I drove home, guided by equal parts fury and panic.  Still incredibly confused and hurt, I alternated between slamming the gas down and racing Nascar style, and taking my foot off the pedal entirely, allowing my car to coast at a drunken snail's pace until I reached my street.

            This is where I now sit.  Frozen at the stop sign, looking at my home, a mere four houses away from where I am idling, scared, unsure, and desperately trying to figure out what to do.  From my precarious perch, I can see the lights on downstairs.  So, what?  Do I waltz inside and act like nothing has happened to me tonight and give him a chance to explain?  Do I forgive him?  Do I spill my own cheating guts and tell him about the summer with Patrick?  Exactly how honest am I wanting to be here?  The guise of sanity tells me that perhaps leaving out my own no no's would be a calmer route to take, but then I think of the guilt, the never ending, mind melting, guilt that I would suffer would eat me alive.  And how can I expect him to be honest with me, if I am hoarding secrets of my own?

            Stupid conscience. 

            Okay, so maybe I better fess up.  That would be the responsible adult thing to do. 

            Fuck.  I need a drink.

            I am appreciating the time of a little past one in the morning as it has allowed me to be stationary at this stop sign for quite some time, thanks to the lack of other humans out on the road.  Guess no one else is having marriage crises tonight. 

            Alright, with the damn Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder shouting in my ear to purge my soul, I make a decision to do so, but to do it in as calm and collected a manner as the situation will allow.  I mustn't just bounce in regaling Derek with tales of my own inappropriateness, but instead, slowly ease into the whole mess with the hopes that perhaps he will not react as, well, quite frankly, as dramatically as I have.

            Oh, how I have made this into a well rounded fuck up, haven't I?

            Then there is the fact that I am still hurt and pissed at him!  I haven't even decided whether or not I believe him about the events of the evening yet.

            It's going to be a long ass night.

            I yank the car out of park, and head slowly to my driveway, my hands planted firmly at ten and two.  Of all the mistakes I have made tonight, at least I can rest easy knowing that poor driving form is no longer one of them. 

            Deep breaths.  Long, shuddering, deep breaths is what manages to get me out of the car and up the sidewalk. 

            "Dead woman walking." rings in my head.  Not a great sign.

            I gently, and very slowly turn the door knob, and make my way inside.

            There is silence in the house.  No televisions, no clicking of keys on a laptop, no sounds.  Maybe I was wrong and Derek is already in bed asleep! 

            I quietly peel off each shoe and place them in the pile by the door, the pile that my plaque still rests atop of.  I walk carefully through the foyer, scanning the living room, finding no husband.  I sigh, not sure if I am relieved, or disappointed for him to not be there. 

            "Ellie!"  A scratchy voice behind me speaks. 

            Of course I had assumed that no one was there, so this voice scares the shit out of me, so I shriek like a little girl, and whip around.

            The sound of course came from Derek, who instead of his usual location on the couch, is sitting at the kitchen table.  Actually I use the "Derek" term loosely here, as the man in front of me is in actuality more like a hollowed out version of my spouse.  His shoulders are hunched over, his eyes are rimmed with the telltale redness of tears cried.  The sight of this man in front of me, looking so haggard, so defeated, is the most heartbreaking thing I have ever stumbled upon.  I feel as though someone is standing on my chest when I look into his eyes.  He is tortured, he feels like he has destroyed everything around us, and I can't take the knowledge that I have hurt him too.

            He just doesn't know it yet.

            "Ellie, oh my God you came back!"  He says and rushes from the table towards me, "I was panicking, I didn't know if you were going to come home or not!"  He throws his arms around me when he reaches me, bringing me in as tightly as he can without breaking me in half.  "I am so glad you are here, I just want to explain everything, I know I screwed up, but I want you to understand what happened tonight, honey."

            He pulls away, holding my shoulders in his hands.  I am not sure if he is trying to steady himself, or to keep me from running away.  I have never seen him look so desperate.

            "Did you get the messages I left?" he continues, "I don't even know if any of that made sense, but I think I got most of it in there."  I just stare at him as he rambles off the contents of the message again, and it is even more soul crushing to hear the live version.  He speaks a mile a minute, his hands never leaving my shoulders, his fingers digging into me, not painfully, but enough to further convey the seriousness of his story.  "And I am so sorry that this happened, and that you had to see her here when you came home, but she is gone, she is really gone, and I want you to know-"

            "Derek, I was with another guy tonight."

            Wait.  What the hell?  I said what?

            His face freezes, his grasp releases, but his hands remain in place.

