www.philipquinn.ca
"Writer "
The Missing Wife published in Broken Pencil Winter 1999
Larry J. was someone I’d
say was very ordinary except for his jet-black hair. It was thick and shiny.
He drove a ‘58 Chevy but only on the weekends. He sold computers. Our
knowledge of each other came during humid summer nights, sitting on his
porch, listening to crickets and dogs.
“I’m concerned about
buttons”, I said one evening.
“Buttons?”
“Yes…how are they made,
who makes them, where do old buttons end up?”
“You’re crazy.”
It was easier to talk to
his wife. In fact, she picked me up at the hospital following some minor
surgery on my right knee. During our ride home, I suggested that she change
her hair style. She said she would consider it. At Christmas, I had them
over for drinks. We exchanged gifts. But the next year, we didn’t.
When Larry’s wife
disappeared, it confirmed my feeling about the situation. When the police
questioned me I confessed to the crime of loving Larry too much.
I tried to break into
Larry’s home so that I could sleep in my own bed. This time the police
arrested me and drove me to the local hospital where I spent the night.
“How are you Mr.P.?” The
nurse was an older man, steel-gray hair, wire rim glasses.
“Please, call me Debbie.”
He gave me a flirtatious
look even though I hadn’t put on my face. I used my fingers to brush back my
hair, a mix of a wig and my own. “You will be amazed at how pretty I can
look.”
He put his finger to his
mouth to silence me, then turned around, his white running shoes squeaking
on the polished hallway floor.
I sent for my things but
was disappointed when a grey vinyl bag arrived containing a man’s electric
shaver and white cotton underwear.
I called home to correct
the mistake.
“Larry?”
“Who’s this?”
“Whom do you think it
is?”
The phone line
disconnected. I called back and got a busy signal.
The police arrived at the
hospital the next day.
“My husband sent you, didn’t he? He’s
trying to prove something by this isn’t he? Does he want a divorce...there
are no children...I don’t know what the point to any of this is?”
“Mr. P. this is a very
serious matter...a woman is missing and her husband and family are deeply
upset.”
I looked at the woman
detective.
“How would you like it if
I insisted that you were a man?”
For a brief moment, I saw
hope in her eyes.
The other officer was
staring off into the distance, already bored with me.
She answered, “We’ll have
to search your house.”
“Go ahead. I’m sure Larry
will let you in.”
That afternoon I was
taken into a conference room filled with doctors, nurses and medical
students. I was asked to sit on a wooden stool at the front. They had
allowed me to wear a nurse’s uniform and makeup.
“Here is my bank
book...my driver’s license.” I stood up and waved them at my audience. There
was a murmur throughout the crowd. I looked more closely at the photo ID on
the driver’s license. God, I thought to myself, I’m a good-looking woman.
I handed these items to
the doctor in the first row. They were passed around as I explained my side
of the story.
I sat back down and
crossed my legs. I smiled at my audience and waited.
