Before you read this, try to remember that I love my husband more than air. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for him, no matter how grudgingly.
I didn’t go to the Last Summer on Earth concert Sunday night. I cried. Someone who has shown us, repeatedly, that he is unreliable disappointed us, yet again, so we had to work.
My best friend from grade school knew just exactly what I meant when I sent her an email, “Please don’t bother responding; I don’t want to talk about it.” She waited for a day and sent me a text, “I’m walking the dog, do you want to talk?” She knew I couldn’t text. I called her immediately. She doesn’t judge. She knows I love my husband. She understands why I behaved irrationally.
It’s quite possible that you think I’m a lot nicer than I truly am. Banish the thought. I am not nice. I am a protester. I burn things. Well, I have just once. It’s a new avocation, like texting. I learned how to text last night. I burned things, in the grill (safety first!), on Monday morning.
My husband told me that work didn’t matter, that I should go to the show anyway. What he actually said was, “Fuck work.” I couldn’t do that because we were swamped and I had to get caught up. He refused to stay with me because the accommodations were claustrophobic and there was nowhere to smoke outside. He was going to go home while I went to the concert.
I came home and went directly upstairs to the office, where I worked and cried. My husband fell asleep on the sofa. When I retired for the evening, I went into the bedroom and shut and locked the door behind me.
Monday morning had a less than auspicious beginning. I took every scrap of paper, card, and note that he had ever given me (except the very first one; insurance against regret) and put them on the grill where I doused them with charcoal fluid and set them on fire.
While I was torching (one quickly assumes the lingo of a seasoned pyromaniac) my keepsakes, I got a phone call from my sister and my niece. Coconut was on the leash walking with them when she was hit by a car and killed. I called my husband crying. Even as the cards burned, I loved him.
There is no sense in secretly protesting. I told my husband straight away that I burned everything. He said it was stupid and I’d regret it if he died first and I didn’t have anything to remember him by. I told him I thought my third husband will have replenished my supply of cards, while I grinned and hugged him. We’re going to die together, he knows that.
Last night he asked me to change the message on his cell phone. I thumbed through the manual and I found texting instructions. I sent him a text with a picture of me. Now, when I call him my picture pops up. I changed his contacts list so if something happens, when I’m not there, the cops will know who I am- Elroy Jones Wife.
I’m glad I kept the very first card he ever gave me.
Typically, I am not given to histrionics. Drama, in my life, is confined to verbal or written description. Along with being GOOD NATURED and KIND HEARTED, I am EVEN TEMPERED.