            "What?"  He asks quietly, "What does that mean?"

            Ohgodohgodohgod.

            "Um."  Yeah, cause saying 'um' will help me now.  "Well, I was with another man, but not with him, you know?  I mean, that was the plan, I think, to be with him, like to have sex.  I think.  I am not sure, I mean I want to think I wouldn't have done it no matter what, but I was just so mad at you!"

            "You just went and picked up some guy to have sex with to get back at me?"  His stare and his tone had just the right amount of disbelief and insanity in it for the situation at hand.

            "No!" I squealed, "Of course not!"  Not sure how I thought that what I was about to say would make things any better, but I was on a roll.  "No, it was Coach Dixon!  You remember, Patrick?  Well I was with him.  Um.  He and I have been, well, not I mean, we haven't like had sex or anything, but we have been flirting with each other all summer.  And it only happened after I found out that you kissed that stupid woman, not that it makes it okay what I did.  But I never actually kissed him or anything.  Oh, no wait, I guess he did try that one time and our lips sort of touched for a split second, but then his apartment was on fire, and I left.  And I guess technically tonight, there was kissing, but it was on my neck, I never like, kissed him back."  The shock on Derek's face melts from shock, to hurt.  Dear GOD, where I am I leading this hideous babble of mine?  "It's just, things were going so bad here, and with your mom, and then Veigh, and then he was flirting with me at the soccer camp, and I of course said no, but then things got worse, and I was angry, and I went to his apartment, and well, yeah, it caught on fire, that's actually what happened to my favorite jacket, that is what caught the fire.  Oh, I did go there one time before, but it was the same thing, just no fire.  And he was just so pushy about everything, I mean he was always coming on to me, and trying to make me feel like you were just going to go back to her, and just always with the flirting, and him and his FUCKING COLOGNE!!  And then tonight, when I saw her here, I was so upset, and I didn't know what else to do, and I thought that you had lied to me, and that you didn't care about our marriage and so I decided that if you were going to not give a shit about us, then why should I?  Then I realized two wrongs don't make a right, or whatever, and I got your messages, and I just decided that maybe you were telling the truth and I owed it to us to figure out what was going on, instead of just going by what I saw and assumed earlier, and so I left, and I came right home, and I am so sorry about everything, but we have both made mistakes, and I just wanted to be honest about everything, so that we could actually get to the bottom of all this crap and try to make things better, you know?  Because I love you, I really do, and I don't know if you can even trust me right now, or if I even trust you for that matter, but that is the one thing that I do know, is that I love you, so much, and that I want to talk this out with you, like you said.  Because, yeah, because I love you.  But, I already said that, didn't I?"

            The hideous attack of verbal diarrhea finally ends.  Well.  Not exactly the slow, and delicate confession I was hoping and planning for originally.  Sure, it lacked the grace, and finesse that I had intended, but this is like ripping the band-aid off quickly, right?  So, really, I was doing him a favor!

            Uh, the look of rage that has replaced the hurt on Derek's face is leading me to believe that I am so very wrong...

            The look of infuriated bewilderment on his face was not nearly as jarring as the silence coupled with his focused stare.  The more he looked at me, the more I replayed in my mind what I had just said.  Not my best showing, certainly.  Okay, I might as well have stuffed a fireplace poker up his nose.

            "Derek?" I asked softly, "Honey?  You're kind of freaking me out here, cause, you're not talking, or moving, or, um, blinking.  So uh, it would really be great if you could say something.  Or anything.  Anything would be good."

            He finally releases his hands from my shoulders, and stands to his full height in front of me.  He looks down at the floor and takes in a long, steady breath.

            "I am going to kick his ass."

            "I'm sorry."  I blink, "What?"

            "I am so going to kick his ass!"  He repeats, and sets off towards the door where he starts pulling on his shoes.

            "Derek, wait, what are you doing?"  I am most confused, "You can't be serious!"

            "Oh, I'm serious."  He rips his keys off hook on the wall, yanks the door open, and storms outside.

            "What the hell just happened!?"  I ask of no one.

            Snapping out of it, I fly out behind him and see him stomping through the yard towards his car. 

            "Derek, stop!"  I yell, "You're not the ass kicking type!"

            I run off the porch after him and grab his arm to stop him. 

            "You know what," he shouts as he whips around, "I knew that guy was a dick, I knew it!  I can't fucking believe him!"

            "Derek wait, I was there too!"  Not helping myself here...  "Sure, he was kind of aggressive about the whole thing, but I went there in the first place, you know?"

