THEN DON’T EVEN COME BACK HERE ANYMORE!
Stepping carefully around him, I back up to the kitchen counter. The sink drips into a black hole, down the drain pipe to flow out of this house. I reach my hand over, threatening to turn the faucet on, to drench the black hole until the water and food crumbs gutter up and feed the garbage disposal. But I only let it continue dripping into darkness where to? I plead. There’s no one else. There isn’t. I don’t want to –LOOK AT ME! WHY DO YOU
hesitate. The strawberry jam drips on the table in clumps. The knife he slices bread with is beside his plate. I take it. Hungrily, he stuffs bread into his mouth; I see jam on his lips. Gripping the faucet handle, I peer into the sink basin, looking for a future in orange water and dirty plates. I am able only to whisper, I can’t. I’m lost. I don’t want to–LISTEN TO
the clock chiming in the living room – past nine, and she hasn’t called. I want to take the dishtowel and put my face in it and cry, but I only stroke the frayed edges, searching for a thread to pull me up by, but I can’t see clearly. I don’t –WHY?
he sneers. Little crumbs fall onto his oil-stained pants where blood spilled when I sliced his thumb. Desperate, I I –I WANT YOU!
he moans, standing, and then staggers toward me. He’s wounded. I’ve hurt him. I reach, but pull my hand back. I want to go down the darkness into the disposal and be cut, ground up by the blades. I deserve nothing since I don’t want you.I DIDN’T EVEN SEE HER
soaking up his blood, mopping every drop into the towel and putting it into the washer –but I would. Then I won’t. I like to think of stopping at the gas station to see them, so I could secretly laugh at him in the backseat of my car and tether his pride in my mind. Strong, he frightens me such that as a bull would who has lost his mate.YOU STILL NEED ME! YOU CAN’T HIDE FOREVER BEHIND
these closed-off walls. Wandering, I can’t seem to find my way out of madness. Did he, or didn’t he? Or perhaps she was I. His wife who he promised would never know – never! Who is the monster? Slowly, I take the towel with his blood – final sacrificial offering – and gently, it leaves my fingertips, plunging into Hell below the drain. We hear it being gargled. I watch his eyes – vulnerable and wet – and tenderly take his hand as you only would understand on the Isle of Crete what I have sacrificed for you.