Roses Booze Incest and Pigeons

This is a Valentine's Day contest story. Please give me the support of your vote.

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What does roses, yellow roses, booze, lots of beer, incestuous sex, sex with mother-in-law and sister-in-law, and pigeons, toy pigeons and real pigeons, have in common? Husband confesses his sexual transgressions and finally apologizes to his wife in hoping for her forgiveness.

"Hi Sweets. Happy Valentine's Day," said John giving his wife a loving smile.

He looked at her waiting for her to say something. She always had plenty to say but today, not even giving him a happy hello, seemingly, she wasn't talking. He had done plenty for her not to talk to him, for give him the cold shoulder, and the silent treatment. Yet, with today being Valentine's Day and with him ready to tell her all that he did and apologize for his sexual transgressions, he was hoping she'd forgive him. It seemed strange for her to be so silently suppressed when she was always such a blabbermouth and opinionated.

"I brought you flowers," he said looking at his solitary, yellow rose. "Actually, it's just one flower, but it's a yellow rose, your favorite. And knowing how fond you are of birds, especially parrots, I bought you a parrot. They're not easy to find, the yellow roses not the parrot," he said looking from his wife to look at the bird.

He paused to look at her with sadness.

"I would have bought you a dozen, yellow roses but the florist said that a guy bought his last dozen two minutes before me. Had I not stopped to buy the parrot, I would gotten there in time to buy you the dozen, yellow roses. Only, I didn't want to leave the flowers in the car to buy the bird so I bought the bird first."

Always looking to blame someone for his mistakes, even a bird, he looked at the bird as if blaming the bird for him not buying his wife a dozen, yellow roses.

"Everyone carries red roses on Valentine's Day," he said looking from the flowers and the stuffed, toy bird to look back at her again. "No one has yellow roses."

As if he had been deceived, he looked at the stuffed bird with sudden disappointment.

"As you can see Fiona, um, it's not a real parrot. You've always wanted a real parrot but parrots are so very expensive to buy and to maintain," he said holding the stuffed bird up to her while examining it. "It's just a toy parrot. Although, now that I look at it in the light of day, instead of in a crowded toy store, it's not very colorful in the way that parrots typically are.

He looked from the toy bird to look at his wife before returning his attention to the toy.

"It doesn't look very much like a parrot," he said turning the stuffed toy in his hand to better examine it. "Actually, it doesn't look anything like a parrot. It looks more like a pigeon," he said laughing while looking at the toy bird again before looking at his beloved Fiona and hoping that she'd laugh with him.

He examined the toy and read the tags on the bottom of the bird while looking for proof that it was a parrot instead of a pigeon. There were two tags on the bird, one with the materials used to make the bird and the other with the country where the bird was made in China, along with the type of bird imprinted on one of the tags. It read pigeon. Pigeon?

Embarrassed, he looked at his wife with disappointment. What he thought was a stuffed parrot was indeed a stuffed pigeon. Clearly, had he taken the time to read the tag before, when in the store, he would have clearly seen that the tag read pigeon instead of parrot. Only, as always, hating shopping, he grabbed the first stuffed toy that resembled a bird.

"Sorry Fi. If I knew it was a pigeon, I wouldn't have bought the stuffed bird. I mean, other than a magician who only buys doves, who buys a stuffed pigeon? Right? Maybe an old person who always went to the park to feed the pigeons but can no longer go to the park and sit on a bench would buy a toy pigeon," he said.

Hoping to make her happy with his yellow rose and toy parrot that was a pigeon instead, he gave his wife a sad smile when she didn't seem amused or appreciative of his trouble and good intentions on Valentine's Day.

"To be honest, you know me with shopping, grabbing the first thing I can find and beating it the Hell out of there, I couldn't find a parrot," he said without apology. "I dunno, maybe if I stayed longer to look, I would have found a parrot instead of a pigeon but I didn't stay long enough or looked hard enough to find a parrot," he said with a shrug.

He looked at her with as much sadness as he looked at her with guilt.

