Finding Amy by Sharon Poppen Page B

and passion.  It wasn’t good and it wasn’t beautiful, but wave after wave brought me sublime, ecstatic, pleasure.  Her crying and screaming made me crazier and meaner.  After I was spent, I felt only a great sense of relief.  As my body lost its rigor, the room began to swirl and I rolled off of her.
    She sprang from the bed and ran sobbing into the bathroom.
    I heard the lock click.  I rolled over on the empty bed and stretched out spread eagle.  I had the most uncontrollable urge to laugh, which is what I did.  The laugh lasted until I felt tears well up and flow down the side of my face.  I rolled over and buried my face in the sheets before mercifully falling off to sleep.
    My marriage to that beautiful brunette I had met not so very long ago had finally been consummated.  Like I said, it was neither good nor beautiful, but it had been done.  Truth be known, I’d had more pleasurable experiences in the whorehouses in 'Nam than with my own wife.  My own wife, I had to rape.
     
    *****
     
    I woke a little before five the next morning to a terrible pounding in my head.  As my senses woke, the smell of sweat and sex assailed me and almost immediately my actions of the previous night overwhelmed me with shame.  I was sure I was going to die as I lay there.  Either my physical pain or those awful memories were going to do me in.  Through my misery I thought I head a radio playing in the living room.
    Trying to focus on the radio helped to push back my pains.  Why would the radio be playing?  A picture of Amy’s face as I tore her robe from her body flashed before my eyes.  It couldn’t be Amy.  I knew she’d be gone.  I sat up slowly intending to investigate the radio, but when my feet hit the cold hardwood floor nauseous bile rose in my throat and threatened to erupt.  I knew I had to get to the bathroom.  The pounding in my head became so loud it drowned out the radio.
    I barely made it to the toilet before my stomach erupted.  I clung to the edge of the bowl as I retched until all that come out was dry heaves.  As I stood to flush the disgusting matter, I caught a glimpse of my nude body in the mirror.  I looked like hell.
    After cleansing my mouth and wiping my face with a warm rag, I walked back into the bedroom.  The sheets were a mess and practically torn from the bed.  I didn’t think my shame could be greater as I scanned the disarray from my drunken rage, but I was wrong.  My empty stomach registered a new round of revulsion when I caught sight of virginal bloodstains accusing me from sheets that reeked of sin.  The room smelled of anger, spite, callousness, lust and drink.
    “Oh God.”  It even hurt to moan.  I picked up my discarded clothes and tossed them into the hamper.  The sight of my boots on her vanity table brought tears to my eyes as I noticed a broken crystal dolphin that I had bought her in Hawaii.
    The sound of the radio caught my attention again.  I fought the rumblings in my stomach, a pounding headache and a great deal of shame as I donned a fresh tee shirt and a clean pair of Levi’s, then started down the hall toward the music.
    I blinked twice when I saw Amy curled on the couch reading a book.  She couldn’t still be here.  Yet there she was wearing the same robe I had torn from her body last night.  She wore no make-up.  Her long dark hair was pulled back and tied creating a lonely, fragile aura about her.  I glanced back toward the bedroom and then back to assure myself I wasn’t hallucinating.
    She looked up.  “I’m sorry.  Did the music wake you?  Are you hungry?  Can I get you some coffee?”  Her voice was a little shaky, but considering last night it was amazing that she would even be speaking to me.   That she was still here was unbelievable.
    A shake of my head hurt hell.  “No.  The music didn’t wake me and I’m not hungry or thirsty.”  I looked back down the hall, then back at her.  Did I just dream last night?