by Eleanor Tylbor
Looking back, Sheila came to the realization that she had shared fifteen years of her life with a man who was a stranger.
This moment of truth arrived with the delivery of a big screen TV. If she had known then what she eventually discovered the hard way, she would never have bought it for him in the first place. Since installing it in their den along with a satellite dish offering hundreds of programming choices, most of which were sports networks, Hal spent most of his waking time in an old, well-worn leather recliner.
His obsession was all consuming to the point where he now ate and slept in the chair, enabling him to watch televised hockey games in all the time zones. Some people had teddy bears and blankies as comfort items - her husband had his leather chair. Such was Sheila's life.
An intimate birthday party for Hal seemed like an inspired idea at the time but in hindsight she should have waited before acting on it. After ten years of marriage their relationship had become predictable and dull. She hoped that a party for two would rekindle a flame that once burned brightly, but was in peril of flickering out. It was blatantly clear that her husband preferred watching televised hockey games to anything resembling a normal conversation between two people. His usefulness was now relegated to covering household expenses with a part time job, enabling him to stay home and do what he did best, which was nothing.
In a desperate but futile bid for his attention, she had once stood naked in front of the TV, posing provocatively.
"You're blocking my view," he had barked at her, between bites of a sandwich she had brought to him, followed by "you made me miss a goal!"
It came as no surprise when a night out at the movies was rejected within seconds of the words forming on her lips.
"The playoffs started," he told her. "Can't expect me to leave now!"
"And I'm sure the players have come to depend on your valuable support," she snapped back, storming out of the door, slamming it behind her.
It wasn't as if time spent with her best friend Estelle was an unusual occurrence. In fact, their get-togethers at the coffee bar had become part of a regular routine. Sipping lattes they discussed the planned birthday celebration for Hal.
"Since you feel compelled to create a special menu for the insensitive dolt, the only place to shop is at Epicurean Edibles, but he's really not worth the effort you know..."
"Let's not go there again," Sheila jumped in before her friend could finish the sentence, knowing another scathing denouncement of Hal was on the way.
"Why don't you just divorce him and get it over with?" Estelle asked. "He doesn't give a damn about you, anyway. Given the choice you'd place a distant third after hockey, his only real love. He probably saves his romantic moments for a hockey puck!"
They both laughed but Sheila was very much aware of Estelle's feelings about Hal. In fact Estelle had suggested on countless occasions that the best thing that Sheila could do for herself was walk out and even then, he probably wouldn't even realize she was even gone.
"You're so negative! Okay – I admit things aren't the same as they used to be but what marriage is? Hal's got his good points…"
"Like?" Estelle asked, waving her perfectly manicured nails in the air for emphasis. "Name two."
"Well - he's honest and… I can't think when you're pressuring me!"
"See? You can barely come up with one! Be honest with me and yourself, for once. Aren't you just the teensy bit curious what your life would be like without him? More importantly, don't you want to find out?"
Lately, she had found herself thinking about this very subject, especially after encountering someone special from her past.
"Remember Mike Pickering from our senior year? Almost walked right by him yesterday. He's lost most of his hair but it's those piercing blue eyes of his that made me recognize him."
"Didn't you have the hots for him?" Estelle asked, studying the waiter as he bent over while emptying the plates in the trash can. "Hmmm...nice... I mean, Mike was very nice as I recall."
"Me and a hundred other girls had the hots for him," Sheila answered, suddenly feeling nostalgic for her youthful past. "He's a big shot lawyer now with a firm here in town. Even gave me his business card."
"So you talked to him, too. Well that's a good start! Now if you'd only leave that jerk of a husband of yours…"
"Far be it for me to interrupt another of your tirades but I better go check out that gourmet shop you recommended before it closes. Call you later."
It took more than a half-hour to get served at Estelle's favorite upscale delicatessen and the prices they charged would put her budget out of whack for a couple months, but it would be worth it if it would entice her husband away from TV. The clerk suggested escargots and smoked eel but knowing Hal's very basic tastes, she opted to play it safe with a beef consommé and steak tartar for the main course. A decadently rich, chocolate mousse birthday cake for dessert completed the order. The food was expensive but it was a small price to pay if their relationship could be salvaged.
Their dining room table was set with their best dinnerware, along with two new crystal wine glasses she had bought for the occasion. Dimming the lights she lit perfumed votive candles to lend a romantic air to their dining. A few stirs to the bisque and it was time, as they said in hockey talk, to drop the puck.
"Dinner ready yet?" Hal bellowed from another room. "It's between periods so we better eat now."
"Almost," she yelled back. "You can come in now."
"We celebrating a special occasion?" Hal asked, scanning the beautifully set table before settling in his chair"
Your fortieth year on this earth is special, so I went all out and chose a gourmet menu for us."
"Dark in here," he commented, looking around and staring into his soup bowl. "Can't see what I'm eating. Hey – maybe that's a good thing! "
Only Hal laughed.
"What's this stuff?" he asked, sniffing the air like a dog and moving his spoon through the liquid.
"It's…lobster bisque…very light…" she stammered. "Try it!"
He pushed the bowl away spilling some of the liquid out of the bowl, grabbed a slice of French bread from the basket, and tore into the crust.
"Can't eat this soup!" he spluttered between bites. "You know I can't stand fish! What made you think I would eat this junk?"
There was no use trying to reason with him when he made up his mind about something and didn't bother trying. Instead, she removed the bowl and emptied the contents into the sink. If Hal knew how much money she had poured down the drain he would have a stroke, which would suit her just fine at that moment.
Steak tartar followed and she gritted her teeth anticipating his reaction.
"Raw hamburger?" he barked at her, moving the meat around the plate with his fork. 'Ya wanna gimme food poisoning?"
"Not hamburger. It's steak tartar," she answered matter-of-factly, "and one eats it rare."
"Well this guy likes his well done! Take this…tartar crap and fry it up like it was meant to be cooked and add a side dish of fries. Don't forget the ketchup. Bring it in to me when it's ready - and put a rush on it," he told her, walking out of the dining room. "The game is starting again."
Her body shook with frustration and anger and her eyes filled with tears. Why had she bothered trying to please him when she knew in her heart that this would be the end result?
Only dessert remained to be served and in spite of it all, she held on to the ever dimming hope that maybe they could still re-ignite the passion they once had shared. She had nothing to lose at this point. This was her last shot.
Next installment: Hal Gets His Just Dessert
