Page 31 - WTP VOl. VIII #7
P. 31

 she worked too much. He hadn’t held up his end. She had to work at the time when their daughter needed her. It was a blot on their life together, a stain on a pic- ture he wanted to celebrate. He did not see the past as piecemeal. To regret part was to regret the whole.
Coming so sharply after gladness, this new rankle was a wound he found hard to absorb. She left the kitchen to pick up her phone, her nephew calling. He started to unload the dishwasher, feeling the edges of the glasses for scale.
Maybe he had set it all in motion. There was a time when he unconsciously wanted to escape her embrace, when he felt her mammal warmth as smothering. When he first realized he did that—chronically—he was horrified and understood it was on him. His heart had been too small. He didn’t do that anymore. Had she noticed? Or had he caused irreparable damage?
the effects of what you’ve done in life never end
the best you can do is hone them down to a meaningful point some mean word you said is always ready to loop back,
some mistreated tearful lover’s pointing finger always waits
nothing you can do but minimize harm done didn’t Buddha say, scratch where it really itches? you’re not garbage but the compactor’s walls are closing in and C3PO doesn’t copy
He divided the small forks from the big forks and considered the state of things. She went from touch- ing his back and making the food she knew he liked to turning the deck lights off he had turned on be- cause she said he wasn’t looking at them, and when he complained, saying they wouldn’t even be there if she hadn’t put them up.
Maybe her strobe-like effect on him was just one unending payment of dues. If he caused it, he could deal with it.
~
George was putting tonight’s wares in the washer when Lucy came back in the room.
—Tony loves his new job.
—Good, George said
—He’s grateful to you for getting him on the staff. —I’m sure I wasn’t his only reference.
—I wish he wasn’t working so hard. Ten hours a day
in an office.
“The triage of prioritizing:
whose things were these and for whom were they there?”
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