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Pillow Talk and Lenny
by Michael James O'Neill Pillow Talk For years, Jasmine and Jack would always end their days with a quiet chat. - That was a good day. - Yes, we got a lot done. - What’s happening tomorrow? - I have a doctor’s appointment after work. - I’ll start supper. Any mail? - Just bills and some junk E-mail. Eventually they called it a day and drifted off to peaceful sleep. After a few years, after quite a few disagreements and a fair dose of suspicion, the tone and content had changed. - Did you put out the garbage? - Yes, the supper was tasteless. What happened? - Is your mother still coming this weekend? - She’ll call back to confirm. - Who was it that called earlier? - It’s the new secretary working late. She had a question. Exhausted from the day and the late night interrogation, they drifted off, tossing and turning, to anything but peaceful repose. Lenny He had just turned thirty-five. The rage had been building up - the lousy job, the long commute, the women that had dumped him. The last one left with all the furniture. Yeah, she was hot but she took everything, even the coffee machine. Alone, he couldn't afford the condo. He moved back home into his old room. This day had been a disaster: the boss on his back, the car stalling, gridlock. He charged upstairs. He cursed. He kicked the door. His foot went through the flimsy veneer. He yelled a few more times. Then he was quiet. After a while, he heard her voice. "Lenny, I've made you a nice supper. Come down and eat. You've had a hard day." "Thanks, Mother. I'll be right down." She served him still, out of love or out of fear. |
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