“You don’t love someone for their looks or their clothes, or their car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.” Oscar Wilde
by Carol Roper
Hunched over the steering wheel of his newer model Subaru parked under the sole functioning street lamp on a side street in Rosarito Beach, Ted Pruett pondered how he had gotten in this deep and how he could get out unharmed. How had he, who always went along to get along, been trapped in his miserable position?
People thought of Ted as a “nice guy,” mainly because his wife, Matty Decker (she’d kept her maiden name) handled all their social interactions; a task for which born in the south and schooled in the north, she excelled. Matty could make friends with anyone, while Ted preferred to be left alone.
He glanced at her in the entry of the cultural salon, bidding goodnight to friends and neighbors, thanking them for generous donations replace the volunteer fire department’s ancient truck. Their sprawling rural beach side community along the north Pacific coast of Mexico desperately needed it. The forty-year-old relic with a leaky water tank left residents and villagers to fight fire with only garden hoses, shovels and blankets, or dash into the ocean to watch and hope the fire didn’t bring devastation before it burned out. A newer truck had been located in the States. The fund raiser was to pay for it and the delivery.
Dressing for the fund raiser, Matty had wrapped her long, grey, frizzy hair into a flattering bun at the top of her head and swapped her daily sweats and Crocs for a loose gold-colored blouse over black leggings and sandals. She’d always looked older than her age and used her soft voice and grandmotherly appearance to her advantage. It had been the key to her success as a one-time real estate broker and her re-election to President of the Puesto Del Sol Homeowner’s Association, a position that made it easy for her to obtain permits and permissions for the project that destroyed Ted’s peace of mind: The Eco-Friendly house.
He’d met Matty at a Disco club in east Los Angeles thirty-four years earlier. They had sex in the bathroom, she was the aggressor, and left together. Both had early marriages and were not in a hurry to repeat the experience. Both agreed they didn’t want children. They lived together for ten years before marrying for a practical reason: the community college where Ted was a Music Professor expanded its health plan to include legal spouses.
After that it seemed time sped up for Ted. It erased his vanity. When he saw his face in a mirror it looked like a dry riverbed. His once shoulder-length ginger hair disappeared into the shower drain leaving only a white fringe of his old glory. Wire framed eyeglasses gave him the look of a Franciscan monk.
He was trim, worked out, watched what he ate, walked a mile a day. Despite this he had hypertension and was a high risk for a stroke or heart attack. It was one reason they retired to Mexico.
Over the years Matty’s small body spread and took on a goose shape, seen naked she was round and smooth and warm and desirable to him. Early in their relationship Ted recognized a quality of sound, Matty seemed unaware of, that came from her to him. He thought of it as her love hymn for Ted.
As retirement came on the horizon, they bought two ocean view lots in Mexico that included a dilapidated modular cottage. At the Turn of the 21st Century they moved in and began renovating the cottage and lots. They planted fruit trees in the large yard and hibiscus bushes.
They talked of one day building another house to grow old in together. The talk ended with the global real estate crash. Down went the value of their investments and 401k. To make ends meet, Ted did substitute teaching, commuting two days a week to the states. Matty built a clientele of Americans looking for bargain beach homes in Baja California.
Years past. Global markets and investments recovered and grew. They were finally economically comfortable though not rich. Ted stopped commuting. They traveled discovering more of Mexico together.
It was a windfall from an unexpected source that changed everything. A distant uncle of Matty’s — a man she hadn’t seen since childhood and didn’t know was alive or dead — had come to Matty as his only living relative. She inherited a six-figure balance and his grandfather clock. This largesse factored into Ted’s passivity. It didn’t quite feel right for him to interfere with how Matty spent her inheritance.
Not until they moved from the cottage into the large Eco-friendly house did Ted realize his mistake.
Their first night in the new house they enjoyed a dinner of salad and pasta, drank wine and made love in the new bed to the sound of ocean waves. Ted fell asleep only to wake gasping for breath two hours later. Although he hadn’t had asthma attack since childhood, he knew he would die if he remained in the house.
While Matty snored peacefully, Ted got out of bed in his skivvies and staggered down the floating molded-steel stairs, letting himself out the back door, he crossed the rear yard and entered the cottage where magically Ted’s breath became normal. It was not asthma, he concluded, it was an allergy. He was allergic there. Yet logically he knew that was almost impossible. No chemicals, nothing toxic had been used in the construction. The walls a were rammed earth, the same materials used for the great wall of China. The house could withstand weather and sea for centuries. The floors repurposed wood taken from old houses. The barn door style doors allowed rooms to be reconfigured. The downstairs tile made from nontoxic material.
Ted rummaged through the cottage and found an old blanket that despite years of washing still smelled of his dog Pato, long gone to Rainbow Heaven. He located an air mattress among boxes marked for donation and dragged it to his small office. He lay down and logged in to a deep sleep.
Matty didn’t ask questions when he appeared at breakfast, nor did Ted offer any explanation. They ate oatmeal and almond milk. Ted heard the hum of love coming from her and was comforted.
An Open House for their neighbors took place as planned a few days later.
Expat commutes are small and polite, lies are the glue that keeps them together. Everyone splashed compliments around about the unique, Eco-Friendly House to Matty; but Ted who happened to be downstairs in the TV/ library area where the window was ajar, heard departing guest’s true comments.
“They built a cave. It has dirt walls. Are they Neanderthals?”
“Rammed earth. It’s an Eco-friendly house with a very small carbon footprint, honey.”
“It sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s an ugly mess.”
“Lower your voice.”
Another said: “The architect is the Frank Lloyd Wright of Mexico. So, I guess that’s something valuable.”
“It doesn’t have a garage. What the hell! A car rots near the ocean. Why no garage?”
