Thursday, August 11, 2022

We'll call him Control-Freak - CF for short, because that's who Deb's Husband is, and what he does - every story needs atleast one bad guy.

"Be back in about an hour." CF passed by his boss, who really didn't mind.  CF had been on board long enough, did his job - and some.  The door closed, CF, now out of hearing range, one of his workmates made some lewd comment, concerning a certain hottie who used to work at lucky's.  While CF had enough sense - from past experience - to keep his head, and his job, the workmate also knew running his mouth, could earn him a busted head, after hours.  

CF got into his truck, a big, black, noisey gas-guzzler.  He clicked on his phone, checking some recent posts.  Something was definitely up at home, and had been over the past few days.  Yesterday, she flipped him the bird, for really no reason, instead of answering a simple question.  This wasn't the first time, last summer ....  Well, he was having no more of it.  

"Dumb wench," he half scoffed.  His wife's password was not only an easy h*ck, but she didn't even bother to atleast change it, to another easy h*ck.  At the next red light, our esteemed driver of the year, scrolled a few more, and continued after the light changed, as he headed toward home.  The usual fem-drama,  Sis was mad about ... whatever it was, this time.  Well, that inhaled...atleast his eff'd up family didn't try to hit him up for money...well, not for too much. 

One girlfriend was going on about some craft show, another sent pet pics.  Gaag.  Another...well atleast Kerri, or whatever, could spell.  She posted a quick 15 second video, of a little boy sticking a cookie in his pocket, then his saucered eyes watching some bug fly from atop the frig, then b-lining into his folk's livingroom.  Her caption read, "This is funny, but the following vids are NOT!"  He clicked on the first thumbnail; it was a 5-seconder; long enough to see - from the neck down, some old person who was like a second late getting to a can.  Another, also from the neck down, was a child getting into the shower - caption read, "prvz will get off on this one, UGH!!!" 

He continued scrolling.  At the next red light, CF made a right, and pulled into a parking lot.  He scrolled through the comments.  One stood out.  "Ms. Atwood's book was published around '85, but my friends, Gilead is full tech - be careful."  The thread continued.  This time, from "Deb."  CF had to wonder, too techno dense, or simply not into screen-names? Or both?  "...friends its in the bag...cant wait...yeah all ever lovin day :) :) :)  ...yep wednesdays busy...old man wont b home til 7"

Punctuation really that hard? Deb?  The quip, rattling in his mindspace, was met up with another load lightener - lucky's, after all, was never exactly known for hiring nuclear physicists.  CF pulled into the back portion of the dollar store parking lot, which was hardly a block from his house.  

He quietly turned his front door lock, then relocked, once inside.  The house was quiet.  He checked the kitchen: some mostly thawed hamburg sat on a plate, it's juices had begun to drip upon the countertop.  Her knitting bag lay on the coffee table, alongside a half empty cup from that morning.  The dining room table had several plants, two of which were beyond hope.  He quietly ascended the stairs.  The ironing board in the sewing room was laden with remnants of various fabric.  Folded, upon the bed in the spare bedroom lay what appeared to be faded living room drapes, beside those, some garments she hadn't worn in awhile.  

He then turned to face the door to their bedroom; it was about a half inch ajar - the only thing visible was part of the dresser and a corner of the footboard.   Don't do anything stupid, came s voice inside his head.  He paused.  "Yeah, you GO!"  The bed creaked.  "Wuh-HOOO!"  It creaked again. 

Don't do stupid, came that voice.  But he had enough.  The door slammed against the wall.  "What th' EFF"!  his wife bawled. CF was in, and none of his 5'11ish" 230 poundish was happy.

"HAND IT OVER.  NOW!" he barked.

"NO!" Deb clutched the paperback volume tight against her ample bosom. Her knees folded toward her chest.

"DEB, I Said..."

Still clutching her copy of Margaret Atwood's "Handmaid's Tale," she flipped him the bird.

While the book was not on the forbidden list - atleast not yet, still, wasn't wise to be in possession.  

"Deb, when I tell you..." he approached.

"Go way, le me alone!"

The next sound was CF's backhand, followed by Deb's sobbing. 

No comments:

Post a Comment