Part VII: Time Warp 2000’s – Lady Troddenhill #4 (Chapter 123)
Although
if she morphed into an android, she could be all that – I would be drawn to her
fine mechanical lines, her steady rhythm, her endless ability to offer pleasure
without need, without ties that bind, just a little oil to grease her gears.
I
have yet to find such a flesh and blood human, male or female.
She
will arrive in 1997, because Sheldon will need to up his endorphin stakes.
While
avoiding the gym.
No
preening his 53-year-old sagging abs in front of 25-year-old buffo fems, though
I’d never throw that in his face.
By
then, I will have learned important skills, mostly how to play my husband like
a finely tuned guitar – realizing some songs just don’t fit the instrument.
I
will accept Mona, and the other women that flit in and out of his life, a
lesson learned through necessity – as he will tolerate my affairs.
In
the present, lessons not yet learned.
Our
marriage will be sailing along, not perfect, mind you. Shel will still be
self-important in his pronouncements, quick to provide the “right” answers, prone
to wandering off for long periods, but I will have learned not to tango at
every tune.
I’ll
understand the importance of silence – real power achieved through well-placed
restraint, a quiet insouciance, a holding back – that once a bitter utterance
bubbles out, you can’t take it back. The dart may strike its target, but its
sting will poison the system and kill the message – the same old song vanishing
into oblivion.
A
song originating from the gut should be like a fire extinguisher: break open
only in an emergency – that’s power in its purest form.
Still,
when silence is ugly and poisoned, then you must sing, blast your song through
space and time:
Shout!
Make
the world pause.
Sing.
