| The Fight She sat there in disbelief; a dazed glance stared at a spot on the wall where water was still dribbling down. A puddle on the floor had gathered, bits of shattered crystal mixed with limp rose stems -some of which lacked the gracious red buds that had recently adorned them. Echoes of the verbal onslaught resonated through the empty space of her apartment. The use of empty space is tongue in cheek as chairs were overturned, paper and documents littered the floor, and some pillows had found a demise as feathers stilled floated in the air where pillows were torn at the seam. Fights had never been her strong point, winning one remaining a mystery. Not that she had a need to win an argument, an archaic desire to submit contestant to feeling of ineptitude and low self-worth. On the contrary; fights, most of the time, were to be avoided at all cost. The evening had started of normally. A bottle of wine had been opened and set aside to breath. Cheese was put on a wheel, crackers in a bowl. Salmon steaks had been seasoned with a dab of olive oil, sprinkled with some sea salt and some dill, and placed in the oven. Wild rice would serve as a side-dish, canned peas and sweet corn adding the needed vitamins. -Had a nice day dear? -Fine. -Why don’t you take off your jacket and get comfortable? -I’m fine like this… Where did you leave my lighter? After he had lit his cigarette he poured himself a vodka straight, slammed that one, poured another one, slammed that one, and poured another to finally take his place on the sofa. Sticking his hands underneath the pillows he rummaged around to come up with the remote control. He flipped the channels till he reached CNN and proceeded to watch that days business wrap-up. By the time the oven gave a ‘ding’ he was on his 5 vodka and had lit his third smoke. The food was deftly placed on the table and she sat down awaiting his arrival. -Marc, dinner is served… No response, just more mumbling commentary from the CNN financial analysts. -Honey, did you hear me? Dinner is served. Marc got up from the couch, extinguished his cigarette and headed for the table. He stopped at the liquor cabinet and poured himself another drink, and promptly headed back to the couch again. -I don’t think you should drink so much on an empty stomach. Why don’t you sit down so we can enjoy this meal, I made your favorite. -Can’t you see I am busy here? This happens to be important to me. -What can that important that dinner can’t wait? -If you would stop your talking and started listening you would find out. -But don’t they repeat this program later tonight? Why don’t we first sit down and eat the fish before it cools down too much. -You just don’t get it do you? -Get what? What can be so important that all things have to wait, that dinner has to get cold? -I told you you wouldn’t get it. All you think about is the shitty dinner you made! You will NOT UNDER-STAND! Again he got up, this time heading for the table. He grabbed his plate, got a piece of salmon, a spoon full of rice, peas and corn. He picked up his fork and proceeded to mash all foods together. Once he was satisfied with the result he got a spoon and returned to the table, but not before stopping at the liquor cabinet to grab the bottle of Stoly. -You fucking bastard. You incredible douche bag! -What did you call me? -You heard me, you insensitive asshole. I have been working my ass off these last couple of hours trying to put together a nice meal for us. And you probably don’t even know why do you? Well, do you? -Who cares about your problems or how long it took you to hash together this vile tasting muck you call dinner? I had a tough day at the office OKAY? I lied about my day at work. I lost my major client and I might just have lost my job. -Why didn’t you just say so? -Cause there is more… She just stared at him a-waiting more, but there was no more. All he did was gulp in spoon after spoon of his mashed food, swigging it down with vodka. After he finished his plate he lit another cigarette and continued watching CNN. -Well? -Well what? -Well what else is there? -Her name is Sherryl… she is the Product Manager at my client. It wasn’t supposed to have gone this far, but we couldn’t help ourselves. Again he filled his glass, but before he had a chance to raise it to his lips she had leapt up from her chair and reached him in time to knock the glass out of his hands. Promptly she proceeded to smack him across the face a couple of times, getting in a couple of good hits before he managed to subdue her. -We couldn’t help ourselves, okay? It just happened. -Get out! -It will never happen again, it is over. -Get OUT! -In case you have forgotten, I live here too. She managed to pull herself loose from his grip and got to the other side of the room. Her wrists hurt from where he had held her tight. She tried to rationalize what he had said while rubbing her wrists. The rubbing felt good, the burning sensation leaving her wrists. But the more she rationalized the angrier she got. Rage reached her neck, filling her head with shrieks. She could feel her skin turn red as her blood started to boil. She grabbed the first thing she could get her hands on and flung it at Marcs head. He ducked in time as the crystal vase crashed against the wall. One of the roses had landed on his shoulder. -Let me explain… -Get out. -It is over, I love you. -Get out. -Doesn’t what we have mean anything to you? Are you really willing to throw that all away on a whim? -Get out. -Where do you want me to go? -Try Sherryl? Or maybe another bimbo that you met at work. -I told you it is over. And there are no other women, I only love you. -Keep repeating it to yourself cause you are the only one believing this lie. Now get your jacket and get out. She backed up to the table while grabbing around till she found something sharp. The knife was held pointed towards Marc, a fearful look in her eyes. He moved towards her slowly but steadily. His eyes never leaving the blade. Closer and closer till he was in reaching distance of her. In a split second he had made his decision and as his hand reached for the knife he realized the error in judgment. The vodkas had been more then he could handle, slowing his motor reflexes. She caught his movements and moved the knife towards his arm, not forcefully but definitely with conviction. She could feel her motion being slowed as the blade touched and cut skin and entered flesh. Blood was everywhere all of a sudden. Cries escaped both her lips as his. At once she dropped the knife, words of pardon on her lips but all that escaped was air as his left fist plowed into her stomach. His actions had become reflective, months of Marine training coming back to him. Till horror filled his eyes, quickly replaced by the realization of what he had done. She had slummed into herself, desperately trying to catch her breath. All the time she felt a tugging at her shoulder, a slight nudging as if someone was trying to wake her up. -Joan, Honey, wake up. I’m home. She opened her eyes to find a dressed table displaying salmon and wild rice, and peas and corn. -What took you so long? -I had that deadline to meet, Sherryl and I busted our chops but I know we landed the contract! -But I was waiting for you, don’t you remember what day it is? With that he flourished forth a giant bouquet of long stem roses, gave her a kiss and said; -Happy anniversary darling. --- |