No Laughter and No Tears

No Laughter and No Tears

      

       By Ride-em Reimer

Lydian music merries the ear and tickles the fancies so that, if the hearer fails to respond with a full and bursting laughter before the finish of the refrain at some point in its fifteen minute duration, then plainly he needs some lessons in the freeing of the spirits. Dulcet for tears, Lydia for laughter, goes the old Roman truism.

       Roberta larked about for a few minutes before turning to the mirror to fuss with her hair that she had shorn down to the nub. She was going to the beach for the first time this year of our Lord, 1968. Why do men have balls, she thought. And she chuckled to herself. She whistled while she worked. Bikini. Don’t forget that, Robin. Itsy bitsy. Lotion. Where was the only place Janet didn’t let the strange man rub the suntan oil? In her eyes! Ha, ha, ha! Robin applied a bit of rouge, and eye shadow the color of Damsons. She painted ripe Bing cherries on her lips. She dabbed perfume under her arms, by her neck, and at her elastics. What did the lingerie clerk in Macy’s say when the customer asked how many pairs of panties they had in the store? Shower thongs. Romance. Ramona in Beijing. Sundress. In case it gets really hot. Who knew? What did the hatcheck girl say when she sat down on the cat? Okay. Have I got gas in the Civic? Yes. Do I have my wallet? No. It’s in the living room. Get that first.

       “Where do you work?” she asked Gordon.

       “At the Winkler Co-op. I manage dry goods, TV’s, radios, dishwashers, ranges, like that.”

       “Don’t let it get in my eyes,” she said, turning face down on her stomach. The sun shone. Birds whistled. The lake breathed.

       “I won’t,” he said. He moved his hands down along her upper thigh, barely touching it, taking his time massaging the lotion in. Besides the beach noises it was quiet.

       “I was married before,” he said, when he got to her knees. “I didn’t like it very much because I didn’t know what to do for my wife’s worries. She had a sad past with guys and I tried to listen and advise her but I wasn’t any good at it. She told me so and I agreed with her.” Robin lay on the sand. Maybe she was asleep, he thought. He found out when his hand rubbed up to within a few centimeters of her bikini bottoms between her legs. She turned over on her back and looked at him. He could tell that she was not looking yes.

       “Did you break up or divorce or are you still married?” she asked. A seagull called and the wind blew sand onto the blanket. A beach crab crawled up to her foot and he pushed sand over it with his heel.

       “I left. She wouldn’t divorce. She wanted us to stay together because of the kids. But I wanted to go. I couldn’t take her tears anymore. Cry at night. Cry Saturday morning when I finally had a day off to sleep in. Cry in church. Cry all the time. Jeez. I had no idea what she wanted. I think she just wanted to cry, maybe. Anyway, I didn‘t want to hear anymore so I left one day.”

       He closed the bottle of lotion and fell on his back beside her. The sun lay on them both. They could hardly breathe. After awhile they ran into the waves and then came and lay back down again. He went for ice cream. She took off her top while he was gone. When he was coming back she put the towel over her breasts and watched him. He didn’t say much but rested there glancing into the sun, up at her licking ice cream. She waited perhaps a minute then whipped her towel away to show him.

The rest cannot be written because it has been described so often. He touched her in a certain way, eventually. She liked it without reservation, immediately. He worked his way down toward her groin with caresses, too quickly for both of them but not so they could do or did anything about it. They panted and breathed with that unevenness. They said almost no words except silly ones. Yes, she explored him, too, enjoying as she always had the touching of a penis and its sudden wetness after a few minutes play. They moved their blanket behind some shrubs from where they could see someone approaching, and then they had what we call sex, which was quickly over. They washed in the waves. They repeated the above every half hour till they were both tired of it, suddenly. She cried then, from some inner emotion, or from being tired, she didn’t know. He laughed aloud to himself because he had enjoyed this so much, not having allowed himself to since his separation two years ago.

When they got to the parking lot there was nothing to laugh about and crying did no good. Her car had been stolen. His was there, still, of course, but it wouldn’t start because of the heat. For some reason it never did start well at the height of summer, being an old Ford. Its carburetors were tricky and got air locks. They laid down in the back of the station wagon on the few blankets and rugs they could assemble and slept there till early morning when, sure enough, in the coolness of seven o’clock the beast roared to life. They went for breakfast first before reporting the theft. After that they went to a matinee and in the evening decided to do something neither of them had tried before. They bought tickets to a comedy club and thoroughly enjoyed three of the five performers. She laughed happily, with a horsey and endearing whinny, and he tended to laugh too long so that after awhile, unable to stop, he would have tears in his eyes.