The Heart of Matters

Larry in the bathroom

Look, if you're PMSing don't take it out on me, Larry thought. Go in the other room or something. I don't need this shit. What did I do? I brushed your hair out of your eyes. What's wrong with that? I brush hair out of your eyes and you chew me a new asshole.

He stared into the mirror and found nothing but a pallid face with blood-shot eyes glaring back at him.

Sharon in the kitchen

"He won't even touch me now! I swear to God, John! You'd think I had AIDS or something! What the fuck?!"

She twisted away from the wall and angled toward the refrigerator, unwinding the telephone cord behind her.

"No, I didn't do shit! He just freaked out!"

Ice cream would be good right now.

Larry in the bathroom

He paced rapidly from the shower to the door, then back. Over and over...

"I do… nothing. I get… shit. That's it. There it is. Fuckin' everyday life. Do nothing. Get shit. No, wait. That makes sense, so it can't be right."

He paused at the shower, eyes gazing at a ring of mildew around the drain. He'd been meaning to take a bottle of X-14 to that shower for days.

Now seemed like as good a time as any.

Sharon in the kitchen

"No, I haven't done a thing about that," mouthed Sharon around a brain-headache glob of Rocky Road. She pressed her hand to her forehead and moaned.

"What? Oh, I'm okay. Just gotta headache. What? No, he's not around. I think he's locked himself in the bathroom. Fuck. He lives in there. I wouldn't be surprised if he has a six-pack and a blow up doll in there with him; one happy fuckin' family."

She twisted the top off of a bottle of tequila and splashed a gulp into a sticky shot glass.

Larry in the bathroom

Larry popped open his fifth beer and felt his eyes roll into his head. He backed away from the shower and shook his head. The X-14 was working on more than the mildew.

After his eyes stopped watering he took a swing of beer then stepped into the shower and opened the small window that looked out over the back yard. A cool wave of night air flowed gently against his face, accompanied by the vigorous scent of roses. He'd almost forgotten about those. Sharon had nursed the rose bushes for years…

Sharon in the kitchen

Rocky Road did not mix with tequila. As the last wave of shudders passed through her body she said," I don't think we'll have to worry about it, John. What? No, I'm fine. Just the fuckin' headache. It's killing me. Hang on."

She dropped the phone to the floor and rushed to the sink. After a few heaves she felt the ice cream spilling from her body. She watched it congeal around the drain.

Funny, she thought. It's still cold.

Larry in the bathroom

"Now's the time to make a decision. Now's it. No other time. This is it."

He stared at his image in the mirror. What looked back at him seemed a withered husk of confusion molded of veins, thin blood, and skin.

He wandered toward the shower. The X-14 had failed to eat through the mildew. It was dark, almost sentient…

"What the hell did I do wrong?"

Sharon in the kitchen

Sharon picked up the phone.

"No. No. I'm fine. My stomach's just kinda jumpy, that's all."

She poured another shot of tequila and pushed the box of Rocky Road to the far edge of the kitchen counter. It wedged between the wall and the plastic cow salt and pepper shakers.

After ducking a glance down the hallway toward the bathroom, Sharon smiled.

"I guess he's just got me all wound up, that's all," she said.

The tequila felt smoother going down without the ice cream. She lit a cigarette and pulled an old Coke can across the table to use as an ashtray.

"I miss you, John," she said. "When can I see you again?"

Larry in the bathroom

"No. No, I didn't do anything wrong. That's the point. That's what I don't get."

He scrubbed at the ring around the drain with a dirty washrag. The mildew clung with an unnatural, feral tenacity. The odor of roses had vanished behind the scent of bleach.

"That's why I have to go out and apologize."

Flinging the rag to a corner of the bathtub, he stood and stepped to the door. He shook his head then choked down the last of his beer.

"Yeah, right. It all makes perfect fucking sense."

After wiping his hand across his eyes he unlocked the door.

Sharon in the kitchen

"Sunday. That soon? No! No, that's great! Same place?" She flicked the tip of her cigarette into the Coke can and smiled. "I can meet you around one o'clock."

Pins and needles had taken over her leg. She shook it, then violently stamped the tile floor with her foot. Feeling slowly ebbed into her wayward limb. She shifted the phone to her other ear.

"No, you have the handcuffs. Well, you had them last. I haven't seen them since last week. No, don't you remember? You had them in your pocket. You what? Shit. Hang on. Let me check."

She took one last drag from the cigarette, pushed it deep into the can then, placing the phone on the table, strolled into the living room where her purse nestled comfortably against the cushions on the couch.

Larry in the hall

Closing the door to the bathroom, Larry found himself immersed in darkness so complete that even deep patches of black for the monsters to crawl out of did not exist. He remained motionless for several seconds, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The nearest light switch was several feet away and it was almost impossible to navigate the hallway in the dark without knocking into one of two tables covered with herds of little glass animals that Sharon thought were so cute.

Somewhere in the near distance he could hear his wife's voice; she was talking to someone on the phone, something about something in someone's pocket.

As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he began to make out the familiar shapes of the living room furniture outlined by soft blue moonlight through the front window. The flickering shadow of his wife drifted into the room and bent over the couch.

Sharon in the living room

After pulling out her wallet, keys, two packs of chewing gum, check book, a roll of Lifesavers, a notepad, five pens, and her compact, Sharon found the handcuffs. They had settled at the very bottom of her purse and now nestled beneath a pile of bank statements and business cards.

She allowed her body to go limp and collapsed on the couch. The pillow felt cool and dry against her cheek.

Sharon and Larry in the living room

"Honey, are you okay?"

Sharon jumped at the sound of her husband's voice.

"I'm fine," she said. Her eyes darted toward the kitchen.

"Um, look," said Larry. "I'm really sorry about… whatever it was I did."

Sharon stood and walked over to him.

"It's okay," she said. "Just one of those things, you know." She draped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Why don't you just go on to bed."

"Okay." Larry kissed her on the forehead, feeling the tension ebb from his body. Then he saw the couch. "What's all that stuff?"

"Huh?"

"On the couch. Why the big mess?"

Sharon gently pushed away from him and walked to where the contents of her purse spread across the cushions. She began to pick the various items up, place them in the purse.

"I was looking for a lifesaver," she said. "Want one?"

"No, no thanks. Let's just go to bed."

"I've, uh, got to get off the phone. Then I'll be right there."

"Who ya talking to?"

"Aunt Marge."

Larry yawned.

"Oh," he said. "Tell her 'Hi' for me."

"Sure. I'll be right behind you."

That worked out just fine, thought Larry as he ambled back down the hallway and into the bedroom.

Sharon in the kitchen

Sharon picked up the phone.

"I found them," she said. "Do you have the key?"