Sensory Perception

Sensory Perception

a short story
by
Trysh Brown

"So the 'truth' you are telling me is that she is a co-worker. Nothing more." Ell was on her back on the rumpled bed as she spoke this, staring intently at the ceiling. If she looked carefully enough at the texture on the ceiling Ell could see her face, complete with a word balloon that said "ha-ha-ha." In the image she looked smug and as though she believed herself to be wise and in control. If Ell watched long enough, the texture would run together and the image of her would melt, like some slimy green ooze of a child's toy. This was the image Ell preferred.

"A co-worker. And barely that. She's in the same building, but two floors below me in a completely different department. Given that there are close to a thousand people in the building, I see her - maybe - once a week. And then only in passing. Or maybe in a meeting."

Ell glanced at Larry in the bathroom. He wore boxers and leaned over the sink, tweezing nose hairs. Tall, still thin, he was in that club of men who managed to keep most of their hair, and his hair had remained dark, the only gray at his temples. His body was pale from lack of sun during this long, cold winter. The tweezers moved easily in his hands. He had great hands, a weakness of Ell's. She could describe the hands of every man she'd known, and his were among the best - long fingers, thin, but not spindly; wide palms, supported by sturdy wrists. He kept his hands well-manicured - clean, short nails, no noticeable calluses. She still enjoyed watching them.

"If you say so." Ell moved to a sitting position, leaned back against the wall, crossed her long legs in front of her, and propped her book on her lap. She ran her hands through her hair, pushing it away from her face.

Larry stood in the doorway and looked at her."I say so. I don't know why you even think such things. It's as though you need something to worry about and if you can't find something real you make something up."

"Make something up? Finding her business card in your pocket is making something up? Never being able to reach you anymore when I call the office is making something up? Never taking the time to finish a conversation with me is making something up? Seeing you stare into space for hours on end is making something up?" Ell realized how ridiculous she sounded and she hated herself for it. How could Ell explain this feeling, deep inside her own self, that there was something different with her?

Ell rolled over, turning her face away from him and from the sureness in his voice and her own weak arguments.

" You are always trying to find something to worry about and it looks as if this month it's me. Last month you thought your brother had cancer; the month before that." Ell stopped listening. He climbed into bed and leaned over her and gently brushed his hand up and down her spine. "Now. Enough said." He kissed her on her cheek as he continued to lean over her, supporting himself on one elbow. "Can we change the subject? I really wanted to tell you about a new exhibit."

He talked for a while, but Ell didn't comprehend what he said. Instead, she spent the next hour thinking of him, of him and Ell together, of her, of the two of them together. Ell worried herself to a restless sleep, filled with dreams of golden maidens who swept him away and left Ell stranded in a lair of female snakes, each encircled by a different worry.

Larry came in while Ell was cooking dinner. He wrinkled his nose and sniffed twice, trying to identify the scent. He gave Ell a quick kiss on the cheek, poured himself a glass of wine, and sat to talk with her. "The kitchen smells great. What's on the menu tonight?" he asked.

He had done this ever since they'd been together, which was ten years. Three of those dating, one living together before marriage, and six married years. She was the cook. Cooking helped Ell relax after a day of decorating pastries and having the sugary scent stuck in her nose. He kept her company, kept her wine glass full, and selected the best wine for the meal she was preparing.

"Something new. Pasta with chicken, walnuts, onions, and garlic. And salad." She felt him look at her, felt him trace the line of her neck and her back with his eyes. "Tell me about your day."

He leaned back on the barstool, breathed in deeply the aroma of onions frying. "I've been assigned to a new project, mostly in a consulting capacity, but still - it's nice to be offered this opportunity." Ell waited for more, but no more came. She walked over to him and noticed his aftershave had a stronger scent than usual, as if he had refreshed it.

Ell stopped and asked, though she knew the answer, "She's on the project?"

