36 comments/ 28891 views/ 3 favorites The Sanctimonious Twit By: sophist801 Almost a year ago angiequesophie assisted with the editing of this little story. My thanks for the assistance! Rowan and William Muse The sun was about to slide, without fanfare or ceremony, to the far side of the Rocky Mountains. The Flat Irons were cast in shadow that made the monolithic black rock appear wet and slick. The few rock climbers that were scaling the face of the massive Irons had long since taken the hint of fading sunlight and repelled to safe ground. Rowan was driving his twenty-year-old Bronco (a vehicle Ford stopped manufacturing quite some time ago replacing it with the Ford Explorer). William was sitting next to him in the passenger seat. The Bronco was a four-wheel drive monster that got poor gas mileage but was the best vehicle Rowan had ever owned for off-road destinations. The vehicle's high suspension, over-sized wheels and four-wheel drive made it possible for Rowan to go places in the Rockies only deer and nameless furry critters (that squeaked stranger-warnings) could go. William and Rowan had known each other for more than 12 years, having met in college while going to school in Nebraska. (I know, where is Nebraska?) They'd started a home repair service back then, that included painting homes, dry wall, and some tile work. Looking back on that time in their lives brought chuckles, mainly because neither of them was business minded enough to know what they needed to do to make a profit. Still they had kept the business afloat through their last two years of college allowing them to pay for tuition, books and a small brownstone apartment. Each of them took their friendship for granted, even though they disagreed about almost everything, which fostered a creative tension between the two men. It was this disagreeing nature that probably made them such good friends. They always told each other how they felt about love, sex, and life in general. Their disagreements were always steeped in philosophical jargon that rose from the fact they both loved copious amounts of coffee, beer and cannabis. When they did get into philosophical encounters about the nature of experimental democracy (Rowan believed democracy, as we know it in the United States, was still a great experiment) or why Sartre's existential thought was too esoteric for most people to even care about, their discussions inevitably included forays into the morality of sex. While Rowan did not express himself with colorful language William had no problem using hardcore language when discussing, well, everything. Rowan thought William probably did this more to shock people leaving them with their defenses down. Then, as people looked at him with stunned expressions he would then slip beneath their defenses and sweet talk them. He was exceptionally good at doing this with women. William also owned, or was owned by, a great Saint Bernard named Rufus. Rufus was one of those dogs who loved everyone but had this way of opening his mouth, letting his tongue dangle free and drooling copious amount of spittle. If Rufus was at your feet you could count on your shoes being covered with Rufus' slime. For William, Rufus was probably more a way for him to meet and pick up women. "Hey, wanna meet my dog?" Between his bad-boy mouth and his loving dog he charmed the panties off most women before they knew what happened. "Anything that feels so fucking good can't possibly be immoral!" William would often say to Rowan. "There's nothing quite as sweet as the taste of a woman's dripping pussy or the feel of her juices as they run down my chin! Then to see her scream and cum for me is all the reinforcement I need to continue living the lustful life." For William this kind of passion was a value-added part of life the rest of the animal kingdom did not experience. For William it wasn't our ability to think and rationalize that separated us from the animal kingdom, it was homo-sapiens's ability to enjoy fucking for the sake of fucking. "Willie, you always were full of yourself." Rowan had always referred to William as Willie. "I'm not arguing that good sex doesn't feel good, it's just so much better when the love and respect are also present." William wondered if Rowan had any idea how he sounded at that moment. William believed his friend full of shit, always rationalizing that sex without love was somehow incomplete. "Bull sheeeet! Sex is sex and love is love. And sex makes me happy!" Rufus let lose one of his super-big chest-deep dog barks. It was as if Rufus was putting the exclamation mark on William's statement. "See, even Rufus agrees!" William would then turn to pat Rufus's enormous dog-head. "What does Rufus know? He eats, sleeps, slobbers and chases every dog in heat." Rowan knew it a losing battle to discuss the virtues of sex with his friend. "But he is happy, right?" Rowan had the sense not to step into William's open-ended question. He knew William would then go off on the topic of whether happiness could be taught or if it was inherent a