The Wand of the Youth God

When they came into the apartment a few minutes earlier, Mitchell and Rhea did no more than nod their heads and mutter a cursory, “Hello.”

Not wanting to be part of a reunion, that she was not too sure should be taking place anyway, returning to the show she’d been watching on television, Rhea had left her daughter and son-in-law alone to look at their son.

Their old apartment rented, knowing Marsha, knowing she was not going to want to live in the home of her parents a second longer than absolutely necessary. Knowing also that they would have to live here until they find a place of their own. Unaware that it was primarily Rhea’s goading – along with his mother’s – that had caused their split, also knowing that it would make Marsha happy, but also because he couldn’t hold a grudge – especially against a woman as beautiful as his mother-in-law, whom he did like – going into the living-room, sitting alongside her on the sofa, covering her hand with his, “Rhea,” he said sincerely, “I want to thank you for taking good care of my wife and baby.”

Rhea’s first instinct was to pull her hand away. “Mitchell, you don’t have to thank me!” But the touch of his hand on hers felt strangely nice. “After all, Marsha is my daughter and Michael is  my grandson and I do know the right thing to do!”

As always, “Yes, I know you do...” feeling strange calling the mother of his wife by her first name because, for him, the word ‘Mom’ came easily. “But I want to thank you anyway.”

Rhea truly did not know why she disliked Mitchell because she did like him... at least until he’d gotten out of bed that morning when she saw him in his underwear with a very obvious, very pronounced erection.

When seeing Mitchell then, that way, subconsciously, the beauty of his youth brought about the indisputable fact of her own age when Rhea admitted to herself, Jesus, I’m forty-five years old! And at that time – as though being with a youth would make her a youth – her son-in-law became the personification of this desire and she’d wanted nothing more than to hold this personification... within her vagina.

Wanting the husband of her daughter with such intensity had shocked Rhea and, as the mechanism of gilt for this – as Myra Lipensky cared little for the feelings of her son or daughter-in-law in her pursuit of ‘Mom’ – needing  an excuse to not like this young man, having to hide her desire for the husband of her daughter, Rhea Goldman buried this desire behind a façade of abhorrence that she herself did not understand. In her absolute need to do this – as Myra – Rhea also took little in account for the feelings of her daughter or her husband.

On this occasion, though, the façade crumbled and the touch of his hand and the closeness of his body bringing a sense of warmth to her, “That’s okay, Mitchell. You belong with your wife and child.” She said, “I’m glad you’re back.” Trying to convince herself that she meant it for the proper reason. But feeling what she was feeling, Rhea wished Eli, whom after twelve solid hours of work was asleep in the bedroom, wasn’t. But of course she could wake him, and of course he would happily respond.

But it was not her husband that Rhea Goldman wanted.

And really it wasn’t really Mitchell that Rhea desired but Mitchell was the personification of what Rhea desired... The wand of the youth god.