"Yes," he answered, and then said nothing for a long period of time as his eyes met Ell's. "She's leading it. She asked me take on this role because I'm the only one with museum experience."

In the background, the chicken made a quiet popping sound as it simmered; the smell of garlic joined onion and filled the air. Ell felt her back tighten - starting at the neck and working its way down. Muscle by muscle clenched. She could do little more than stare at him.

"I have to take a trip, to Chicago. Next week. It's only for three nights - I leave Sunday night and get back Wednesday night."

"She's going with you?"

"Well, technically, I'm going with her since she's the project lead." His attempt at breaking the tension in the room failed. The silence became too intense, deafening; Ell's stare wouldn't break. He turned away, his hand moving on the stem of the wine glass, up and down and up and down. "Why won't you leave this alone? Over the years I've worked with many women, many of whom I've found attractive. You've never seemed bothered by them. You've never quizzed me like this before. You've never not trusted me. What has gotten into you?"

Ell had many answers for this. She would start with today's fresh aftershave, and move to an increasing number of late nights at the office; less time for lunch with Ell; phone messages on their answering machine with no voice recording; new projects with her; business travel with her; Ell's own mid-life insecurities that included a fear that she was no longer attractive or appealing or interesting. They were all the right answer and yet none exactly explained Ell's uneasiness.

Chop. Chop. Chop. The knife in Ell's hand created its own rhythm as it moved against the red peppers on the cutting board. They got smaller and smaller. One slice didn't sound right - there was no chop sound; there was no sound. "Damn. My finger." Real blood then and lots of it. The peppers appeared to be bleeding as Ell's blood met them. "It's gushing." She ran her finger under water, and he handed her a towel. "No, not that one. A paper towel. I don't want to ruin that one."

"That's just like you," he said. "Worrying about a towel when you've almost taken off the tip of your finger. Let me see it." He took her hand and peeked under the paper towel. "You did a great job."

Ell looked at him, took in the scent of him - the mixture of aftershave, wool, his own skin. She let her weight rest against him and felt, for a moment, the familiarity of him and hung on.

On the way to the emergency room Ell looked out the car window. She thought about her and when Ell imagined them together it was always better for him than when he was with Ell. Ell imagined her laughing a laugh that was sexy and sincere, and she would throw back her head and run her hand right over the neckline on her top, which would be low enough to reveal just a little bit of breast flesh. When she did that, he wouldn't be able to help himself, he would reach for her hand, pause just a moment, pull her wrist to his mouth and inhale her spicy perfume and then move to her hand and slowly kiss it while he would smile at her and tell her about the passion he felt.

There were tears in Ell's eyes when they arrived at the emergency room. She quickly wiped them away so he wouldn't see them.

"You've been quiet. That hand must hurt quite a bit."

It does, Ell thought, as she walked into the hospital and the scent of rubbing alcohol overpowered her. It's been pulling blood from a breaking heart. She could hear the metronome sound in her ears as she thought this.

Upon waking the following day, Ell convinced herself to believe him. He was so good to her last night - his hand touched her gently while the doctor stitched a good portion of her fingertip back on. He listened intently as the doctor gave them care instructions. He helped her change her clothes when they got home, propped her hand on a pillow before sliding into bed next to her. There was no way there could be someone else. He didn't have it in him to be unfaithful.

Outside it was an icy-blue cold that she remembered from growing up in Iowa. The kind of cold where it felt as though the wind pierced coats, sweaters, and turtlenecks and went right through skin and down to the bone and caused them to ache. A cold that was seen before it was felt. Snow was predicted, though there were just a few flakes on her way to the restaurant to meet Larry for lunch. The type that were frozen so hard they wouldn't stick to the car window.

Ell had ordered his favorite wine for lunch, just a glass. It wouldn't hurt his work this afternoon at all. She smiled as she thought about convincing him to take the afternoon off and spend it with her. She saw him across the room, watched him unbutton his coat as he moved toward her, and met his eyes. She watched his distinct walk; his tendency to swing his right leg out in a stride slightly longer than his left, which made his hips sway in an almost feminine manner. He smiled and waved to her.