person's chemical composition. Rowan recalled the teachings of Socrates who argued you could teach people to be virtuous. William believed there was nothing "virtuous" about "fucking." That day was also not a day Rowan felt like getting into a deep philosophical discussion about the meaning of life, love, death, and sex. The reason Rowan was hesitant to get into it with his friend was because he was not a happy man. In fact, Rowan was miserable, conflicted and feeling like his world was coming to an end. William would often joke that he (William) was nothing but a male slut. If sleeping with anyone who would spread their legs categorized him as a male slut, well, he was. It was probably the only thing William did not challenge Rowan on. In fact, William wore the label with a sense of pride! So William was also lovingly referred to as "Willie-the-wonton-one". Hide your daughters and dogs, William and Rufus are here! Rowan found it odd that when a man sleeps around he is often referred to as a player or someone who can't keep it in his pants. The usually negative terms slut (or whore) rarely apply to men. However, William knew it applied to him. He could put a woman at ease with his smile while unhooking her bra with the skill of a James Bond. Rowan had to admit to himself he was also just a little envious of his friend. It was also not uncommon for William to report that he was being treated for gonorrhea or some other form of infectious venereal disease. To this day Rowan didn't know why he never contracted HIV. When he was infected with some form of VD William was very difficult to be around probably because he could not simply "get laid". Sex was probably more of a way for his impulsive self, an addiction, he needed satiated. Hand-satisfaction late at night only helped William get to sleep. Between the two friends William was still single and Rowan was married to Kathy and had been for almost ten years. Rowan and Kathy were college sweethearts and told anyone who would listen that they would be together forever. Rowan once asked his friend why he had not hooked up with someone special. William's response was quick and to the point. He'd said matter-of-factly, "Because I love fucking too much." Rowan would momentarily be taken back by the comment then nod his head in understanding. After all Rowan chose not to become a Priest because he'd discovered the joys of sex, he just preferred it with the same person. Rowan had married right out of college. Even though he had discovered the joys of sex, wonton, abandoned fucking, his strict Catholic upbringing carried a very powerful emotion. No it wasn't an emotion, it was an ingrained response called guilt! Hell, every time Rowan let himself enjoy the sexual joys of a young woman, his guilt got in the way. It was insidious to the point where Rowan often talked himself out of a sure-fire opportunity to get laid! When Rowan got to the point where he began to feel guilty about sleeping with Kathy he decided marriage was the answer. The sacrament of marriage would absolve him of his catholic guilt, yes? We all know you cannot simply confess your sins to get rid of guilt. Wait a minute, maybe we all don't know this? It was probably because the two men were so unlike each other that they were good friends. Their lives were never boring. There coffee-house philosophical discussions always included agreement so they embraced the dialectic in a fundamental sense. At the time they didn't see their relationship as dialectical discourse, but that is exactly what it was. As a result their friendship grew over the years and they always came away feeling like they had seen the world from each-others eyes. Their conversations sometimes reached a point where they thought they understood what Plato was trying to tell us through his main character, Socrates. Plato believed we learn through dialogue, that we teach by telling stories and questioning the stories. This kind of learning is known as "sophistry". Neither Rowan nor William believed they were Sophists. They were more modern-day bull-shit artists. Teaching was never the object of their discussions. Rowan and William had been silent for a thirteen mile stretch of Highway 70. Rufus was in the back, his giant dog-head resting on the back seat. Rufus looked asleep but he was waiting for Rowan or William to speak. His tongue, flopping freely from his mouth, let the drool slip onto the back seat. Yes, there were several towels laid out on the back seat to catch Rufus' spittle. "You sanctimonious twit!" William said the words with a smile on his face as he slapped Rowan on the back. The statement seemed to come out of nowhere, pulled from the heavens to shock Rowan. It was a statement that definitely had Rowan's attention even if Rowan had no idea what his friend was trying to say. "Willie, what-the-fuck are you talking about?!" Rowan did not know why William was referring to him with derision. At the time he probably had no idea what sanctimonious even meant. He did know that to be referred to as a twit was