~ * ~
He thinks, I can get a Swedish massage. I can get the car washed. I can text-message every person whose text messages I
’
ve ignored in the last three months.
~ * ~
More buzzing in the passenger
’
s seat. Norman from the gym. Henry watches the screen signal that a message is being left, probably confirming tomorrow
’
s workout, which he most likely will have to cancel. How to break it to Norman?
Next to the message icon is a small movie camera icon. Norman has left a video message as well. He opens the file and hits Play. Soon his small screen fills with the title
“
Jump
”
in white letters on a black background. As Van
Halen
’
s
song of the same name begins to play, Henry watches a series of vignettes presumably filmed by Norman. Nursery school children jumping in a classroom. Kids on blow-up castles. Trampolines. High schoolers dancing. Sweet, sappy, happy stuff. Boring,
clichéd
stuff. Then it changes with the chorus. The happy kids give way to grainy long-range footage of a man standing
midspan
on a great American bridge—yes, it
’
s the Golden Gate— poised to jump. Then jumping. Before the man hits the water and presumably dies, the piece cuts to footage of another jumper on another bridge, leaping. Then another. Might as well jump. A half-dozen suicidal jumpers on a half-dozen bridges, each falling with his own morbid choreography, arms windmilling, arms spread like a bird, torso locked straight, tucked, tumbling, spinning, hands at sides, over head. All plummeting. Go ahead and jump. When the chorus ends it match dissolves from bridge jumper back to happy jumper footage—a small girl and a dog on a playground, a chubby old man on a pogo stick, a yellow lab grabbing a Frisbee—and it has a profoundly different effect on Henry.
He shuts it off in the middle of the second chorus, after the third of three new jumpers, a teenage girl, appears poised at the rail. This
is less than halfway through the film, still several minutes away from Norman
’
s printed signoff urging people to vote for his film at this address, to make it a daily favorite on his preferred aggregate video channel.
Closing his eyes, listening to another train pulling into the station—northbound or southbound, he can
’
t be sure—Henry decides that it
’
s a good idea to cancel tomorrow
’
s workout.
~ * ~
I can go for a jog. I can go clothes shopping. I can talk with a certified financial planner. I can take a short trip to the middle of the Tappan Zee Bridge.
~ * ~
Today
’
s women want a real man fucking them in the bedroom, someone had said at some point last night. But outside the bedroom it
’
s the other way around. They are the ones doing the fucking, the ones in charge, making us do the most emasculating things, subjecting us to the most humiliating shit. Shit that a real man would not do. Making the whole bedroom thing a sort of doomed construct.
Did Marcus say that? Did I? Do I really believe that?
~ * ~
He hears a chain saw in the distance and thinks of the months after they first moved up here. Whenever he would fire up his new chain saw, Rachel would throw a fit. She
’
d shout things like
“
Hire someone else to do that!
”
and
“
Please don
’
t hurt yourself, Henry.
”
And then she didn
’
t. And he
’
s certain it had nothing to do with his improved cutting skills.
~ * ~
He sleeps.
For how long? How many hours? How many trains?
The phone
’
s vibrations bring him back, spur the Pavlovian act of clicking Talk without checking caller ID.
“
Henry Tuhoe.
”
“
Tick, tick, tick. How goes the desperate searching of the soul?
”
Giffler.
“
The search has been called off. No survivors.
”
“
Where are you? We
’
re worried to death.
”
“
Who?
”
“
No one, actually. But I was curious. Your wife too.
”
“
Oh.
”
“
Called the casa and she said you were on your way into work, which is a big stinky lie. But I didn
’
t say a thing. I played along with whatever it is you
’
re up to. Figured you were considering the possibilities. Unless
you are
on your way into work at what, one o
’
clock?
”
“
I
’
m not on my way into work. I had a doctor
’
s appointment. Now I
’
m heading home.
”
“
We
’
re on for ten tomorrow?
”
“
Eleven.
”
“
Before we meet, and the reason I
’
m calling, because of our undeniable father-son-like bond, I wanted to give you some more information to run up the flagpole of your conscience. I wanted to tell you what else I
’
ve learned.
”
“
Okay, Dad. Lay it on me.
