by Yvette Managan
Eve walked up to Mike behind his back. He didn't see her. He was still angry at her hurtful words. “I'm done with her.” He spoke while exhaling, his voice low and bitter. “I'm outta here tomorrow.” Eve extended her arm towards the back of his head, and squeezed her fingers together. When they made the shape of a tweezers, she poked them into his left ear, taking care not to rip anything. She pushed softly until she felt a pop, and then retracted her hand. It held the memory of their argument, still fresh and smelling slightly sour. She folded it into her fingers, dropped her hand to her lap and deposited the acrid reminiscence into her blue jeans pocket.
Mike shook his head from one side to the other. He blinked. “Eve, is that you?” he asked as he turned around. “Hi Honey, when did you get home?”
“Just a minute ago. How was your day?”
“Fine, and yours?”
“Pretty damned awful, Mike. I had a meeting with the bitch and should have known when to keep my mouth shut.”
Mike looked towards the ceiling for a swift moment and sighed. “Did you loose it? Still have a job?"
“Oh nothing like that, ‘course I still have a job. I just said things that I didn't mean. You know, out of anger.”
“Not you Honey. You never do anything like that.”
“You are so sarcastic.” Eve's left cheek pulled up, taking the corner of her lips with it. Mike barely saw her eyelids tighten.
“Well, around here, you need to be.” He smiled.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Oh nothing. Let's drop it.” Mike smiled harder.
“No way. What the hell did you mean by that? Are you trying to pick a fight, you dirty rotten bastard?"
“No Baby, let's just drop it. I didn't mean anything.” Mike raised his arms to Eve's shoulders and squeezed them reassuringly. Eve pulled away.
“The hell you didn't you sorry no-good looser. You ought to be glad I stick around to support your sorry ass. Your father was right. You aren't worth the paper our marriage license is printed on.” Eve turned from Mike to hide her red and puffing face.
Mike turned at the same time, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He looked down to his feet, and swiped the cloth across his forehead. “I'm done with her,” he spoke while exhaling. “I'm outta here tomorrow.”
Yvette Managan is a writer who works by day maintaining the chemical integrity of the Banana River . At night she acts as intermediary between the horses, hound-dogs and husband. She reads to remember, writes to forget and re-enacts the American War Between the States to teach others that war is never healthy.
Her work has been seen in Static Motion , as winner of the short story picture contest for March 2007, and as a contributor in August 2007. She performed as Poetry Editor for the literary anthology, Driftwood XXVI . You may have seen her work in the British magazine Twisted Tongue , or at the on-line magazines Lyrica , Oysters and Chocolate The Linnet's Win gs, www.thewriterscorner.org and www.OurAtticus.net .