not meant to be a compliment. The disjoint was highlighted by the fact William was smiling when he called him a twit. William was a master at delving out insults while and, at the same time, making you feel pretty good. It was how he seduced women, got laid, then walked out the door. "Kathy. You know, the woman you call Snow. The woman who thinks you are something special." He spoke the single name as if it explained everything. Rowan did know the reason he felt like shit was because of Kathy. "Kathy?" Kathy had been Rowan's wife for almost ten years. She was his college love and the woman he thought was his soul mate. He honestly believed he'd married that one person he was fated to be with forever. Forever? Is anything forever? At that moment, as they drove down Highway 70, Rowan wondered if anything lasted forever. As William got on his case Rowan couldn't help remember how he'd met his true love, Kathy (aka, Snow). It was through Kathy's sister, Angela (or Angie as she was known to friends) that Rowan had met her. Angie and Rowan had been getting together on weekends, usually connecting in Rowans' off-campus apartment for a meal and long evenings tearing up his futon. Rowan, at the time found he was living life almost as vicariously as William, but with less zipless sex. Whenever he had the opportunity to get laid, well, he did. Then Rowan would go to confession, or go for a long run, to deal with the guilt that always followed. Being a sanctimonious twit is synonymous with being fucked up. William was a male-slut but Rowan was simply fucked-up. As Rowan recalled that relationship he realized he was always holding something back, mainly because of his inexperience and the fact Angie always seemed to exude an undefined tension that ran through her body. The sex was just sex, nothing memorable. But when you are a 22 year old male who spends a good part of every hour ruminating over sex, despite the Catholic guilt, Angie satisfied the rumination. She was an attractive young woman who never placed any demands on the relationship. Angie and Rowan had been doing the week-end get together at the apartment Rowan shared with William. Rowan could remember Angie, even though she kept returning for insatiable sex, that she did not want anyone to know what she was doing. It wasn't because she felt guilty about sex she just feared she would be discovered by her parents who were over-protective Baptists. Her father believed his girls were still virgins and would be that way until the day they married. So Angie made Rowan promise never to talk to anyone about their trists. The weekend routine went on for a couple of months before Rowan learned Angie had a sister. He'd never met Angies' parents and didn't know where she was from, who her friends were, or what foods she liked to eat. He knew very little about Angie other than she was in his Political Science class, had two moles on her very pale-white ass and had long bleached blond hair. He guessed it was bleached because the rest of the hair on her body was a deep dark brown, almost black. The contrast was exciting but did little to stimulate his needs for intellectual discourse. Their relationship revolved around satisfying very base carnal urges, not mental satisfaction. So it was by accident, that Rowan and Angie encountered Kathy. They were at the local truck stop one evening late. The truck stop was nothing more than a well-lit greasy spoon but it was the only place open all night. In the small Nebraska town there were no other after-hours places to go. The coffee was horrible, but always hot, and the breakfasts included over-cooked hash brown potatoes and limp bacon. But when you are in college, poor and hungry, complaining about the quality of the food is the last thing you worried about. Rowan and Angie were sitting at a table in a back corner when Kathy came in with a couple of her girlfriends. It was Rowan who had immediately recognized the young woman as Angie's sister. The big difference was hair color. Kathy's hair was its natural color, a dark auburn, and fell to just below her shoulders. "Angie, do you have a sister?" Angie didn't hesitate to respond. "Yes. Why do you ask?" "I think she just walked in." As Rowan was pointing Kathy turned to see her sister and Rowan. Rowan also felt something stir within his loins and chest he couldn't explain. He was immediately attracted to Angie's sister. Then his Catholic guilt made him rebuke himself for feeling that way. "Oh, shit!" Angie seemed to try and hide, but it was too late. Kathy was walking to their table. "This, Angie, is not Kearny." Kathy spoke to her sister Angie as if she had just caught Angie in a serious lie. (Angie had told her sister she would be spending the weekend with a girlfriend in Kearny.) Kathy, like her sister was about five-feet-one-inch tall with long hair. Kathy's eyes seemed to be two very dark obsidian pools that reflected Rowan's smile, his teeth, and his slightly parted lips. If her body was anything like her sister's he knew she was physically fit with a