Standing at The Cliff

"I heard something about you making Christina Huntsmith cry the other day. Wanna tell me what that was about?"

I was relieved that I wasn't in real trouble, so I casually said, "Oh yeah, that's nothing. We were dating for a while, but I broke it off with her. She started crying. That's all."

"Why did you break it off with her?" she asked.

I racked my brain for a legitimate answer. Somehow, I figured that saying, "Christina doesn't put out, but Becky promised me a blowjob" wouldn't have gone over too well.

"I just don't like her like that anymore, mom. It's time to move on. I tried to be nice about it, but she got all emotional and started crying."

"Is there another girl?"

Talking about this with my mother seemed weird. All I could do was look at her sheepishly as I said, "Yeah. I kinda like Becky now."

She looked at me like I said, I kinda like Hitler. "Wait a minute! You don't mean 'short skirt, tube top' Becky, do you?"

"Yeah..."

"Andre, why would you break up with a nice girl like Christina for that...girl?"

Because she promised me a blowjob! "Because we have more in common." I said aloud.

She gave me a knowing look before she sat on my bed. "Andre..." she paused, as if she were trying to come up with the right way to say what she wanted. "You can't just treat girls like disposable toys. We aren't here for you to play with when it suits you, and then toss in the trash when a newer, shinier one comes along. We're people with feelings."

"Yeah ma, but..."

"What if your dad did that to me?" she interrupted. "What if he threw me away because some other woman with a short skirt and a halter top batted her eyes at him? What if he made me cry like you did to Christina, and then shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing? How would you feel about that?"

That shut me up. The image of my mom running away crying sent a sick feeling to my stomach. "I wouldn't like it." I mumbled.

"Exactly. Aren't you glad that he is a man who doesn't treat women that way?"

"Yeah." I agreed contritely.

She smiled at me and lovingly rubbed my head. "Good. If you want an example of how to treat women, look to Henry. Ask him questions. He is what a real man is supposed to be. When you treat a woman like a queen, she will always treat you like a king."

+++

I snapped awake with a start. The dream, which was really just a memory from high school, was at the front of my mind. Why did I dream of my mom?

My foggy brain was a bit confused as I looked around the unfamiliar room that I was laying in. As my head cleared, my memory came flooding back to me.

After I left my house last night, I got a motel room. I couldn't go back home to Tabby. Her many attempts to call me just resulted in me turning off my phone.

Instead of dealing with her, I got a 12 pack from the nearest gas station, as well as some questionable hotdogs. Then I proceeded to eat my gourmet meal, while responsibly drinking my beverage of choice. Somehow, I woke up with 10 empty beer cans laying around.

On top of that, it appears that I somehow ordered porn, which was paused on the TV. Some young teenager looking girl in a schoolgirl outfit was taking multiple dicks. At the bottom of the screen it had the title of the movie, which was "Sasha Gets Schooled 3."

God. They made a 1 and 2?

I groaned as I groggily got out of bed and trudged to the bathroom to pee. When I returned, I turned my phone on to see what time it was. Surprisingly, it was only a little after nine. Not surprisingly, there were close to twenty missed calls, as well as twelve text messages.

There were a couple from my mother, which let me know that Tabby had talked to her. No doubt Tabby let her know that I was privy to the knowledge that she was a round heeled slut. She was probably freaking out, hoping that I don't tell my dad.

Good.

I found one missed call from my dad. I didn't know what to make of that. Did he talk to mom, or was he just calling to let me know that he made it in okay?

I wanted to call him back, but I couldn't. I didn't know what to say to him. I wanted to tell him everything. He deserved to know. I was certain that mom hadn't told him, even if he did talk to her. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It's like a mercy killing on a wounded animal. You know it's the right thing to do, but it's hard to actually follow through on the killing.

Point blank, I wasn't looking forward to shattering his world. I mean, it brought me to the brink of insanity, and she's my mother. How would I feel if she were my wife?

I decided to cop out. I didn't call him, but I did the next best thing. I sent him a quick text to gauge where his head was. It said: make it home ok?

