Disposition of Remains (24 page)

I tugged Wilbur’s shirt from his pants. It had become a vexation; a nuisance, preventing my skin from touching his. I kissed him as I lifted it over his head, exploring and tasting every inch of his
smooth, chiseled stomach and torrid chest. I took my time as I watched his sculpted muscles expand and recede with each sigh and pant.

He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me hard while moving me closer to the bed. I was torn between the panic I felt about going down that road, and the intoxicating euphoria my body was experiencing. It was better than any drug I could have fathomed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he moaned as he pressed up against me.

I could feel how much he wanted me, and how much he had to want me
with. Making love to Wilbur was inevitable.

Upon
frantically removing the last of our clothing, he entered me while we were only halfway on the bed. I’d never wanted anything so badly. Quickly, he turned me over so that I was on top of him, giving me a sense of control.

With Evan it had always felt like a probing invasion, but I welcomed Wilbur in with desperate anticipation. He sat up to meet my gaze, and held it as we rocked in perfect rhythm. I forgot about any inhibitions I’d had about my body in its current condition. I just let go.

I was only mildly aware that the din of our lovemaking was probably overtaking the quiet of the resort, when suddenly my insides exploded with warmth and pure pleasure. I had never experienced anything like it.

Wilbur let out a cry of delight at the same time as I did, and I collapsed on top of him, out of breath, our hearts pounding hard. I tried to conceal the tear that trickled down my face. I had no idea why I was cryi
ng. I just felt so overwhelmed.

Part 4

Depression

It was in Victoria Falls where I came to the realization that it was time to go back—back to reality—and in essence, move forward. I had to make some plans. I needed a job, as I knew my money would eventually run out. I had no place to live and I had no intention of reconciling with Evan. I missed having a home and a warm bed of my own, even though these things would only last a little while. I phoned Misty from the hotel, and she invited me to stay with her in Las Vegas until I’d figured things out. I could go back to nursing, apply to the nursery at Las Vegas Memorial Hospital. It was where my mother had ended her career before her death. It seemed fitting, and Raashida had made me realize how much I missed the babies. I could spend my waning days watching life emerge.

First, I needed to go back to Los Angeles to officially end my relationship with Evan. Although I was reasonably certain he had already received the clear message that it was over, I was finally ready to give us both some concrete closure. As much as I dreaded the task, I knew I would feel profoundly relieved when it was finished.

Wilbur sat close to me in front of the computer at the Internet café in our hotel as I searched for flights. I had every intention of paying for both of us, although I realized at some point that all I had was cash. Even with modern technology, it could not be fed directly into the computer. Once again, this rendered me dependant on Wilbur, who was far more creditworthy.

“I’ll come with you,” Wilbur announced, gently shoving my hands off the computer keyboard and applying his own. “I don’t have anything going on right now. And, look; the flights to Los Angeles lay over in London. Do you want to spend a night there? We could take in a few sights before heading to L.A.”

“London, huh? I’ve never been. Obviously. What’s one more night?” I replied, knowing well that one more night might be a large fraction of my remaining life
.
I was in no position to argue with him, however, and fortunately, I didn’t want to. Evan and reality could wait one more day.

We left that night from Johannesburg and arrived in the morning at London’s Heathrow Airport. We were both able to sleep on the plane, so other than having various body kinks from having been contorted for nine hours in the sky, we were rested enough for a
day of exploring.

We visited the usual London tourist attractions. Even I knew their names: Big Ben, the Tower of London, the beautiful Tower Bridge, and Westminster Abbey.

As the sun dipped behind the clouds and began its retreat for the day, we strolled into Trafalgar Square tired and hungry. We planted ourselves next to the fountain in the lively square and watched the children chasing the multitude of pigeons in front of The National Gallery.

Wilbur suddenly stood up and exclaimed in a startlingly proper British accent, “Let’s pop in there
. I hear they have a lovely café.”

I followed him into The National Gallery, but quickly lost interest in food as I found myself surrounded by a multitude of European paintings from the thirteenth through the
nineteenth centuries.

