Leaving Linda

         “Paul, you done on the computer?  I’m just gonna check my Facebook.”  Linda is always checking Facebook.  It’s like the tastiest cheese for the mouse scurrying on the wheel inside her head.

         “Go ahead.”  What I always say.  Even if I am waiting for one of my stories to be reviewed on the writing site I like so much.  No chance of getting back online tonight.  I watch Linda carry her popcorn and Sprite down the hall and into the office.  I sit down on the couch, pick up the remote control and flick randomly through monotonous cable channels.  Three years of this, now.  I should leave, I think.  Bet she wouldn’t even notice.

         “Linda, I’m going.  I’m done.”  I yell down the hallway.  Almost silence, except the clacking of fingernails on the keyboard.  “Linda?”

         “Yeah, I heard you.  Could you also pick up some toilet paper?  We’re nearly out.”

         A quick survey around the apartment.  No real attachments here for me.  I pack up a few items, my cd’s, some photos.  In the bedroom,  I put most of my clothes into a garbage bag.  I leave the Nirvana tee-shirt she bought me in Seattle on the unmade bed.

         Linda passes me in the hall, she must be finished her Sprite.  “I see you’re finally taking the garbage out.”  I give her a thin smile and head for the door.  “Oh, and Paul...  When you get back, remind me to tell you a funny thing that happened to Anita.”

         At the door, I pause.  What am I missing?  A mischievous thought creeps into mind.  What if...?

         "Gotta take a leak!”  I yell so she hears me.

         “That’s great.  Want me to take an advertisement out for you on Facebook?”

         In the bathroom, I grab the last roll of toilet paper.


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