(no subject)
Her fierce little fists hitting my chest bones the instant I walk in, before I even set down my work bag.
My stomach dropping, knowing she's mad, and furious, knowing she doesn't get mad, or furious. Trying unsuccessfully to secure her wrists, smelling the gravy and the olive oil and the half-risen rolls that are puffing up under the damp red dish towel.
This is what is happening at 6:45pm on a Thursday.
I say nothing to address her anger. I'll not self-incriminate, not jump to the worst conclusion. I jump regularly to the wrong conclusions.
At 6:48 she is still hitting me, saying "Why are all men assholes!" and yes, I realize, it is confirmed. Somehow she knows, she's found out, I'm an idiot to think I could hide it when no men can really ever hide it. Of course this would happen. I still say nothing, she still hits, not that it hurts, and I'm thinking: Was it text messages? Did she crack my computer files somehow, but they're encrypted, and shit my parents will be here in 40 minutes, and I'm also thinking: The gravy, the rosemary, the oregano.
It's amazing me how long she is keeping this up for. Six straight minutes at this point, and I'm probably going to miss the 7 o'clock News if this keeps up, yes, I count on the 7 o'clock News, yes, I'm 25.
I tune back into her when my name is involved, when she says, "Lewis, it just isn't fair to Diane!"
And I'm thinking, "Who the hell is Diane, you crazy bitch, her name is Becky," and then this girl who is or was my girlfriend says, "Oh why can't Diane just find a good man who won't cheat on her, she's my best friend of 15 years, I just want her to meet a good man like you, Lewis, it's all so unfair! The asshole, the asshole."
I step back from the hitting and all the shrieking at 6:56 and I start to laugh in relief, to which she storms away in pissed-offness at my not taking her seriously. She marches to the kitchen, shes angry seasonings into the gravy. I finally set my work things down and take my shoes off. Yes, my parents will be here in 34 minutes, my girlfriend will act towards me cool and politely annoyed. My mother will later comment on our obvious disconnect, the over-seasoning of the gravy.
I, Lewis, swear off infidelity, again, as the 7 o'clock News begins.
My stomach dropping, knowing she's mad, and furious, knowing she doesn't get mad, or furious. Trying unsuccessfully to secure her wrists, smelling the gravy and the olive oil and the half-risen rolls that are puffing up under the damp red dish towel.
This is what is happening at 6:45pm on a Thursday.
I say nothing to address her anger. I'll not self-incriminate, not jump to the worst conclusion. I jump regularly to the wrong conclusions.
At 6:48 she is still hitting me, saying "Why are all men assholes!" and yes, I realize, it is confirmed. Somehow she knows, she's found out, I'm an idiot to think I could hide it when no men can really ever hide it. Of course this would happen. I still say nothing, she still hits, not that it hurts, and I'm thinking: Was it text messages? Did she crack my computer files somehow, but they're encrypted, and shit my parents will be here in 40 minutes, and I'm also thinking: The gravy, the rosemary, the oregano.
It's amazing me how long she is keeping this up for. Six straight minutes at this point, and I'm probably going to miss the 7 o'clock News if this keeps up, yes, I count on the 7 o'clock News, yes, I'm 25.
I tune back into her when my name is involved, when she says, "Lewis, it just isn't fair to Diane!"
And I'm thinking, "Who the hell is Diane, you crazy bitch, her name is Becky," and then this girl who is or was my girlfriend says, "Oh why can't Diane just find a good man who won't cheat on her, she's my best friend of 15 years, I just want her to meet a good man like you, Lewis, it's all so unfair! The asshole, the asshole."
I step back from the hitting and all the shrieking at 6:56 and I start to laugh in relief, to which she storms away in pissed-offness at my not taking her seriously. She marches to the kitchen, shes angry seasonings into the gravy. I finally set my work things down and take my shoes off. Yes, my parents will be here in 34 minutes, my girlfriend will act towards me cool and politely annoyed. My mother will later comment on our obvious disconnect, the over-seasoning of the gravy.
I, Lewis, swear off infidelity, again, as the 7 o'clock News begins.