Cornelius and his Affair (Short Story- half canon)

Due to requirements in a writing course I'm in, the ending to this story is half baked and should not be considered canon!
Content warning- alcoholism, cheating, marital argument 


     Sometimes, when Cornelius and William lay together, William wears Cornelius’s glasses and tells him that he likes how he’s graying. Without disgust, the young man rests his arm on top of Cornelius' bloated stomach, and listens to his stories. And if Cornelius wanted, William could recite them back. I'm rambling, Cornelius would say. To which William always replied; I’m listening.

     “It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor, would you be mine?” Mr. Roger’s crackled out from the television speakers. “Could you be mine?”

     Cornelius awoke to the blare of the screen, taking in a slow breath to awaken himself before sitting up. He grunted, his back popping. His chest sat on his stomach, and his stomach sat on his thighs as he shifted his weight. Blindly, he reached out to feel for his square glasses.

     His knuckles brushed against empty bottles, the amber glass clinking together. He breathed heavily through his nose, steadying himself. He had supposed he was at William’s on account of Mr. Roger’s, but after perching his glasses upon his bulbous nose, he was met with a cracked leather couch, framed family photos, and a crowd of hollow beer bottles on the coffee table.

     The front door beyond the living room clicked, then pressed open to let a chill waft inside of the house. It was closed firmly with another click, then the jingling of keys.

     Cornelius cleared his throat, sitting up a bit more. Unable to stand confidently enough to shut off the television, he stayed put and felt a flush of discomfort at the man in a red sweater singing on screen.

     The moment Donna’s frame passed by- still holding her book bag from school- Cornelius attempted to catch her.

     “Hey kiddo,” he said, then cleared his throat.

     “Oh, hey,” she replied after a jolt, turning to him. Her eyes flicked to the TV, then back at Cornelius who only wore a stretched wife beater and boxers. She did not look him in the eyes.

     “How was class?”

     “Fine.”

     “Good,” Cornelius nodded.

     “Is mom awake?”

     “What, uh, are you wearing?” Cornelius asked, having taken notice of Donna’s slim fitted bell bottoms and very low-cut v neck. After her lack of reply, he continued, “I think Linda’s asleep. Uh, what time is it?”

     “Eleven, maybe.”

     “Oh,” he nodded, breathing heavily. His nose whistled just slightly with each inhale.

     Mr. Rogers talked through the speakers, the ceiling fan above spun lazily, and Cornelius’s daughter stared down at the carpet.

     “Okay, Well,” she muttered, taking a step back to dismiss herself.

     “Uh, hey let’s do something tomorrow,” Cornelius reached.

     “I don't know, I’ve got work,” Donna rejected.

     “Well after dinner then, uh, let's go do something.”

     “There's not much to do.”

     “We could go see a movie.”

     “I went yesterday with some friends.”

     “Oh,” Cornelius sat back. “Well, that's okay, uh, we can go to the zoo.”

     “The zoo..?”

     “Well- we’ll figure something out,” he chuckled.

     For a long while, Donna said nothing, and Cornelius’s nose whistled.

     “Okay, sure,” she muttered, then took another step back.

     “Uh, okay,” Cornelius nodded. “Are you going to bed?”

     “Mhm.”

     “Hey, good night.”

     “Night.”

     Donna abandoned the drunk to head upstairs. Both she and Linda resided upstairs at night, Cornelius being the only being in the house downstairs when the sun was down.

     The old man’s eyes watched the empty staircase as his nose whistled. Fat, pathetic, and alone.

     William would always welcome him to bed. He would have, if Cornelius had seen him tonight. My darling, William would say, please come rest with me.

     Cornelius- despite himself- watched the full episode of Mr. Rogers, only finding his willingness to stand and shut it off after a hair curling commercial began to play. He rotted on the couch with a quilt that Linda’s mother had made and a throw pillow. One throw pillow of many that Linda had collected.

     Cornelius was walking again in the late afternoon the following day, abandoning bottles into the brown paper bag on the  kitchen floor that they called recycling.

     He knew Linda was working in the garage since her orchestral music seeped through the cracks of the door into the back hallway of the house. Cornelius
knocked twice before opening the door.

     Linda was sitting at her work desk, her pearl-beaded glasses perched on her pointed nose. Her aged hands shakily tipped a yellowed measuring cup of melted tallow into a soap mold. The air stung like acid with lavender and lemon.

     “Hey, uh,” Cornelius began, to which Linda set down her measuring cup to
pluck the needle off her classical record. “Oh, you don't have to stop your music.”

     “No, it's fine,” she replied. “I’m making pork for dinner.”

     “Okay, is James coming for dinner?”

     “Yup,” she nodded. “If you’re going out with Bill, can you get ketchup and vanilla extract?”

