DUST

 

“How many times do we have to talk about this?” she asked in that loud and impatient voice she gets before she blows. We’ve been over this time and time again, I can’t stand it!”

I wasn’t angry at all. I mean, all torn up sure. But I knew the drill, seen this movie before. She’d insult and diminish. Rehash and analyze.  She’d relive our whole existence again, bringing up everything I’ve ever said going WAY back over the years. It was like pressing the play button and hearing the same tune.  Anything I said or did now would simply prolong the experience, make it more painful.

But I had to say something: “You’re perturbed I know. I’ve done wrong again.”  I tried to speak in my most soothing voice. I walked over and put on her favorite Billie Holiday album, the one she’s played over and over, the one she sings along to.

“Shut that off!” she screamed. “Why do you always try and distract me? You don’t want to listen to what I have to say?”

“I want to listen for sure. But I just can’t endure any more hate. It’s every single time, really. Then the dust settles and you’re back to your happy self. It settles for you, but never for me.”

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