flat stomach and small upturned breasts. Rowan felt his guilt surface again as he harbored the fantasy of having Kathy and Angie, together! He knew he was damned for having such a thought. The thought, however, would not go away. It was an awkward meeting for the sisters but Rowan immediately knew who he was meant to be with. No, that isn't exactly right; he knew who he thought he wanted to be with, who he wanted to sleep with, whose neck he wanted to bite . . . and it wasn't Angie's neck. "Please don't say anything to Mom and Dad. Please?" Kathy looked at her sister for a moment then back to me. Kathy was debating whether or not to be honest with her parents, which would cause Angie a world of grief, or look the other way figuring it really was none of her business who she saw. Kathy chose to pretend like she'd never see us. Years later Kathy would tell Rowan she decided not to squeal on her sister because she was also attracted to him. Kathy would also confess that wanting to better know her sister's boyfriend caused her great inner confusion, It would be six maybe seven weeks after that fateful late night truck stop meeting when Rowan and Kathy would meet again at the Hastings College Student Union. Angie had decided she couldn't see Rowan any longer mainly because she did not like lying to her parents and friends. It created more stress for her than she needed, even if the sex was good. Apparently this had been communicated to Kathy because, when she said hello to Rowan she did not turn and walk away. Within three, maybe four weeks, Kathy had replaced her sister in Rowan's life and would be there for more than ten years. On the Road with William Rowan and William continued their drive from Denver towards the Flat Irons of Boulder. Resuming their conversation Rowan was beginning to see this discussion as more than a friend chiding another friend. "Yeah, you know, the woman who kept your feet warm for the last ten years! The woman you are walking out on. You even left your dog with her to take care of because you couldn't take it anymore." For William abandoning a dog was probably just as egregious as leaving a woman. Rowan was beginning to feel the oppressive closeness of the Bronco as it rumbled down the road. He tried to lose himself in the constant hum of the over-sized tires but couldn't ignore what his friend was trying to say. William still had a smug smile on his face as he spoke so Rowan still couldn't tell if he was serious. He did know, from a little place deep in his soul, that William was being truthful. He often had problems with being direct so would joke and tease someone hoping they would get the message. "William, you know she cheated on me! She was the one who asked for the separation. She was the one who waited until my father died to tell me about how good a pussy-licking she'd gotten! And from another man!" Whine, whine, and more whinning. At the time William did not, to save his pathetic soul, understand how he was the one who was at fault, or at least partly to blame. He was trapped in his self-made pity-potty quest where his selfishness blotted out reality. It was as if he was enjoying feeling sorry for himself. It was a classic case of not being able to see the forest for the trees. Rowan was, at that moment, a bonafied sanctimonious twit! He just didn't know it. It was true, Kathy, who was all of five feet one inches tall with long chestnut brown hair, had been the one who asked for the separation. Right? Kathy had, naturally thought about how her confession might hurt Rowan. Rowan gripped the wheel of the Bronco tighter as he thought back to what had brought on the "confession." Kathy and Rowan were living in Denver at the time. They seemed to be doing OK but did not have children and were still renting their home. She worked hard as a medical records clerk and Rowan worked for Metropolitan State College's immigrant training program. It was a carefree time in their lives. There was no doubt in Rowan's mind that he loved Kathy but was also an unaware arrogant male, (some things never change) whose eye was always roving, always looking for that mind-blowing sexual experience. After 10 years of marriage he'd wanted the freedom to be able to enjoy a brief rendezvous with someone and still be able to come home to Kathy's loving arms. See where does the sanctimonious side of Rowan begin to surface? As they drove Rowan did not see how he was the one that had hurt his marriage. He was also doing his best to rationalize his pathetic Catholic guilt. Hindsight is only beneficial if there is a lesson actually learned, yes? Brokering the Deal Rowan had always thought of himself as a forthright upfront kind of guy and did not want to hide anything from Kathy. He really wanted to live his life without the chains of guilt. Again, in hindsight he realized he was lying to himself but thought he wanted the freedom to be with or experience that fantasy woman, those yet-to-be discovered lips that could suck the life out of him and not ask questions. It may also have been