Paper Roses
- Jan 15, 2020
- 6 min read
by Megan Colgan
I was only able to have one child. At least that is what the doctor told me. I have a son named Owen. I love him but he can’t fill the void. It’s not his fault. I have a husband named William. He is never home. He accepted the fact that we can’t have more children with clinical ease. I married him quickly because he said he loved me and he had met no one else like me. We moved to this small town and into our trailer right after the wedding. It’s a nice trailer. It has three bedrooms giving us an extra bedroom for guests. We never have any guests so it is also a craft room. William likes it when I make his favorite meals but he has never cared for it when I give him one of my paper flowers. I would spend hours carefully separating the petals made from newspaper and attaching them to thin green wires. Then I would color the petals with watercolors. I enjoyed the control it took to get the saturation just right. If I used too much water, the flower would become a pulpy mess. William didn’t know what to do with the flowers so he would mumble thanks and leave them on the counter. I would keep each flower there for at least a week so he could see his carelessness. Now, all his flowers are in a drawer in the craft room. I have stopped making them altogether, but I still make his favorite meals.
I’m certain William is having an affair. I don’t know if it has been the same woman over the course of many years, or if he has been seeing different women. I can’t bring myself to ask. I decided to start seeing other men about two years ago. Five men. None of them have loved me.
The first man was named David, and he liked country music. I met him at the only bar in my town. He liked to talk during sex. I could never think of things to say back to him.
“Your pussy is nice and tight. I like that so much.”
“Yes. It is.”
He told me he had to stop seeing me because he loved his wife and didn’t want to risk it. Who knows if that was true. I tried to like country music for him. I made a playlist of country songs from the nineties. Garth Brooks, Randy Travis, and others. These were his favorite artists he told me. I tried to like them but I didn’t care about the things they sang about. Once David was gone I deleted the playlist. On the days we got together he would put on Alan Jackson’s Greatest Hits and spend a considerable amount of time pleasing me. I thought it was love the first time he told me he wanted me to feel good. But after we were done, he fell asleep with his back turned to me and expected me to see myself out. I saw him for five months.
After David I immediately found another man named Adam on a website for married people who want to have an affair. Adam liked 80s music and also receiving blow jobs. I liked 80s music okay and decided to be the kind of girl who really loves giving blow jobs. While Owen was in school I would drive three towns over to Adam’s house. He was single and worked from home. I would spend the majority of the drive listening to Crowded House or Journey or Def Leppard and willing myself not to have a gag reflex. I didn’t see Adam enough to make a formal 80s music playlist. I didn’t feel our encounters were worth the drive and inevitable aching jaw.
Next came Caleb and Rob, during the same time. Neither knew about the other and I did not enjoy juggling them. I met Caleb on a dating app ostensibly for single people but married people would sneak in there also. He was married but his wife withheld affection from him. He liked folk music and cuddling. I made a very special Caleb playlist. It has Bob Dylan, The Avett Brothers, Nick Drake, and other artists like that on it. I still listen to it and think of him. I almost fell in love with him but I stopped myself before it was too late. What would I do with love? I was only able to see Caleb every other week. I realized I needed to find someone else to distract me. That’s when Rob came into the picture. Rob was big and burly and wore steel-toed boots even when he wasn’t working construction. He liked hunting and chewing tobacco. I felt small in his large hands. He wasn’t very kind to me. He would say things like, “you have amazing tits but your belly is too soft.” Whereas, Caleb would say things like, “you are so sexy. You turn me on so much.”
Rob was my age and divorced. He lived in an A-frame house deep in the woods with his dog. He liked classic rock. His favorite band was Lynyrd Skynyrd. Once, after sex, he told me that “Free Bird” is the best song that has ever been written. I asked him, while lying on my stomach trying to hide it from him, if he included classical compositions by Mozart and Brahms in his assessment. He grunted at me and told me to stop being a smart ass. “I’m going to teach you how to respect me, little girl.” He then pinned me down with his hand on my throat and did what he wanted to me. I stopped seeing him after that.
I still continued to see Caleb. There was nothing about Caleb I didn’t like. Except he was still in love with his wife. I would curl up in his arms sweaty and satisfied and he would talk in perplexing tones about why his wife wouldn’t touch him anymore. He said she was beautiful. I couldn’t compete with her.
The next guy, the last guy, was named August. I have known August for many years. He is my husband’s best friend. I didn’t want to turn into the kind of woman who sleeps with her husband’s best friend. He works with William at the hardware store owned by August’s father. I would stop by the store when my husband was out making a delivery or a repair, and August and I would have quick and intense sex in the back office. Like my husband, August’s favorite music was 90s alternative. Pearl Jam, Smashing Pumpkins, REM, music like that. I already had a 90s playlist so I didn’t need to change anything. Today we had Nine Inch Nails playing much too loud while I straddled August in his office chair. We didn’t hear William walk in. During a lull in the music I heard, “This is what makes you happy?” And then the sound of his boots walking out of the store.
When I got home I found him sitting in silence in the living room.
“I don’t think it makes me happy,” I said to him.
“I’ve never even cheated on you. Not once. But my best friend?”
“You’re never home and the store closes at 8 o’clock the latest. I know you’re not anywhere in town. I’ve looked for you. Where are you?”
“I drive. I drink. I park at the airport and watch planes take off, while drinking. Anything to stay away from this misery. You never talk about Rose. Why don’t you ever bring her up? She was our baby.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She’s been gone for five fucking years now, Lane. I’ve tried talking to you about her whenever you give me one of those sad obituary roses you make but you never answer back. You never say anything. What was I supposed to do with those roses, Lane? What do you want me to do?”
“You have no right to say any of this. No right. I’m leaving. Don’t try to find me.” I ran to our bedroom, grabbed a suitcase, and filled it with my clothes. William stayed in the living room. He did not stop me.
I didn’t really have anywhere to go. I didn’t want to leave my son, but I didn’t want to go back to that house. Back to those memories. I knew Rob would take me in for a little while at least, if I promised to be a good girl and allow him to do whatever he wanted to me. I pulled up to his house and saw that his truck was in the driveway. I sat in my car and listened to “Free Bird” in its entirety before knocking on his door.
Megan Colgan is a stay-at-home mother who lives in New Hampshire.
