Pillow Talk

- a Short Story -

By the man, whose these are, am I with child. Discern, I pray thee, whose are these, the signet, and bracelets, and staff

“I love you,” whispered Stephen in his sleep as his wife lay awake beside him.

This coalition of syllables, in all cases when constructed in such a sequence, invokes either the idea of limerence, passion, desire, loyalty, integrity, commitment, or banal, meaningless recursions; a copy of a copy; facsimiles of something that either once was, or was otherwise once perceived. Two distinct but almost diametrically opposed possibilities. A curious mathematical equation.

If it is the case that 1 and 1 and 1 is 3, then “I” “love” and “you” can only be one of the two aforementioned possibilities. This is because language is far more complex than mathematics and it should therefore be no surprise that this linguistic construction could be capable of two emotional responses. How then is it possible that these words, which hushed softly from his lips, elicited a third response in his wife? As stated, this should be a mathematical impossibility, but it occurred all the same.

In Stephen’s case, this phrase was usually nothing but a locution meant to elicit taciturn acknowledgment; an unceremonious, rote, reciprocity, if even that. He recited this phrase like a rosary to his wife every morning before driving to work for the first five years of their marriage. The first three years of their marriage, the words were accompanied by a warm embrace and a long, passionate kiss. Years go by and the formalities are expedited, embraces are bypassed, and kisses are ceased. Soon, the only remaining vestige of young love consists of the 8 letters, words repeated ad nauseam. Over the past few months, even the mindless formality, “I,” circumvented.

That night, the response elicited from these words was horror, shock, disgust, and rage. All four of these emotions were indelibly instantiated by signet onto her heart and psyche. What could elicit this third response? It was not so much the 3 words, 3 syllables, 8 letters said, but the remaining 1, 2, and 8.

“I love you, Michelle,” Stephen’s wife’s name was Tamara.

Though Stephen did not utter another word until his alarm clock went off that morning, Tamara could not fall asleep; her mind fixated on this unpleasant inconvenience. These words, while highly damning, were not quite enough to say, petition for divorce or show up at his office the following day to confront this “Michelle.” She needed something more concrete in order to formulate her next action, and so, like a chess player calculating countless permutations of possible futures, some of which are advantageous and others, detrimental, she would take her time before making a decision.

Tamara decided to nap during the day while Stephen was at work so she could stay up late into the night to see, or rather hear, what more information she would be able to extract from her slumbering husband. Even with this preparation, she would usually be out by 3 AM, but this was of little consequence because she began to notice all of his sleep-talking occurred only shortly after falling asleep; it was only in between the liminal state of consciousness and sleep that she could unsheathe the information she wanted.

Tamara perfected her timing, so as to grant her the highest likelihood of success. She would wait exactly 7 minutes after he laid his head on the pillow, (Stephen fell asleep within seconds of closing his eyes), to lightly nudge him and turn the side lamp on with a cloth covering the lampshade. Nudging him 6 or 8 minutes after he fell asleep, or turning the light on without the cover would result in Stephen actually waking up and asking her what was wrong. An annoying and unhelpful inconvenience.

After about a week of honing her trade, she could at will, cause her husband to enter into this liminal state, and start speaking. She had to sift out what was, for the most part, nonsense regarding whatever incomprehensible dream he was having that night, but on the second week, she struck gold.

“Close my office door,” said Stephen. These words grated against Tamara’s ears. It was not the sexual undertones implicit in the phrase, the secrecy that can occur behind closed doors, but rather, the ambiguity of the sentence’s construction and language. Were it in a more sophisticated language, like Spanish, Tamara thought, the subjunctive could have been used, thereby removing all pretense of question or statement; the command would have been obvious. She would also have been able to discern if the person he spoke to were addressed with the formal or informal verbal conjugation. She knew her husband would never address one of his employees with any hint of informality.

Fortunately, or rather unfortunately for Tamara, the next words needed no subjunctive tense to disambiguate the intention of the words or the relationship between speaker and hearer. “Strip,” whispered Stephen. Tamara inhaled sharply from her narrow nostrils. This was undoubtedly a command. One given to a willing participant, and of course, wholly inappropriate for a work setting. All of this she obviously recorded with her smartphone.

The next morning, when Stephen left for work, reciting his vapid locution, Tamara considered all of the relevant information and began thinking about what she would do next. Might she leave her husband? This option was quickly disposed of. Tamara had not worked in 6 years and quite enjoyed all of the amenities that accompanied their lifestyle. Should she confront this “Michelle” woman? Threaten her? Force her to quit. No, this could not work either. If this woman told Stephen about it, he would be forced into choosing between her or the other; this was, of course, the worst possible outcome. Not only could she be left without means to support herself, but she would also not even have the satisfaction of being the one to end the relationship on her own terms. This, more than anything, vexed Tamara. It also removed a third option: confronting Stephen directly, forcing him to abandon his paramour. The idea of slowly revealing her knowledge of the liaisons excited Tamara. She played it through her mind.

“Stephen, who is Michael?”

“Who?”

“Michael, you always talk about him in your sleep. Or is it Michelle?” A sinister grin came to her face at the thought of tormenting him, like when, as a child, she would hold a small spider over a flame. Unfortunately, this could result in Stephen choosing his paramour as well.

Then, the solution hit her. Stephen had, for the first three years of their marriage, pestered her about starting a family; although a few years prior, for reasons that escaped her, he had stopped his incessant demands. This was her chance. She would get pregnant and use that as a pretense to force him to work from home, a perk of his job he rarely used recently. Stephen would now be forced to choose, not between Tamara and this mistress, but between Tamara, his child, and this mistress. Tamara ran the calculations through her mind one last time; the math checked out.