Suburbatory

In the middle of the country, neither north nor south nor east nor west, where the land is utterly featureless, exists a little town stuck between the vast plains and a sprawling metropolis. Now in that little town are restaurants with a wait, grocery stores with a deal, and subdivisions with charming little houses, each more identical than the last. In one of those identical houses, pick one, lives a man, a woman, and their child. They seem just like everyone else because they are; stuck in the middle. 

The father is a decent, capable man, just like every other on the street. He lives his life in a customary and reasonable fashion. He follows the guidelines of the homeowners' association to the letter because that’s what a good neighbor does. He fulfills his honey-dos with diligence because that’s what a good husband does. He goes to work day in and day out because that’s what a good provider does. Playing catch with his son, forcing chuckles at the boring jokes told at barbeques, cutting the grass every Sunday, all of it he endures because that’s what good men do. However, the one thing he does that good men never do is lie. 

His wife thought he got off work at 6:00 every day, but really, he punched his card at 5:00. He would take this hour and drive down familiar roads to a spot that he’d used to take whatever girl he’d been with at the time when he was young and wild. He would sit there with his car off, windows down, staring out into the sunset. The wind would blow in and remind him that the season would change soon, and this caused his heart to ache. He didn’t come here to remember conquests past or to think about love lost. He came here to remember the days when he had no obligations. He came here to remember what it was like to only worry about short skirts and gas money. In truth, he came here to mourn. 

The sun dies slowly beyond the horizon as he thinks about a place where there is no boss’s ass to kiss, no reputation to maintain, no wife to wife, nothing but peace. He thinks about that place where everything was different and wanted so badly to go there, to run away from it all and breathe once again. 

The wife and mother of the household is dreadfully busy. She picks up the toys left out. She tidies the bed that has been left disheveled. She packs lunches and does laundry, and mops, and sweeps. She has to keep busy to distract herself from the terrible feeling that always looms over her shoulder. 

Like a hammer’s thud against concrete, she is jolted by the impact of her gaze against her reflection. It stops her, paralyzes her, as she studies the stranger’s visage before her. She sees crow’s feet. She sees wrinkles. She sees and feels old. That’s why she’ll fuck the neighbor kid again before he goes back to college next month. His hands will tremble as they trace over her body, following the curves, eagerly discovering all the soft things about a woman. His strong arms will coil around her. His shaking breath will tangle with hers while his wide eyes adore her, making her young and beautiful and alive once again. He would tell everyone on campus that he fucked his hot married neighbor all summer. No one would believe him, and those who did would be jealous. That was the thought she liked the most, being coveted. 

She didn’t love the boy, and he was hardly the best partner she’d ever had, but to shake that terrible feeling of time's relentless march against her she would make his day time and time again. After worship had concluded, she would pull his head into her chest, feeling wanted and beautiful as he kissed her breasts. He would heave for breath, saying beautiful things to her, while sweat glistened off their flesh in the golden light of the afternoon sun. Shame would follow later, but for now, in this young man’s strong and eager arms, she was safe, alive, and wanted.

The son was typical. He wasn’t the smartest kid in class, or the fastest, or the shortest. He had a bully tease him every now and again, but who didn’t? He was somewhere in the middle of everyone else in every regard except for happiness. His house was always clean. His dinner was always good. His dad always had time to play catch. His mom always took care of him. That’s a lot more than most kids got, and he knew it, but what made him the happiest were those perfect moments when mom and dad smiled at each other and all was well. He thought about those warm nights in summer where they sat in the backyard underneath a star-spangled canopy of wonder and watched the sky erupt and blush with glittering fireworks. He thought about the smell of charcoal and dad’s aftershave against the sulfur and magic in the air. He thought about his head against his mother’s chest as the three of them sat there in that moment, completely and totally in love, and wanted to live like that forever. He would get a job just like dad, marry a woman just like mom, and have a kid just like him. He couldn’t wait to grow up and live just like them: happily, ever after.