eric.bell
03-16-2010, 02:17 AM
This is a really old short story of mine. I thought that, if I were going to start sharing my stories, I might as well start at the beginning and slowly release them. I hope those who read it enjoy it. --e.r. bell
Prologue
At the edge of each man’s mind lies a bridge, a long and otherwise indescribable bridge, that leads to what we know only as unreality. Most men never reach this place; and if ever they do reach it, the thought of crossing it never comes to mind. But a few find it--and cross it; and what they find at the end destroys them.
Mr. & Mrs. Abernathy
“R-E-S-P-E-C-T! Find out--” the noise was silenced as Martin’s hand fell swiftly on the alarm clock radio. The radio bounced on impact and crashed to the floor.
“God, woman! Why you want to be shaken from sleep by some n**** screaming at you, I don’t even pretend to know.”
Ignoring Martin’s early morning complaints, Jennifer stumbled from bed and sleepily made her way to the tub. She began to undress herself, as the suds bubbled up from within the warm bath water she’d drawn. She gazed narcissistically at her nude shoulders, arms, and then chest as her nightgown slipped
slowly to the cold tile floor.
Her mind went back to the first time she’d undressed before this baine of glass.
It was the morning after--after their honeymoon. Martin had been so cheerful that morning, following her into the bathroom wearing nothing and he had slipped his youthful arms around her and kissed her neck, shoulders, arms, chest, as her rose-colored nightgown slipped, just as it had today, to the ground.
Her gaze was now directed at the floor and on it was Martin’s tie. He’ll be needing that today, she thought to herself and half
mumbling told Martin his tie was lying on the bathroom floor.
He hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
She smiled innocently at the tie, remembering how Martin had kicked her nightgown aside and put her in his arms. He had loved her then--yes, he loved me then, she thought.
Her surroundings were slowly melting away, ‘til she was once again--in her mind--lying in his arms on their way to a long and blissful morning shower.
“He loved me then,” mumbled a most nostalgic Jennifer Abernathy.
“Where’s my tie?” belted Martin harshly, as he tied his well-worn, out-of-style, black dress-shoes. “I need my tie!”
His words weren’t registering with her. She was still in 1993, showering with her newly-wed husband-- in total bliss.
“BOOM!” screamed the door as it rattled forth Martin’s stern request for her attention. It was heard and heeded.
Upon hearing it, the first sensation she noticed was a wet and warm feeling at her feet. She glanced down and saw that the tub was overflowing, bubbles and all. She moved swiftly to the bathtub knobs and turned them counterclockwise, ‘til the water stopped. Then her ears were
reminded once again that Martin wanted her attention, as another thunderous thud fell upon the door.
“What?” yelled a now panicky Jennifer. “It seems I’ve made a mess of the bathroom, honey. What is it that you want? It may have
to wait.”
“You’re sadly mistaken, if you think I’m a mind to wait!” came a voice that was filled with irritation. “Now, where’s my tie?”
As the words echoed in her mind, she remembered. The tie was on the floor; the floor is wet, so the tie’s wet. It came to her
slowly as if her mind had lost it and was having to search it out.
She opened the whitewashed door.
“I’m sorry, honey, the tie’s soaked through-and-through. I’m afraid I’ve made a mess of things.”
“Soaked? Why? How?” inquired Martin in an alarmed voice.
“I--I must’ve let the tub overfill--I can put it in the drier,” she said with some wavering hope.
Tie in-hand she started towards the laundry room, when Martin slapped it from her hand. It went sailing across the hall; as it did Jennifer let out a little yelp.
“How the devil did you manage to do that?” screamed Martin. His eyes were on fire and his brow was furrowed up; he meant business. “Answer me, woman! Jen!”
“I--I told you. I told you I let the tub overfill by mistake.”
Jen looked utterly and woefully sad standing there wet and without a stitch of clothing on her. But Martin didn’t see that. Martin Abernathy saw a wet tie lying limp in the hall, like some child’s plastic snake just lying in wait for prey; he saw another day of arriving late to work; Martin saw his boss giving ‘m what-for, that’s what Martin saw.
“Well, get to drying the blasted thing! No--wait. Forget about it. I’ll just go tie-less. I can’t be late. We’ll discuss this tonight. I’m sick of this.” And continuing in his mind, and sick of you!
* * * * *
Jennifer had been sitting there crying, sulking most of the day. She had managed to dress herself, dry Martin’s tie, and clean the bathroom floor; but most of the day had been spent in bed.
By 3:30p, she was well into a bottle Sam’s club wine. She’d bought it for a special dinner, which never happened, the weekend prior. She just sat there sipping at a glass, thinking of her and Martin sitting side-by-side in their honeymoon bed. They had had a bottle of Chateau Margaux, and she’d almost gotten drunk from it two glasses in. Martin had set the glasses and bottle to the side and dimmed the lights.
She’d praised him in those days and he her.
As she lay there in bed now, she felt the lights dim and her husband’s lips on hers. Taken in to it all, she rolled over, ‘til she was eye
level with the bottle and an old quote came to mind: Love, like fine wine, grows stronger with time. She smiled at the thought, then truth came rushing to the forefront (of her mind): But ours is like milk: souring more with each passing day. ‘Please use before such and such date.’
