The Door

“Actually, no, I have not listened to a word you have said, Val. However, I am listening now. You have managed to invade my space and place your needs and wants above mine.” He crossed his arms across his bare chest. “That’s okay. I am now at your disposal. What, Valerie Waters? What is so god-damned important?” She reached critical mass in two seconds. Her eyes narrowed and her chin trembled. She looked like she was about to blow. Instead of saying anything, she turned and walked out of the bathroom. He followed her into the bedroom. “Oh, no, don’t just walk away Val. What is it? You’re upset because of a few beer cans in the trash? What difference does it make? No one else around here takes out the trash anyway. You established that as my responsibility a long time ago. Everyone around here, including you, has a license to throw crap anywhere they want and it is my responsibility to clean it up.” Valerie continued her trek out of the bedroom, away from him, down the hall and into the living room. Giving Mason her back, she tossed her right hand into the air and said, “Whatever!” Mason’s blood pressure escalated from agitation to a full boil. It was a button Valerie seemed to love to push. He hated it. The word, ‘whatever’, delivered the way only Val could, felt the equivalent of saying, “you are dismissed, I am through with you and your childish ways.” She was treating him with pure indifference. She could have turned around, shot him the finger, told him to go straight to hell, and it would have been a lesser blow. He stopped chasing her. What she considered a few empty beer cans in the bathroom trash was not the real issue here. This was about something else. It would have been nice to know what was really up her ass, but he was suddenly beyond the point of giving a damn. He allowed his voice to do the traveling. “You are not exactly a picture of perfect health, Val. Have you looked in the mirror? I mean, really taken a good long look. Next time you do, you might consider the cottage cheese forming on your thighs.” He held his peace and allowed a moment for that stab to sink in. Silence. Valerie was out there, in the kitchen or the living room somewhere, not saying anything, not responding. Okay, fine, she did not want to get into it with him. She hit him with her version of an atomic bomb. She knew from experience that the fallout from that one word, ‘whatever’ would continue to do damage whether she said anything else or not. He turned back toward the bedroom and lowered his voice a bit, not sure if she would even hear him. “That’s why you don’t have any friends. Crazy black bitch.” Mumbling the last three words. No sooner than the words left his mouth, he regretted it. It was a mean thing to say and he hoped she had not heard him. No such luck. Valerie bolted into the bedroom, wired and ready to fight. “I really don’t give a shit about the trash!” She was so angry, spit flew from her lips as she swore. “Look at you! Look at your disgusting gut! You drink every night. It’s revolting and pathetic!” Her words smoothed out and rolled eloquently off her tongue. Her lips drew in on her teeth and quivered. She looked like a woman ready to puke. “I remember when you were strong and fit. You had the ability to make me have multiple orgasms during sex. Not anymore, Mason. Your stomach sticks out. Your chest has sunk in. Your arms and shoulders are weak. I’ve been faking orgasms so you will just get off me.” This hit him hard. He was no longer a young man but he felt he was in pretty good shape for his age. In his current state of mind, she chose the exact subject to attack him. She flung the words at him. Each sentence landed with critical devastation. Her words had the mental effect of stabbing, turning, slicing, then tearing out. Mason looked at her, stunned, water welling up in his eyes. He opened his mouth to retort, but he’d played his ace of spades. He called her a bitch and knew that aside from repeating that adjective over and over nothing else would do much damage. Why would he do that anyway? Look at what proclaiming it once got him. Suddenly, he did not want to be here. He wanted to be anywhere else but in this room, this room full of bad memories. He certainly did not want her to see him cry. He raised his finger toward her in a feeble attempt to tell her something, anything. The words would not come. He glanced at his raised fist with one finger sticking out, pointing as if to drive home some point he just now forgot and he saw his hand trembling. It shook uncontrollably. Valerie took a step closer to him, brushing aside his feeble hand and moving within the circle of his personal space. “You don’t have any smart-ass remarks, Mason? I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” She lowered her voice, no longer yelling at him, no longer spewing her words. Actually, she seemed to be cooling down, becoming calm and in control of the situation. There was no doubt, she quickly gained complete control of the battle and perhaps recognized victory within her grasp. “Is it that you are getting fat or is your dick getting smaller?” With these last few words, she managed to move within inches of Mason, getting right into his face. He steeled his mind in that instant. There was no way he was going to back up. As stinging as the words were, he would not allow her to physically move him backward with words alone. That is when he hit her. He put his balled fist into her belly driving her back and away, putting her on the floor, shutting her damn mouth. Over thirty years he’d known her and never once touched her in a violent or malicious manner. He started his Saturday looking at his reflection in the mirror. Standing there in his boxers, plucking white hair from his nostrils, now he watched his wife writhing on the bedroom floor trying to catch her breath. Say something now, bitch. He thought. Let’s hear something witty. Oh, yes, I suppose it is difficult to speak without air in your lungs.