I found myself in a storm, battered from all sides with hail and winds and flashes of lightning. Now a tempest, carrying a ship to the shoals of Bermuda. It had not been, it could not have been forecast. An hour, even half-an-hour before all was calm and serene. My life passing as it recently had. In a way I had every expectation that it would continue to pass.
We’d kissed when we departed that morning and exchanged “I love you”s as we always did. After lunch, though, the power went out at the office. Computers were of no use. It was an August Friday, little work would be done anyway so we all went home early.
As I closed the door at the house I heard the unmistakable sound of . . . sex upstairs. Dropping my bag, I rushed up the stairs toward the source. Our bedroom.
The door was open and the passion was loud and of course my soon-to-be-ex fiancé was naked and atop Agnes. Agnes was several girlfriends before me, and she saw me first. She stopped moving and he followed her eyes to the doorway. Whence my “OUT” echoed through the room. “OUT NOW.”
Stunned, he grabbed the pile that was his clothing and, trying to hide his nakedness and with an apology rendered more in fear than sincerity rushed past me. We waited, motionless, for several minutes. Until we heard the front door slam.
Agnes, unabashed in her nakedness, asked like she was the eye of that storm I found myself lost in “What about me? Do you want me to go?”
Suddenly I, too, was in the eye and all was calm and all was certain. “No,” I answered. “No.”