Angel Dressed in Black

When I was little, we'd pass this massive hill on the way out of town to visit my grandmother. It sloped up smoothly on one side and dropped off severely, marking the edge of the valley. Thick green trees covered it like bristling hairs. I believed there was a giant buried there. I'd make up stories about him: who he was, who his friends were, and how he died. Sometimes it was a friendly giant, like the one on the corn commercials. Sometimes, it was a scary giant who could wake up at any moment and devour our car. Sometimes I'd dream about climbing to the top of that mountain so I could see the whole world.

I wake up at 8 on Christmas Eve and lay in bed with eyes closed for a long time. Willing myself to sleep doesn't work. I lay there for a long time with my eyes open, staring up at the spackled ceiling. I feel nauseous. I roll over and stare at Russell for a while. He isn’t stirring. Nothing wakes him up. He’s getting fat and his hair is disappearing. He’s only twenty-seven and looks like an old man. I’m only twenty six and I feel like an old woman.

I get out of bed around 9 and make coffee. I don’t really want it, but it feels like what I should do. I stand outside and smoke a cigarette. Russell hates me smoking inside. My mother would kill me if she knew I was smoking while I was pregnant. I can't imagine what she would do if she saw me doing shots at work. Her and Russell would probably both disown me if they knew I was doing coke. Who cares? Maybe it’s on purpose. Maybe it just doesn’t fucking matter. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

I sip at my black coffee while staring out over the skyline of Parlor City. Age-worn orange bricks and Gothic spires blast up through younger, post-modern, grey roofs, betraying the city’s age and former grandeur. Three months. I could get rid of it and Russell would never know. He would leave me if he ever found out. All he has talked about since the wedding has been starting a family. He's already named our son Kyle. I hate that name. He never asked if I cared. What if I kept it, but never let him see it? What would he do? Would it matter? What if I just gave it to him? Half his DNA, how great of a kid could it be?

Russell is up when I go back inside.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Morning,” I respond.

“You were smoking,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“I love you,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say, and go back in the bedroom. The newspaper is sitting on the bed. The front page has a new message from the Vampire Killer discovered along the highway. He picked up several girls from the bar where I work. Maybe I’ll be next. The rest of the news its what could be expected. Terrorism. War. Famine. Plague. Hate. Death. The television is turned on in the other room.

I walk out into the living room and watch Russell watch TV. He doesn’t pay attention for a long time. Then he turns to me. “What’s wrong?” he asks, keeping his head turned just enough so he can see the screen.

“Nothing,” I say, almost curtly.

“All right,” he says, going back to the TV.

“Russell?” I say.

“Yeah?” he asks, looking back to me.

“...Nothing,” I say.

“All right,” he says and looks at the TV.

“Do you ever feel any regrets?” I ask.

“No,” he says.

“That’s good,” I say and go back in the bedroom. I stare at the clock for a long time. I pick up the phone. I put it down. I pick it up again and dial my mother’s number. I hang it up when I think I'm about to cry. When I have myself under control, I dial it again.

When she answers, I say, “Momma?”

“Zoe? Hi, hun, how are you?” she asks, excited.

“Fine,” I say. “What are you doing?”

“Wrapping presents,” she says. Almost as if to prove the point, I hear paper tearing. “Your brother gets into town today.”

“I know.”

“Do you want to come to the airport with us?”

“No, I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I have a lot to do today.”

“All right. How is Russell?”

“Watching television.”

“Oh.”

There is a long silence.

“Are you all right, Zoe?” she asks, sounding concerned.

“I’m married to an electrical engineer, mom,” I say. “We have more money than we know what to do with.”

“As long as you’re happy.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re eating dinner at noon tomorrow.”

“We’ll be there.”

“That’s good. I love you, Zoe.”

“I love you too, Momma.”

I hang up the phone and go into the bathroom. I turn up the stereo, take a bath, do two lines, masturbate, and stare at the walls for a while. I want to repaint the bathroom. I hate the colors in here. I hate this apartment, but it's expensive and everyone in Russell’s office is envious. He is talking about buying a house. He has impeccable credit. I only have good credit. This upsets Russell. We could probably still get the house he has in mind. I don’t like it. We would have everything then: house; baby; jobs. Life would be perfect.

When I get out, I call my friend, Pam. She isn’t home. Russell asks if I want to go see a movie. I lie and say I have to finish my Christmas shopping, but it’s really been done for a month. He asks me what I got him. I tell him nothing. I got him a new television for the bedroom. He wants one in every room. I don’t know if he’s joking.

I go back into the living room. “I’m leaving,” I say. "I don’t know how long I’ll be gone." I don’t know if I’ll ever be back.

“Okay,” he says, not looking away from the television.

We haven’t had sex since the time I got pregnant. We have been married only nine months. Every night at the bar, men ask me to go home with them. Every night, I come home to Russell. From our bedroom window, I can see the highway winding around the mountain that covers the giant. A beckoning escape route. We haven’t gone out of town since our honeymoon. I miss my friends from college. I miss being alive.

