A Bumpy Road

By Attila Zønn

The new baby had become blight on the carefree pursuits of Crystal and Tony who up until the seventh year of their marriage had managed to sleep through the night. With sleepless nights came accusations—who was really pulling their weight in this relationship? It was decided by Crystal that Tony wasn’t contributing to the upbringing of the child.

She had given up her career.

She had given up her identity.

Oh, my God!

She had given up her life!

And all he had to do was go to work in the morning.

But I do change his diaper, feed him bottles and rock him to sleep, Tony said.

You never listen! cried Crystal and left the room.

One day Crystal said, We need a maid.

Could Tony afford a maid?

What kind of maid? A Molly Maid?

No, you silly ass, a real maid to do the cooking and the cleaning and all that other maid stuff.

But we live in an apartment, Honey.

Then we need a house!

Could Tony afford a house?

Crystal said, Tell that asshole you want a raise. How long have you been there now? You’re the backbone of that company. Grow a spine and show him who’s boss for once!

After many diaper changes, Crystal decided she needed to find herself. She had given up too much by marrying so young and needed to clear her head—she was going to Mexico with Judy.

Tony drove them to the airport.

Crystal came back tanned and in love. She had found her soulmate on the sands of Zipolite.

She told Tony, I’ve never loved you!

She loved Bryan.

He was from Holland. He was everything she had ever wanted in a man. He could do everything Tony could do only better. Bryan was coming to stay for three months. Tony had to get out.

Tony pounded the wall with his fists.

Slut!

His gut imploded. His head burned. He wanted to punch her  face across the room.

He heard is baby boy crying in the playpen.

Tony cried.

His boy will grow up and they will be strangers.

Through his  tears he saw her standing there impassive.

I forgive you, he said. We can work it out.

He tried to embrace her. She pushed him away.

Get out! Get Out! She stomped her feet.

Fuck you! I’m not going anywhere. He walked to the bedroom door and yelled, I’m not going anywhere son!

She shoved him.

You get the hell out or…or I’ll hit myself and tell the police you did it!

Fucking traitor.

Be careful, his mother had told him. She won’t like a bumpy road. You’ll never be happy. He didn’t listen. He was in love. But now for the first time, as he wiped his eyes, it all came clear and he noticed how much the end of her nose resembled the tip of a penis.

© Attila Zønn 2015

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s