The Broken Looking Glass

Two

Two

Cara and Robert Keene lived in San Jose, California. Robert was a software engineer at Star Microsystems Inc. and Cara worked as an administrative assistant at a law firm, though her passion was painting. Most nights found Robert up late working on his contribution to a programming language that promised network interoperability, later known as Java script. Cara would indulge him and listen to the technical jargon with a smile but her mind often drifted away. She found him interesting and even admired the larger goal of his work, but the details of it all put her to sleep. His vision of future communication was inspiring and he worked hard. The 90’s were booming in the Silicon Valley and the money was good. They lived in a nice two-bedroom house just outside the city.

Cara’s paintings were inspired by her dreams. Most found her work challenging and she had yet to gain traction with an audience, though most agreed she was very talented and possessed a rare, if unrefined gift. They just didn’t get it, is the way she would put it. Robert was no different. He supported her and admired her, but wasn’t one for art, especially when it defiantly tested the perception of the viewer. She had done a few stints in galleries around town and even managed to sell a few paintings. Maybe someone out there got it after all.

They woke up at the same time every weekday morning. They would have coffee, sit for half an hour at the breakfast table while reading and making idle comments, if only to acknowledge each other’s presence. Neither of them liked to eat much in the morning, they might split a grapefruit.

It usually took Cara some time to clear her mind from the night before. She had such vivid dreams. Robert understood this and did his best not to occupy her thoughts with anything trivial, he just wanted to be near her even if she was actually someplace else, perhaps somewhere far away. Artists, he thought, what goes on in there? He adored her mind. She was brilliant and someday the world would see. She seemed particularly distant this morning but he attributed that to her piecing together some abstract inspiration she would later draw from her reverie and imbue into canvas. He gave her the obligatory space she needed, until she seemed to have returned to earth and the land of the living, as it were.

“Can you move your face real close and tell me if I have a republican p***s?” He asked, stepping naked from the shower.

“I’m not falling for that again, you turkey!”

“When did you fall for that, are you that gullible? Also…turkey? What’s with that?”

“Oh, I thought we were doing a bit. Are we not?”

“We can do a bit, baby. A bit of this…” wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing himself against her ass.

“Do I have a republican p***s, baby? Are you avoiding the question or what?”

“Wait, what’s their thing again? The donkey or the other one…the elephant?”

“Elephant,”

“You’re asking me if you have an elephant d**k? Do you really want me to answer that?”

“I didn’t mean it like that but now that you mention it…”

“Really?”

“Well, if that’s the trend of the conversation, what about the donkey? Is that more accurate?”

“You’re an ass all right,” she laughed. “Sorry, that was too easy.”

“You know an elephant never forgets, right?”

“What?”

“And I’m very hurt right now, I’m going to, I don’t know…raise taxes on the poor or something, maybe jerk off.”

“Sounds about right.”

***

Robert and Cara Keene met several years before, mostly due to Robert’s bold fashion choice in trying out cowboy boots. They were at a house party thrown by a mutual friend when he disregarded the lack of tread on the boot soles and lost purchase of the third step heading down the stairwell—he went down the rest of the 9 steps on his ass. When his journey was complete, Cara was standing just before him on the landing.

“Hi, can I get you a drink? I’m Robert.”

What an entrance.

Her hair and dress were a deep red, she wore an oversized belt and combat boots; she was drinking bright blue jungle juice, her eyes finely lined in black and shadowed in red, with black fishnet stockings visible from the middle of her shins to the middle of her thighs.

“01000110 01100001 01100111,” his friend laughed while moving his arms like a robot. This was binary code for the word “fag” which might be offensive if anyone other than Robert could understand, and even Robert wasn’t listening. He was transfixed.

“I’m Cara and I already have a drink. Use stairs much, cowboy?”

“A time or two...” with a Texas accent. “Though I usually ride my horse up and down,”

“Okay,”

“I’m Robert,”

“You already said that,”

“It’s still true, I’m still Robert,”

“What’s your deal, Robby?”

“Well, to be honest, I’m not a real cowboy,”

“No s**t?”

They talked all night on the steps outside the house and, as the standard social shields began to drop, realized they really liked each other.

Their first date was an art film she suggested. It seemed like a bunch of random s**t haphazardly cut together from VHS tapes to Robert, but he was happy to spend the time with her. They soon became inseparable, and slept together every night. They preferred his place because his roommate was an avid computer nerd and hardly ever left his room. He also frequently wore headphones, blasting Grunge music into his ears so he wouldn’t hear the sounds of their lovemaking. They could be fairly loud, as it was the way they communicated what they liked. They never spoke about the specifics of s*x. If she was loud she liked it, if she was quiet he needed to try something else. It was accurately assumed that he liked everything she did to his body. He did convey his thoughts by lightly pulling her hair in moments of particular ecstasy, however. He would grab a fistful at the root and gently squeeze, making her scalp tingle. She loved this, especially with his c**k in her mouth. She would moan over his girth. They soon learned each other’s bodies well and s*x became a communion of souls that were meant to be together. This coupled with how much fun they had together in general, day to day life, and they began to talk about marriage a year into the relationship.

