collective. No longer was he he; he was part of we, part of a collective rather than an independent individual.

That’s the difference, thought Marvin Baines, as he silently followed his wife into their living room to hold their little talk. And that’s the only difference, the whole difference. I, Marvin Baines, am Marvin Baines. That’s all I profess to be, and that’s all I should be: that’s all I want to be.

Want and time, however, seemed to always be in conflict, to always be tearing at each other’s throat, want always getting the worst of it. At least in Marvin Baines’ book it worked out that way. Always.

Mr. and Mrs. Baines sat down across from each other in their tastefully decorated room for living. The sun was still shining outside.

“Don’t you love me anymore, Marv?” Tears were forming in her eyes.

“That’s just it,” he finally said. “I love you, and I love the kids. You all mean the world to me, but...”

“But what?”

Marvin Baines looked directly at his wife and spoke: “I am Marvin Baines, no less and no more, and I hate watches and clocks and time and complaining and going to bed and getting up when I don’t want to and not eating hot chili for breakfast when I want hot chili for breakfast and not being able to do what I want and no longer being able to boot people off the grass that talked to me and not being allowed to park my car in the lot behind the grass any more and not being able to drink beer and laugh and fart around with my friends down at Sam’s Place any more, and people telling me what to wear and why, and how to act.”

“Marv...”

“I’m a man on the run, Martha. I have to be. I will always be. That’s me, Marvin Baines. I feel that I am dying, and that I am taking you and the kids with me. I don’t want that to happen, to any of us. I am poison, and I can’t stand it. I just can’t take it anymore.” Time did a slow somersault, landing finally on its rear end.

“And so?” said Martha, her voice soft but trembling.

“And so I’m off.”

“Why, Marv?”

Marvin Baines, looking exactly like a watermelon in his bright red shirt and his bright green shorts, stood up and went into the bedroom and

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