I figured he wouldn't answer right away, so I hopped in the shower to clean the smell of homeless wino off me. I felt refreshed until I realized that I didn't have a change of clothes. That meant that I had to put on the same stinking attire that I had on all day yesterday through a 3-hour flight, a 4-hour drive, and a pity party involving 120 ounces of beer.

After that, I checked my message to see if he texted back, and found that he did. It said: where r u? Tabby is a wreck. Says u 2 had a fight and u left.

So, he did talk to them. No doubt those lying women left out the reason why we fought. Now he thinks I'm the bad guy. Great. Typical.

Did I know them at all? Was every woman a lying bitch?

It was time to take the bull by the horns. I was done shying away from what I had to do. Like I said before, he had a right to know.

I shot off a final text before I gathered up my things and left the room. It said: meet me at Tony's. just u. don't tell mom or tabby. Plz. Its important.

I didn't wait for his response. I knew he would do it. I just went down to the desk to pay my bill (got a raised eyebrow for the porn), got in my truck, and drove to meet him.

He arrived 20 minutes after I did. I'd already ordered his favorite pizza and drink, and it only arrived at the table a few minutes before he walked in.

"Hey son. Wow. Pizza for breakfast? What are you, on a diet?" he quipped as he sat down in the booth.

I wanted to offer a jovial response, but all I could do was look solemn. He felt the mood and his smile was replaced with a look of concern. "C'mon Dre. Talk to me. What's going on?"

I tried to say the words, but they caught in my throat. They didn't want to come out. They wanted to stay a dark secret. But I refused to let them.

"Mom's cheating on you." I finally spit out. The words hung in the air, filling it with heaviness.

It took a moment for them to sink in. I saw a confused expression turn into one of recognition.

"What?" he asked with disbelief in his voice. I didn't repeat it again. I knew that I didn't have to. He heard me. More than that, he believed me. His rhetorical question was just a reflex of my message sinking in.

I felt awful. The pain that showed on his face was one of complete agony. I wished that I could un-say what I just said. I wished I could jump up and yell "gotcha".

I'd jumped off the cliff, and there was no going back now. I wished that I didn't have to drag him with me.

"When did you find this out?" he asked. His words seemed broken up as his voice cracked.

"Yesterday."

He shook his head sadly. "Do you know who he is?" All I could do was nod. I was getting ready to tell him, but he beat me to it by asking the follow-up question, "Was it Charles?"

I gasped. "How did you know?" I asked, completely stunned.

My dad became lost in his own world. He sat there, violently shaking his head. "I thought that was over. I thought that she would eventually get him out of her system. I waited. I was patient. I tried to be a good husband. I gave her space." Then he slammed his fist on the table and yelled, "That...BITCH!"

"Dad!" I said, taken aback by his vehement response. He looked up at me. His expression was strange. It was like he was absent. He seemed surprised that I was still here.

"Why am I still paying for my mistakes? Why? I did everything right! Why is this still happening to me?" he cried as his body trembled. Even though he was looking at me, I don't think he was talking to me. His eyes looked glazed over, and he seemed far away.

I became instantly angry. Not at him, but at the situation. I was pissed that he felt like this was his fault. I was pissed at my mother for doing this to him. I was pissed that I had to be the one to tell him. I was just pissed!

"Dad, this is NOT your fault!" I said, trying to get through to him. He just shook his head.

"Yes, it is son. It's all my fault. This is Karma. I tried to make things right. I tried. But it always comes back around."

"What are you talking about? You're not making any sense, dad. What did you do?"

*********************************************

HENRY -- 23 YEARS AGO

The heart monitor beeped repeatedly. It should have been a blessing to hear. Each beep was a sign that my daughter was still alive. No matter how things looked, she was in there. Somewhere, in there.

But she really wasn't in there. Her body was physically here, carrying on its daily functions as if everything were normal. But nothing was normal. Everything that Cassie was, her very essence, was gone. Her body was just an empty shell full of moving parts.

Please, come back to me! Please! I've already lost your mom! I can't lose you too. I thought for the billionth time as I squeezed her hand. What I would have given to feel movement in the dead hand that I held. I honestly would have given everything I owned to the poor for just 5 minutes of having my baby girl open her eyes and look at me one more time.

