Parting Gifts
I turned onto Wilmar Drive to find my house had become a giant radio. Loud rock music was assaulting this quiet little street and my house was obviously the source. She was back. I pulled up across the street and got out, leaving the motor running. I popped the trunk and rummaged through its contents, searching for something to kill her with. Glue stick, rusted fishing tackle, three month old laundry, spray on hair (gotta try that), unpaid parking tickets (hers), and a deflated inflatable woman (don't ask). Never a weapon handy when company calls. I looked at my hands. Small, weak, utterly incapable of choking the life out of that thing in there. I closed the trunk, killed the engine, and sat wearily on the curb.
Maybe she's changed I thought hopefully. Maybe we can make it work this time. After all, we were in love once. Maybe that old spark is still there. Maybe we can be happy together! Maybe I'll clean out the trunk of the car. Right.
She came out of the house floating on the backs of baby angels. (Just checking.) She came out of the house and skipped down the walk towards me. But who was she? She looked transformed. Larva to butterfly, duckling to swan, psychotic to normal, functioning human being. She was smiling; laughter on her lips, but with an air of maturity and inner peace. It was as if all the qualities she'd never seemed able to attain within the confines of our relationship, she'd miraculously discovered somewhere else. Then she'd come back. To me! And gentlemen, she looked aroused. Come to papa I thought.
She tripped over the garden house and fell, in that geeky, flailing arms and legs sort of way. I ran to her side to see that she was alright, before I completely succumbed to hysterical, mind numbing fits of laughter. She was very still and I saw that the rake was embedded in her forehead. She was dead. Tripped on my hose, impaled herself on my rake. I looked up and down the street but could see no one. Too bad really. It was a hell of a scene. It looked even better on my neighbor's lawn. I hate that guy.
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Updated Thursday, 04-Mar-2004 14:58:28 PST