"I'm sorry that I didn't buy you a Valentine's Day card. You know me and greeting cards. There're all so sappy," he said with a shrug. "There's too many of them to read and I get a headache from reading them all. Usually, I just run in, grab the first one I see, and buy that," he said.

He laughed while remembering the time he thought he bought her one greeting card but bought her another greeting card instead.

"I remember how mad you got the time I bought you a Happy Birthday Mother card instead of a Happy Birthday Wife Card," he said with a laugh. "It wasn't funny at the time but it's funny now years later. Now we'll be talking about how I bought you a stuff pigeon instead of a stuffed parrot," he said laughing but stopped when she didn't laugh.

Waiting for her to say something to break the ice and to make him feel more at ease, he looked at her. What he was about to say was hard for him to say without her having an attitude but he somehow found the courage to say what he needed to say anyway. It amazed him that he was uncomfortable talking to a woman that he's known for nearly fifty years. Instead of beating around the bush about it and with this being Valentine's Day anyway, the day of love, he prefaced what he wanted to say with sincerity and with aplomb.

"I love you Fiona. I've always loved you. And I will always love you, Fi. You were always the one for me," he said with tears in his eyes. "Happy Valentine's Day Sweets. These are for you," he said putting the flowers and bird down to remove his handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe his eyes and blow his nose.

While thinking of all that he needed to say and all that he needed to tell her, he folded his handkerchief and returned it to his back pocket. Even though she didn't show it, John knew he made his wife happy buying her a single, yellow rose, along with the stuffed, toy bird, even if it was a stupid pigeon and not a parrot. She loved birds and always had some sort of bird in a cage in the house, usually canaries or parakeets.

Even though she didn't respond to his words with her words of undying love, he knew she loved him, always loved him, and will always love him. Since the time they first dated at 18-years-old, with her a virgin when he married her three years later, he's been the only man in her life. Now married forty-seven years, he'll be the only man in her life.

"Before I go off on another tangent, I, um, have some things to say to you that I've been wanting to get off my chest for forty years. Please don't say anything Fiona. Please. Just listen and let me talk," he said and wanting to add, let me talk for once, but he didn't. "Otherwise, if you interrupt me, I'll never say all that I need to say to you. Okay?"

Seemingly her silence was her answer that she was giving him his chance to speak uninterrupted. Thinking about all that he wanted to say and needed to tell her, he remained silent while looking down at his feet before looking up at her. Unaccustomed to talking when with his wife, she's the one who always did all of the talking. Most of the time he just listened while nodding his head and acting as if he was paying attention to all that she was saying.

Yakety-yak, yak, yak, she was always talking to him and talking at him. Man that woman could talk. Even when he wasn't there with her, he could still hear her voice in his head yapping at him. Even when he was sleeping she was still talking to him in his sleep. Even when he was drunk, he heard her voice in his head.

'Don't do this and don't do that. Where you going? What time will you be home?' As if he was a child, she was always telling him what to do and what not to do. Then, when he finally came home, she'd interrogate him as if he had committed a crime. He always hated that kind of inquisition from his little woman when he was the man of the house.

"This is really hard for me to come clean after all of these years, Fi. First of all, something I'm very proud of and something I never thought I'd achieve, I'm five years sober, actually, five years, two months, three days, and 8 hours," he said looking at his watch before looking up at her with a proud smile. "With me drinking for 54-years of my life, since the time I was 14-years-old, less the 5 years that I've been sober, I've had a buzz on or been drunk for 49 years," he said with a sad laugh. "Better late than never to turn my life around," he said with pride and with a laugh.

He looked at her to see how she reacted to his good news but when she didn't say anything, he thought about all that he needed to tell her, if only she'd continue to give him the chance to talk. With his drinking a sore point with her for so long, he understood her silence. He understood her not being happy for him when he's fallen off the wagon so very many times before and with her being with him every step of his drunken way to pick him out of the gutter again and again.

Actually, now that he thought about it, this is the first time that she's allowing him to speak uninterrupted. Always interrupting him before, it's hard enough for him to keep a thought in his head and to remember what it was he wanted to say with her talking to him and talking at him. Maybe today is the day that he'll finally tell her all that he needs to tell her.

