“Tiny Spaces”

They say, or at least John had read, that a marriage works best when each spouse has their own “space”. But as the inspiration behind his own nuptials was a pregnancy, one which–at the time–the two high school graduates were unprepared for and, also, having spent the first tens years of married life in living spaces whose size was comparable to their current bathroom, he’d never really had the time or resources to attain such a space.

He waited for the kids to leave for school. There were two of them, the oldest was now in his last year of high school which, as previously mentioned, was the same year in which his parents conceived him; the second and last child had just begun middle school. Also, John’s morning mission wouldn’t have been possible without the fact that his wife of eighteen years had recently done what they both said they’d do since day one: Gone back to school. So, it was a number of factors in John’s life that finally came together properly for him to attain his space. And so, deciding to, for once, do something for himself, he had lately begun taking his first days off from the job he had held for eighteen years in order to support his unplanned family.

The space was rather large actually, though it was unofficial and heavily hidden. Under the panels of their basement’s drop-ceiling was where he kept the magazines. He had brought an old step ladder down this morning in order to reach the high beams where he had stored them, a much noisier solution than the chair he usually tiptoed on, but as the house was empty, who cares?

It’s really time to get some new ones, he thought, as he took down the bright, shiny, but over-read, pages of Leather Boots Magazine. The
title,
not some
abstract concept, comes
from the
particular fetish that
the magazine caters to
and, not surprisingly, that was John’s own. The title, not some abstract concept, comes from the particular fetish that the magazine caters to and, not surprisingly, that was John’s own. Though–I can’t stress this enough–the house was empty, he still hadn’t worked up the nerve to read them in his own, sorry, in their own bedroom. So, he began, as usual, to read them on the cold floor of the basement.

The problem, of course, with a fetish or with any obsession is that we tend to shut ourselves off from the rest of the world while engaging in it. That’s most certainly why John didn’t hear the door open upstairs, nor hear his wife caustically call out his name several times, not because she wanted to speak with him, but was making sure he wasn’t home.

When he finally heard her footsteps coming down to the basement, it was almost too late. Quickly gathering everything and darting off, with his pants still down, he found himself a hiding spot in the nearest closet–we make such terrible decisions when we’re scared. He was nearly dying of shock, or hyperventilation, when his wife came in to the room. She was dressed for school, with her bag in one hand, though she quickly discarded her high-heels upon entering. He tensed up as she looked over the stepladder, his fear made greater because he couldn’t make out the expression on her face through the narrow slits of the closet door where he hid. What is she doing home, he thought, while subsequently thinking of how to noiselessly put his pants back on.

But rather than be bothered or confused by the stepladder, she seemed to find it quite useful and took a seat on it. She removed a cell-phone from her bag and stared at it hesitantly for a moment, then nervously dialed a number. John was terribly confused and her next words only increased this confusion.

“Hello, sir” she said into the phone, while looking around the basement vigilantly. John lowered his breathing and stopped all movement from within the closet. She seemed to believe she was finally alone and smiled.

“Yes.” she added to the conversation with whomever she was speaking. Her eyes lit up.

What followed over the next hour was the most shocking thing John had ever seen. It wasn’t just the shouted obscenities or the almost convulsive movements of his wife’s body or they way she seemed to occasionally rip out her own hair, but that he was watching all of this from inside a closet with his pants down. Too scared to lift them up, even as she screamed.