The Hotel

“Oh, God, please...” Jim murmurs into his clasped hands. He wants to kneel but can’t bend on one knee anymore after the injuries, all the surgeries. Instead, he prays standing up, his head thrown back, his eyes pressed closed. He talks to God every day. He asks for wisdom. He argues with God. He tells God about his problems. He knows God is listening and will bless him. He knows God better than he’s known anything ever in his life.

His wife emerges from the bathroom. She’s tied her hair in a chignon, applied heavy dabs of makeup and wears a clinging black dress that reveals ample thigh and cleavage. Morning sunlight trickles in from the hotel’s French windows, golden rays reflecting off her diamond necklace and earrings in bright prisms of light.

Jim pans his gaze toward her. His lips twist into a smile. She’s sparkling like an angel. She’s still got it, he thinks. How blessed he is, to have the love of this woman.

He knows he should appreciate her more, be more chivalrous. But he’s always had issues expressing emotions. Still, he loves her. He cherishes her. He knows she loves him. He knows she’s suffered and sacrificed, and he appreciates how she’s stood by him since back in his rookie year when his career prospects were uncertain. How she stood by his side, literally, in the hospitals, those times he went under the knife, his devoted wife helping him up in the middle of the night, assisting the hobbling giant to the toilet, holding his dick as he pissed, changing bedpans for him.