They were married six months later on what most would call a “decent” beach, near San Francisco. There was only a little broken glass. It was not a traditional wedding by any means. Neither particularly cared for that sort of thing. They were married by a friend of Cara’s that happened to be an ordained minister of some faith or another. He was tall and lanky with a spider web tattooed on his bald head. Robert joked that, from here on in, they were bonded together by the Church of Satan. They might have to sacrifice a goat after the first year or something.

The “minister” continually waved his outstretched palms slowly in the air as if cleaning a window above his head, and he held his eyes wide, tilted his head back and stared down at the people gathered there. He spoke in a deep baritone—it was more like he was narrating a German horror film than officiating a wedding. Cara’s sister, Victoria Windfall, was there and Robert’s friend Paul, the one so fluent in binary humor, was also in attendance. They were the only witnesses to this lovely madness. After the “decent” beach they held the reception at a bar near Fisherman’s Wharf.

“Cheers, bro! You did good…she’s perfect for you and pretty cool, I guess. Hot too, am I right? High five! Just kidding, inappropriate I bet. But hey, what’s up with Lurch over there with the spider web on his dome and the crazy hands and eyes and face? Why’d you get him for this?” Paul made a circle in the air with a drink in his hand.

“He’s my new dad,”

“No way, your new dad is the son of the devil himself? Can’t beat that, man. I mean, that’ll get you to the front of the lines, you know?”

At this point Lucian, the minister, walked up and engaged the two men.

“Hello, Robert Keene,”

“Hi there,”

“I trust you enjoyed the ceremony?”

“Yes, quite. I liked it, couldn’t have done it better, as far as I can see,”

“Good, that’s good. I’m glad to hear you were, shall we say, satisfied?”

“Yes…”

“Were you satisfied, Robert Keene?”

“Very,”

“Did I satisfy you, Robert?” He tilted his head back and looked down over his nose again, eyes wide.

“I mean, I guess,”

“You are hereby betrothed,” he bellowed, sprinkling glitter over Robert’s head.

Robert turned to look at his friend Paul for some shared acknowledgment of this absurd occurrence but, of course, Paul was long gone. He rushed away the first chance he had. Robert saw him in the corner, chatting up the blonde bartender. He then looked to his left—Cara and Victoria were laughing hysterically and almost falling out of their chairs. He turned back and Lucian was smiling wide and earnest. He stuck out his hand.

“Congratulations, my friend. Sorry for the theatrics, Cara thought it would be a good time,” they shook hands.

“Is that right? I guess I just didn’t think she had it in her,”

“You will have plenty of time to learn, I suppose.”

“You were freakin’ me out a bit there,”

“I know. She was right, it was a goodtime.”

“The whole thing was a farce?”

“The entire thing,” waving his hands to show the entirety.

Robert walked over to the ladies, still convulsing in laughter.

“Are we really married? We are, right?” he said, to more laughter.

“What? Of course!” Cara said.

This time Victoria really did fall out of her chair.

“You had me going, seriously!” he kissed his wife.

“It’s like dancing, baby. It doesn’t’ matter the song, it’s who you’re with,”

“What is that, wisdom from the 1950’s? A guy with a spider-head almost f****d me in the ass!”

Victoria was trying to stand her chair upright and sit in it, but this exchange had her in absolute stiches.

“No, baby. I’m saving that for our anniversary,”

“At this point, I don’t doubt it.”

*

The simple wedding was in part decided upon due to the absence of family on either side. Apart from Cara’s sister, with whom she was very close, neither she or Robert could think of a single family member they would like to be with on such a special day. They had discussed this a lot, mostly late at night, when those sort of things start to seep into the consciousness, refusing to be ignored any longer. It was one of the many things they had in common and that bonded them together.

On one particular night, after a few drinks, they took a vow. Should they ever have children, they would treat them well and raise them to be people they themselves would like to know and hangout with. They wouldn’t let it turn out like it did for them. This of course begged the question, should we have kids? Back then, it was a question for a later time, but lately it seemed like that “later time” was quickly becoming “now.” They were making good money, they were in love and it seemed like something that would bring so much happiness into their lives. Recently Cara had stopped taking birth control. They decided to allow nature to take its course and let whatever happens happen.