Read Online World of Glass by Jocelyne Dubois - Free Book Online Page B

turtleneck sweater, khaki green corduroy pants. His shoes are black and unpolished.
    â€œHi,” I say.
    â€œI’m cooking chicken legs and boiling Brussels sprouts. Do you drink red wine?”
    â€œOne glass should be all right.” Mark pours me a glass of Corvo and I sit at the kitchen table while he chops Brussels sprouts in half on the arborite counter.
    â€œI’m not feeling well today,” I say.
    â€œWhy didn’t you take a rain check on my invitation?”
    â€œIt’s good for me to get out.” We eat and Mark does most of the talking. We watch the movie. A brilliant mathematician who develops schizophrenia. He becomes a zombie, a living corpse and finally, in the end, wins the Nobel Prize. I’m inspired. Triumph. He surmounted the insurmountable. A hero. One quote lingers with me long after the movie ends: Perhaps it is good to have a beautiful mind, but an even greater gift is to have a beautiful heart.
    â€œWe’ll swim again next week,” Mark says.
    I stay in bed all day. I hear the neighbour’s footsteps across the floor above my head. My mother is out playing bridge with the ladies. She will be home at six, in time for supper. We are having President’s Choice frozen cannelloni with five cheeses, and a green salad. I take two Ativans to knock me out for the afternoon.
    Mark and I have two glasses of dry red wine. He lets me smoke in his living room, but whispers things like, “You’re choking me.” I feel bad, very bad, and butt out in a clear glass ashtray.
    â€œI do want to quit. In a month. I need to prepare myself psychologically.” I have a third glass of wine. Tipsy. Mark puts his heavy arm over my shoulders.
    â€œIt feels right today,” he says.
    â€œWhat feels right?”
    â€œTo get intimate.” I turn my head toward him and press my lips against his. Our lips part and our tongues touch. He pulls away.
    â€œI feel like I’m kissing an ashtray,” he says. I go into his bathroom and wash my mouth with his mint-flavoured Listerine.
    â€œThat’s better,” he says.
    â€œI’m nervous. Haven’t had sex in over four years. When was the last time for you?” I ask.
    He looks down at his red Persian carpet. Pause.
    â€œOver a year ago. Your skin is so soft.” Mark’s penis is hard. He pulls our pants off gently, runs his hands along my waist, hips and legs. Lifts my top and notices the scar.
    â€œWhat happened?” he says.
    â€œI was making fries – hot oil.” He pauses for a moment and sits back on the sofa. He is no longer aroused. I pull my top down. We look at each other and I cry. Mark puts his arm around me and says, “Don’t worry… we all have scars.” He kisses my forehead. We embrace and he starts to become aroused again. He slides my panties off. Cannot wait any longer. He slides a condom on, and comes inside me. He moans. I am too tense to come. Mark is too anxious to hold back. I hold him gently. I stay overnight and sleep in his bed. As I drift, Mark begins to snore louder and louder. At one point he stops. I count the seconds. He starts again. I pinch his arm. His eyes open.
    â€œYou were snoring.”
    â€œI might be suffering from sleep apnea. I need to get it checked out.”
    â€œOh, that’s terrible. I’ll sleep in the living room.” I take a blue blanket from a chair and stretch out onto the sofa and stay there until morning. We eat fresh toasted bagels from Bagel St. Viateur and drink Colombian coffee for breakfast. I wear Mark’s flannel housecoat.
    â€œI plan to revise some poems today.”
    â€œI’ll do the dishes, then I should go.” He kisses my shoulder as I brush past him to the kitchen sink. I wash white glass plates. Large blue mugs. I put my clothes on. Mark escorts me to the door.
    â€œSwim and dinner on the weekend?” he says.
    â€œYeah. Saturday. Next Saturday at six.