     “I don't know if I’m going out,” he said.

     “Cornelius, you’re going out,” she chuckled. “You’re out of beer. Can you just grab ketchup and vanilla extract before you’re home?”

     Cornelius said nothing, and Linda turned to look at him. Her eyes briefly flicked down his frame.

     “Can you shower before dinner, please?” She asked.

     “Sure,” he replied.

     Cornelius stood at the garage door, even as the needle found the record again and Linda returned to mixing her soap batches.

     William painted oil paintings in his garage. He painted women, mostly, despite his lack of attraction to them. Or- maybe he was attracted to them, Cornelius didn't know.

     “Oh, Donna and I might uhm, go somewhere after dinner,” he said.

     “Mm.” She hummed.

     After showering, shaving, and dressing in a button up, Cornelius went out for beer bottles, ketchup, and vanilla bean. Only when he was ridiculed at home did he remember he was meant to get vanilla extract rather than whole vanilla
bean.

    When James came home- who had driven an hour from Boise University-  hugs were shared between himself, Linda, and Donna. Cornelius wandered to the front door as well with his hands in his pockets, receiving a wave from his son.

     James helped set the table, Donna finished mixing the mashed potatoes for Linda, and Cornelius watched television.

     Cornelius took his end of the wooden dining room table, and Linda took hers. There laid two empty seats on either side of Cornelius, then James and
Donna who sat on either side of Linda.

     James spoke of his classes at Boise, and Donna expressed her enjoyment of music theory at community college. Linda pressed about that one boy Donna had been talking to, to which Donna accused Linda of listening to her conversations while she was on the telephone.

     Cornelius breathed heavily through his nose as he drove his knife into his dry pork. As he chewed on the chunk he had carved, he reached to serve himself mashed potatoes.

     William was a vegetarian. Cornelius still thought it was a bit silly. William’s meals were lighter, less heavy on the stomach. Perhaps that's why Will was so slim. Sometimes, if Cornelius was unable to make it home, William made him breakfast in the mornings. And William sat beside him while they ate together.

     The room had gone silent.

     Cornelius looked up, his family staring back at him. Linda had the same expression she wore when Cornelius was telling a long story.

     “Hmm?” He hummed.

     “Your cholesterol,” Linda repeated, motioning with a fork to his plate.
“Honey, pass him some green beans,” she then asked James.

     Cornelius looked down to his plate. Five pork chops, and mashed potatoes with a chunk of butter. And a beer.

     “What?” He asked.

     “Your cholesterol is gonna go up with how much- Cornelius, Imagine you were me looking at your plate,” she replied.

     Cornelius continued to chew slowly on his piece of pork as he stared at Linda.

     “Linda, I can't possibly imagine what it's like to be you, looking at my plate,” he said. “You made this. You made this for dinner.”

     “God, I’m not getting after you, I’m just reminding you.”

     The telephone began to ring in the kitchen, shrill and urgent. Cornelius set down his fork, and his chair rutted back against the tile as he stood.

     “I got it.” Donna said.

     “Cornelius,” Linda continued. “You said you've had high blood pressure.”

     “I never said that,” He responded, yet his eyes watched Donna as she went to pick up the phone.

    “Maybe you were drunk when you said it, i don’t know, but you said it.”

     “It’s Bill.” Donna called from the kitchen.

     Cornelius abandoned his plate and took the mint colored plastic handle from Donna, holding it to his ear.

     “Hello?”

     “How are you, dear?” William replied.

     A sense of relief overtook the older man, turning away from the dining room table to get any amount of privacy he could maintain. Once Donna was seated again, their mingling helped drown out his sensitive conversation.

     “Hey, I’m okay,” Cornelius said, then cleared his throat.

     “Are you?” William asked, his tone as soft as usual. “I miss you.”

     “Haha- I’m fine, I’m great.” Cornelius turned to glance at his chatty family. “You called during dinner, haha.”

     “Oh, might this be a bad time?”

     “No, no it's okay. Stay on call, please,” Cornelius said.

     “Mm, Did James come for dinner?” William asked.

     “Yes, haha, he’s got a lot on his mind I think. He, uh, hasn't talked much.”

     Cornelius leaned against the kitchen counter, his thick fingers toying with the swirled cord coming down from the telephone. As they spoke, he heard an occasional meow from William’s cat on the other line.

     “Let me take you for drinks, Luis,” William offered.

     “Now?”

     “Whenever you’d like, dear.”

     “Oh- now it's fine. Now is okay, uhm, I’ll just have to-”

     “Would you like me to pick you up?” William asked.

     “Can I stay the night?” Cornelius asked back.

     “I would love to have you dear, but are you attending church in the morning?” William chuckled.

     “Uh, Linda would want me to.”

     “Alright love, how about I pick you up, then take you home?”

