Southpaw Jones

Happy Thanksgiving Week! I’m taking it easy, but here’s something tasty from the archives of The Southpaw Jones Gazette. Enjoy…

Originally posted December 18, 2006:

Four times I rapped upon the door, and four times she did not answer. She knew it was me; my knock is sharp and distinct. The neighbors must have known it was me, even in the darkness; my dress is distinguished, individualized, and very expensive. Our dog knew it was me; my odor is a well-thought-out combination of man-made fragrance and natural superiority. The pup scratched twice on the other side of the door for each declarative blow I rained down. It had been a long day for me.

Four times I rapped upon the door, and four times she did not answer. I pressed my face against the draftiest gap where the door was supposed to meet the frame and said loudly, “Adult relationships are tangly webs, my dear!”

No human response. Just one scratch then another.

“Isn’t our relationship the least tangled and the most comfortable?”

Nothing.

“Comfort is not cheap, darling, and not without sacrifice. If you want to feel the cold wind against your shoulders you might have to donate your coat to charity. And you hate charity!”

Silence.

“Did we marry too young, Blanche? Have I bored you to the point of insanity? Is it the fleeting satisfaction of some ‘other’ that you seek? Some marvelous man or woman who looks nothing like me and appeals to parts of you that I simply don’t see?”

A car passed slowly with its lights off. I turned, gave a strict look, and obnoxiously bobbled my imaginary breasts until they turned on their high beams and sped up. I glanced over at Blanche’s silver sedan, its cracked window a mocking smirk.

“You didn’t have to go through with it, you know. Our fathers were business partners! Just because it was easy doesn’t mean it was wrong!”

“And just because it’s difficult now doesn’t mean it’s wrong!”

I heard a bit of a whimper from inside the house. Could have been the dog, could have been Blanche.

“Why shouldn’t our relationship have some modicum of disappointment in it? Parents disappoint! Friends disappoint! Careers disappoint! This life is nothing but the story of growth and decay, and let me tell you, darling wife, WE ARE FINISHED GROWING!”

Another whimper. Definitely the dog this time.

“I wish that I could be perfect for you. I really do. Why did you marry such a mediocre clod? You never sufficiently explained that to me, and I’ve always been curious. Why does anyone marry anyone? I give up, dear. The world has whittled me down to a toothpick. I’m going to start walking. Maybe I’ll walk to Utah and dissolve amongst the salt flats.”

Four times I rapped upon the door, and four times she did not answer. I was crumpled on the porch when a tan mini-van pulled up and let Blanche out.

“Did you lock yourself out again, Bernard? Patty and I went to the outlet stores, and I got you one of those huge pretzels you like!”

I raised up on one elbow as she waved good-bye to Patty. She then leaned over, kissed my cheek, and said, “Nothing like a little shopping to kill the winter blues. Massage my feet, baby?”

“But you don’t like the way I massage your feet, dear.”

“I don’t like anything about anything, Bernard. And yet, I will go to sleep tonight and wake up next to a man who is willing to put up with that.” She paused knowingly and smiled. “I may hate God, but it’s obvious he doesn’t hate me. He pummels me with gift after gift after gift, and you are my favorite one. Every day, I wonder why you haven’t left me. And when I think about the day you inevitably will, I imagine that I’ll walk to a field in Mississippi and just dissolve into nothingness.”

A scratch from the inside of the door awakened me from a long stare into my wife’s eyes. “What other life but this one?” I thought. It’s too good a thought to keep to oneself, isn’t it?

“What other life but this one?” I said, “Let me help you with those bags. I’ll get the lotion.”