It was all a moot point by now. The long, hard decision had been made. Today was the day that I had to...

Fuck. I couldn't even bring myself to say it. Listening to the dispassionate doctors summarizing and hypothesizing about the state of my daughter - and the likelihood that she would ever wake up - made everything sound so cut and dry. So cold. It was like they were mechanics trying to convince me that the repairs on my worthless car would cost more than the car is worth.

This is my daughter, goddamit! My little girl! She's a human being! Not some warm vestibule to keep donor organs intact!

I wanted to be angry at the doctors. I wanted to be angry at the nurses. I even wanted to be angry at God. After all, he was the one who made it rain that night. It was his fault that the drunk driver just happened to be on that road at that exact time. He allowed that asshole to run a red light and plow into my wife and child.

He took them away from me!

But why was she even driving that night? What was the reason that she was on that road? Where was she going?

Shut up.

She was going to her mother's house. She should have been at home - with you - but she wasn't. She was leaving you.

Shut up!

She was leaving you because she caught you. She found the credit card statement that you forgot to shred. She saw the payments for the motel. You remember the motel, don't you? It was the one where you met that - woman - every Wednesday. You practically paid her rent with all the money that she charged you. Your wife knew you would be there, paid the clerk for a spare key, and burst into the room. What did she see when she came in? What did she see?

SHUT THE FUCK UP!

It was all my fault. All of it. I thought I was entitled to a little fun. After all, I brought in the big bucks. I was the man of the house. My business had started taking off. Everything was falling into place. Everything was as it should be.

The only glitch was my frigid wife. She just didn't enjoy sex as much as I did. She was an excellent wife and a wonderful mother. She believed in me when everyone else said I was crazy for starting this business. It was the 90's. Real estate was the "place to be". Why not go where the money is?

But she knew I would make it. Even when we lived in that shabby apartment, she had faith in me. I loved her with all my heart. Unfortunately, I didn't lust after her any more.

To her, sex was a chore that she did for her husband. It was 10 -15 minutes of her day doing another wifely duty. It was on the same list as the laundry, cooking, and taking Cassie to school. It wasn't even at the top of the list, either.

I wanted a sex queen. I wanted someone that would moan and grind under me, and tell me to fuck her harder. I wanted a woman who would suck my dick like it was the first meal she'd eaten in weeks. I wanted her to tell me to stick my cock in her ass.

I found such a woman. She was an escort. I found her in an ad in a local paper (this was before the internet made such things far easier). Of course, she didn't advertise herself as a prostitute. You had to know the language to decipher the code. "Woman seeks man to share a mutually beneficial relationship" was the phrase that Amber's ad used.

The first time I called her, I was so nervous. I didn't know what to expect. What I got was the best sex of my life. She was exactly what I wanted in a sex goddess. Nothing was taboo to her. She loved sex, and she wasn't afraid to show it.

Sex with Amber played on my conscience at first, but it became easier over time. I thought about the morality less and less, and it became a weekly appointment that I craved. If I skipped a week, I felt the effects. My mood darkened, and I became short tempered.

I even justified it in my head. It helped with the guilt. My wife didn't really enjoy having sex with me. With Amber taking the edge off, I wasn't hassling her. I was getting my needs met, and she got take a break. It should have been a win-win for everybody.

I still considered myself a good husband. I didn't beat my wife. Didn't even raise my voice at her. I loved her and my daughter with everything that I had. I spoiled both of them. Whatever they wanted, they got. I just had this one...thing...that I did. No big deal. After all the good that I did for my family, it shouldn't have mattered much.

But it did matter. She didn't see it as a win-win. All she saw was the betrayal. The pain. That's why she was on that road. That's why she died on the operating table. And that's why I was saying my final goodbyes to my daughter before they pulled the plug.

****************

ANDRE -- THE PRESENT

Dad's entire body was shaking as he was racked with tears. The only thing I could do was sit back in disbelief. This man - the one who raised me - was not the man in that story.

They say that it's a sad day in any kid's life when he finds out that his parents aren't perfect. It was very...I think sobering is an applicable word. It had been a very sobering 24 hours.

