DEPENDING ON YOUR VIEW
A Snoopaholic's Quandary
CHAPTER TWO
Bob Bendon
slouched on the patio lounger. His skin and the bottle he clutched were coated
with sweat.
He had
already consumed enough beer to tranquilize a shorter man. But he wanted more. No,
he needed more, a heck of a lot more.
He needed it to squash his dark thoughts about the past…the present…the future.
They came and went one after the other like the ants crawling in and out of the
potato chip bag he had dropped to the patio.
He downed the
last of the beer then tossed the empty bottle across the yard. It landed against
a Russian sage.
A lizard emerged
from under its lavender blooms and scooted beneath the branches of a nearby
manzanita.
Bob reached
for a handful of stone and threw it at the second bush. “Go on. Get the hell out
of here!”
The lizard sprang
out and squeezed between two boulders.
Nobody ever listens to me.
Bob struggled
up from the lounger, stomped on the ant-infested bag and then trudged into the
house. Finding his wife and kids nowhere in sight, he plodded toward the
kitchen, the refrigerator, his next bottle of Heineken.
* * *
Denise Bendon sat alongside her preschooler on his
captain’s bed. She turned to the last page of his favorite book, Dr.
Suess’s Green Eggs and Ham, and read it to him.
“The end,”
she said as she clamped the book shut.
She stood up
and placed it on the beside table, next to an auditory monitor, a replica of
the one in her toddler’s bedroom.
“Don’t go
Mommy,” he pleaded. “Read it again.”
“No, Bobby.”
She tightened her platinum ponytail. “Once is way more than enough.”
He sprung up from
his pillow, the bounce of his kinky mane a reminder that he was overdue for a
haircut. “Can we play a game?”
She pushed
the room-darkening shade closer to the window. “No. Mommy’s too tired.” She
moved in to give him a goodnight kiss.
He grinned up
at her. “You don’t look tired to me.”
Denise
realized she was beyond tired that evening. The role of the good mother was
draining the life out of her. She would never botch her lines or walk off stage
during a performance. But she needed an intermission, the sooner the better.
“Believe me. Mommy’s
so tired she could fall asleep standing on her head.”
“I’m not,”
giggled Bobby. He slipped out from beneath the sheet and attempted a headstand.
“All right.
That’s enough.” She got him to settle down and handed him a few picture books. “Here
you go. Read these until you get sleepy.”
“I want
juice.”
“No, you’ve
already brushed your teeth.”
“I’m thirsty.
I’m thirsty.”
“Then Mommy
will get you a cup of water. I’ll be right back.”
Denise didn’t
blame him for stalling. She put both children to bed earlier than usual to
spare them from witnessing another senseless quarrel.
Her toddler
had zonked out as soon as her curls hit the pillow. Danielle’s easy, she thought as she dragged her feet down the
hallway. But Bobby’s another story. She
prayed that by some miracle he’d be sound asleep when she returned with the
water.
I need to relax. God, I hope their father will
let me.
Denise entered the kitchen to fetch the water
for Bobby. But Bob’s grumblings distracted her from the task.
What’s his problem now?
She glanced
over the granite counter into the great room. Her husband was there turning in
a circle as he struggled to pull his polo shirt from his kakis. How pathetic. He looks like a dog chasing
its own tail.
“Dumb,
stupid-ass shirt,” mumbled Bob as he yanked the last of its hem free. He raked
his fingers through his hair. His dirty-blond cowlick refused to be tamed. It
snapped back up in defiance.
He then flopped down onto his throne and, raising its footrest, waved the TV's remote like a scepter. He clicked from station to station until he chanced upon one broadcasting a war movie. Gunfire exploded from the speakers as he downed the last of his Heineken.
Denise
clenched her fists. “Please lower the volume, Bob. The kids are in bed.”
He dropped the empty bottle and, ignoring her request, ordered, "Get me another beer."
Denise wanted
to shake him by the shoulders, insist he tell her what was really bothering
him. If he got it off his hairless chest, he might stop drinking so much and
lighten up on her. But she
knew he’d never leak such top-secret information.
“Where’s my
beer?” growled Bob.
“Give me a
minute. I need to get Bobby some water.”