”
“
Where they
’
re sending you. It
’
s a tiny kingdom on the India-China border called . . . shit. Should have written it down.
”
“
Bhutan?
”
“
No. Not Bhutan. Bhutan is like the Land of Oz compared to this place. Anyway, the government there is really making a play to open its once closed gates to, if not democracy, then capitalism. You
’
re to be part of a historic corporate delegation that will turn their wretched history around.
”
“
By setting up a call center for an American bottled water company?
”
“
Exactly. Hugely important, because this mind-bogglingly impoverished nation, whose name still eludes my memory, is like the water industry, bottled and otherwise, on the rise. You
’
ll be helping their economy, albeit not their thirst. Still quite admirable, the whole mission.
”
“
Nepal?
”
“
Not Nepal. Some place considerably less developed. Less known. But I
’
ll have all the facts by tomorrow.
”
“
Don
’
t bother. Doesn
’
t matter. A
ll
that matters is what kind of termination package you can pull together for your favorite son, because I
’
m not going anywhere.
”
“
Didn
’
t hear that. Click.
”
Click.
~ * ~
Non-motile
If the second test shows non-motile (also known as dead) sperm, then a third test will be necessary. If the follow-up test shows moving or active sperm, the patient will be declared to have had a vasectomy failure, and it should be redone.
—
Snipped.com
He thinks, I can be a research consultant. I can work for the competition. I can teach. Go back to school. I can work for a not-for-profit. I can work with my hands, building houses or honestly constructed pieces of furniture. I can become a personal trainer, a webmaster for a big-boob porn star, a day trader, an online five-card-hold-
’
em
poker legend.
I can do whatever I want.
When I tell Rachel, she will understand. The job part, at least.
Pulling into the cursed driveway, turning off the incongruous car.
In fact, she
’
ll probably be happy, because she hates my job more than I do.
Stretching, staring at the unfortunate subdivision, the malevolent house, the thing that never should have happened. The window of the room where the recent orgasms were counterfeit, the funny faces forced.
He thinks, One thing I will absolutely do, first thing tomorrow, is call the doctor. Then a travel agent to book a trip. Nothing like an exotic trip to provide the perfect. . . what? The perfect sorbet for stagnant lives.
Walking up the foreign path, past the detestable topiaries, wondering how it will feel to be unemployed and watch a landscaper trim your hedges.
Nearing the door he never wanted to open, thinking, We
’
ll take a trip and sort it all out. Like we did in
Cabo
. And Maui. And even in Block Island.
She
’
s always wanted to go to Belize. With enough tranquilizers I would be willing to fly to Belize.
Reaching for said door but getting hit in the cheekbone by it first. Sensing blood before it flows.
“
You son of a bitch.
”
Canceling Belize. Reaching for a possibly broken nose.
“
You lying, duplicitous son of a . . . prick. We didn
’
t have much left, but we had the truth.
”
Absorbing a two-handed push. Backtracking down the foreign path, brushing against a detestable topiary.
“
I just found out yesterday.
”
“
Yesterday? That is an absolutely unconscionable lie.
”
Raising hands to block a series of roundhouse smacks.
“
All you had to do was tell me. But you . . . this is deliberate, hateful, almost criminal.
”
“
I was going to tell you right now. Tonight. There wasn
’
t time last night. I just spoke to Giffler about it yesterday.
”
“
You told Giffler before you told me?
”
“
It
’
s his specialty. Besides, it
’
s not even official. I assume he broke my confidence and told you when he called today.
”
“
Your confidence? What? What are—
”
“
You
’
re talking about the layoff, right?
”
Realizing that the horrified look on her face has nothing to do with his employment situation. Watching her look for something to throw. Watching her fingers and eyes point at his crotch.
“
Layoff? I
’
m talking about
that.
I
’
m talking about a procedure that never happened, Henry.
”
“
Operation, technically.
”
“
The shaving, the follow-up tests. The frozen fucking vegetable ice packs. What a freak you are. My God. We were having unprotected sex when I thought you were testing negative!
”
He holds up his right middle and forefingers.
“
Twice. And that
’
s because you were drunk on witches
’
brew. And I never orgasmed, Rachel. I faked. I made the face, but both times I faked.
”