And another: “The floor to ceiling bathroom windows aren’t frosted. I never guessed they were exhibitionists.”
Ted closed the window. He wanted to defend Matty but couldn’t because he agreed. The house was Matty’s dream and unlivable. But what could he do?
Later that night he prepared roast chicken and steamed vegetables for dinner. They drank wine and cuddled as they watched an old Julia Roberts movie before bed.
When Matty slept, Ted got up and went to the cottage.
Over the next few days, whenever she was not there, he moved a bit of his clothes over to the cottage and a WIFI extender for his cottage office.
Silence. the tool Ted used whenever he was bothered had always brought Matty to him pleading, “What is it? Let’s talk. I know together we can work it out,” had failed. Not once in two months had she asked about where he slept or even how? They saw each other daily, ate meals together and lived in separate houses.
Today, the morning of the fire truck fund-raiser, he saw Matty’s note on the refrigerator. It reminded him the cottage was scheduled to be moved at the end of the week. He’d forgotten the plan to donate the cottage. Gloom engulfed Ted. With his refuge gone where would he sleep and work on his projects: saving books, movies and jazz recording no longer subject to copyright?
There was no other choice but to confront the issue. Tonight, he would tell her they had to sell the co-friendly house. He feared her reaction. Would Matty choose the house over Ted? By all accounts the life of older single men was a sad existence of loneliness, store-bought BBQ chicken, beer and Internet Porn. He winced at the thought. It would be easier to tell Matty he was gay, she would understand that and adjust; but this, the house was her “baby,” her creation.
A screech outside the SUV startled Ted. He flashed the headlights and illuminated a frightened cat retreating into an alley. The dominant cat seated in the road unhurriedly groomed itself.
Voices and a small beam of light from a cell phone caught Ted’s attention. Guests were leaving the fund raiser using cell phones for flashlights, stepping carefully as they went.
“My God, why hadn’t Matty’s committee arranged for valet parking?” Ted thought, blaming her was one way to work up courage.
He heard someone familiar to see his neighbor Brian’s curly mop of white hair and his wife Vicki. They were longtime friends having been the couple who introduced Matty and Ted to the seductive charm of Baja California, camping on the beach, drinking tequila, grilling fresh fish and no police to tell them their fun was illegal and “Go home.”
Ted lowered the passenger window as Brian lurched toward the car to steady himself.
“Hey, Bryan, Vicki, nice you came to support the truck.”
“Hey, pal, long time no see,” Bryan said though he’d just seen Ted thirty minutes earlier inside the salon when Ted had been the volunteer DJ and shared some of the music collection he’d assembled since his teens.
“Loved the Lennon song, ‘Imagine,’ That guy knew, right?”
“Right.” Ted had played twenty minutes of Dylan, Eagles, Beatles for the over sixty-five crowd to sing along.
Bryan sang, “play that funky music white boy.”
“Matty did great tonight, as always,” said Vicki before turning to her husband. “Give me the keys, I’m driving.”
“No, you’re not.” Brian said, staggering away.
“Then I’m calling an Uber.” Vicki said.
“Good luck.” Bryan called back.
“I hate my husband,” Vicki said. “I want a divorce but he won’t leave. It’s my house and he won’t leave.”
This was not news to anyone who knew them.
“Night, Vicki,” Ted said
Vicki’s head drooped forward as she trudged after her husband.
Ted wondered if Matty would one day casually tell people she hated Ted?
If only there way, some easy way-to tell her he wanted to sell the new house.
He adjusted the dash lights and checked the brights hoping to catch Matty’s attention but if she saw it, she did not respond. Matty had always been so sensitive, so solicitous of his moods and desires was ignoring him. Or did she not see him?
He tapped Subaru’s horn lightly to get Matty’s attention. She turned to him and raised her hand to gesture, one more minute.
A knock at his window startled him. Ted turned and saw a grimy, thin-faced young man with meth eyes peering out at him from a black Hoody.
“Want to party, nearby?” The man asked in perfect, unaccented English. “Meet nice people, make friends,” he slurred.
The detritus of the United States opioid crisis had drifted south or been dumped there for treatment by their families who were out of patience and money for them.
“Ayahuasca, mushrooms.” He added with a crooked grin.
Ted looked sympathetically at his fellow human being. He imagined the man once had a family, might, have been in the military, married. Somewhere somebody worried about him.
“Go home,” Ted said, not unkindly.
“Fuck your asshole! Fuck you!” came his retort. He spit on Ted’s window and pounded the Subaru’s hood like a Gorilla. Stopped, looked at Ted, laughed and walked away.
Stunned by the outburst Ted watched spittle dripping down the car window. His body trembled involuntarily. His breath was rapid. A noise inside his head like a thousand flies signaled his rising blood pressure. He was old and defenseless. He had to get out of there to safety. Grabbing the steering wheel to steady himself, he started the engine and tapped the horn for Matty.
She turned toward him a momentary expression of impatience flitted across her face.
Ted tapped the horn more urgently.
Moments later she opened the car door, dropped into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed. “Sorry it took so long,” she said, snapping on her seatbelt.
He heard Matty’s voice and a chill went through him. He didn’t hear her love hymn.
*********************
Written by Carol Roper December 2023
Ⓒ Carol Roper
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivatives 4.0 International License. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-No Derivatives 4.0 International License.
Carol Roper
I am a published and award-winning playwright, produced television, screenwriter, blogger and YouTuber.
UNRULY WOMEN and other stories are generally about retired US citizens who migrated to live in Baja California, MX.
I moved to Baja California in 2011 when I was 71. Best decision I ever made.
Visit me on YouTube:
Carol Roper 
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