Norma was realistic, she knew she did not have the beauty to be a prime catch for one of the many wealthy gentleman, but she did not let this deter her, she would find other ways of being a trophy for her husband. Joseph was not on her radar, as it were, he was not well put together, the different colored eyes made her uncomfortable, since the blue one had fits of laziness and he never appeared to be looking at her when he actually was, he did not come from wealth or status, in fact he came from nowhere, a particularly frightening proposition for a standardized young woman of Norma’s age, and he had made a particularly offensive advance at her within five minutes of being alone with her. He was a tramp. She refused to fall into his traps, she would not tell him anything about herself, nor was she about to confess to him her difficulties or allow him anywhere near her so that he could concoct his wordy aphrodisiacs.
It wasn’t until Joseph had given up on Norma that she found out about his gifts. Joseph had taken another course for his liberal arts requirement, as well, painting, and had shown such a Da Vincian aptitude for it that the art department had officially requested the opportunity to study the virtuoso from the college’s vice president of student affairs.
Art was (and is) considered a past-time to assist tranquility, something executives, secretaries, scientists, and others practiced on Sundays to relax. It was not a profession, nor was it considered a viable option by the university for further study, so they offered two survey courses for those inclined and that was the extent of the flirtation with the arts. Joseph though had never placed brush to canvas before in his life and had achieved such a success that the product was like a portal into the universal subconscious. The figures were perfectly proportioned, the perspective was without flaws and had a geometrically significant position in consideration of the focal point, and the background was so carefully rendered one had to tell themselves it was only a picture so that they didn’t smell the bananas in the trees. While Joseph was receiving a considerable amount of praise, every piece he did was far greater than the first, which had appeared at the time to be the conceivable best (remarkably, however undiagnosed, Picassoian), Norma had also been told by one of Joseph’s previous conquests that he was one of only four people ever allowed to advance to the second year before ever stepping foot on campus.
For Norma this was symbolic of further success (Pygmalionian as it seems), and it did not hurt that her girlfriends related to her Joseph’s nocturnal abilities (although none of the them had actually given him the chance to prove the rumor, Norma’s crowd was quite different than Joseph’s). This caused a considerable problem though for Norma, she’d already rebuffed the young man and made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him. Without too many other prospects, once she’d lost the boy she’d spent a year entangling because his parents presented him with an expensively tasteless girl who came with her own money, she had little other recourse. Her last year in secondary education was the following one, and if she could not find a husband by that time, she was sure she would be a spinster for life (it did not occur to her that there were other single people older than twenty-two). So Norma decided Joseph was her future husband and with sheer will power, a remarkable feat considering Joseph’s enjoyment of hollow relationships and loveless fornication, she managed to convince him that she had only be toying with him before and wanted to begin a potentially sexual liaison. Joseph had accepted this as a devilish ploy becoming of girls like Norma, known for their inventiveness due to competition with more attractive females, and accepted the invitation. Norma was more creative than Joseph gave her credit for and quickly, within a few months of their first date, had maneuvered him into a monogamous relationship he was quite sure he had fought hard for. Her talents, much more than the obvious ones of Joseph, were so ingenious that she soon had him delivering to her an engagement ring and a solemn promise of future matrimony. Joseph, for his part, had been bamboozled voluntarily by what appeared to him to be his waning chances for random liaisons (orchestrated by her with simple rumors) and her continual promises for what their lives could be like (this ranged from her detailing a trip around the world for their honeymoon she had no intention of every embarking on, to detailed and erotically charged descriptions of the future, as though the two would always be young and always be discovering the other’s body). The couple was married two months after Joseph graduated and Norma did not have to attend school the following year.
* * *
It began immediately. “We must choose a theme.” She was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the walls, absently. Joseph slid up behind her and raised his eyebrows. She smiled coyly and escaped his grasp. “What do you think Joseph?” No one ever called him Joe. “Neo-Modernist or Neo-Classical?”
How I’d like to really to… push up her petticoats, pull down her pants, reveal her… that fine texture of her skin colliding against his abdomen… Christen the home with semen… her hair has fallen loose… her mouth is open, drawing in great gulps of air… she is groaning… home sweet, home… her eyes sparkle with ecstasy tears… her lips curl and convulse… she is drooling uncontrollably… the shag carpet’s friction burns his knees… this is how you say hello… she guides him with her quivering… he fills her… she says something vile… he plunges into her… she cannot handle anymore… he must stop… she can’t take anymore… he must keep going… she can’t hold herself up and collapses into her own arms, leaving only her ass in the air… stop, no more…
“Joseph, are you listening to me? What were you thinking about? We need to focus on the house, we’re having the party in two weeks.”
The rituaclass="underline" up at six, two cups of decaffeinated coffee, shower, teeth, armpits, pills, and outfit, out the door by six-forty five, bus number 47 on the corner of 5th and Juniper Drive, read his magazine if he can find a seat or stand and stare at nothing, arrive at work at fifteen after seven, idle outside for a few moments, up the elevator to the fifth floor, turn computer on, get first cup of coffee, take pills, bring up reports, sip coffee, check schedule, work, lunch for an hour at café on first floor, take pills, back to office, inspect progress, meeting, buy a sugary cola at four thirty, take pills, leave work, await bus, find seat, stop at grocery store with list, pick up items, take bus 47 to 7th and Heather Way, two blocks to house, change clothes, favorite cardigan and slippers, turn on Virtuascape, answer wife’s questions, ask her the same, eat dinner, take pills, watch rerun of favorite show, drink seltzer water, take pills, brush teeth, into pajamas, take pills, in bed by ten. “It’s late Joseph, I have a headache.”
He can do nothing. It adds to the overt challengelessness of it. The period before the decay. You maggots are going to have a feast. The circle of life, a foolish explanation to allow them to believe in a purpose. There is no paradise; we are want of no angels.
When kicked by a jackass at eighty-three,
“Go fetch me a surgeon at once!” cried he.