possible he was still envious of his friend's frequent bragging about who he'd slept with recently. The Sanctimonious Twit In order to get Kathy's consent Rowan brokered a deal with her. Rowan wanted her blessing to slip-up, to give into a fantasy, to flirt and not feel guilty for any of his actions. The deal, simply put, was that Rowan wanted the freedom to "give in" to that once-in-awhile temptation. Kathy, being anything but stupid, agreed so long as the agreement went both ways. She believed having such a two-way agreement in place would be enough for Rowan to think twice before actually sleeping with someone else. She probably understood Rowan's sense of guilt and how it controlled much of his behavior better than he did. For Rowan iIt seemed like a fairly fool proof deal. Rowan convinced Kathy they both should have the freedom to be with someone else so long as they told the other person what they did, when and with whom. It would require each of them to be open and honest with one another. For Rowan, it seemed like a great solution. He just did not know he was lying to himself about what he wanted. Agreements, whether formal contracts or verbal consensus deals, like the one Kathy and Rowan discussed, are frequently tested. If they are legal contracts litigation may challenge the validity of the agreement. For Kathy and Rowan it was a series of events that occurred over a two week period that would seriously challenge their marriage and the "deal". It wasn't too long after Kathy and Rowan had brokered their "deal" that Rowan's father died. This meant flying from Denver to San Francisco to take care of the burial. His father was a career military man who had also spent the last 15 years of his life living the secrete world of Masonry (Free Masons) so the memorial service was very elaborate. The ceremony might as well have been something the Templers executed in the seventeenth century behind locked doors. It took five days to plan and lasted two hours. By the time Rowan had taken care of his father's funeral he was exhausted and just wanted to get back to his wife, to the comfort of her loving arms, to snuggle in her auburn hair that always smelled of jasmine. He'd forgotten about the brokered deal. Before Rowan could leave San Francisco a colleague called asking if he would visit a refugee family whose 16 years old son was in the hospital in Milpitas. Even though he wanted to say no to his friends request, run back to Denver and let his grief wash over him, he acquiesced to the request for help. He also felt obligated, especially since he'd spent the last ten years working with the immigrant community. When Rowan got to the hospital in Milpitas he found a fairly emaciated boy who weighed no more than 85 pounds, was on several intravenous drips, and barely conscious. The boy and his family were Vietnamese and had recently immigrated to the States so it was especially tedious helping the boy and his family. The language barriers were significant. Rowan needed to frequently use interpreters to help them understand what was happening to their son. This was also difficult because there was frequently no Vietnamese equivalent for the medical terminology used by doctors and nurses. Rowan had been so caught up in the loss of his father that it almost was a relief to be helping prepare a family for the death of their son (if it is at all possible to prepare anyone for someone's death). The only good thing was that the boy, whose name was Tran Nguyen, died peacefully in his sleep a few days later. Tran's family, being Buddhist, were more accepting of their son's death, than Rowan. This was because they believed in karma (fate) and reincarnation. The family was convinced Tran would be reborn into a better life. This, when believed, can be very comforting. Rowan stayed with the family for another three days, accepting their hospitality and attending the first two days of a Buddhist ceremony (that lasted seven days) before returning to Denver, to Kathy, to his friend William, and Rufus. The only thing on his mind was getting back to the woman he loved, to what Rowan believed was the perfect marriage. The death of Rowan's father and Tran was not the test. Burying people you love is simply one of the most stressful things we experience, but a part of life we have no control over. Psychologists tell us loss of someone we love (which includes divorce), loss of a job, or change in our living situation (homelessness) are the most severe stressors we will experience in our lifetime. Remember the agreement that had not yet been tested? That first evening back in Denver, a cold winter evening, Rowan sat by the fireplace sipping bourbon-laced coffee. His Samoyed (yes, Rowan had a dog of his own) was sitting at his feet. Kathy sat next him as they nestled beneath an afghan comforter Kathy's mother had given them a few years earlier. Rowan was thinking it was so good to be home! Even though he was emotionally and physically exhausted he could think of nothing else but taking Kathy upstairs and snuggling