“I know we don’t have much time, but I saw this online, and I know you’d mentioned that you like Botticelli.”

“I love Botticelli!” I squealed. “Where?”

Before I knew it, we had made our way to room 58 and were standing in front of Botticelli’s
Venus and Mars.
I had never known it was in London. I had a particular fondness for his more secular works; to paint them was rebellious during a period of religious awakening. Later in his life, Botticelli personally threw many of his own pagan works of art into the Bonfire of the Vanities when he became an avid follower of the Christian zealot Savonarola. But his exquisite
Venus and Mars
remained.

As I stood admiring Botticelli’s mythical masterpiece, a tour group approach
ed my vantage point. I pretended not to notice them as they crowded in behind us to share the view. My feet were firmly planted, and I was not ready to yield my position to them.

A young British woman, presumably the tour guide, began to instruct the group, “Here you see
Venus and Mars.
Notice the Jimsonweed in the background. Mars lies motionless because Venus has poisoned him with it.”

Wrong.

“And notice the wasps around his head?” the young girl continued. “They represent the sting of love.”

Double wrong
.

“Another interpretation is that Venus represents Mary Mag
dalene gazing upon Mars, who represents Christ, removed from the cross.”

“What?
No!” I interjected as I turned to face her.

I couldn’t take her interpretive butchery any longer.

“It’s pagan, not Christian. Jimsonweed was ingested to intensify sex. The wasps are there to represent the connection to the Vespucci family. The Vespuccis were the ‘wasps’ of Florence. The name Vespucci comes from the Italian word
vespa
meaning “wasp.” Wasps are even on their coat of arms. The face of Venus is a tribute to Simonetta Vespucci.”

When I paused to catch my breath, I realized that I had the entire tour group’s full if not irreverent attention, so I felt obligated to continue.

“This painting portrays Venus, the goddess of love, and Mars, the god of war—
one
of her lovers. Venus is completely dressed and fully alert and Mars is shown mostly naked, as if immediately post-coitus—exhausted and vulnerable. She subdued him with sex. This is meant to signify that love triumphs over war. You see how Mars sleeps while the little satyrs play with his helmet and lance? One is even blowing a horn in his ear, but Venus has rendered him helpless.”

I turned toward the painting again, forgetting about the crowd. I should have been embarrassed by my outburst, but I wasn’t. I breathed in the painting, another tribute of Botticelli’s love for Simonetta. He’d painted it seven years after she died. I wondered if it w
as possible for me to have that kind of profound effect on anyone. On Wilbur.

As I turned to face Wilbur, to read the future in his eyes, I saw more of a look of shock than love.

“Wow,” he said. “You do love Botticelli. Though, I think you may have irritated the tour guide a bit.”

I glanced to my left at the begrudged little tour guide who shot me a sneer from the next painting over. I turned back to Wilbur.

“Thank you so much for this, Wilbur. It’s incredible. I had no idea this was here.”

“There are more of his paintings over this way.”

“I want to see them all.”

“
All right, but I think there are only five.”

“No, I mean, I want to see all of Botticelli’s paintings, wherever they are in the world.”

That was my new plan, the start of my bucket list, even though deep down I was becoming more and more determined to live. I had gone from wanting to settle down to wanting to travel the globe again in less than twenty-four hours. Poor Wilbur. It was no wonder he had his reservations about me. Even I didn’t know what I wanted from one minute to the next. But I knew I had to establish myself somewhere. Travel for short periods in between work, if life or death permitted.

It was hard for me to break myself away from The Master’s works as the gallery was closing.
We bumped along the underground to our hotel near Heathrow. I reminisced about our night in Victoria Falls, two nights before when Wilbur and I had been entwined as one. I longed to feel his body against mine again.

We ate dinner by candlelight and made love through our exhaustion. We made love slowly, looking into each other’s eyes. I never knew it could be like that. I imagined myself as Venus trying to subdue Mars with my love. But Wilbur was diff
erent; there was no war in him.

