Unexpectedly, Milo - Matthew Dicks [54]
Several pairs of bras and panties hung over the shower rod to dry, and, once again, Milo was consumed with the feeling that he was an intruder in his own home. Even though he had seen Christine’s underwear a million times and had just had sex with his wife a few days ago, standing in the small room, staring at her dangling straps and cups and the lacy panties, made him feel both uncomfortable and … devious? Sneaky?
Yes, sneaky.
He had lived with Christine for more than three years, but in that time, he had never stood in such wonder over her underwear, so surprisingly and unaccountably curious about her bra size. He pulled down a teal bra from the rod and examined the tag inside the cup.
32C.
Gathering the towels and linens, Milo exited the bathroom, noticing a new piece of furniture across the hall in the bedroom. My bedroom, he reminded himself. In the corner beside the bed was a portable playpen of some sort, the type that parents use to reconfigure the environment when invading the homes of friends and relatives with babies in tow. Milo stepped into the room and examined this latest addition, assuming that one of Christine’s friends had recently visited with her newborn, but unable to think of any of her friends who might have a baby. The Pack and Play, as it was labeled, contained several stuffed animals, a tiny pink blanket, and a plastic book that looked ideal for chewing. Perfect for chewing, in fact, though it appeared to be void of any teeth marks. And just like that, what began as a simple observation had instantly blossomed into a sudden need, a demand to chew on this book that had been specifically designed for chewing, ignored by some baby, a girl, Milo surmised, who was probably too clever for her own good. Milo would have liked to be able to say that he tried to resist this new and especially odd demand, but he did not. Already consumed by the impulse, he chose to chew rather than wait for the demand to explode into an all-encompassing, pain-inducing, brain-busting imperative that would send him to the infant section of the toy store in frantic search of a plastic book.
And so he chewed, and with each gnawing grind, demand was replaced with satisfaction. A feeling of relief. A sense that the world was once again in order and as it should be, much like the broken balsa wood airplanes and the smashed Weebles. It was as if these items, the plastic book, the balsa wood, and the Weebles, had all been created for the express purpose of chewing, snapping, and smashing, and to do otherwise with them would have been wrong. The demands were simply the cry of the universe to make things right again.
Chew on the book, for that is why it exists.
And so he chewed.
As he chewed, Milo wondered who Christine knew who had a baby girl. His wife had more than a dozen friends from the office, paralegals and fellow attorneys for the most part, and though Milo knew some of them well, others were characters whom he heard about only in stories about the office or happy hour escapades.
Probably one of them, he thought.
The rhythm of the “99 Luftballons” once again filled Milo’s mind, almost as if a radio had been switched on in the next room, reminding him of its increasing persistence. Milo knew that the song would continue to fill his mind, eventually encroaching on all other thought, until it became so loud and pressure-inducing that its sheer size and weight would become a hindrance to its fulfillment. Milo thought of it as the Point of No Return, the moment at which a demand ceased to be an impetus for fulfillment and transformed itself into an impediment.
He tried to avoid these situations at all costs.
In response, Milo placed the well-chewed book into his coat pocket before heading for the