"Hey - you look great," he said in that tone that was almost quizzical, as if he was surprised that she didn't look bad. A tone she had grown accustomed to. He followed it with a kiss, his warm lips meeting her still cold cheek. "How's the hand?"

"Thanks. You look pretty good yourself." She smiled at him. "The hand is better," she said, holding it up and turning it slightly, "though it's still sore and tough to work around. I see dinner delivered for the next few days."

He laughed as he sat across from her and she felt his leg press against hers. "That's just like you - great cook, yet trying to get out of making dinner." He took her bandaged hand and turned it over in his, holding it gently, tracing her palm. When he stopped, he said, "I'm afraid I can't stay for lunch." She felt her body deflate, his grip on her wrist tighten slightly. "I've got a meeting coming up and need to get ready. I tried to reach you, but you had already left."

She looked at him through eyes that managed to hold back tears. "Will she be there?"

He paused and continued to hold her wrist. "Yes." She felt him look at her, waiting for her to say something, though she didn't look at him, and she said nothing because the one thing she couldn't say was that she felt betrayed. He treated her much the same as he always had, except that something was different now. Some of the urgency he had for her in the past was gone. Where once he would have rushed home to tell her about work, now he came in, chatted for just a few minutes, and went to the living room to read the paper. Where once he would have left her little love notes, now he left her reminders about what to buy when she stopped by the mall. Where once, when he reached for her at night, he would have buried his face in her hair to breathe in her scent, now he reached for her and let her go quickly, then often left the bed, not to return for hours.

A voice came from behind Ell. Without ever having met her, Ell knew who it was. Ell turned to see her walking toward them with a slim, snaky stride that caused the eyes of every man and a few women in the room to follow.

"Mary," he said, and he sounded surprised.

"I wanted to grab something for lunch to take to our meeting," she said.

He stood and made the necessary introductions. Ell eyed her carefully. Younger than Ell, long legs, tall, thin, blonde. Ell searched for imperfection. She started to feel as if she were in the way, both of them standing there and her sitting. Ell's hand throbbed; she felt a chill go down her spine and to the tip of her injured finger and back up to her elbow, and the sharpness of it made her flinch. Larry was looking at her, but Ell refused to take her eyes off Mary.

"Nice to meet you," made its way from Ell's mouth. A pause seemed to hold time still. "Don't you two have a meeting to get to?" Ell looked only at him.

"Yes. I'll catch up with you," he said, to excuse her. He looked down at Ell. "I'm sorry," was all he said. He reached for her cheek; Ell turned away from him, but not before his warm hand met the flesh of her cheek and remained, until she moved her head back. She knew he was looking at her, but refused to meet his eyes. She listened as his footsteps echoed on the wood floor as he left.

Outside, the wind had picked up and as Ell felt the chill bite her face in the same spot his hand had warmed just minutes earlier.

Ell recognized the sour taste in her mouth as a mixture of hunger and thirst. Before she left the parking lot she popped a mint in her mouth, the strong flavor erasing the empty feeling in her stomach. She imagined what she would say to Larry tonight and how he would respond. So how was your meeting? Did you rub up against her leg, too? With the two of you together will the project be successful? Ell asked each question out loud as she drove home alone.

Would he respond to any of them? Turn away? Leave?

Would Ell ask?

She asked them all. "The meeting was fine. No, I didn't rub up against her leg. The project should be successful because of everyone involved, not just the two of us. Have I mentioned that there are five of us working on this? Does anything I say matter? You're already upset about her and I feel as if anything I say only makes things worse, only upsets you more."

Ell knew he was right.

He moved back from the dinner table, took his plate to the counter next to the sink, set it down loudly, then walked to the living room. Ell heard him unfold the newspaper.