I drive around for a while, but traffic is really bad, so I stop for coffee at Starbucks. The manager is cute. He flirts with me, and I reciprocate. He asks for my number, and I hide my wedding ring. I give him my number. He gives me his. He promises to call.

It’s getting close to five when I get back home. Russell is in his office working at his computer. I sit down and watch the television for a while.

“My office Christmas party is tonight,” he says, coming out to go to the bathroom.

“All right,” I say.

“Wear something sexy,” he says.

“All right,” I say.

“I’ve told everyone how hot my wife is, I want them to see.”

“All right.”

“I love you.”

“Yeah.”

“How is it outside?”

“It’s cold in here.”

“I’ll turn up the heat.”

“Yeah.”

He goes back into the office.

Can you will your heart to stop beating? I try for a while, and give up. I flip through the stations,
but can't find anything interesting. I find a random station and watch for a while, not really registering what is happening. “Russell!” I call out after about five, or ten, or fifteen minutes.

“What?” he yells. I can still hear the keyboard clacking.

“Why don’t we ever go out any more?”

“We’re going out tonight.”

“Only because it’s Christmas. We never go out any other time.”

“Because I’m always busy, and you’re a bartender. Do you really want to go to places like that on
your nights off?”

“No,” I say and then go on the back porch to smoke a cigarette. Only two today. That’s progress. Maybe tomorrow I’ll only smoke one. Maybe I’ll finish this pack tonight at Russell’s party. Maybe I’ll get drunk and make a fool of myself. I used to go out every night. I used to have a life. I used to look forward to the future. I used to...

I drop the cigarette over the edge of the balcony and watch it fall. It’s starting to cool down. I don't remember the last time I saw a white Christmas, but Russell says Global Warming isn't real. I wish I’d worn a jacket out here, or at least more than a T-shirt. I think about going back inside, but that sanctuary feels more like the sucking door of a tomb. We are on the third story, could this fall kill me? Maybe if I landed on my head. Probably not any other way.

When I go back inside, Russell is in the shower. I go through my closet, trying to find a good dress, anything I could wear to make my husband want to touch me again. Something that will make anyone want to touch me again. Nothing jumps out at me, but I decide on a slinky red dress with sequins and a plunging neckline. I go into the bathroom as soon as Russell comes out, not exchanging any words as we pass.

What would Russell do if he got out of the shower and found I had grabbed all my belongings and run? How long would it take for him to notice I wasn’t there? Would days pass? Would he go on living his life comfortably, having conversations with my ghost that still wandered around him? Would he still introduce me to people even though I wasn’t there? “Hi, my name is Russell Chambers, and this is my wife, Zoe,” gesturing to his left, where no one stood. Would he eventually be committed for carrying on a long-standing relationship with an imaginary friend? I wonder if I could get him committed for it now.

I do my hair, put on the dress, and come out of the bathroom into Russell’s office. He’s back at the computer. “How do I look?” I ask.

“Beautiful,” he says without looking.

“Thanks,” I say dryly and go back out to the living room. “I’m not wearing underwear,” I say to the dead air. “Who will find that out first?”

“What was that?” he calls out.

“Nothing,” I say. “Just thinking out loud.”

“All right.”

The Christmas party is in the back room of the FireHouse Restaurant, considered the tantamount of local fine-dining. There is an open bar and open buffet, and I take advantage of both, doing five shots of Bacardi Superior as soon as we get there. This makes the ordeal a little less miserable. I fix myself a plate and find a seat near the back. The food has the distinct taste of ashes. Russell keeps bringing people over to meet me and I offer slurred hellos and good-to-meet-you’s. I notice his boss at the next table, trying to be discreet in checking me out. I make it look accidental as I hike up my dress and spread my legs, ever so slightly, and this catches his attention right away. He keeps trying to make eye contact, but I coyly refuse, thinking over the situation in my head. He is an incredibly good-looking older man, bearing a distinct resemblance to Leonard Cohen. His wife must have noticed, as she comes over and sits across from him, blocking his line of view. I finish my dinner and go back to the bar.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Russell asks me.

“I think so,” I say, flagging down the bartender.

“When are you going to stop?” he asks.

“Probably a lot sooner than you expect.” I order a double rum and coke.

“Getting more kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

I take a sip as the bartender hands me the glass. “Yeah, but it seems like a really inopportune time to quit, doesn’t it?”

He scowls. “I guess so.” He turns on his heel and marches away, back to another group of geeks that were supposed to be impressed with the hot chick he managed to marry. I slam the drink and order another. Russell sees this, says some quick goodbyes and more-or-less drags me out of the party.

He drives home and I lay down in the back seat. He is going on about how I’ve embarrassed him in front of his coworkers. I laugh and ask him if he wants to give me a spanking. The thought of any kind of sexual contact with his wife shuts him up fast. I pass out before we get home. I wake up when he is carrying me inside, but pretend to still be asleep. He gets me in bed, undresses me, and lays down beside me without touching me again.

The giant is still sleeping. Merry fucking Christmas.