War by Vandamir Windrider

War
By: Vandamir Windrider

I wasn't in the mood to put up with my wife's witless bickering that evening but I knew I was in for it.

It was even worse than I had imagined. She started in on me before I could step into the house. She had to have been waiting right there at the door, listening for my key in the lock, waiting like a tiger awaits its prey: poised to pounce.

The instant I opened the door she was standing in the way, hands on her wide hips and a frown on her puffy face. "Where have you been? Ya could've called! I was worried. For all I knew, ya could 've died in a ditch. You could show a lil' consideration toward me. I am your wife. Or have you forgotten that? Is that what happened? Ya met some cute lil' chickie and forgot all about your poor aging wife slaving away here at home? Huh? Well, answer me! Where were you?"

"Shut up, bitch." I said, pushing past her, shedding my coat, and preparing myself for combat.

Her mouth snapped shut in surprise and she stood staring at me in bug-eyed silence. It didn't last long though, the battle had yet to be won.

Her cheeks flushing in anger, she struggled to find an insult to throw back at me. She didn't succeed.

"How dare you? You have no right to call me that. I'm your wife."

"So you keep reminding me. Now shut up and get my dinner. I hope it's still warm."

She glared at me, turned swiftly, and hurried toward the kitchen, orange flowered house dress flapping loudly against her stocky legs. I watched it for a minute before yelling, "You could have at least gotten dressed today! What are you, a slovenly pig?"

She didn't answer so I collapsed into my favorite chair, smiling to myself as I picked at the stuffing spilling from the worn plaid arm. Winning was getting easier all the time. She was losing her fighting spirit just as she had lost her beauty and youth.

She returned in a matter of minutes carrying a tray laden with food. She handed it to me sullenly. I grimaced unpleasantly at her and began to eat. She sat in the chair across from me, watching, anger simmering in her eyes. If I had squinted I could have seen steam rising from the pink foam curlers on her graying head. I pointedly ignored her, though, and focused my attention on my dinner.

I cut off a chunk of colorless meat noticing the cold congealed fat that clung to it. I complained and she began the next skirmish.

"Well, what do ya expect? You're four hours late. I can't be expected to keep dinner warm for you when you're that late. If you had called then maybe . . . ."

I slowly ate the tasteless meat, staring unseeingly at my plate trying to block out her senseless nagging. It didn't work very well but it helped. Now her words were only the droning of an insect; annoying but quiet and inconsequential. I only had to smash it to rid myself of it.

Suddenly, a bile rose to my throat. I jumped up, knocking the tray to the floor. I rushed to the bathroom gagging, still able to hear her endless complaints.

" . . . look what ya did. All over my clean floor. Why did you have to do that? Have ya no manners? I spend all day cleaning and cooking and where does it leave me? With an ungrateful husband who never comes home on time, that's where. Why do I put up with you?"

I sat on the cool white tile in front of the porcelain toilet, unable to empty my stomach but still gagging. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, my stomach settled and I slowly got to my feet.

After rinsing my mouth out and splashing cold water on my face, I steeled myself and dared to look in the mirror. I watched the image of the slightly balding, middle-aged man become distorted and unclear and I felt a sinking in the pit of my stomach.

I leaned heavily against the wall as the room began to spin and dizzy colors flashed before my eyes. I sank to the floor, trying desperately to remain conscious but to no avail. As I waited to become the next fatality in an unending contest, my wife's high-pitched voice came to me from the doorway.

"Well, I hope you appreciate all the trouble I went to. It isn't easy to lace a steak with poison I hope ya know. Did it taste good? Did you enjoy it? Answer . . . ."