You come in and lay the bag of groceries on the kitchen table.
I hear you, but don’t even turn, I’m watching my favorite video. Rihanna and Shakira. They’re good.
Suddenly I realize that you’re talking to me. ”Huh?” I ask, turning my narrowed eyes towards you. Today I have a headache, stomach cramps, zero energy. Bad day at work.
You see that I didn’t hear what you said, get impatient and repeat:
“Are you married to me or to Rihanna?”
“Huh?” I can’t help but saying again. Nothing better comes. What kind of question is that? Do you really want me to answer, to you, darling?
You flop down on the couch, next to me. “It’s not right,” you mutter. I hope you have something to add, because I just don’t understand.
“I can not stand the fact that you live with me, sleep with me, make love to me, when she is your dream of a woman”, you say pointing to Shakira. I’m going to tell you that I prefer Rihanna, but you don’t give me the time.
“If she is your dream, then we should end. You should leave, change country, call her, try to meet her, spend a night with her.”
“It’s a singer,” I manage to barely whisper in disbelief.” A video…”
” That’s the whole point,” you stop me. ”What you have, you don’t love. What you don’t have, you love. Not just you. All of us. It’s madness, we are all crazy. How is it possible, that we all, we live one life, and dream of another? What kind of sheep we are? If you’re with me, it’s me that you have to dream at night, not her,” you say, pointing once again at the wrong singer. Shakira, I never liked her.
You get up. “What is your favorite place in the world? The one you’ve never seen, the one you dream of at night?”
“Sumatra,” I say through clenched teeth. I hate it when you corner me into a forced answer.
“And where do you live?”
“Enough,” I say. You’re really trying my patience.
“Say it!” You scream, hysterical. You slap your hand on the table, a glass is shaking. “I want you to say it. Loud. I want to hear the sound of it.”
I look at the veins in your neck, swollen with rage. Now you are scaring me.
“All right,” I say.” Newtown. Here you are. Satisfied?”
You do not answer. You leave, slamming the door. I just do not have the energy to follow you. Cramps are very strong now.
You too, I know, you’re going through a bad time in the office, with the new boss and the threat of a transfer. I must be patient.
Another video starts. Justin Bieber. For a moment I imagine the absurd scene where you look at him ecstatically. Who knows. Maybe you do really like that kind of human cartoon. If I like Rihanna…
I switch the channel. Find a documentary about lobsters. Amazing how they get out of their old shell, now so narrow, smaller than they are, throwing away their limitations and begin living gloriously.
I start dozing.
Ideas for a tall story 