Jen’s shaking hands took hold of the bottle and chunked it against the wall; and along with her bottled-booze, her mind’s last effort to grasp reality was shattered.
* * * * *
Martin came home around 6:30p, after stopping off at Red Dog’s for a few bottles of Blue Moon with a dice of lime each. He’d been thinking about the
events of that morning and comparing them to other recent fiascos. There was no doubt in his mind, something was wrong; but ashamedly he was more embarrassed of it (and her) than he was concerned for her.
The Blue Moons had done nothing but cloud his judgment and as he entered the house he heard sounds. First giggles, then they were followed by voices-- two to be exact.
His heart sank as the weight of the truth came down upon him, then it raced as he stormed towards the room.
Cheat on me, eh? Well, we’ll see what we can do about that, won‘t we? Yeah, we will. Slit his f***in’ throat is what I’ll do. And yours too, if you’re unlucky. Yeah, slit it right in two.
As he reached the door he heard water begin to run and then more voices: “Are you coming, dear?” asked a female voice.
“Be right there, love,” came a very familiar, yet implacable, voice. “Here I come, Mrs. Abernathy.”
Martin had heard enough. He slipped his hand round the knob and gave it a twist; it was locked. He couldn’t hear the voices anymore, but the giggles were beginning again. He took five or six steps back and rammed the door with his shoulder. The door had barely budged, but there was now a throbbing pain in his shoulder.
A voice came into ear shot then died off altogether, but he could still hear the water.
Real brave, huh? Not even a scream. Well, you’ll scream soon enough. Take y’er heads right--the f***--off.
Martin’s massive, size thirteen foot came swiftly and heavily on the door; it gave way. As he stepped in he surveyed the room. The bedspread and pillows were strewn all over; two glasses of wine were setting on the nightstand--one full, one empty; a broken bottle lay in the corner, its contents soaking into the carpet; and water was steadily pouring into the room from beneath the bathroom door.
He made his way through the wreckage of their room and into the bathroom. As he stepped onto the wet tile floor he slipped and fell
against the cabinets. He looked to see what he’d slipped on, and his eyes met with his wife’s nightgown.
“Fun time’s over,” he heard himself say. “All ov--”
He was struck dumb with what his eyes had caught hold of: two solitary eyes; cold, grey and buried beneath water. As he gained control of himself and his surroundings, he found not only two eyes but a body-- his wife’s body.
She lay buried five inches deep in a sea of suds, scents, and water with a small smile upon her lips, as if she were being kissed.
Prologue
At the edge of each man’s mind lies a bridge, a long and otherwise indescribable bridge, that leads to what we know only as unreality. Most men never reach this place; and if ever they do reach it, the thought of crossing it never comes to mind. But a few find it--and cross it; and what they find at the end destroys them.
Mr. & Mrs. Abernathy
“R-E-S-P-E-C-T! Find out--” the noise was silenced as Martin’s hand fell swiftly on the alarm clock radio. The radio bounced on impact and crashed to the floor.
“God, woman! Why you want to be shaken from sleep by some n**** screaming at you, I don’t even pretend to know.”
Ignoring Martin’s early morning complaints, Jennifer stumbled from bed and sleepily made her way to the tub. She began to undress herself, as the suds bubbled up from within the warm bath water she’d drawn. She gazed narcissistically at her nude shoulders, arms, and then chest as her nightgown slipped
slowly to the cold tile floor.
Her mind went back to the first time she’d undressed before this baine of glass.
It was the morning after--after their honeymoon. Martin had been so cheerful that morning, following her into the bathroom wearing nothing and he had slipped his youthful arms around her and kissed her neck, shoulders, arms, chest, as her rose-colored nightgown slipped, just as it had today, to the ground.
Her gaze was now directed at the floor and on it was Martin’s tie. He’ll be needing that today, she thought to herself and half
mumbling told Martin his tie was lying on the bathroom floor.
He hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
She smiled innocently at the tie, remembering how Martin had kicked her nightgown aside and put her in his arms. He had loved her then--yes, he loved me then, she thought.
Her surroundings were slowly melting away, ‘til she was once again--in her mind--lying in his arms on their way to a long and blissful morning shower.
“He loved me then,” mumbled a most nostalgic Jennifer Abernathy.
“Where’s my tie?” belted Martin harshly, as he tied his well-worn, out-of-style, black dress-shoes. “I need my tie!”
His words weren’t registering with her. She was still in 1993, showering with her newly-wed husband-- in total bliss.
“BOOM!” screamed the door as it rattled forth Martin’s stern request for her attention. It was heard and heeded.
Upon hearing it, the first sensation she noticed was a wet and warm feeling at her feet. She glanced down and saw that the tub was overflowing, bubbles and all. She moved swiftly to the bathtub knobs and turned them counterclockwise, ‘til the water stopped. Then her ears were
reminded once again that Martin wanted her attention, as another thunderous thud fell upon the door.
