sometimes you just gotta' row

from the short story “Changing Paces”

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When the rain falls around here it tends to drab and dampen for weeks on end – what does she really want anyway? It surely doesn’t look like anything close to what I want. That matters, doesn’t it? How is this supposed to work? Am I here to figure out how to adapt and change and love regardless of how absurd and uncomfortable it is?

I say “black” and she says, “why aren’t I good enough for you and oh, I got another stupid email about the agreement”.

I ask, “Husband number one or number two?”

“What do you think, why do you always remind me of my failures, what are you trying to say?”

“Just forward it to me and I’ll draft a response, how was your day?”

“Well, choir practice went ok and it really helped that mummph elpp sop the music, how was your day?”

I notice the telltale furl in her brow and try to not look puzzled while I consider whether this one is worth pursuing – if I don’t, I’ll either be conceding something that will keep me awake tonight or, at the next inopportune moment, I’m going to get ravaged in a classic “I told you about that the other day when you appeared to actually care about my life…how could you not remember, why don’t you ever listen to what I have to say?”

With the benefit of three or four seconds of thought, and several hundred other perplexing experiences, I realize there’s something that she doesn’t want me to know, but does, sort of and I’m hooked.


She’s anticipated the response and is now on rote time and oh so well-rehearsed. Triple “A” sneer along with the rolling eyes. Yes, the whole condescending routine, which she believes will spark a diversionary inferno. Bluster and righteous indignation usurp any possibility of direction and discussion. I do my best to appear as though I’m actually listening, as if I could without the left side of my brain imploding in self-sacrifice to preserve the right.

Goddamn absolutely right, this is weary.


Written by glh

November 19, 2010 at 01:58

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