Viewer Discretion Advised: Fictional scenario containing Language, Violence, Adult Situations.

My Wife.

The car rolls onto the lift and I turn to see that the guy stops on the blue line. He stops on a dime and the door opens.

- Hi, she says, stepping down from the new Audi, Is that OK?

It’s not a guy but a damn good looking woman. She’s about the same age as my wife, I judge, but looking one hell of a lot nicer. I grab a clean cloth and wipe the grease from my hands.

- Yes, ma’am, I say, What can we do for you today?

I take off my cap and smooth my hair. This is a woman that deserves respect. She’s in good shape for her age, which would be 40 something. The suit she’s wearing must have been made custom because it accentuates every nice female curve she’s got. I put out my hand to her:

- Hi, I’m Emory.

- Well, Emory, you gonna fix my baby for me? She shakes my hand.

She explains the problems that she’s having with the front brakes. I thank her for the good description of the problem and ask her to accommodate herself in the office. I offer her some coffee and see that she has some magazines to read.

Forty-five minutes later the brakes are adjusted and I’ve done a fine job with them. I escort her back to her car.

- Well, Emory, aren’t you a gentleman?

- Yes ma’am, I am. I always try to do well by women.

- Then your wife must be a lucky woman. She nods conspicuously toward the ring on my finger.

- Yes ma’am, I love my wife very much.

She nods and smiles, giving me her hand to shake again. She is a fine woman. She drives off in her Audi.

By 4:30, I am happily driving home. I am careful to stay under the speed limit because I cannot afford another accident. Nonetheless, I watch the wonderful lives around me: children playing catch on a lawn, a mother with a pram on the sidewalk, and one of those crazy kids on a bike delivering newspaper flyers. It all seems so perfect to me in these other worlds. But then there is my own.

I turn into my own drive and notice that the trash bin is still on the curb. That just about sets me off. If there is one thing that I’ve told her is that you’ve got to collect the trash bin after the truck goes by. I park the car and then go out to get the bin.

It is lying on its side on the grass where the trashman tossed it from the truck. I turn it upright and look for the lid. The lid is gone. The fucking lid is gone.

I haul the bin back to the garage which I close and lock. At least I can remember to lock the fucking garage. It’s really not difficult. You just close the door and lock it. Any fucking idiot can remember that, right?

A moment later I enter the house.

- Hey Baby, I’m home! C’mon and gimme a kiss!

I hear scuffling in the kitchen.

She comes out smiling. She’s wearing a sweatshirt with stains on it and sweatpants. That’s not quite a tailored suit. Personally, I don’t think it’s a bad thing for a guy to come home and find his wife looking fine. But, hey, that’s just me. She doesn’t.

She comes down the hall from the kitchen and she’s got a can of beer for me. She pulls the tab and hands it to me.

- Hi Em. She says. How was your day? She smiles.

-You wanna know how my day was? I fixed the brakes on the car of a woman who knows how to dress. That’s how my fucking day was!

I toss back some beer from the can. I knew before it touched my throat that it was warm.

- Beer’s warm, I say.

- Hey, Em! She says I’ve been really busy today. I didn’t get out to the beer-store until 2:00.

- Well, what the fuck have you been doing, bitch? You know you can only watch Oprah so many times. Fuck this!

I toss the beer and the remnants softly effervesce onto the floor in the hallway. I move toward the kitchen with my wife behind me. I don’t know what the fuck she’s got to do all day. We’ve only got three fucking kids and they’re all at school from 8:30 to 4:00. So? Where’s the fucking problem? Who knows what the fuck they’re doing now with this bitch in charge.

-Where’re the kids and what’s for dinner?

-They’re at a birthday party over at the Stevens’ until 7:00. We can have dinner alone. Just us, Em. It’ll be OK…

My left hand lashes out. It’s backside lays into her across the cheek. The ring with the small diamond on my finger, catches, and digs a small trough before releasing.

I watch her as she recoils from the little slap I’ve given her. She spins backward, falling. At a certain point, her head jerks to the side as it catches the corner of the kitchen counter, and she finally lands on the floor next to the new cupboard that I installed.

I look at her and can’t help thinking of all the things that need to be done around the house. I step over her body on the floor and open the fridge. From inside, I pull another beer. At least this one seems colder. I pull the tab and take a long draught. As an afterthought, I open the freezer and extract a stinging cold ice-cube tray. I invert the tray and crack it; the cubes fall with musical thumps over my wife’s head and I notice a small trail of blood that is emerging from above her hairline.

- Hope that makes you feel better. Oh, and by the way, clean up this fucking mess, bitch.

I take my beer and return to the entrance way. I take my case and rod from the closet. I’ll call Steve. Maybe we can go fishing for a couple days while she gets over it. She knows I

love her.

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This is actually the mirror image of a scenario which I’ve had in my head for awhile which concerns an abused woman (from her point of view). I haven’t yet managed to give her equal time which is to say that the story hasn’t come together. All of this is, remember, a story – just the same, i wonder how much i’m gonna hear about this one. It’s not meant to be attractive. :o(