“What?” yelled a now panicky Jennifer. “It seems I’ve made a mess of the bathroom, honey. What is it that you want? It may have
to wait.”
“You’re sadly mistaken, if you think I’m a mind to wait!” came a voice that was filled with irritation. “Now, where’s my tie?”
As the words echoed in her mind, she remembered. The tie was on the floor; the floor is wet, so the tie’s wet. It came to her
slowly as if her mind had lost it and was having to search it out.
She opened the whitewashed door.
“I’m sorry, honey, the tie’s soaked through-and-through. I’m afraid I’ve made a mess of things.”
“Soaked? Why? How?” inquired Martin in an alarmed voice.
“I--I must’ve let the tub overfill--I can put it in the drier,” she said with some wavering hope.
Tie in-hand she started towards the laundry room, when Martin slapped it from her hand. It went sailing across the hall; as it did Jennifer let out a little yelp.
“How the devil did you manage to do that?” screamed Martin. His eyes were on fire and his brow was furrowed up; he meant business. “Answer me, woman! Jen!”
“I--I told you. I told you I let the tub overfill by mistake.”
Jen looked utterly and woefully sad standing there wet and without a stitch of clothing on her. But Martin didn’t see that. Martin Abernathy saw a wet tie lying limp in the hall, like some child’s plastic snake just lying in wait for prey; he saw another day of arriving late to work; Martin saw his boss giving ‘m what-for, that’s what Martin saw.
“Well, get to drying the blasted thing! No--wait. Forget about it. I’ll just go tie-less. I can’t be late. We’ll discuss this tonight. I’m sick of this.” And continuing in his mind, and sick of you!
* * * * *
Jennifer had been sitting there crying, sulking most of the day. She had managed to dress herself, dry Martin’s tie, and clean the bathroom floor; but most of the day had been spent in bed.
By 3:30p, she was well into a bottle Sam’s club wine. She’d bought it for a special dinner, which never happened, the weekend prior. She just sat there sipping at a glass, thinking of her and Martin sitting side-by-side in their honeymoon bed. They had had a bottle of Chateau Margaux, and she’d almost gotten drunk from it two glasses in. Martin had set the glasses and bottle to the side and dimmed the lights.
She’d praised him in those days and he her.
As she lay there in bed now, she felt the lights dim and her husband’s lips on hers. Taken in to it all, she rolled over, ‘til she was eye
level with the bottle and an old quote came to mind: Love, like fine wine, grows stronger with time. She smiled at the thought, then truth came rushing to the forefront (of her mind): But ours is like milk: souring more with each passing day. ‘Please use before such and such date.’
Jen’s shaking hands took hold of the bottle and chunked it against the wall; and along with her bottled-booze, her mind’s last effort to grasp reality was shattered.
* * * * *
Martin came home around 6:30p, after stopping off at Red Dog’s for a few bottles of Blue Moon with a dice of lime each. He’d been thinking about the
events of that morning and comparing them to other recent fiascos. There was no doubt in his mind, something was wrong; but ashamedly he was more embarrassed of it (and her) than he was concerned for her.
The Blue Moons had done nothing but cloud his judgment and as he entered the house he heard sounds. First giggles, then they were followed by voices-- two to be exact.
His heart sank as the weight of the truth came down upon him, then it raced as he stormed towards the room.
Cheat on me, eh? Well, we’ll see what we can do about that, won‘t we? Yeah, we will. Slit his f***in’ throat is what I’ll do. And yours too, if you’re unlucky. Yeah, slit it right in two.
As he reached the door he heard water begin to run and then more voices: “Are you coming, dear?” asked a female voice.
“Be right there, love,” came a very familiar, yet implacable, voice. “Here I come, Mrs. Abernathy.”
Martin had heard enough. He slipped his hand round the knob and gave it a twist; it was locked. He couldn’t hear the voices anymore, but the giggles were beginning again. He took five or six steps back and rammed the door with his shoulder. The door had barely budged, but there was now a throbbing pain in his shoulder.
A voice came into ear shot then died off altogether, but he could still hear the water.
Real brave, huh? Not even a scream. Well, you’ll scream soon enough. Take y’er heads right--the f***--off.
Martin’s massive, size thirteen foot came swiftly and heavily on the door; it gave way. As he stepped in he surveyed the room. The bedspread and pillows were strewn all over; two glasses of wine were setting on the nightstand--one full, one empty; a broken bottle lay in the corner, its contents soaking into the carpet; and water was steadily pouring into the room from beneath the bathroom door.
He made his way through the wreckage of their room and into the bathroom. As he stepped onto the wet tile floor he slipped and fell
against the cabinets. He looked to see what he’d slipped on, and his eyes met with his wife’s nightgown.
“Fun time’s over,” he heard himself say. “All ov--”
He was struck dumb with what his eyes had caught hold of: two solitary eyes; cold, grey and buried beneath water. As he gained control of himself and his surroundings, he found not only two eyes but a body-- his wife’s body.
She lay buried five inches deep in a sea of suds, scents, and water with a small smile upon her lips, as if she were being kissed.