While I Wasn't Looking (Part 1/2)

We have half-hour mornings with each other, before we both have to leave to go to our jobs. Julie and I sit at our little dining table, sip our coffee, and say almost nothing. After four years of marriage, this is quality time together.

The coffee isn't steaming any more, and I usually can't drink it unless it's searing hot, so I'm twirling my spoon in the half-empty mug and just wasting the minutes.

I'm barely awake.

Julie watches as I pull the spoon up and let the brown liquid drip, making little splashes in the cup. In the spoon, I see my distorted reflection, and I'm trying to picture what I actually look like.

I must not have slept well last night, because I'm hardly conscious now.

Julie asks, "Can you poor me a little more?" and it's the first thing either of us has said this morning. I grab the pot and I'm falling asleep as I'm drizzling more coffee into her mug.

"Ow! Fuck!" she cries, and she pushes my arm away, startling me. Her hand is wet with hot coffee, and she's wiping it on her pajamas and scowling at me.

I must have accidentally poured it on her. I must have dozed off.

I tell her I'm sorry, but I'm too tired to make a face that looks genuine.

When Julie finishes her coffee, we both undress and go over to the bathroom. We have showered together every day for so long that there is nothing sexual or intimate to our naked bodies any more.

In the shower, Julie is sitting on the edge of the tub, quickly shaving her legs, while I'm lathering shampoo into a thick mass of bubble on my head. After so long together, we know how to orchestrate our showers so that we don’t get in each other's way.

Julie must be more awake now, because she's trying to have a conversation, saying she's still sore and raw from last night. She has no shame when she's talking about sex. "You fucked me like an animal," she says, and I'm just smiling and working the suds down to the scalp. "You just really wanted it rough last night," she says. "The slapping. The biting. You were something else. You had your eyes closed real tight, like you were focusing so much on it. The choking was a bit much, though."

The truth is, I don't even remember having sex with her last night.



I put my head under the showerhead and all I hear is the sound of water rushing against me.

I feel something hit my legs and I open my eyes, but the shampoo gets in my eyes, stinging. Something hits me harder. I turn around and Julie is slapping my legs. She's yelling, "What the fuck is wrong with you this morning? Jesus fucking Christ! You’re insane!"

I was just rinsing my hair. I tell her I didn't do anything.

"You were kicking me, you asshole!" she says, scowling at me, and she holds her leg out so I can see where she cut herself shaving. "You just started kicking me, you fucking asshole. I’m trying to shave!"

All I can say is I'm sorry, that I'm just really exhausted this morning. She is always over-exaggerating these situations, making herself a victim, but I don't say that. After four years of marriage, you know not to say things like that.



When we're drying off, Julie looks at me close and says, "Are you okay? Maybe you should take the day off work. You’ve been trembling all morning."

“Trembling?” I ask, skeptical. I'm tired, but I feel fine.

"Spasming," she says. "Like your muscles are having twitches or something. Are you sure you feel alright?"

I go to the mirror and look at myself. I don't look sickly or pale. My skin is a bit pink, actually, from the hot shower.

Julie stands behind me and watches me watch myself. She looks so worried, but I'm sure it's nothing. She can be so motherly.

In my reflection, my eyes look tired. I turn my face, checking myself from different angles, but I look fine.

Then I see it---the twitch. Not like a muscle spasm, but like I just suddenly shifted to the side. I stare at myself, waiting for it to happen again.

In an instant, a jolt, I'm an inch closer to the mirror.

It happens again, and I'm suddenly an inch closer to the mirror. So close my breath fogs the glass. Every time it happens, it makes me blink.

"You see?" Julie says. "Do you want me to call the doctor?"

It isn't muscle spasms. I'm not even moving. I'm standing perfectly still, I know because I'm watching myself, and then I'm suddenly standing in a slightly different position. I blink every time, and my eyes open to see myself just a bit closer to the mirror.

"Does it hurt?" Julie asks. When I ask her why it would hurt, she says "You yell every time it happens. You keep screaming. You’re scaring me."

I must be half asleep or something. Maybe I'm drifting in and out of nightmares, without realizing it. This is just crazy. I need more sleep.

I turn the faucet on and hold my hands under the water. I pool the cold water and splash it in my face to wake me up.

When I open my eyes, the window over the sink is shattered. Shards of glass are tinkling on the floor and I hear Julie crying behind me. My hand is bleeding.