EE Yesko III on the Other Side of the
My Girlfriend the Critic
“This is fucking it, I’ve had it”
“You’re a no good fucking drunk”
She was screaming at me with such hatred, that I thought I saw little flames shoot out of the corner of her eyes. I was hung over, head throbbing, and what I thought I saw could have been spit flying out of the corners of her mouth.
She was holding a poem I had written the night before; she held it loosely in one hand, the top of the page tilted toward the floor.
I hoped that the words would just slide off and disappear, of course it was to late for that, she had already read it.
It was a poem about love, and how human beings always choke it, and kick it, and beat it to death.
But she took it as the distilled version of our relationship, and now she was on the attack.
“And you smoke like a fucking nuclear reactor”
That’s steam, I said
“Whatever, you always have to be right”
I’m almost never right, but she seldom notices.
“You smoke your cigarettes like your somebody, like your shit don’t stink”
“The great fucking drunk”
“The great smoking fucking drunk”
Her last struck me funny, and I had to laugh. She reached a glass at the edge of the sink, hopelessly aimed, and sent it furiously over the top of my head; it fragmented when it met the wall.
“You fucking cunt, you do that again and I’ll kill you”
Having lost that, she ran to the bedroom threw herself on the bed and half beat the pillow, wishing it were my face.
“I hate you,” she hissed, fortified by already dried tears
“And you can’t write”
She was right, but only about one thing, her hatred, raw, indignant, total.
Give someone half a chance at your heart and they will find a way to poke holes in it
She stood, adjusted her clothes, and walked out with a dignity, she probably saw in a movie somewhere.
I swept up what glass I could. Locked all the doors, and windows.
Entered the kitchen
Turned on the gas jets (Stove)
Returned to the bedroom
Stretched out on the bed
And waited
© Copyright EE Yesko III 2007