Simply Short

More Than A Day

Head nestled in a water lily bush and bare feet propped up on a faugh waterfall, her husband, Dillon, slept through the dawn of morning without a stir. The steak “is good” he had said the night before. The potatoes “are good” he’d said. The pie, “is good.” And when she had asked for more explanation of why he was two hours late and why he was stoned, all she got from him was “you’re so good, too.”

“You reek!,” she had screamed. “Get out – and stay out.”

“Oh baby, don’t be that way,” he had said, as she grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the back door.

“I smell her all over you.”

“Hey, I don’t smell like anything but you…”
She slammed her fist into his groin. For a moment it looked like he would spew her “good” dinner all over the kitchen. She grabbed a fistful of his pants and pulled him onto the deck and up and over the rail. He fell backwards into the fishpond eight feet below. She stood staring a moment then watched his eyes blink.

“You’re a filthy bastard Dillon Roth! Stay away from me – you hear?”

“But baby, you know,” he said, his moss covered arms reaching up towards her dark silhoette on the deck, “You wouldn’t last a day without me!”

His wife screamed an obscenity and hurled a potted geranium at his head. It careened off his ear. No longer caring whether he was dead or alive, she stomped back to the kitchen.

The next morning, after finding Dillon’s stash, an impressive three pounds of weed, she began fixing his favorite breakfast, sausage, eggs and potatoes. Everything sizzled in the sweet fragrance of cannabis as she smiled down on his watery bed.