Ell imagined him seeing an article that says she is dead, killed in a freak accident, and he, going pale, would start to cry uncontrollably. Ell would move to comfort him, with the knowledge that, once again, he was all hers.

But there was no such article. Ell moved in the kitchen, throwing away cartons from the Chinese food they had for dinner. The grease smelled stale when the scent of it reached Ell's nose, and she could feel herself back away from them.

She rinsed their plates, careful to keep her bandaged hand dry, and stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. It took her moments to complete the job and when finished, she stood in the kitchen and leaned against the counter, a glass of white wine in her hand. As she took a drink the flavor of pears surrounded her mouth and drifted down her throat. He had picked one of her favorite wines, even for Chinese takeout.

She watched Larry move back into the kitchen. He leaned on the counter across from her. They were separated by inches of wood flooring, yet a wide span of emotions.

"Look," he said, his right hand rubbing the forehead above his right eye. "For a while this jealousy was fine - it was even flattering. But now.it's enough. Nothing is going on. You need to believe me. I work with Mary and that's all."

Ell watched him. She wanted to pull away from his hand, to walk into his arms, to wrap herself around him. But she didn't - she stood still and let tears escape her eyes and make their way to her mouth.

He moved to her. He held her. She breathed in the scent of his neck. Slowly she kissed him, her tongue tasting the saltiness of his skin. He ran his fingers through her hair, moved his lips over her head until finally their lips met and embraced and shared - the familiar taste of each other.

Ell rolled over the next morning to find his spot empty, the sheets still warm. She smiled to herself, told herself once again she had been wrong, worked hard to convince herself that all the little pieces of deceit she thought she was picking up on were not clues at all - they were just normal life, day to day activities that occurred for everyone. She could hear the house come to life with the familiar sounds of morning as Larry opened the closed cupboard doors, moved dishes around, ground coffee, ran water.

She pulled on her blue flannel robe, wrapped it tightly around herself to keep out the cold, and moved to the stairs. She heard his voice in the distance. She slipped down the stairs, careful not to make any noise, wanting to surprise him.

"No, not today. It's Saturday and I've got plans." He was on the phone, talking quietly. What plans did he have, Ell wondered

He laughed a sharp, harsh laugh. "Right. Like she'd ever let that happen." Ell slid down the wall. The conversation continued, and she heard his voice, but she couldn't put the words together in order. He had plans. Who was the 'she' who'd never let something happen? Ell? Her?

The coffee burbled, the toaster popped, the refrigerator opened and closed, his voice continued to talk. "OK. Maybe tomorrow." And then a sharp tone as he hung up the phone.

"Ell! What are you doing?" She was sitting on the floor, just outside the kitchen, leaning on the wall. He had a tray in his hands, with coffee, two cups, and toasted bagels. She looked at him, confused.

"I was coming down and heard you on the phone. I didn't want to interrupt. What plans do you have today?" She could hear her voice squeak, afraid of what the answer might be.

"I was talking to David. He wanted me to come over this afternoon and check out the new car he wants to buy. Don't you remember what we have today? You see the doctor about your finger - a follow-up visit. I thought we would go by the doctor's office and then go to lunch. Maybe we can see a movie this afternoon." He put the tray down and helped her to her feet.

"You thought it was Mary, didn't you?" He looked at Ell, put his hand under her chin and made her look at him. "Ell for God's sake. There is nothing with her. You thought that I was on the phone with her first thing on a Saturday morning. Look, if I was to have an affair - and I'm not - the last thing I would do would be to have a phone conversation in my home with her on any day of the week, let alone a Saturday morning."

Ell reached for him. She grabbed him by his robe collar. She knew, she fully understood at that moment, what type of person he was. I'm sorry, she thought, I'm so sorry. She hung on tightly. She could feel a sound rise from deep in her throat. He held her tightly.

"Ell. Don't you understand? It's you I love. It always has been, it always will be."

And she did understand. For that moment, she did.

Go to Top of Page