up to her and making love to her until he could no longer think or move. At that moment he was just happy and relieved to be home, to feel Kathy next to him, to hear her soft breathing and a sort-of mewing sound she seemed to make when content. He'd missed the way her smallish Lilly white breasts felt as they lightly settled on his chest. He'd missed the way she tasted, knowing she always seemed to enjoy pleasing him with her lips, tongue and mouth. He'd missed the way she felt as they made slow and passionate love, something they could do for hours at a time. But more importantly he'd missed her love. "Rowan?" Rowan, broker of forgotten agreements, was not prepared for what Kathy now would tell him. After all, life with Kathy had been perfect, at least in his mind. Kathy's head remained on his chest as they both listened to the crackle of the fireplace fire. Rowan would remember how he was beginning to relax and finally get warm. The image, to this day, will forever be etched into his psyche. "Yes, Snow, what is it?" Snow was his nickname for Kathy, a name that seemed to stick as they were courting one another in college. When "going together", when the courted each other. That had been a time when it was often difficult to find places where they could explore their sexual cravings (William might have someone at their small brownstone apartment), where they could simply "give in" in the carnal world where nothing seemed to matter except fucking themselves crazy. One of those "memorable" moments, entered his bourbon-relaxed mind, was one cold winter evening when they took a sleeping bag outside and laid it in two feet of soft dry snow. Dropping their clothing into their day packs they crawled into the single sleeping bag. They had laughed about how good it was to be "snow fucking" behind the college library. It wasn't long before "playing in the snow" became a way for them to communicate with each other that they wanted sex, wanted to make love. Their code words "playing in the snow" soon evolved into Rowan's nickname for the woman he loved. For Rowan, Snow would be the most powerful memory he would keep close to his heart, regardless of any agreement or death. "I have something I need to tell you." He did not, at the time, recognize the change in the tome of her voice. Kathy, Snow, had become serious. After ten years the change in her tone of voice told Rowan to pay attention. "Hummmm?" The Bourbon and warmth of the fire was doing a great job of helping him relax. "Remember our agreement?" As she spoke the words Rowan wasn't sure which agreement she was talking about. "Not sure what you are talking about. What agreement?" At that moment he really did not remember any particular agreement. "The agreement we have about telling each other if we ever were with someone else." It finally dawned on him what she was talking about. At that moment the blood in his eyes constricted and his breathing nearly stopped. They were both naked under the afghan and Rowan was acutely aware, more so at that moment, of how she felt as she continued to snuggle against him. He was also aware of how his body had suddenly become a tight bundle of muscles and nerves. She really didn't need to say anything else but part of the deal was to share who, when and what about the experience. Rowan was not prepared for this story. He did not want to hear what she was about to tell me. He was thinking he wanted to go back in time and cancel the agreement, "my agreement!" After all he was the sanctimonious twit who'd never thought Snow would be the one who would exercise the freedom to be with someone else. He'd always believed it would be he who exercised the freedom to fuck someone else. "Oh, shit." His response wasn't diplomatic or loving. It was real. Rowan was beginning to immediately link the death of his father with Kathy, with his love for Kathy (Snow), as another death! He was not prepared for her honesty! In the space of his "shit" exclamation he effectively began the process of burying his marriage next to his Father! The worst part, for Rowan, was yet to come. "Guess you better tell me about it." He said recognizing the sound of his sadness slip into each syllable. After all, the agreement was to tell each other when something like that actually happened, to not hide anything from each other. At that moment he was afraid he would not be able to deal with her story, but did not know that at the time. He wondered, for a moment, how all of the refugees he'd helped over the years had survived the loss of family and friends. How had they managed to survive such horrendous loss? Kathy was also an honest person and would not hide anything from him. Rowan knew that the agreement, the deal He had brokered, would one day be discussed but he'd always thought he would be the one telling Kathy about his exploits. "It was one of Carla's friends." Carla worked with Snow at the hospital. "She knows several airline pilots who were in town while you were gone. Carla invited me to join them a few nights ago and I did. At the