The Accident

I don't remember how long I've been married to him.

I don't remember marrying him at all.

But he seems nice enough. Lets me be. Gives me a shitload of money. Sometimes, at night, when we're sitting on our posh couch in our posh apartment watching TV and I happen to stare at him without him knowing it, I decide that he's cute.

We have his and hers bedrooms. Two master bedrooms which I wonder about. He asks me, "Don't you remember? You insisted on two master bedrooms." His and hers bathrooms. His and hers everything. His and hers lives.

After dinner he tells me about the accident I have forgotten. The accident that made me forget everything including who I was.

"Your friend Moe was driving." He pauses. "Do you remember Moe?" he asks.

"I don't."

He continues, "You were officemates and you were bound for work that night and Moe was driving very, very fast in spite of the rain. The car's wiper broke but he drove on because you said you didn't want to be late. Do you remember?"

"I don't."

"You hated being late..." and I see him try not to go into too many details.

"And then?"

"Um. That's it. You crashed into a truck and you were dead when you got to the hospital but then they brought you back to life."

"And my friend? Moe?"

"He didn't make it."

He senses my sadness and walks to his room to leave me alone.

I sit by myself for a long time and make up my mind about something.

When I am ready, I enter his room. I don't bother to knock. He's lying on the bed and sits up in surprise when I come in.

I look at him squarely as I disrobe.