No More Sacred Cows

She shifts her feet, stares at the worn planks in the floor, slowly sinks to the ground on weary haunches. Cast into a dreamy underwater world, head lolling languorously on the stem of her neck. Senses numb, no thoughts coming to mind except to flee.

Knew he was trouble long before they met, married, predictably divorced. Supposed he was clean then, save for the blue bulge of knotted veins long accustomed to the addict’s needle. Remembered his own simpering mother warning beware, he’d been caught stealing women’s undergarments from neighboring clothes lines while yet in tender years.

Somehow it was easier to put this out of mind just like she had done time and again – before this.

Her sister once quipped that she’d proclaimed their mother Cleopatra, queen of de-Nial. It seemed funny at the time – how could she fail to grasp her own state of regress every time she bumped up against her intuition? And yet, here it was. Coming home for lunch was something she was inexplicably drawn to do.

How could she have known she would discover him, gussied up in tacky female attire right down to white cotton brassiere stuffed with ribbed crew socks, vacuuming the living room floor?


2 thoughts on “No More Sacred Cows

    1. Celia, knowing this guy, I’m sure he was! My intention in writing this piece was more to convey a feeling of betrayal more than judgment. It could have been an affair, but I think that theme is well circulated in story.

      Have you seen the film Normal with Tom Wilkinson and Jessica Lange? Powerfully compassionate story about an older couple with a similar issue. They indeed worked it out, and he was completely upfront with her as his awareness dawned with regards to his sexuality. He also wanted to transgender, which is different than being a transvestite. Anyhow, fabulous film.

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