They make her bed in silence. He’s never had to make a bed before. He can’t wait to tell his friends. Then he stops. I just grew up, he says.
Twisters
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I answered my phone. I’m eating a banana and reading a book, she says. I can hear her breathe. The blood rushes to my head. No. Not that one.
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She asks if she can use my toilet. What if I say no? I say, and she says, I’d probably pee right here. That kind of captures my imagination.
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The argument ends. I get up and pour myself a scotch. Then I pour one for her too. She says, It was never about love. I drink both scotches.
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I dreamed she tried to kill me and called her and told her about my dream and in the background I could hear her cleaning her Ginsu knives.
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We expressed our excitement in whispers. She pinched me because hours earlier I had asked her to. We ordered the hallowed food. It was bland.
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I poured my soul into my letter to her and then I hit save and then I hit attach and then I hit send and then I waited and nothing happened.
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After weeks of cloud, the sun shines and its light makes its way through our house, and I think, Maybe this is the day we save our marriage.
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Debate escalates to argument and I stand up and yell, We’re all adults here! and there’s silence, and then someone says, You take that back.
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These pants used to fit once. They’re cool pants and they might be cool again some day. Just not on me. I’m a different person now. I’m old.
