Alexithymia

I wanted someone to ask me why I was covered in my own vomit.

Have you ever tried to suck in air while kissing someone? They don’t like it. I once met someone that tried to suck back. That didn’t work either, especially since their lungs were a lot better than mine.

I promise that I’ll never do it again.

It was a game for us- fun in its own sick way. Yeah, it was all fun till I figured out just how strong his lungs were.

Lets skip back to breakfast that morning. There were eggs, scrambled with cheese in them, thick, greasy bacon, toast and pancakes stacked like twin statues on either side of three breakfast burritos with two tall glasses of soy milk to wash it down and a handful of breath mints which I swallowed like pills.

Now here we were eating face behind my garage having the time of our lives pressed up against the dirt encrusted siding and I was thinking of what I ate for breakfast.

By the time I hiccuped it was too late to save him.

He didn’t have time to pull away before the meat, egg, and milk abomination was artistically rendered in his mouth. He tried to push me away as fast as he could and the rest of my stomach contents ended up all over the front of our shirts.

As he gagged and sputtered I could see the lumps of egg and cheese fall from his mouth to join the half digested toast that was on the ground. He eventually blew his own bile on the ground, too sickened by what happened to keep it down any longer. It was like something out of a horror movie as he stood their with yellow acid dripping off his chin and his face plastered with what could be described as the greenish yellow remainder of rotting cottage cheese.

After his body stopped shaking and he was able to pull himself up from the hunched position with his hands on his knees, he just looked at me.

I have never seen a man look so terrified and perturbed in my entire life.

But the weird thing was, I wanted to laugh. I wanted to laugh because I felt so bad about it that I was certain that I would explode if I had to honestly look him in the eyes and acknowledge what I had done. So I did the only thing I could do and martyred myself on the altar of embarrassment.

I started trying to say something and I thought it was going to be all right. Everything was going to be okay until I saw his face contort and his stomach churn at the very sight of me. He staggered away, turning seven shades of green as he vomited, which was more than I did for him. He left me standing in my own bodily excretions. My formerly pressed, white shirt and my denim jeans were a testament to modern art. He didn’t talk to me for three weeks.

And that’s why I never kiss on the first date.

I stayed with Pic for the rest of the morning.

He seemed somewhat less than excited to have me.

I guess he was still having a hard time accepting a lot of things. So was I. I kept trying to convince him that things were going to get better but he was unsure. He told me to ‘think about what you’re doing’. I did. I have—for a long time now.

I knew for one that my daughter was getting older and she would come to terms with this. Not too long ago she asked me if I still loved mom. I said I did, but I took long enough to answer that I don’t think she believed me. She didn’t look upset though. We’ll talk about it someday, probably soon.

I don’t know where Videl goes and I don’t pretend to. She is very beautiful. Those blue eyes use to melt me. I’d ask what she does but it scares me to think about it. She has to love me.

But he will still love me. He doesn’t have to but he does anyway. Whenever I touch his chest he stops. He doesn’t want to but he does. I try kissing him but he doesn’t reciprocate. It’s not that he’s unwilling, he’s just conflicted. When I tell him that I want this and that it’s okay to feel this way, he starts to cave in little by little. Sometimes he squeezes me gently when I’m in his arms, other times he lets me rest my head on his shoulders and stay there. I could be bold and he would let me, but I’m afraid he’d . . .

. . .I’m afraid he’d leave me too.

But I did it today. I made him feel me. He had to listen. No one ever listens to me, not even my students. He tried to pull back, but I caught him.

I’m a horrible person, if you didn’t know.

I had to go after that. Don’t think that I hurt him. I could never. I just opened his eyes to how serious I was about this.

He said he would consider it.

Well, he never actually said anything, but I know what he meant.

My wife was home by the time I returned.

Maybe I should have kissed her on the first date.

“Gohan.” That tone of voice was reserved only for when I had screwed something up for her. She never forgave me for that one dinner party.

Meh . . .

“Gohan.” I don’t want to answer you, please think I’m just concentrating and bother me tomorrow.

“Gohan!” Lets put the mask back on, shall we?

