Something Different about my Wife

Something Different About My Wife --

My wife came home last night without her beautiful green eyes. She slipped out of her coat, draped it on the arm of the sofa and sat down. For a long time she sat across from me, keeping her hands in her lap and not saying a word. I tried to pretend I didn’t notice her eyes were gone, but the deep empty sockets on her face kept catching the light that came in through the window.

She leaned forward, grabbed my pack of Marlboros off the coffee table, shook one out and lit it. Then she slumped back on the sofa and crossed her legs.

Finally, I broke the silence by asking her how her day went.

She answered in an angry tone, saying, “I see you didn’t bother mowing the lawn today.”

I was tempted to ask how she knew the grass hadn’t been cut. But just then she drew on the butt of her cigarette. After a second a cloud of blue smoke streamed out of her empty eye sockets.

“You didn’t cook dinner either, did you? Did you get anything at all done today?”

I wanted to tell her I replaced the broken shoestrings on my Converse high tops and even thought about going outdoors for a walk. I wanted to tell her that I finally got rid of the spider that had spun its web and planted itself in the corner of the bathroom window. I wanted to tell her that I obliterated the line of ants moving back and forth from the crack on the kitchen wall. But seeing her without eyes made it difficult for me to keep any of my thoughts from fragmenting.

Wanting to get to the bottom of things, I shrugged and said, “There’s something different about you today.”

The eyebrow above her empty right socket arched. The corners of her red lips turned upward and with this new smile she raised a hand to her frizzy red hair, tilted her head so her profile was to me and shook the red hair out. I noticed it was shorter than it was yesterday and almost said something, but she opened her mouth and asked me, “Do you like it?”

I shook my head. “Actually,“ I said, “it’s kind of scary. I’m scared of things like that. Scared like I am when I’m sitting in the dentist‘s chair.”

Her smile faded. She hit the cigarette again, and again she blew the smoke out through her sockets.

“You’re an ass,” she said. “A lazy, insensitive ass.” She leaned forward and crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray on the coffee table. Then she got up, grabbing her coat off the arm of the sofa. She put it on. “I’m going out,” she said. “Maybe even find someone who appreciates me.“

“I don’t understand,” I said.

She glanced back once, burning a hole in me with those deep black sockets. Then she headed out.