“Hey, who
pays the bills around here, him or me?”
She dug her
fingernails deeper into her palms. “What does that have to do with
anything?”
“Just get me
my damn beer.”
“God forbid
the master of the house should have to wait.”
Bob reached
for the empty bottle beside his recliner and hurled it over the counter at her.
The bottle
whooshed over her head and then bounced off the stainless steel refrigerator.
It crashed down to the tile, shattering into pieces.
“All right,
calm down. I’ll get you your precious beer.”
Denise scraped the glass
aside and, opening the refrigerator door, latched a shaky hand onto another
Heineken. She twisted
off
the cap, spit into the bottle and wiped all evidence from the rim.
She asked
herself why she stayed with Bob.
Bobby whined
for her, “Maaaah-meeee.”
Reason enough?
Denise
delivered the beer to Bob. “Here you go.”
He snatched
it out of her hand and, without even a nod of thanks, returned his attention to
the television screen.
She glared at
him. Ungrateful lush.
She then
fetched the water for Bobby and, after letting him take a few sips, gave him a
peck on the forehead. “Sleep tight, happy dreams.”
Denise
pondered a temporary escape as she headed back to the kitchen. She rejected the
option of waking her toddler and carting both children to Walmart or the booth of a fast food
restaurant. Dealing with her daughter’s crankiness and her son’s tantrums
would be no less taxing than running a marathon with two screeching monkeys
strapped to her back. Besides, she’d never be able to sneak by Bob with both
kids in tow. She’d wait until later, after Bobby fell asleep and Bob passed
out.
No one will ever miss me.
She licked
her lips as she pictured the stretch of bars along Whiskey Row. A stranger in
the seediest tavern would flirt with her. He would order her a stiff drink. She
imagined where it might lead.
The automatic icemaker dropped a frozen
load, its clatter snapping her back to reality. Denise knew she would never
cheat on Bob. Fidelity was something she didn’t take lightly.
It would also be irresponsible to skip out on
the children. Bobby or Danielle might wake up crying for their Mommy. No matter
how much she wanted to get away from it all, the ankle bracelet of responsibility was too strong a
deterrent. There was no choice but to stay cooped up under house arrest.
Denise
retrieved the dustpan and broom from the walk-in pantry and swept up the
remnants of the shattered bottle. It would be awful if one of the children were
to encounter a sharp piece of glass.
She carried
the loaded dustpan to the trashcan and lifted the lid. The stench of rotting
food accosted her nostrils.
Her
grandmother used to say bad smells were premonitions of worse things to come. How much worse can it get around here?
She emptied
the dustpan into the trashcan and then pulled at the plastic liner’s drawstring.
But the bag held tight. It refused to lift out. She wedged a foot against the
canister’s bottom lip and, determined
to remove the foul omen from the house, yanked even harder on the
drawstring. The bag finally gave way, the momentum springing her backwards
into Bob who had just then staggered into the kitchen.
“Hey!” he
barked. “What the hell’re you doing?”
She raised
the garbage bag higher. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”
Bob shoved
her aside. “Go on. Get out of my way.”
He opened the
refrigerator door and, grabbing another bottle of beer, shook it at her. “Don’t
mess with me tonight.”
“I wouldn’t
dare.”
She watched
him stumble away and then, with bitterness oozing from her pores, lugged the garbage
bag into the garage.
It was darker and stuffier in there.
She squeezed
past her Audi and made her way to the trash bin. She lifted the lid, only to be
accosted by an even more horrendous reek.
She pictured
her grandmother tapping her nose as a warning.
God! I need some fresh air.
Denise dumped
the bag into the bin and then pressed the button for the automatic garage door
opener. The motor
activated and its attached light fixture flashed on, its glow brightening the
garage.
A toy soldier
was lying on the cement floor by the driver’s side of her Audi. She headed over to retrieve the toy and,
while the garage door was still grinding open, latched onto the car’s door
handle for support.
She was about
to stoop down. But, before she could bend her tired knees, something grabbed
hold of her ponytail. Her head snapped back.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Where do you think you're going?"
Prescott's Thumb Butte
No comments:
Post a Comment