John was spending the night at the office doing whatever it is mailmen need to be doing after eight PM. I was alone on the couch flipping through television channels, but none of them seemed to catch my eye. Finally, I settled on I Love Lucy reruns and snuggled into the couch.
One thirty minute episode faded into three hours. I didn’t have the strength to move, so I let my eyes flutter shut right there. Just as my eyes closed, they were jolted awake by the sound of rocks pitter-pattering at my back door. I tightened my robe around my waist and walked towards it. A tall frame that was certainly not my husband stood waiting for me to open it.
I slid the door open. “Johnny, what the hell?” I whispered, clutching my robe impossibly tighter.
“Hey, Mrs. Calloway.” Johnny leaned against the door frame, his too long hair flowing in the wind. “What’re you doing?”
“Going to sleep. You need to be doing the same.” I went to close my door again, but Johnny stopped me before I could. “Johnny.” My eyes widened.
“Mrs. Calloway.” Johnny pushed himself through the doorway. He stood in front of me. His eyes glowed in the dim light of my living room. “I wanted to see you again.”
“You saw me this morning.” I attempted to push him out of the house, but he grabbed my hands and ran his thumbs across my palms.
“Not like that.” My heart lurched to my throat. His hand caressed my cheek before pressing his lips against mine. Between the TV noises and the knowledge that John would be home soon, I couldn’t move. Johnny cocked his head to the side. “Mrs. Calloway?”
I pulled him down into another kiss, letting our lips dance a tango only they know. His hands clutched my waist and pulled me closer. My hands got lost in his hair, as I got lost in him. The man who’s kisses send me reeling, more than more than my own husband’s ever did. If I could pull him tighter, I would; I’d pull us together until the beginning and ends of our bodies are indistinguishable. Until we become one soul, forever intertwined across every universe we travel through. Until I forget about the fact that I’m married, and John isn’t home. And I’m alone all of the time, waiting for him to love me like he loves the young girls that he sees when he walks down the street.
The TV’s live studio audience gasp snapped me out of the moment. I pushed Johnny away; his back hit the door with such force I thought I broke it. My hand found my lips. The remnants of Johnny’s from just a moment; the remains of John’s from a lifetime.
“Johnny, you have to go,” I whispered. I couldn’t continue on with whatever it was I was doing.
“Did I do something wrong?” Johnny asked. He stepped closer to me. I took a step back.
“It’s nothing you did.” It was everything I did. I knew I was married, but still, I kissed Johnny. And I wanted to do it again and again until I got sick of it. Even then I knew I wouldn’t. “It was supposed to be a one time thing.” I turned away from him and went to go up the stairs.
“It doesn’t have to be,” he called after me. “You could leave John and stay with me.” I could hear his footsteps trailing after me. “Or we could run away together and change our names.” He was only a few steps away now. “We could be together. I love you.” His hand grabbed my wrist just before I reached the top step. I turned to face him.
His eyes gleamed with youth and desperation. In every other moment, I’d regarded him as a man, but in this one, I see that he is everything but. “You don’t know what love is.” I climbed the top step.
“I know enough to know that you don’t have an affair with your neighbor.” I stopped in my tracks. His mother, my neighbor. I turned around to face him. “I saw them together four months ago.” Four months ago. Four months ago when Johnny landed on my doorstep. Four months ago when Johnny confessed his feelings for me. Four months ago that led to me sleeping with my neighbor’s son.
“And you didn’t tell me?” I stepped back down.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said. He reached his arm out, but I smacked it away.
I laughed. Not at him, but at my own stupidity. Nothing good comes from sleeping around, especially with a brash nineteen-year-old. I knew that, but still I laid with him in the bed I made. “Johnny, get out,”
“But Mrs.-”
“Get out.” Mine and Johnny’s head snapped over to the door. The door handle jingled. I stared at Johnny in utter horror. I ushered him past me and up the rest of the stairs, just as my front door swung open.
John walked through the doorway. He stopped when he saw me. “Lisanne, what are you doing awake?”
My eyes flicked upstairs. “Nothing, I just couldn’t sleep.” The pit formed in my stomach. I didn’t know if Johnny was hidden properly. He was far too stubborn to be perfectly out of sight, and he was far too young to know what was good for him. “Are you hungry? I can make you something.”
“No, I’m okay, honey. I ate at work.” John tossed his coat onto the back of the couch. He yawned as he made his way to the stairs. “I need to shower. I’m exhausted.”
“Why don’t you use the downstairs bathroom? I was having problems with the upstairs one this morning.” I lied. I had no clue where Johnny was, and I couldn’t risk John finding him. God knows what he would say or do.
“Really?” He started up the stairs. “I could’ve sworn it was working fine before I left.” I raced him to the bathroom door, blocking it with my body.
“Yes, but when I used it, the toilet was acting funny.”
“Hmm, let me check it.” As John’s hand touched the door handle, Johnny swung it open.
“I apologize, Mrs. Calloway. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong,” he said, looking at me. “I’ll probably have to come back tomorrow with my tools.” He winked at me before turning his gaze upon the elephant in the room. “Mr. Calloway, how are you?”
“I’m doing fine, young man. What are you doing here so late?”
“Mrs. Calloway asked for my help with your plumbing issues. Who am I to deny her?” His hand brushes against mine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Even in my most anxious hour, he still has an effect on me.
“Oh, thank you, son.” John smiled an unsuspecting smile.
“Of course, sir. Good night, Mrs. Calloway; I’ll be back tomorrow.” Johnny pushed past us both. He walked down the stairs as if nothing had ever happened. As if I hadn’t almost slept with him again. As if he didn’t tell me my husband was also having an affair. As if we didn’t almost get caught.
“Such a nice boy,” John said. I hummed in response. “Go to bed; honey, you’re tired.” John planted a kiss on my cheek, and guided me towards our bedroom door. The scent of a perfume that I did not own hit my nostrils. “Good night, honey.”
Images of John with Johnny’s mother flashed in my mind. I didn’t want it to be true, but I knew Johnny was right about them. But would I be wrong to go back to Johnny? To kiss a boy years younger than me, who loves me as if I’m the only thing to love. Or would I be no better than my husband?
“Good night, John.”