His wife took a few breaths before answering.
“No, I mean what scares me is society in general. It’s so violent these days.”
Her French accent had become apparent, as it usually did whenever she felt nervous or uncomfortable. He made sure to give her a moment to compose herself.
“Are you afraid of women beating you to death?” he eventually asked.
“Touché,” his wife said in a perfect French accent, and she put her hands up as a sign of surrender while a look of resignation crossed her face. “That’s French,” his wife added.
“What? Surrendering?” he asked, and stuck out the tip of his tongue.
“No, the word. Wiseguy.”
“I know what touché means.”
“Oh, do you now,” his wife said. “So, what does it mean?”
“It means the other person is right. Which is probably why I don’t hear it very often,” he responded, with a smile.
“I agree. You aren’t right very often. But that’s only when you use the word. What does the actual word mean?”
His wife had a mischievous smile, and he knew what she was up to. She was going to get back at him somehow or other.
“I don’t speak French.”
“So, you do not know what touché means?”
“Touché.” He pronounced the word slowly and raised his eyes toward the ceiling. “I guess it sounds a bit like touch.”
Her look of disappointment confirmed his guess was right.
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” he added, and tried his best to look clueless.
His wife’s smile returned, then she made a stabbing motion with her knife.
“What?” he mumbled, and actually did feel clueless.
She moved her knife to form the letter Z in the air and made a swishing sound.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m Zorro,” his wife said in a silly accent. “Touché comes from fencing. You know, before they had those electronics in the swords. Touch, as in you touched me. To let your opponent know they got you. Touché, as in you won a point.”
“Touché,” he said, and awarded her with a wink.
His wife always had a charming way of educating him, and she always maintained a glint of humor in her face. Even when she criticized him, she always did so in an amusing way. The words were negative, but the experience in itself wasn’t. This was one of the things he admired most about her, and why he loved her so much. He couldn’t imagine living without her.
He felt a lump growing in his throat.
He noticed a man across the room who appeared to be praying. The sight reminded him of his wedding vows, and the remorse and shame he now felt toward his wife. Looking at her made him feel vulnerable and weak, and once again, he reminded himself of how stupid he was.
A stupid man, he added to his thoughts.
“What?” his wife asked.
Just then, he realized he was staring at her.
“You’re so beautiful. So, lovely.”
She turned her eyes to the table, and her face began to grow red. “We better get a move on. They start boarding in an hour, and this girl is going to do some shopping.”
He hated the airport environment, and that combination of stress and constant waiting. Waiting in line to check in, waiting in line to go through security, waiting in line at the gate, waiting in line to finally enter the airplane, only to wait in line to find the right seat—standing still, with all cylinders firing.
He never felt as lonely as when he walked around the airport now, even though his wife was right by his side. He was the only one who knew the truth, and the person he was hiding from was also the person he felt closest to in life.
After an hour of deputized shopping, they arrived at their gate just in time to get some seats in the waiting area. He was out of breath, he had a throbbing headache, and tears had once again started to pile up in the back of his eyes.
“Save a seat for me,” he said, and sniffed. “I’ve got to use the restroom again.”
As he sat on the toilet, he reacted to the sound. The sound was off, yet it came as no surprise. He was used to the sound by now. The view, however, was beyond his disbelief. There was so much blood, and this time the blood was thicker and darker.
He had convinced himself that he just had a tear, and that would explain both the pain and the blood. And the rock-hard stool was probably due to dehydration. He’d made sure to drink plenty of water, and he’d reduced the amount of salt in his diet.
However, the idea of the humiliation of a rectal examination was what had kept him from seeing a doctor. He knew he was in trouble, but he didn’t want to admit it. He felt he was confronting a line he might have to cross, and his manhood prevented him. Ignorance hadn’t just ruined his life, either. His pride had ruined their lives. When he finally did cross the line, he’d prepared himself for the expected treatment, but all he got was ‘sorry.’
Sorry you didn’t come in sooner.
Sorry, it’s too late. We can’t do anything now.
He had to tell his wife as soon as they got home and hope she could forgive him, so they could spend the last remaining time together filled with something other than sorrow and grief until death would them apart.
How could you have been so stupid?
He couldn’t fight the tears anymore, as he thought of the ramifications of his actions—or more accurately, the lack of action. His chin started shaking, and seconds later, he was sobbing loudly and endlessly, while gasping for air.
When he returned to the gate, he noticed his wife had begun her mental exercise, and as always, she had her glasses on. He loved the way she looked when she wore her glasses. They made her look sophisticated, but also slightly nerdy in a charming and cute way.
“How’s the exercise?”
“I’m struggling with the hard level,” his wife answered. “Can you help me?”
“If you’re struggling, then how am I supposed to figure it out?”
He noticed a trace of a smile in her face.
“We can help each other. Come on, it’s fun.”
“Counting to nine over and over again is fun?” he asked in disbelief.
“It’s good for you. Besides, your brain could use the exercise.” His wife ended the sentence with a wink.
“I’d rather have a carrot.”
His wife tilted her head down and forward, and looked over the frames of her glasses, with a deadpan look on her face.
“First of all, a carrot can only do so much. Eating healthy is good, but you still need to exercise your brain,” his wife claimed. “Secondly, I think you’re confusing carrots with hot dogs, which is understandable, considering they have the same shape and size.” She gave him a big smile. “I hate to break it to you, but you don’t eat any carrots and hardly any vegetables either, and whenever we have fish, you moan for the rest of the day, and then fry some carrots as soon as the kids are in bed.”
Do you know how cute you look in those glasses?
He smiled, then he leaned in toward her and briefly kissed her mouth.
“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here,” he said, and focused on the book in her lap. “That’s a lot of numbers. At least with a crossword puzzle you earn some knowledge. With Sudoku, all you do is count to nine.”
“Sudoku isn’t about counting. It’s about applying the rule of elimination in order to find the answer, and that’s the fun part,” his wife said, and then tapped the page. “This leaves me clueless. I have no idea.”
No, you have no idea how cute you look in those glasses, do you?