            "Whatever."  He snaps, "I am going to beat the shit out of him!"

            He heads towards his car again, and I call after him, "Derek, come on, you don't even know where he lives!"  I say this as it makes me feel better that even if he does take off, he isn't going to actually make it to Patrick's.

            "I'll call information!"  He yells back to me.

            Oh.  Shit.  Um, yeah, that would work.

            I start to panic.  While, sure, Patrick is a complete jackass, and I wouldn't mind terribly seeing him get smacked around a little bit, I don't want anyone to get hurt, and I most definitely don't want to see Derek go to jail for assault, or murder or something!  And having never seen this machismo side of him, this "ass kicker" version of my husband, I am suddenly very unsure of just how serious his assertion might be.

            He is almost to his car, and my brain is racing with anyway I can stop him.  Pleading hasn't worked, and I was fast running out of other options.  So, I decide to go with the only solution that comes to mind. 

            I take off running towards Derek, who is mere feet from his shiny sedan, and without really thinking the whole thing through, I jump out of my dead run, flying through the air, in my super fancy party dress no less, and land squarely on the back of my enraged husband.

            "Ellie!"  He screams, "What the hell are you doing!"

            "This isn't going to help anything!"  I squeal, hanging on for dear life, "Seriously, this is insane!"

            "You know what, you are not going to stop me," he insists, and continues to his car, slowed significantly by the crazy housewife strapped to his back.

            Once by his car, he reaches for the door handle, pulling it open, to which I reach in front of him and slam it back shut.  I must say, if it weren't for the complete horror of the hideousness playing out in front of me, I would be so turned on by my uncharacteristically bad-ass husband, being all forceful and brave.

            "Ellie, get off me!"  He struggles, reaching behind him to shake me off, but I am clamped on tighter than a pit-bull on a porterhouse.  "You are not stopping me from killing this jackass!"

            He grabs at the door again, and we struggle, him pulling, me pushing, and it is an all out battle of wills, and grip strength.  The only thing that would make this bizarre tug of war more horrifying is our neighbors would all come strolling out of their houses to see the show.  My jammy clad husband, and his formal gown wearing wife engaging in theatrical piggy back rides in their driveway before dawn. 

            My arm is rapidly weakening and I fear that this will come down to me perhaps ripping the keys out of his hand and running around our property in a twisted game of tag.  I start plotting my snatching strategy, and my escape route, and when I think I have the gist worked out, I decide to conserve my energy and abruptly let go of the door.

            Derek is still at full strength tugging, and my release is actually very ill timed.  Thanks to his maximum power effort, when I let go, I causes the door to fly open, which he is very unprepared for.  The action causes him to stumble backwards slightly, and the door follows suit, slamming right into his head, with a very loud, metallic, Wile E. Coyote-style thud. 

            Stunned by the blow, it sends us both tumbling backwards into the grass, and we both crash into the ground.

            We lay there, side by side, panting in the grass.  I look over and for a second, think that I can actually see little cartoon birdies flying around Derek's head, completing the cartoon imagery of the scene, but then I realize that they are just a few fireflies dotting the night sky around us.  The sound of a few crickets peppers the wheezes we emit, and the cool dew that is sprinkled over the yard lightly soaks through my dress.  It makes me achingly wish that things were normal, that we were lying here carefree, just enjoying the beautiful summer night, instead of this chaotic reality I am submerged in.

            "Are you alright?"  I finally inquire breathlessly.

            He doesn't respond, instead rubs his hand over his forehead where he had just been beaten down by an automobile.  I feel just awful for him, and want very badly to reach over and tend to his owie, but I worry that he doesn't want me to touch him, or worse that he would push me away. 

            After a moment, he sighs.

            "I could have kicked his ass you know." 

            "Absolutely."  I reply. 

            He turns his head, eyes slightly squinted from pain, and looks at me.  His face is surprisingly calm, his look declares a thoughtful study of the person before him, of me.  I want to say something, I want to fix everything, but I don't know what to say, or what he would even want to hear.  So instead, we just look.

            Moments pass before he tilts his head back and stares up at the sky.

            "He would have totally killed me wouldn't he?"  He asks.

            "Absolutely."

            He glances back at me, and for no sane reason, we both burst out laughing.  The hilarity of the previous events are apparent, and unavoidable, so why not just appreciate them for what they are.  The sound of our oddly harmonious laughter cuts through the chirps of the crickets, and fills the empty air around us, and it is the most welcome sound I have ever heard.  It is the kind of laugh that doubles you over, that takes up every drop of oxygen in your lungs, that makes your sides ache in that special way.

