By: James Hudspeth

When I awoke this morning something had changed. Everything in the room seemed askew. I knew she had come back, because my poster of Lita Ford straddling her guitar was gone, and replaced with an astrological chart.

Man how much did I drink last night? How could I sleep through someone creeping around my room?

The light peeking through the blinds tells me it's morning. I look at the clock radio; it’s ten o’clock. I reach for my smokes and see they are gone. I walk into my bathroom and all I can smell is her hair spray. My feet stick to the bathroom tile. She never could attack her Jiffy Pop hair due without getting at least half the can on the floor.

My shaving crap is missing from the counter. When I bend over and look for it in the cupboard, my head says, “Don’t do it boy. You’ll be sorry.”

I grab the toothbrush and watch foamy water sliding down the handle. It pools in the palm of my hand. She used my toothbrush. I don’t know why I let her stay with me. I slide open the drawer and grab a new toothbrush.

The light above the mirror illuminates my swollen right eye, and the gun metal blue ring around it.

“How the hell did I get that?” I ask my reflection. Ah!, that’s right. She came to the same party last night with her new boyfriend. He was a tall raw boned, inverted Mohawk, bow-legged-cousin humper with a spit cup in one hand, and a six pack of “Old Milwaukee’s Worst” in the other.

The toilet lid is down. I swore when she left the last time, that this place would be my apartment. The seat could be up or down.

In my living room this month’s Playboy is missing from the coffee table. She never could stand those magazines.

I try to tell her, “Yes I look at the pictures, but I also read the articles.”

She never believes me.

The deep roast Columbian coffee is overrun by her Virginia Slim cigarettes, and dollar store perfume which always to me smells like bottled cat piss.

I pour myself a cup and I know. She’s put nutmeg and cinnamon in with the grounds. I’ve told her countless times, don’t mess with my coffee.

In my small kitchen I step into her Jack D’s Moist and Soft cat food. I can feel the little bones of whatever fish is in there squish up between my toes. I shake my foot and cuss her and her flippin’ cat.

I grab the egg carton from the fridge. I put it on the counter and open it. There are no eggs in it. Why am I not surprised?

I stand there and force myself to think even though it feels like John Henry is driving rail spikes in my head.

Clyde, that was her date’s name. I bet a dollar to doughnuts his dad named him after the Budwiser Clydesdales. Clyde got drunk on other people’s beer, and then began fighting with her. I was drunk too, but what could I do? Stand there and let her get slapped around by that web-towed, inbred, butt crack pickin’ redneck.

So I charged in, and locked horns with him. We crashed through the porch railing and landed in some rose bushes. That didn’t stop us though. He was first on his feet and kicked me in the ribs. As he stood over me I gave him an upper cut to his crotch. He wheezed out air like a deflating bagpipe as he sank to the ground. I was gonna hit him again when she grabbed my arm and yelled, “No more. He ain’t worth the effort and the cops are comin.”

I remember something about her pleading if she could stay with me for a while.

“Sure my life is too quiet and normal when you’re not around.”

………………

I sit at my kitchen table and notice a note.



Dear Tommy,

I really appreciate you letting me stay with you for a while. Clyde and I are through. I hope he didn’t hurt you too bad. I’ll be home later. Call me at The Brass Pole.  I’m dancing there. Let me know what you want for dinner, or maybe I can  get us some takeout.

Love Mom

James Hudspeth was born in Lexington, Kentucky. He met his wife who is from Newmarket and moved here six years ago. He has attended a couple of local Creative Writing courses, and is a member of The Newmarket Writers Group. His life and wide variety of jobs have given him a deep pool of characters to draw from.

© Copyright 2008