“Huh? Oh, what is it Honey?” And the Oscar goes to . . .

“Pay attention when I’m talking to you!” Sir, yes, Sir!

“What’s wrong?” If I’m smooth enough, I might get to sleep on the couch tonight.

I found myself sitting at the dinner table with my beautiful wife my more beautiful daughter. I’ve started to rate beauty depending on how much a person doesn’t bitch at me. This could be earth shattering. They both look at me with what I can only guess is resentment.

“Pan, go to your room. Your father and I need to talk.”

She rolled her eyes and took a bite out of her roll before she stormed off to her room. There’s a lot of pent up rage in that girl.

I could barely hear her door slam.

“Gohan.” I looked straight at her crimson smeared lips as she talked. She’d been bleaching that tiny bit of upper lip hair she had.

“We don’t talk anymore.” She rested her face in her hand and scooted away her dinner plate.

I took another bite of peas. “You do enough talking for the both of us.” That would have been clever if she smiled.

“I’m serious Gohan.” I almost gave another smart-ass comment before I realized what this talk was about.

“Oh” was the smartest answer I could muster.

“Do you even want this to work?”

“Do you?”

“You can’t throw my question back at me.”

“You do it to me all the time.”

“See? This is what I mean!”

“So I guess you want a straight answer?” My stomach started to churn

“Yes.”

“An honest answer?” I could feel myself getting sicker as I coughed out those words.

“Yes.”

And then it happened.

“I do if you do, sweetie.” And I took another bite of peas.

“I’m not sure about this anymore, Gohan.” Really? “We haven’t been the same since Pan was in grade school.” Stop beating around the bush, that’s my tactic. “And with the way things are going now, I don’t think there’s much left we can do.”

“You were serious about me cleaning the shower, weren’t you?” Why am I avoiding this conversation? I want this. I want this so much.

She stifled a laugh.

Come on, get angry. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you never want to see me again. Tell me what a fag I am and that you’ll take everything I own and move across the country and that I’ll never see my daughter again. But not that last part. I don’t know what I’d do if I never saw Pan again. You can have her on holidays though.

I know she knows about Pic.

“Gohan . . .” She wiped her eye and smeared her makeup.

She looked at the tablecloth intently for a moment before looking back up at me. Was she crying? Doesn’t she know her mascara is going to run? She doesn’t care, does she?

A sniffle as she smiled. “If there’s another woman, just tell me Gohan.” Her face was so flushed.

“What?” How could she not know? “No, no, never.”

Well not exactly.

But what woman could ever replace my wife?

. . .

. . . .Exactly.

“Don’t be silly, Videl. Is this what you’re worried about?”

“You come back late at night with your clothes disheveled with no explanation of where you’ve been; half the time when you’re here, you’re not really here, you’re stuck in that infinite head of yours thinking of Kami knows what—and yes, yes this is what I’m worried about! Gohan, this is never going to work if you don’t even—!” Oh Kami, she’s crying now. That obnoxious hiccupping sob where you try to hide it, but you can’t because your shoulder are shaking so much you might dislocate it if you fought too hard.

I hate when she cries. I feel like such a douche when she does.

“I’m not thinking of other women, honey, sweetie, love of my life.” I pulled her hands away from her face and held them in my own. She was trembling.

She took in several ragged breaths. “Then what are you?” Her eyes were so blue and bloodshot.

“I’m gay.” Oh shit.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I just outed myself.

To my wife.

My WIFE.

What have I done? How is this going to end? What is she going to do? What if she tells my mother? She’ll never forgive me. It’s a good thing Dad is gone; I don’t think he’d understand. And Pan? What will she think? Maybe she won’t tell her. But if she does? What if she thinks I’m disgusting? I am disgusting. I almost forgot that I’m a horrible person. What’s going to happen next? I haven’t been smote by the fist of an angry god yet, so things are going pretty well, yes?

She’s just staring at me with this horrified look on her face.

She looks away, still with the look.

Then she stood up. She straightened the pencil skirt she had on before turning and leaving.

I suddenly remembered what I had for breakfast.