Cameron opened his eyes. He was laying on his back again, his wife draped as usual across his chest, her sleeping weight pressing down upon him, suffocating him. He turned his head to the left and pushed his wife's long black hair out of his face to peer over head. The crimson numbers read four-twelve am. He sighed, exasperated, and uneasily slid his body from beneath hers. She moved and moaned slightly, turning to her side and back into deep sleep. Cameron put his weight to the floor, nearly immediately collapsing.
"Goddamnit," he said quietly to himself, trying to bring his left leg out of sleep. His foot tingled as he mashed it into the soft shag carpet and surveyed his wife. She was smashing, tall and slender yet enough meat on her to give her a figure. Her ass was small and pouting and rose slightly as she breathed. He leaned down beside his bed and felt around for his jeans. After sliding them on, he slipped out the bedroom door and quietly past his daughters' room. Cameron stopped, took three steps back and peered into the bedroom. Grace had climbed out of her bed again and into Anne's. He smiled, wanting to kiss them but knowing that they were too light in sleep. He. Se blew them a kiss and closed the door gently, leaving it slightly cracked.
Several minutes later, after he had the coffee going and had fished his Camel Lights from his shoulder bag, Cameron poured himself a cup of Costa Rican and slipped out the back kitchen door avoiding eye contact with all the bills hanging in the letter holder by the door. He took the folding canvas chair from against the wall of the townhouse. Setting the chair up near the neighbors picnic table, he sat down, placing his coffee on the table and leaned back looking upwards towards the sky. It was mid-spring, slightly chilly air and moist, clinging to his naked chest. He dragged deeply on the cigarettes, exhaling a fine stream of smoke that slithered and twisted slowly upwards in the still air.
This was his time, his only time to himself. In a few hours he would be at the office, in a cheesy carpet lined cubicle, documenting the calls he got from MIS Request Mail queue, typing the solutions into the terminal, taking calls, managing the incident report system, checking on the e-mail servers and putting up with the anal retentive little prick of a manager he had, prissy little mustache, three inches shorter than him and four years younger.
Cameron put the hours in, doing work he'd never imagined or had planned on doing, having brief respites in smoking breaks out by the atrium discussing politics and survivalism with his co-workers. He'd get home, mentally and sometimes physically tired, greeted by his children, which was wonderful, and by his wife, Nora, usually on the phone with her girlfriend and handing him that day's bills. They'd eat dinner, Cameron usually fixing his own food since he didn't eat meat, leave the dishes on the table and bathe the kids. After a bedtime story, much stalling and goodnight kisses, his wife would usually be laying on the couch drifting off to sleep. Cameron would usually, but not always put the dishes in the sink, to be done at some later time, push his wife's feet out of the way and turn on the television. He hated the local newspaper and there was only one to choose from, so he'd lose himself in mindless TV until the eleven o'clock news came on. He'd prefer to finish the Margaret Atwood novel he began two years ago when he was laid up with bronchitis or any of the other ten novels he'd begun over the last several years, but he was too damned tired.
After the talking heads on the news were done, it was Cheers, then NightLine, then waking his wife to go to bed. He'd help her climb the stairs, they'd undress themselves and climb beneath the sheets. Occasionally they'd make love. As always, there would be three minutes of foreplay and then she'd ride him until they both came together. She'd collapse to him, he'd lay there for five minutes or so, floating and then got up to clean himself off. Back to bed. A few hours later, he'd push his wife off of him, check the kids and find himself in this chair.
Cameron loved his children. He loved his wife. He wanted out.
Cameron wasn't quite sure had hit him. At one moment, he was in college, studying Political Science and English Literature, in the center spotlight of the most heated campus politics in the twilight years of the Reagan administration, writing and publishing an underground politico magazine that was beginning to gain national interest, doing what he had always wanted and dreamed of doing. The end of Spring quarter hit. He was informed that due to new Reagan administration policy, that he made too little money to be eligible for financial aid. Go figure. Nora and he were on the skids and he was working on a 20 page term paper that caused him a nervous breakdown. He was to defend John Stuart Mills "On Liberty," yet had a problem defining free speech. His Professor, whom he greatly respected had just told him "Cameron, sounds like you'll have to do old JSM one better then if you're going to finish this paper." Cameron broke. Mentally, spiritually and physically. He drank heavily, often not remembering weeks at a time. He blew off all his classes. He was lost. At then end of the quarter, he got scared at what he had done to himself, decided to clean up his act and go work for a year to be able to go back to school. He and Nora got back together, despite the problems they had.