"I bet you'd never thought you'd hear me say that I haven't had one drop of booze in more than five years. Trust me, it hasn't been easy but I did it. You know me never wanting to go to church, but once I removed the God thing from the twelve step program, something finally just clicked," he said nodding his head as if he was talking more to himself than to her.

In a sense he blamed God as his reason for failing the Alcoholic Anonymous twelve step program in the past. With him once an altar boy and sexually abused by a priest, instead of seeking therapy, drinking was his way of forgetting all that happened to him. Instead of confronting what happened head-on, drinking was his way to ease his pain. Drinking numbed him from feeling the horrors of his childhood that haunted him like boogiemen in the night.

"Day by day and one step at a time finally worked for me after falling off the wagon more than I care to count. Along with having a good sponsor and faithfully attending the AA meetings, I finally got the hang of the being sober. It helps that my drinking buddies are all dead from alcohol related illnesses, my wakeup call," he said with sadness while remembering his drinking buddies.

He removed his hat, bowed his head, closed his eyes, and fell silent in a moment of silence in honor of men that he spent more time with at the bar than he did with his wife and children. With him always working and drinking at the bar when not working, he never went anywhere with his wife. He never went anywhere but to work, to the bar, and then home to do it all over again the next day. Once, in all the years, he took her to the bar to introduce her to his drunken friends and she never went again.

He invited her lots of times but she didn't like his friends, his drinking buddies really, in the way that he was always so close to them. Not wanting him drinking and not wanting to encourage him to drink, she wished he'd just come home. Only and obviously, he'd rather be at the bar with his drinking buddies than being at home with her and his three children. If he was going to drink, she'd rather him drink at home than to drink at some bar and drive home drunk.

He lifted his chin, opened his eyes, and put his hat back on his head. Then, he reached in his back pocket to retrieve his handkerchief again. He wiped the tears from his eyes before blowing his nose again. He folded his handkerchief and returned it to his back pocket.

As if he was standing on hallowed ground or at a baseball game just before they were about to start the National Anthem and sing God Bless America, he removed his baseball cap again. Unsure how to begin, he looked at her and scratched his head before donning his baseball cap again and before continuing to speak. He only hoped she'd understand. He only hoped she'd forgive him. He only hoped she didn't ask him to leave and never return again.

He'd be brokenhearted if she stopped talking to him, even if only in his head. In the way of having a second conscience, he'd be brokenhearted if he never heard her sweet voice ever again. Her sweet voice is the reason why he nicknamed her Sweets. She had a beautiful singing voice too and should have been a singer instead of spending her life as a housewife and mother.

Perhaps if he had emotionally supported her by encouraging her to sing, she would have sung as much as her canaries and parakeets sung. Perhaps if he had physically supported by being there to help care for the children instead of drinking at the bar, she would have found the time to pursue her dream of singing. As much as his life would have been better without the booze, assuredly her life and the lives of his children would have been better too. Yet, to his credit, something he did that most drunks don't do, the only support he gave her and their children, he did support his family financially.

"We've been together a long time Fi. Almost five decades, I've known you all of my life, since we were 18-year-old kids. I realized I wasn't there for you and the kids. I know that. I used work as an excuse and going out drinking with my friends to relax after work as another sorry excuse not to be at home with you and the kids," he said looking at her while waiting for her reaction to his sudden confession.

When she remained silent and didn't say anything to him, with her still not interrupting him as she always did, he continued talking.

"I wasn't the best husband or the best father, an understatement. I know that. I wasn't even a good husband or a good father never mind being the best husband or father. I was a pitiful excuse for a husband and a father. I know that, I admit that, and I'm sorry for that now. Truly, I am sorry that I was never there for you and the kids," he said with recent reality and with newfound sincerity, now that he's sober and not drinking.

