Here's a short story I wrote...
And I Always Will“But I do, you know.” She said it like a statement, but Tim could feel the weight of the question that Julie left hanging. Oleander and lilac, mixed with the heady aroma of fresh-cut grass wafted into the kitchen between the newlyweds.
“So, spit it out. What are you saying?” Sending a wave of vibrations across the mobile home’s floor, Tim yanked open the fridge and grabbed another can of generic beer. The door slam followed.
Julie looked at the bowl in her hands, at the wet flour mixture, at the muffin box on the table, and the directions pointed at her. Why was she doing this? Once again she had given up a Saturday morning to make his favorite meal only to watch him stomp on her gesture by getting drunk and treating her like his personal servant. Looking him directly in the eyes, she lifted up the bowl and tossed its contents over the front of his shirt. “What am I saying?” She laughed an agitated chortle. “Just that your muffins are ready honey. Come and get them.”
Tim stood shocked. Even after five years together, nine months of that time married, her outbursts still surprised him. He emptied the can of beer in one gulp and secured another. “You were right sweety pie. I was wrong again.” Sporting a smile that didn’t feel appropriate, he ran a finger through the batter on his shirt and ignoring the pieces of grass, brought it to his mouth. “Hmmm, my favorite.”
Feeling nauseous, she turned her back on him. How could he be such a pansy? How could he be such a jerk? “I don’t think I love you anymore,” she said in too airy of tone. “Maybe we should get divorced.” Whistling, she skipped to the kitchen window and the radio sitting on its sill.
CLICK
A song played. “…you treat me like...I’m a princess. I’m not used to...liking that…”
Tim opened his mouth to comment, but couldn’t find one single word.
Smiling, she seethed with anger. How dare he let her talk like this? How dare he let her even mention the word divorce. “Yes, a divorce. That’s what I want.” She turned to face him. “And you’ll have to work two jobs to afford the alimony.” She giggled. “And you’ll still have to pay for my medications…” Her face whitened and she collapsed onto the table. The music and the lovely fragrance from the front yard disappeared. Knocking down the bowl, measuring cups, and muffin box, she slammed her hands onto the wooden surface.
Tim rushed to her. He ran his fingers through her hair just how she liked and massaged her upper back. Still smashing at the table, she wailed and blubbered. He continued to rub her back and shoulders while humming her favorite song, I Will Always Love You. She began to calm down. After fifteen minutes, she stopped convulsing. He supported her while gently turning her around. “Would you like me to get your pills for you?”
She couldn’t look him in the face. “Yes please.” Starting to sob again, she rolled back over on the table while Tim walked to the cupboard. He retrieved her pills and brought them to her. “Are you going to leave me now?”
Tim laughed. “Am I going to leave you?” He laughed even harder. “Do you remember what you said to me the night I proposed?”
She stopped crying, turned around, and looked him in the eyes. “The night you…said to you…” Scrunching her face, she tried to remember that night but everything was a blur. “No. No I don’t.”
“We talked about your illness. We talked about how easy it is to forget your pills. Then you told me, ‘Love me, love my ghosts.’” He moved forward and held her face in his hands. “I do honey. I love you and your ghosts.” He kissed her. “And I always will.”