     “Okay, sure,” Cornelius nodded, glancing at the table once more.

     Linda was watching him now, his brows raised as though expecting news from him.

     “See you in fifteen?” William asked.

     “Mhm, see you then,” Cornelius responded, then placed the mint phone back on its perch.

     He approached the table again, checking his watch as he sat down. He gripped his fork and knife again, eating more diligently than he had been before.

     “What was that?” Linda asked.

     “Going out with Bill,” Cornelius responded.

     “Tonight?”

     “Mhm-”

     “Dad,” Donna interrupted.

     Cornelius looked up at her, chewing on pork as he studied her expectant expression. He sniffed, and looked back down at his meal to cut another chunk of meat.

     “We’ll do something tomorrow, after church,” he muttered.

     “Can you be home before one?” Linda asked, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms over her chest.

     “Yup.”

     After clearing his plate, finishing his beer in the living room, and stepping into shoes, Cornelius slipped onto his porch into the chill of the night to await William. Two solid beams of light rounded the corner, the headlights of William’s cream colored Chevrolet. The sleek car slowed at the curb, humming as it stilled. The smokey silhouette within reached over to open the passenger’s door.

     By the time Cornelius was home, his face was hot with liquor and his breath was heavy. His head weighed on his shoulders, dipping forward, then back as he gripped the stair railing to steady himself. He pressed his body against the wall where the stairs turned, swallowing thickly.

     Light pooled under the crack of the master bedroom door, guiding Cornelius to it in the black home. Blindly, he reached for the handle, pawing at the air. When he felt the cold brass in his palm, he leaned against the door to push it open.

     Linda laid propped up in their bed, her pearl glasses perched on her nose as she read one of her romance novels. The kind that was small enough so it could fit in a woman’s purse. The kind with a muscular, long haired, stern faced man in the cover with a damsel in his arms. She turned the page while Cornelius slid his hand against the wall to guide himself to the bathroom.

     “You’re drunk,” she said.

     “I know,” Cornelius replied.

     The sink turned on, then off, then Cornelius was leaning against the doorframe, watching her as he breathed. She looked up with her eyes, then let her book tip forward as though putting it aside.

     “Did Bill drive you home?”

     Cornelius did not respond.

     “Cornelius, did you drive yourself home?”

     “No,” He said blandly.

     Linda looked at Cornelius, and Cornelius looked at Linda. She raised her book again, adjusting her glasses on her nose. Cornelius felt warm tears prick at his water line, stinging his dry eyes. Linda looked up again.

     “What?” She asked.

     “You hate me,” Cornelius muttered.

    “I don't hate you, stop it.”

    “Yes, you do. All of you. You hate me.”

     “Stop it. you’re not doing this- go lay down.”

     Cornelius shifted his weight, standing now without the help of the doorframe.

     “Go lay down,” she repeated.

     “Why do I make you so nervous? I never hit you,” Cornelius said. “Not once. I never even hit you. I never even struck the kids- you have no right to hate me how much you do.”

     “Stop it.”

     “Is it my body?” He asked. “You think I’m disgusting.”

     “Yes! Yes, I think you’re disgusting. Look what you’ve done.” She said, gesturing to him. “You look like your father.”

     Cornelius let out a huff as he began to cry, reaching up to hide his eyes in his palm. Linda kept her eyes on her book, and Cornelius wept against the door frame. For five minutes, Cornelius wept, and Linda ignored him. Only when he had gone silent again did she talk.

     “Go lay down, Cornelius.”

     “I’m sleeping with Bill,” he said.

     “What?” She said, “No, you’re not. Why would you say that?”

     “Linda, we’re so unhappy, I-”

     “Are you sleeping with him?” She asked.

     “No.”

     “Then why would you say that?” She closed her book.

     For a long time, neither partner spoke. Linda looked at Cornelius, and Cornelius looked at the brown carpet that still had lines in it from the vacuum.

     “I did not stay with you for thirty years-”

     “Linda-” he interrupted.

     “Don't talk. I did not stay with you for thirty years, I did not raise those children, and I did not sustain this family for you to do this. You are not having an affair Cornelius, and you are not a sodomite. You are my husband.”

     “We’re so unhappy.”

     “I don't care!” She said, her voice breaking. “We are a family, I am not getting a divorce. You can’t do that to me. We’re a family.”

     Cornelius wept silently to himself, and Linda took off her glasses to place them on her nightstand. She then pressed the heel of her palm to her eye and sniffed.

     “I don't care what you do, don't you involve my family in it. Go lay down, Cornelius,” she said, her voice wavering from emotion.

     Cornelius, though he wished to say more, obediently found his way to the door and down the stairs back to the living room couch. As he had the night before, he lined the table with beer, drank, and wept while the television played.