Honey I’m Home

Mr. Smith drove home from work, parked in the driveway, and opened the door with a smile and belted, “Honey, I’m home!”

He felt uneasy…straightened out his tie, cleared his throat and repeated it a little louder. There was no scent of dinner dancing in the air. He could not hear anything sizzling in the frying pan.

Not a single night in their marriage had something so extraordinary occurred.

Smith walked into the bedroom, the kitchen, the restroom, the back yard and nothing–she was nowhere. That red lipstick smile was not there to greet him while those crazy arms would grip around him.

The mirror did not lie, as he caught a glimpse of himself as he reentered the living room, he was white as a sheet. Sweat on his brow. Crooked tie.

I need to sit, he thought, as he set his suitcase down not realizing his hand had not let go since he got home. He reached behind the lamp next to the television set and grabbed his secret stash. A pack of cigarettes he had been hiding for weeks now came in handy. Maybe this will help me calm my nerves.

The sound of him exhaling his lucky’s and a fly somewhere buzzing near by became in rhythm with the grandfather clock. All was still. Children could be heard outside arguing over a stick of gum.

 

He almost jumped out of his skin as the telephone rang. Without thinking he reached and answered, “ Smith residence.”

“Mr. Smith, your wife is in critical condition. She is here at the downtown hospital. She is in critical condition, you must hurry!”

“I will be right there,” he said standing up and digging in his pocket for his car keys.

The old chap jumped in the automobile, turned the ignition, stepped on the gas and was gone.

“I’m here to see my wife, I’m Mr. Smith. Can you please help me?” he growled at the lady behind the counter.

“Down the hall, Mr. Smith. Last door on the left.”

“Thank you,” he managed to get out as he ran.

Almost ripping the door off the hinges, he clamored,” What in god’s name has happened to my wife?”

“Mr. Smith, I am Doctor Vinonatra. I need you to get a hold of yourself, man. Your wife is in another room.”

“Please, doctor, is she all right?!”

“Have a seat, Mr. Smith. I am not going to mince words. I’m gonna give it to you straight.”

“Yes, doctor, go on.”

 

“Like I said on the telephone, your wife is in critical condition. She has been in a terrible car accident.”

“Oh, god, no.”

“She was injured quite badly, Sir. But I’m not going to bull@#%$ you–I’m gonna give it to you straight!”

“Yes.”

“She went through the windshield, and was then hit by an oncoming car, and suffered severe trauma. She has lost her eyes…will now more than likely have amnesia…lost her legs…”

“What?!”

“In other words, you’re going to have to clothe her, bathe her, feed her, wipe her ass, and remind her on a daily basis who you are and who she is.”

 

“Oh, god, Doc, no please!”

“Dude, I’m just fucking with you…”

“What’s that?!”

“She’s dead.”

∞