time I was not thinking about hooking up with anyone but I think I was feeling lonely. I was missing you so much, and believed you would understand. So I accepted one of the pilots's invite to join him in his hotel room." Rowan was trapped in a situation that was all his doing and felt powerless to do anything but listen. "His name?" He asked, knowing it didn't really matter what his name was. "George. He was a United Airlines Captain." She was answering all of his questions without hesitation. After all that was the agreement, the deal Rowan had brokered. It was a deal he now regretted more than anything else he'd ever done in his life. The odd thing, Rowan thought, was that he had never cheated on Snow. Had never exercised the freedom he'd asked for. He realized he might also be upset because Kathy had exercised the freedom to experience someone else before he did. Shit, it hurt and, at the time, he was becoming angry with himself! "OK, then what happened?" He thought, at the time, he needed to hear the whole story. "After dinner and sharing a bottle of wine we ended up in his room. After undressing me he went down on me, making love to me with his mouth and tongue." In his mind Rowan could see Snow's pubic hair, wonderfully full pubic hair, being parted by another man's fingers and his tongue and mouth consuming her. "He seemed to lick and kiss me to orgasm before entering me." He didn't need to hear a blow-by-blow (forgive the pun) description of everything they did. Rowan, as he listened to Kathy, was giving in to a grieving process he associated with the death of his father, Tran and now his marriage. His father had died of old age. Tran died young of a disease that attacked his immune system. Rowan was the one murdering his marriage. Not being able to think clearly, not wanting to accept responsibility for the situation, he remembered how he slowly, deliberately, withdrew his arms that had surrounded Snow, arms that he used to comfort her and, protect her. Protecting her was not what he'd done when he brokered the fucking agreement! At that moment Rowan could not protect himself! Snow's response followed quickly. He now knew she'd been thinking about how he might react, knowing him better than he knew himself. "Eric, do you want a separation?" Snow was asking Rowan as if he if he needed time and space to work through his hypocritical, yet real. "Yes, I think that would be best." It was NOT the best thing to do. Rowan had acquiesced all too quickly. Rowan had relegated what she'd done, not to the realm of an agreement being tested, but to that world of death that needed to be grieved. Rowan could not separate the death of his father and Tran from his marriage. The only difference was there would be no eulogy. Other than the business of discussing the separation of common property Rowan never spoke to Kathy again. Rowan, years later, would recall how Kathy had slipped from beneath the afghan, her pale white skin, naked in the firelight, her long dark brown hair (that looked black in the dim light) and walk across the room disappearing upstairs. He would not remember anything about how he had managed to find an apartment and eventually move away from Denver. He would not remember anything about the divorce other than it was civilized (if divorce can ever be civilized). Rowan would not ever have a clear memory of what happened after Kathy told him about her airline pilot one-night stand. They did not argue or yell at each other. He only remembered he was gone by the following afternoon and never returned. Snow remarried a couple of years later and went on to have three beautiful children with a man she loved as much as she loved her children. It was an ectopic pregnancy that they did not discover until it was too late that brought her life to an end. It was a pregnancy that would have brought a fourth child into this world that took her from this world so suddenly. What is especially sad was that Rowan never had the opportunity to tell her he never stopped loving her and his biggest regret was never having had the opportunity to tell her he was sorry. He'd fucked-up the absolute best thing in his life then walked away. His life would always be full of regrets and remorse. Rowan would also regret not listening to his friend's words as they made that drive from Denver to Boulder, Colorado. William had opened the door for Rowan to kick his foolish pride aside and accept responsibility for letting Kathy "go". William, the male slut, was nonetheless looking out for his friend. William is now married, believe it or not, with two children. His "sluttish" ways have long since fallen by the way side, or at least so he says. Rowan (and William's wife) believed him. Rufus died after a long dog-life of 14 years. William then found another Saint Bernard at the dog pound. Rufus II had been sorely abused by previous owners but quickly became Willie's slobbering friend. William will always be true to his dogs. Rowan will always be a sanctimonious twit who fucked up the best thing in his life. End