The Proverbial Mr. Universe Read Free Page A

it’s not like you will continue to work once were married,” he said.
    “I can’t believe you just said that!”
    “What?”
    “What am I supposed to do at home? What about my dreams and my aspirations?”
    He laughed again, which continued to make her temperature rise.
    “Exactly! Right here is what I’m talking about. You don’t care about me; you don’t care about what I like, or—”
    “Oh, come on! Stop being such a baby.” He paused. “I do care,” he said in a not so convincing tone.
    Her heart was drumming so rapidly and loudly it ran up to her ears. She put a hand on her forehead. “Maybe this is all wrong …”
    He raised his hand in the air. “What are you saying, Olivia? You’re not happy? You’re not happy with me? Are we back to that again?” He missed the clutch, and his car lurched into first gear.
    No, she wasn’t. She was sure of her feelings, but she was so afraid to say the words out loud … afraid of the consequences if she did.
    “Honestly, I don’t know anymore.” She finally looked at him.
    He shook his head. “I figured something was up yesterday night. You keep on asking me all these questions. You’re trying to pick a fight.” He looked away. “I think you do all this for attention. Your father spoiled you too much. I spoiled you too much!”
    Whenever they fought, he made her believe she was the cause of everything that was wrong in their relationship. Her fault they argued, her fault she was unhappy. He never took the blame for anything that went wrong. The car pulled up to the curb and stopped in front of a tall, gray building where Olivia worked.
    “Yeah, you’re right…” she frantically waved her hands in the air “…I do this all for attention.”
    “What’s the matter with you? Sometimes I think you’re unstable …”
    “I hate when you call me that.” His words hurt. They always hurt.
    “Yeah, well, you’ve been acting fucking crazy lately.”
    She looked at him without saying another word. What was the point? She certainly had enough. Olivia opened the car door, slamming it behind her. She didn’t even turn around at the sound of screeching tires. Olivia stood motionless, unaware how long she stood there. Staring at the tall, gray building, she wanted to call in sick. Her heart was about to fall out, wouldn’t that be reason enough?
    Instead, she decided to go across the street to pick up a large coffee. Maybe she could caffeinate herself to death, or better yet … pick up a pack of cigarettes—but not before a deep, rumbling voice called out from behind her.
    “Don’t let the shadow follow you around,” said a man who spoke English with a thick French-Canadian accent.
    She looked around, and her eyes landed on a homeless man sitting on the snow-covered, concrete ground. His face had been weathered from the hardship of living on the street, white hair and beard growing wildly around him. At first, she wasn’t sure if he was directly talking to her. Olivia glanced around and realized no one else was on the sidewalk.
    “What?”
    “The fear we are never worthy of anyone better,” he replied.
    “Sorry?” Olivia looked around, uncomfortable with the idea of speaking to this man alone.
    “When you subject yourself to pain and repeatedly allow him to break you with a few short words. Says a lot about you,” he replied.
    She frowned. “Really, what’s that?”
    “You must not love yourself. I’ll tell you, mademoiselle … your life belongs to you. Only a matter of treating your life a little better and maybe life would treat you better in return.”
    Great, now she was getting advice from a homeless man. Olivia made sure to keep a safe distance between them. He seemed harmless enough, but one could never know. As a child Olivia always imagined herself growing up into the kind of person who was compassionate toward others, devoting her time in making some sort of difference in the world. At some point she lost sight of the person she