The next
day brought with it another long flight. We arrived at LAX at four o’clock in the afternoon, found a hotel, showered off the nasty plane grunge, ate, and slept. I couldn’t wait to establish myself somewhere. I could see why Wilbur had kept his home, even though he was a nomad and he really didn’t need one. I could relate to the eerie feeling of not having a place to return to.

“I have to face him,” I
confessed to Wilbur as he scooped the last bit of eggs onto his fork at breakfast.

“You don’t owe him anything, Stacia,” he replied with just a hint a jealousy.

“I know. But I have to do it for me. I want a clear conscience, a clean start. I know we haven’t talked about what’s going to happen with us, but I have to see him face to face. We both need to know it’s really over.”

“All right, I understand.”

I needed to see Evan, but I wasn’t sure what would be the most appropriate venue for our meeting. Both the house and the office would be awkward. I thought it best to arrange someplace neutral. But before I contacted him, betting on the likely chance he’d go ballistic, I wanted to retrieve a few things from the house first—mainly, my mother’s urn. In my haste, I had forgotten to take my mother; I had never been separated from her for that long. I was afraid that if my conversation with Evan didn’t go well, I would never see her urn again. It wasn’t inconceivable that he would hold her hostage in some pathetic attempt to win me back.

We rented a car and Wilbur drove me to my house—Evan’s house. It was unnerving to see it, the place I had been held as a willing prisoner for all those years. Wilbur stayed in the car while I went in. It was noon on a Thurs
day, a time I knew Evan would be at work. I could feel my blood pressure rising as I walked up the sidewalk through the imaginary barbed wire and bars. I was surprised to find the door unlocked.

I walked into the living room where my mother’s urn was still sitting, collecting dust on the piano. Everything looked the same as it had when I left. I examined the urn for a moment before I noticed that Margaret, the office manager, was heading straight toward me, stark naked. I almost didn’t recognize her without her clothes. Oddly enough, she hadn’t noticed me standing there, because if she had, I was quite certain she would’ve be
en even more disturbed than I.

“Hello, Margaret,” I said in my best nonchalant
yes, I’ve caught you
voice.

She dropped an empty water glass and screamed. I had never really cared for Margaret, though not because she was mean, or egotistical, or even obnoxious. Not any of the normal reasons not to like someone. She was a simpering fool who followed every one of Evan’s commands out of fear of repercussion. I disliked her because she was what I had become.

“Margaret, go put your clothes on. I’ll deal with this,” Evan directed from behind her.

Margaret scurried off to the bedroom,
my bedroom
, quietly obeying Evan’s command. Then there he was: Evan, in all of his half-naked glory. This was not at all the scenario I had played out in my mind, but I was relieved to discover that he had moved on. There was no need for him to be angry with me anymore. I felt sorry for Margaret, however. She had no idea what she was in for.

“I was wondering when you’d come crawling back.”

“Evan, I just came by to get some things. I had planned to talk to you later.”

“Who do you think you are? You can’t just come trespassing wherever you like. You don’t have any things here. This is not your home anymore,” Evan fumed in his usual intimi
dating manner.

“All right, then we’ll talk another time.”

“I have nothing to say to you. What do you have in your hand?”

“It’s my mother’s urn.”

“Nothing here is yours. Put it down and get out.”

The temptation was still there
—to avoid conflict at any cost, to do the irrational thing that Evan demanded in order to avert confrontation with him, to take the easy way out. I chose instead to stand my ground.

“I’ll leave, but I’m taking my mother with me.”

I turned to go, but before I knew it, Evan was upon me.

“You’re not taking anything, you bitch!” he shouted, slapping me hard with the heel of his hand. It made contact first with my cheekbone, before grazing up to my eye and knocking me to the floor. I was shocked. Despite all of the hateful things Evan had done, he had never hit me before.