            "Seriously," I cough, trying to catch my breath, "What were you thinking?"

            "I don't know."  He chuckles, "That I would go over there and throw down or something."  Rubbing his forehead again he says, "Of course seeing as how I just got my ass handed to me by a Toyota, I am thinking the throw down wouldn't have ended well for me."

            We share another laugh, and I try to begin clearing the air. 

            "How in the hell did we get here?"  I ask, laying my head back down onto the grass.

            "I have no idea," he sighs, "Everything just got very out of hand, you know?"

            "Oh, boy do I know."  Boy did it ever.  "Did we mess things up for good?"  I ask, "Are we just gone now?"

            He rolls over on his side to face me, "Do you think we did?"

            I scan his face, the face that I have known for so long.  No longer the face of the boy I met in college whose facial hair hadn't even come all the way in yet, no longer smooth with the gift of being young and carefree.  Now, he ends each day with an impressive scruff of five o'clock shadow, his eyes brimming with the unidentifiable characteristics of someone who is smack dab in the middle of real life.  No.  This is not the face of that boy that I fell for.  It is the face of the man that I married, the man that I love. 

            "I really hope not."  I answer softly.

            "I don't think we did."  His voice softens, "I think that we just made some serious mistakes," he smiles, "Okay, some royal fuck ups, but I don't think we can't come back.  I think it's fixable, if we want it to be fixable."  Vulnerability flashes over his eyes as he says, "Do you want it to be fixable?"

            I swallow hard.  "Do you?" 

            There we lay, collapsed in our yard, deciding if our marriage has hit the skids in a real sense, or if it is time to say it's all over, not exactly how I was planning on ending my day.  Our eyes are locked, both analyzing the other's expression, reading, scrutinizing, hoping to find the signs that prove we are both in the place the other wants us to be.  It's a huge question to ask, an enormous risk for either of us to take first, to say what we want to throw out all the trash, to wipe the slate clean and start our marriage over again, with all things forgiven. 

            Derek's mouth relaxes into a gentle smile, his eyes soften, and while I am expecting him to speak, to say the words that will ease me, that will show me that he and I can do this, that we can make it through the Summer From Suburban Hell, he is pleasantly unexpected, and instead reaches over to kiss me.

            Hey, conversation is overrated anyway, don't you agree?

            It is a movie caliber embrace, the kind that songs are written about, that people see and walk away from feeling like they too can have the same type of fabled lip lock that moves mountains and cures cancer. 

            Okay, maybe it's not exactly on par with the actual act of miracles, but it is still a damn fine kiss.

            We start to get a wee bit carried away with the smooching, suddenly overtaken by the relief that comes from laying all one's cards out on the table, and finding that the person that holds the rest of the deck is dedicated to dealing in your favor, and well, that kind of decompressing has been known to tear down an inhibition or two.

            Or three, even.

            Things are moving along with a steamy perfection, and it is clear he is as unaware of our surroundings as I am, until we are both jolted out of our post-crisis euphoria by a very bright light flashing in our eyes.

            Blinking against the unholy glare, we look up to find the source and are mortified to see a police cruiser sitting in front of our house, with an annoyed policeman pointing the source of our discontent, his flashlight, directly at us.

            "Hello officer!"  I trill, still wrapped up in Derek's arms.

            "Is there a problem here?" Mr. Policeman asks in a voice that matches his demeanor of annoyance.

            "No, I um,” I look at Derek who is pursing his lips together to keep from laughing.  "I, just, OH!  I yeah, I lost an earring!"  I declare, proud of my quick thinking.

            Mr. Policeman squints through the light and stares at me.  I having flashbacks of being busted in my boyfriend’s car by my parents in high school while making out a few minutes past curfew.  At least this time my bra isn't unhooked.

            "Ma'am you are wearing two earrings."  His announcement drips with frustration.

            Oops. 

            "Well, so she is."  Derek smiles, "I guess that explains the hard time we were having finding it in the grass!"

            I can't take it and burst out laughing, which sets Derek off in his own raucous fit. 

            Fearing our imminent arrest by the Cranky Constable, we quickly compose ourselves and apologize, promising to behave.  He advises us to take it inside as our city has some pretty strict decency laws, which causes me to nearly choke on a giggle.  We assure him that we will do as instructed and wave a jolly goodbye as we scamper back inside, snickering the whole way.

            A fitting end to our night I would say. 

            Well, that and the crazy sex we partake in as soon as the front door closes behind us.

            That is a nice touch.