He yells at the kids. For no reason other than he feels like yelling. Much later that night he tells his wife: Now the kids will remember me.
Tagged: Family (813)
T 4069
The children are relentless, as children often are. She dreams of tequila and burritos and turns to her husband and says, Let them eat cake.
T 4068
The allergies kick in and now he can display an appropriate level of misery. Your mother was a good woman, someone tells him. And he sneezes.
T 4063
I’m going to grill a pork chop and pour myself bourbon and smoke a cigar on the patio. Because that’s what I do each time my wife leaves me.
T 4058
The fine line between good news and bad. A stream that meanders to awful. This is a semantic discussion, he says. I’m pregnant, she insists.
T 4041
The kids arrive and everyone digs into the bounty at the table and he says, Let me tell you a story, and everyone groans. But no one leaves.
T 4036
So then there were bees and the whole thing became a kind of living hell and then my mother in law farted and my hell got even more profound.
T 4034
The clatter of children in the background, a soundtrack to remind him, to keep him honest. But when the kids are silent he dreams of freedom.
T 4030
They fed swans in a pond fouled by plastic bags and used condoms. The sky was gray with industrial residue. I love your mother, he told her.
T 4029
She came home late and he was as she left him, on the couch, and she sighed and he said, I’m a gamer not a lover, but she already knew that.
