Tag-Archive for » relationships «
Well, for starters, you should visit the place that you never do- that’s the gym” he said, looking up from his wrinkled copy of “The Week”.
She stood there, the wet dish in her hand dripping soap suds onto her gloves into her sleeves.
“Well you asked,” he said, now getting pissed it was going to become an argument. She always had to do it, ask the question to which there was no right answer. And even if there was, she always found it so unconvincing or blatant. “Goddamn,” he mumbled and slammed down his magazine. “Here we go again.” As the tears started to roll down her face, it made him cringe more, somewhere inside.
In truth, he couldn’t bear to see her cry. Sometimes she used that as a weapon. But at that time, it just seemed that it did not matter to him much.
He walked to the TV, switched it on and shouted over a commercial for Baby wipes. This was all just a mistake. You want me to do, what you feel like doing, you want me to say, what you want to Hear. In truth, you just wanted a Dog, not a Husband.
She stared at the wall with glassy eyes. It just made him more angry.
Standing over the sink full of dishes, she touched the back of her hand to her forehead and turned away from him. He knew she was doing it so he couldn’t see her shiver and her eyes tearing.
It didn’t matter. He knew her well enough. Or that’s what he thought he did. He always had a way to look at life at a telescopic level, his rationality ruling over emotions or microcosm of feelings.
“Oh fuck this,” he said, knowing he’d never win. “What the hell am I supposed to say to you? How the hell do I get out of these ridiculous situations you set up? It’s like, all I want is some peace and quiet when I get home from work and you’re not happy unless there’s an argument.”
Next to his shoulder on a shelf was a Hummel figurine he’d bought her for their anniversary. He didn’t know why he threw it until after it shattered against the wall. He felt no better. He missed his whole life that he gave up and for what, he thought. He missed them all, his friends, his social life. His whole life hurt. It never stopped. Sometimes he could forget about it for a while. But it never went away completely. It left him helpless and hating the life that surrounded him.
She flinched at the sound of her breaking gift. It made him hate her more.
It was all about control. She was turning into a goddamned shrew and he was not going to be a mindless lump. He’d show her. He would not turn into a dog that she wanted for as her pet.
When she gasped, as if his words were punches, he knocked over the kitchenette table and she held her hands over her mouth.
He knew he would have to hit her if he stayed so he grabbed his car keys off the counter. Why the hell had he gotten married in the first place? It was the “buy the cow” scenario his best friend told him about that got him in to this mess. Now he was attached to someone who would never understand what he wanted in life and couldn’t help him get it.
It was a mistake. He’d fix it. There were people who understood him. There were things he enjoyed doing. There were things he resorted to for his escape.
He thought she would have hated it when he went there because he felt good there. She didn’t want him to do anything that made him happy.
He told her not to wait up for him. He told her she looked like a fucking scullery maid kneeling on the floor and crying, and what the hell did she think she was, Cinderella? And he was proud of himself for thinking of the analogy. At least one of the guys would find a way to laugh at that.
When he slammed the door and her sobbing faded behind the metal and wood what pissed him off most is he was sure she had no idea what a huge favor he was doing her by leaving.
“Hey You Ok?â€
Steven called out to her, that little squirmed figure by the road side.
“Lost your dog? Or lost yourself?â€
She sat there, still.
“You look sad.â€
Steven just presumed so, her eyes gave way more than that.
“Want some ice cream?”
And then, she rose up. An attractive woman, in her late twenties or may be less. She had been crying and he had to ask. He knew an ice cream parlour two blocks away. She wore Blood Red shoes, which was funny in the afternoon summer.
“What’s your name, little red riding?”
Steven thought it was a funny name to call her, but it was more on the spontaneity of the Redness of her shoes. She wanted the Old fashioned Butter Pecan ice-crean, which was funny for her taste. Or for her shoes. The Butter Pecan ice-cream was more of a man’s thing.
“Do you like your ice cream, little red riding?”
She was a pretty girl, pretty more so as she did not talk much. Steven liked those kinds. He did not believe himself, cheering up a stranger with an Old Pecan. And he did not seem to mind it as this was not his first time. She was a real feast for his eyes, and she didn’t have much to say. She was very gloomy and self-obsessed.
And they sat there, he could not get her to talk to him or say her name. She sat there still, her only life rolled  in the layers of her ice-cream.
Steven was beginning to lose his interest. He was late for his routine poker game and rounds of beer at his friend’s place. He thought about dropping her off at the bus station on the wrong side of the road.  But the way she crossed her legs on her stool at the ice cream stand brought his attention back into focus. His attention was back to her shoes, that looked now pleasant and not so Red.
She enjoyed her ice cream cone ever, oblivious to Steven or anyone around her. For her, the world did not seem to exist. This was the end or beginning to her. And she flashed her sad eyes on him, as if she was trying to thank without showing any joy whatsoever.
She was a real drag.
He asked her where she lived. She did not seem to listen to him. And Steven felt morose in missing his beers and being stuck. It was over thirty five minutes now.
“Would you take me back to your place!?†She spoke as slowly as if eating her every word.
He wanted to take her back to his place. But she seemed funny and drugged. This should probably would help him in some ways. He could use her in his nights of loneliness or as a home keeper. He had been staying alone and she seemed pretty enough for a company or for being his mistress.
A life, or its sort formed in his mind as she let another tear fall from her eye. Â This made him re-think his plan, he did not want a whiny, depressed wreck in his house. He convinced himself that he would not get his life disheveled in her emotional breakdowns.
“I would, I guess I could use some help around the house. Do you feel better now, little red riding.”
She seemed to appreciate what he had done for her and timidly asked if there was anything she could do to repay him for his kindnesses. He figured a thousand man ways for repaying him and he thought he would get them all sooner. He grinned and said he would like to read his poetry to her. Â He didn’t have any poetry , but he knew there were three drug stores along the way. They would offer the dreamy words of literature he needed for the perfect seduction.
Once they were in the car, she took off her red shoes. Depressed people always spend a lot of time polishing their toenails and hers filled him with a borderline sensation of awe.
He lit a cigarette and offered her one. He liked the way she blew the rings of the smoke. He knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. He just needed her to make the world go away for a little while. And may be she needed him for exactly that. And may be that’s why they met that day.
Her name was Marcia.
She was born in a cheap motel.
Her mother sold herself for drug money.
She never saw her father.
The church in her neighborhood was burned down.
The minister retired and took her God with him.
And her favourite color was Red.
Steven had a dog named Capricorn. He had built a shrine for his ex-wife in the backyard of his house. Â His wife died after something horrible happened to her white blood cells. They told him she would be happier where she was going. Steven tried to believe she went to Vegas. His wife was a saint amongst sinners, but right now he was just trying to get himself a little something going with Marcia to kill the time that passes too slowly between birth and death.
Somehow it seems that everyone needs a little help, or maybe someone to carry them over the finish line- in their Red Riding Shoes.
