green eyes aglitter and fierce. “Don’t ever laugh at me.” This he said in a near whisper.
“But honey – I wasn’t laughing at you. I was – ”
“Just don’t do it again.” His granite face relented not one whit.
I blinked, thinking I was hallucinating looney toons gone tragic. Moments earlier, we’d been laughing over silly things, now we stood squared off, my husband looking as though prepared for mortal combat.
“Kirk, you know I’d never make fun of you. I love – ”
He spun on his heel to tread succinctly away from my declaration of devotion, back straight, gait proud, to our closet for starched, freshly pressed slacks and plaid button-up shirt.
Numb, I watched him briskly dress, then slam through the front screen door to his car and drive away. I slouched down on the couch and fumed for long moments. I’d never, in all my days, seen such offense taken over something so – so piddly.
Sure I had. My brother, Chuck, had erupted with Daddy over things as trivial.
Kirk stayed gone an hour, a bewildered interval, etched in the shimmery terror of abandonment, and I met him at the door, trying to read from his face some sense into the strange episode.
“Kirk?”
He walked past me, hesitated, then turned, looking hollow-eyed and exhausted. “Janeece,” he ran a hand through his tousled hair. “I just – I can’t stand to be laughed at.” He shrugged limply, looking so miserable my heart went out to him. And I knew.
His pain spawned from a darkness unknown to me, where drunkenness and violence and betrayal pilfered anything humane and kind, where one learned to hide hurts and walk through storms alone.
I silently went to him, slid my arms around him and felt his slowly encircle me, then tighten. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, though why I felt I should apologize, I wasn’t certain.
He didn’t say a word. Just kissed me and soon, made me forget the weird incident.
From there, things spiraled downward. I called Kirk’s angry lapses “black moods” where nothing I said seemed right. His scrapping experience was eons ahead of my own, which was practically nil. So, mostly, I backed off. I loved peace too, too much, I suppose, because I kept making excuses for my husband’s sharp edginess until that Christmas Eve, when Kirk pushed me too far. He and I had each opened one of our gifts from one another. Mine was Estee Lauder’s Youth Dew cologne, for which I’d shamelessly hinted. I’d spent hours looking for Kirk’s
gift before finally making a selection. I was not prepared for his reaction. He was livid.
“You mean you went and bought me a hunting coat when I’d bought one just months ago?” He glared at me as though I had rocks for brains.
“But Kirk, I didn’t know you’d bought – ”
“I told you, Janeece.”
He had? I honestly didn’t remember it. “I do not remember you saying a word.”
He paced to the window and back and braced hands on hips, staring me down. “You don’t listen to me.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but the words fizzled. Suddenly, I was so weary I could hardly stand up, much less respond to something so…. So what ?
“What, exactly, are you angry about?” My voice seemed to come from far away.
His nose nearly touched mine. “Because my wife can’t even go out and buy me a Christmas present right.” His words were quiet. “I work hard. I deserve more.”
That quiet timber told me how despicable he considered me. Unloveable…unloveable.
I turned, went to the gifts piled underneath the tree and pulled out one.
“Here,” I said numbly, holding it out to him. He seemed ready to refuse but then glumly snatched it from my hand.
I turned and went into the bedroom, pulled out a little overnight bag I’d used for my hospital stay and into which I quickly stuffed underwear and a change of clothes. Then I grabbed seven-month-old Heather’s diaper bag and packed in extra diapers.
She was asleep, but I bundled her and was at
“But honey – I wasn’t laughing at you. I was – ”
“Just don’t do it again.” His granite face relented not one whit.
I blinked, thinking I was hallucinating looney toons gone tragic. Moments earlier, we’d been laughing over silly things, now we stood squared off, my husband looking as though prepared for mortal combat.
“Kirk, you know I’d never make fun of you. I love – ”
He spun on his heel to tread succinctly away from my declaration of devotion, back straight, gait proud, to our closet for starched, freshly pressed slacks and plaid button-up shirt.
Numb, I watched him briskly dress, then slam through the front screen door to his car and drive away. I slouched down on the couch and fumed for long moments. I’d never, in all my days, seen such offense taken over something so – so piddly.
Sure I had. My brother, Chuck, had erupted with Daddy over things as trivial.
Kirk stayed gone an hour, a bewildered interval, etched in the shimmery terror of abandonment, and I met him at the door, trying to read from his face some sense into the strange episode.
“Kirk?”
He walked past me, hesitated, then turned, looking hollow-eyed and exhausted. “Janeece,” he ran a hand through his tousled hair. “I just – I can’t stand to be laughed at.” He shrugged limply, looking so miserable my heart went out to him. And I knew.
His pain spawned from a darkness unknown to me, where drunkenness and violence and betrayal pilfered anything humane and kind, where one learned to hide hurts and walk through storms alone.
I silently went to him, slid my arms around him and felt his slowly encircle me, then tighten. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, though why I felt I should apologize, I wasn’t certain.
He didn’t say a word. Just kissed me and soon, made me forget the weird incident.
From there, things spiraled downward. I called Kirk’s angry lapses “black moods” where nothing I said seemed right. His scrapping experience was eons ahead of my own, which was practically nil. So, mostly, I backed off. I loved peace too, too much, I suppose, because I kept making excuses for my husband’s sharp edginess until that Christmas Eve, when Kirk pushed me too far. He and I had each opened one of our gifts from one another. Mine was Estee Lauder’s Youth Dew cologne, for which I’d shamelessly hinted. I’d spent hours looking for Kirk’s
gift before finally making a selection. I was not prepared for his reaction. He was livid.
“You mean you went and bought me a hunting coat when I’d bought one just months ago?” He glared at me as though I had rocks for brains.
“But Kirk, I didn’t know you’d bought – ”
“I told you, Janeece.”
He had? I honestly didn’t remember it. “I do not remember you saying a word.”
He paced to the window and back and braced hands on hips, staring me down. “You don’t listen to me.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but the words fizzled. Suddenly, I was so weary I could hardly stand up, much less respond to something so…. So what ?
“What, exactly, are you angry about?” My voice seemed to come from far away.
His nose nearly touched mine. “Because my wife can’t even go out and buy me a Christmas present right.” His words were quiet. “I work hard. I deserve more.”
That quiet timber told me how despicable he considered me. Unloveable…unloveable.
I turned, went to the gifts piled underneath the tree and pulled out one.
“Here,” I said numbly, holding it out to him. He seemed ready to refuse but then glumly snatched it from my hand.
I turned and went into the bedroom, pulled out a little overnight bag I’d used for my hospital stay and into which I quickly stuffed underwear and a change of clothes. Then I grabbed seven-month-old Heather’s diaper bag and packed in extra diapers.
She was asleep, but I bundled her and was at
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