A big deal for him to admit his faults, John looked down at his feet with shame, remorse, and humility while hoping for her forgiveness. One of the things that he needed to do in his Alcoholic Anonymous program, he needed to apologize to and make amends with all the people that he's hurt due to his drinking. At the top of the list was his beautiful wife, Fiona and his three children, Jimmy, Joan, and Maureen. Before apologizing to his children, he needed to apologize to his beautiful wife first. With her the love of his life, if it wasn't for her pulling him out of the gutter and cleaning him up to make him look presentable, he would have been dead years ago. He's still alive today because of her.

"Yet, somehow, unlike so many of my friends who were drunks like me and couldn't hold down a job, always able to keep a good job and earn good money, I always put food on the table and kept a roof over your head. Unlike other women, you didn't have to go out and work," he said proud that he supported his family with at least money if not all of the other things that go with the support of a marriage and with being a father. "And other than the few dollars that I kept to buy my beer, something none of my sorry friends did, I turned over my whole paycheck to you every week."

He justified him not being there physically and emotionally seemingly okay because he gave her money. Without even looking at her, he could feel her staring at him. With her always there in his thoughts, whether sleeping or awake, she was the biggest part of him. He knew she was upset with him always disappearing on her and abandoning her for days and weeks at a time. Knowing he had hurt her deeply, without her even saying anything, he knew what she was thinking. He knew she was angry with him for not helping her around the house and/or helping her to raise their three children.

Her whole life was her family and his whole life was drinking when he wasn't working. She raised three beautiful children alone and he has nothing to show for his life but a bad liver, a bum heart, and a bad back from sitting for hours on a barstool. Before he died, suddenly, just keeled over in his house, on the street, or in his car, he needed to come clean while he still could and apologize to his beloved wife, the love of his life.

"I made some mistakes. I know that," he said. "I made some pretty bad mistakes, what politicians call lapses in judgment. Well, being that I didn't have any judgment to lapse, I was just a drunk. I was always drunk. I'm not proud of some of the things I did. I did some horrible things. I did plenty of things that were bad and some pretty bad things that I never wanted you to know I did," he said looking up at her before continuing.

Not sure how to say everything he wanted to say, he was just glad that she was finally giving him a chance to speak, to clear his conscience, and to lighten his load. He was glad that she wasn't interrupting him and interrogating him in the way she always did. Something he was never allowed to do before, to talk to her in the way that he was talking to her now, with him enjoying his newfound freedom to clear his mind, he continued talking.

"The odd thing is that I never felt guilty about the things that I did when I was doing them. Even after I did them, I never had that guilty conscience in the way that I do now and feel horrible about all the things that I did," he said with tears in his eyes.

He took a moment to calm himself and to collect his thoughts.

"This is hard, Fiona, really hard for me to bear my soul before you. There's no easy way for me to say any of this, so I may as well just say it. I may as just finally tell you. Okay? Just give me a minute," he said reaching for his handkerchief again to blow his nose and dry his eyes.

As if he was in church, he removed his hat again to clutch it in his hands. As if he didn't know what to do with his hands, nervous with all that he was about to tell his wife, he put his hat back on his head and his hands in his pockets. He looked up at her and stared right at her before staring right through her. Not saying anything, he didn't say a word. Even though he was ashamed and embarrassed, he had to tell her. This was it. Now or never, if he didn't tell her everything now, he never would. Now that he was sober and needed to make amends, she needed to know all of the despicably, dastardly deeds he did for her to forgive him.

He couldn't keep all that he did as a secret from her anymore. He needed her to know the disgraceful man he is for her to forgive him and for him to get on with his life. Even though all that he did was beyond her forgiveness, he hoped that she'd forgive him. If not forgiving him, he hoped that she'd at least understand why he did the things he did. Ready to accept the blame but even though much of it was his fault, not all of it was his fault.

Even though he accepted the blame for all that he did, even after all he's done and after all the years that have passed, he didn't think any of it was totally all his fault and his responsibility to accept all of the blame. Being that he had been drinking when he was doing these things, as far as he was concerned it still takes two. He wouldn't have done some of the despicable things he did, if he didn't have an accomplice.