I wanted to hit him back, to take all of my anger and resentment toward him and pack it into one solitary blow. I wanted to strike him in a vain attempt to reclaim the years of my life that he had stolen from me. I wasn’t worried for my safety. What did I have to lose? But if I hit him, I would be just like him—and I had become better than that. I stood up with my mother’s urn in hand, looked Evan square in the eye, and made my way to the door.

Evan hated to be walked away from. He grabbed my arm and spun me around.

“What do you hope to gain, Evan? To prove that you’re in control? You can do whatever you want, but you don’t control me anymore.”

“What if I kill you?” he threatened in a strangely calm voice.

“I’m already dying, Evan. You still lose.”

Disregarding
what I had just said, he raised his hand to strike me again. Suddenly, the front door unexpectantly flung open.

“Who the fuck are you?” Evan bellowed as Wilbur came charging toward him.

“I’m the guy who’s gonna kick your ass if you don’t let go of her right now!”

“Is this why you left? For this piece of shit?” Evan scoffed.

“No. I left because of this piece of shit,” I answered with a trembling index finger pointing right back to my tormenter.

It wasn’t very clever, but it was all I had at th
at moment.

“I came back to L.A. because I thought I owed you an explanation, but now I realize you’ve taken enough from me
. I don’t owe you anything.”

And with that, Wilbur and I strode out the front door. It occurred to me that I had never seen that panicked, enraged look in Evan’s eyes before
, and he had never before threatened my life. He looked as though he might actually kill me. I pictured him coming after us with some sort of high-powered weapon, but thankfully, he did nothing. His empty threats remained with him in the house. Only the sound of our footsteps could be heard as we made our way back to the car. Evan was a coward, just a roaring lion with no teeth.

“How did you know?” I asked Wilbur.

“I just had this feeling,” Wilbur replied. “Actually, I could see through the window from where I was parked.”

“Well in that case, what took you so long?”

He looked at me with shock in his eyes until I started to laugh. Then he laughed along with me.

“You really do have a weird sense of humor.”

“But it’s one of the things you like about me, right?”

“It’s one of the things I love about you,” Wilbur replied without a hint of irony.

He said
love.
He wasn’t exactly saying that he loved
me
per se, but he used the word “love” in a sentence, in reference to me. Love conquered war after all.

“Thank you, again.”

I was forever thanking him.

“You missed Margaret, the naked coworker.”

“Oh…are you…all right with that?” Wilbur asked.

“Of course,” I said softly, placing my hand on his thigh. I
was
all right with it. I just hadn’t expected it…or maybe I had.

“Evan went on a lot of ‘business trips.’ I had suspected at some point that there may have been someone else, but I guess I really didn’t care enough to ask.”

The truth was, seeing it in the flesh—literally—made me feel insignificant. I had spent years letting that bastard control every aspect of my life—everything I did, even how I looked. It wasn’t as though I wanted Evan at that point, but a big part of me thought that he would never stop pursuing me, even if it was just a matter of pride. I knew that he didn’t love me, not in the typical way that people love one another. Not in the way I loved Wilbur, or the way that Wilbur could potentially love me.

“You
r eye’s starting to swell. Let’s go back to the hotel and rest for a bit.”

“No, no. I’m fine. Let’s get out of dodge. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Let’s at least get you some ice.”

We stopped by a drug store and bought an ice pack. It was the kind you have to get sort of violent with in order to break it and mix the contents. Wilbur did this
for me, then held it to my eye

“I got it. It’s
okay,” I said though I enjoyed his nurturing attention.

“You need to file a police report.”

“I just want to be done with him. I don’t even want to think about him again. Besides, he’s a lawyer. He’ll probably turn it into some breaking-and-entering scenario that will land us in jail.”

Wilbur nodded his head in reluctant agreement.

“I won’t let him hurt you again.”

I basked in Wilbur’s protective statement for a moment.

“Let’s not let that demonic a-hole ruin our day,” I joked with a crooked, half-swollen smile.

Even through my face was throbbing and the ice pack made it hurt all the more, I fi
nally felt vindicated and free.