They moved to Chicago, found jobs and things were streaming along happily. Until, one day after work, Cameron found an empty pregnancy test package in the garbage. Seven months later, he was married and had a baby girl. Chicago became too expensive, they moved back to Ohio, not far from where they went to school. Cameron found a job in sales that same week, moved up through the ranks to an internal salaried position. During this two years, their second daughter was born, Grace. Nora become increasingly unhappy, having to stay home and raise the kids. And she spent their money until it was gone, buying nice things for the house and kids, and then ran up the credit cards doing the same.
Every two years, Cameron moved the family to a nicer rental home than the one before, worried about the kids future and schooling. The bills got higher, the fighting between the two got worse and the inter-office politics and bullshit grew exponentially. Cameron hated his life; his work, his wife, his entire future, save his girls.
As he did every night, Cameron re-played this scene through his head. Looking at every angle and possibility, trying to determine what he could glean from what happened and apply it to a future for himself. Every night he came to the same conclusion, he was fucked. Even if he could afford to go back to school, which was a joke, there wasn't the time. To even finish his English degree to meet his dream of teaching college English, it would require a good seven years of part-time night school. Impossible.
The pricks he worked with and for, had their own agendas, and no matter how well Cameron did his job, it wasn't seen as enough. And every time he recommended changes or requested purchasing software or hardware to make the system work smoother, he was denied. He was charged with the task of making everything work and offered no help to do so. He knew he was being set-up. He could keep managing all his responsibilities with both feet and hands tied, forever. Going no where.
There was no use in trying to work things out with his wife. They've been to marriage counseling. She's passive-aggressive and he's manic-aggressive. No medium. The only thing they had going for them was the sex, and since Nora refused to use birth control, he either had to wear a condom or pull-out at the last second. Year after year. And there was no playing like there was with other women he dated in college. No role-playing, not tying up, no candles or foodstuffs. He was bored and unsatiated. The was the young married woman, Julie, in the purchasing department whom exchanged dirty e-mail with and whom he had lunch with once or twice a week. They'd talk about their marriages, fantasies and having an affair; but no, Cameron would always back out. As much as he desired and lusted after this tiny blonde, it was wrong on all sides, and if anyone ever found out, he'd lose everything, including his girls. It wasn't worth it.
Cameron sat back in his chair, lighting another Camel, and thought about Julie. The last time they had lunch, Julie wore her tiny black mini, silk stockings and garters and no panties. She sat across from him in his car, facing him, legs spread wide, while he read parts of Nin's "Delta of Venus" as she masturbated. This was kinky and safe, he rationalized, "All I'm doing is reading," he thought. He watched her bring herself to bliss, her tiny hands moving quickly in and out over her clit and deep inside herself, breathing and moaning heavily. He liked watching her get off. It made his day, when they met. Cameron thought more and more about it, and himself began to grow. It was almost light, just a few more minutes until the sky would grow to a dim dark blue. He slipped his jeans off, closed his eyes, dragging on the cigarette deeply with his left hand and he took himself with his right. he allowed himself to come on his stomach, enjoying the feel of the hot seed cooling on his skin in the crisp wet morning air.
Cameron, waited a moment or two, took his last drink of his coffee and last drag of his cigarette and bent forward with the last ember of his camel. He reached down to his inner left calf, and as he had done the previous twenty-three mornings in a row, he pressed the burning tobacco to his skin, listening to the searing flesh and smelling the acrid smoke of his leg hairs burning. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, tears streaming, and swallowed his desire to scream. He twisted the cigarette once, to make sure it had been put out opened his eyes and tossed the dead butt into the garbage can beside the door to the house. He wiped the tears from his eyes, and inspected the new wound. Bright pink and slightly yellow, the puss already beginning to form, and he looked at the ones from the mornings before. A miasmic group of yellow scabbed to small pock-marked healed circles. Cameron smiled deeply, slipped his jeans back on and grabbed his coffee cup, going back inside the house, to begin a fresh new day.
As he showered, the sun began to rise, the birds began their morning songs and the world around began to come to life again.
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