I wanted to sympathize with my dad, but I could only selfishly think about how everyone that I loved and cherished had let me down this weekend. One after another, they failed me. Piece by piece, they tore away at my foundation of what marriage was supposed to be until there was nothing left. I had no truth to hold on to.

"Dad...uhh...I don't know what to say."

That seemed to upset him even more. The crying got another jumpstart, and he sobbed into his hands. I had never seen my dad cry before. Never. It was something that I hadn't ever realized until this moment.

"Is that why you put up with mom cheating on you? Because you felt that you deserved it?" I asked.

"It's Karma, son. You and your mother are my second chance. I owe it to my daughter to be the best dad to you that I could be, and I owe it to Cynthia (first wife) to be a great husband to your mom."

"Dad, that's..." I stopped mid-sentence to gather my thoughts. I wanted to find a PC way to say what I wanted, but I realized that I no longer cared about being politically correct. "That's bullshit." I finally spit out.

He looked up at me with surprise on his face (I never cussed at my parents), but I didn't let that stop me. "You think you deserve to be cheated on because you were a shitty husband to another woman over 20 years ago? That's bullshit. Plain and simple."

"Andre, I'm still your father..."

"No dad. It's your turn to listen to me." I said vehemently. His mouth snapped shut. "All my life you and mom fed me bullshit about treating women right. Well, you treated mom right. No matter how you treated your first wife, you did right by mom. She had no right to cheat on you. NO FUCKING RIGHT! You sitting there allowing it because of some fucked up Karmic justice is a slap in the face to EVERYTHING you taught me about being a man!"

That made him think. Things fell quiet between us, but then I noticed that he looked at me with something in his eyes. It was respect. Not general respect that he gave to me because he loved me, but the respect that a man has for another man. He nodded with a slight smile on face.

He even huffed out a little laugh. It was laced with sadness, but it was still a laugh. "It's not every day that a son schools his father."

"You mean, besides on the basketball court, right? I've taken you to school plenty of times, old man." I joked with a smirk to lighten the mood.

It took him a few seconds, but eventually he gave a genuine laugh. "Old man? You call me old man, yet you're the one with Alzheimer's. There is no other explanation for your memory being that bad." he responded with a pat on my shoulder.

The conversation changed into a playful one, where we each tried to prove our point of who owned who on the court. We sat there for another 30 minutes or so, eating our food and having a good time with each other, despite the somber elephant in the room.

I knew my dad was putting on a brave face for me. I also knew that he was dying inside. So was I. But the we laughed the pain away, even if it was only for a moment.

As we walked out to our cars, my dad stopped me.

"Hey, Andre. I just wanted to thank you. You are a man that I am proud to call son."

I nodded humbly at his praise. "Thanks dad. That means a lot." We stood there for an awkward minute before I asked, "So, what are you gonna do about mom?"

He just shook his head and exhaled loudly. "I don't know. I really don't. As long as I don't lose you though, I'm good with whatever happens."

"You'll never lose me, dad. Don't worry about that. You have to do what's good for you."

He extended his hand, and I grabbed it into a firm handshake. Then, he pulled me in for a final hug.

"I love you, son. No matter what happens, never forget that."

"Ditto, dad. Ditto."

********************************************

SIX MONTHS LATER:

I knocked on the door to my parents' - I mean my mom's - house. There was a time when I would have just used my key and walked in, but that time was gone. My mom and I hadn't really been getting along since I told my dad about her and Charles. She felt betrayed that I didn't come to her and at least try to talk to her before I "flew off the handle".

The rift grew even larger when dad filed for divorce. She stopped speaking to me altogether after that. She just fell into a depression, and she blamed me for her circumstances. I tried to get her to talk to me. I tried to build the bridge between us. She rejected all my attempts. I think the only thing she wanted was an apology from me.

She wanted an apology from me. How backwards is that? She cheated and ripped the family apart, yet she was the one waiting for an apology.

Da fuck?

No matter how much I valued a relationship with her, there was no way I was apologizing. If anything, she was the one who owed EVERYONE an apology.

So, we existed in that stalemate. After a month of being outright rejected, I stopped trying at all.