Anger

         The definition of anger according to the American psychological association is "an emotion characterized by antagonism toward someone or something you feel has deliberately done you wrong."

         Pretty simple to understand, but the emotion you feel is more complex then anything someone can describe. It makes some people hurt, makes them weak, makes them kill. Both sides of the spectrum come to life with the searing pain that accompanies anger. There are help for people who are 'too angry' who get angry too often or too easily. 

         Sharon does not have an anger problem but they make her go to these intervention classes anyway. Her neighbor called the cops on her and her husband during an all out screaming match one night. 

         She had enough. There was no saving her marriage and as hard as she tried she ended up being the 'bad guy'

         "It's over Mike, I can't do it anymore. I can't live like this anymore." She had said in a calm voice as if discussing work or what was for dinner.

         "What do you mean, over?"

         "I feel trapped. I feel like I can't live my life."

         His anger started and overheated immediately.

         "I DO EVERYTHING FOR YOU!" He screamed, losing control. "I DON'T WORK ALL DAY FOR MYSELF! WHAT ABOUT THE KIDS?"

         That was the one thing she was unsure about. What about the kids? She couldn't raise them on her own with her measly pay checks. They had decided she could get a part time job and leave her full time one. He made enough money. He did.

So there she sat. In her anger management class, making her admit she had an anger problem when she didn't. The councilor's words brought her out of her day dream.

         "This class I want you to think about the last time you got mad. Really mad. What did you want to do? How did you ultimately get through it?"

         Sharon was already thinking about it. When they fought, when the cops were called. Or was it when they told her she would be the one taking the class. Mike didn't have to. He apparently was the one being 'attacked' and was 'traumatized'. He one outburst was enough to have her labeled. 

         She thought on. So that was when she got mad, when they told her she would be taking this class. Maybe not, maybe it was just irritation. She didn't want to hit anything or anyone, she just wanted a cigarette. Irritation, not anger. All other conclusions brought her back to that night. 

         "The kids will be fine. We can share custody. I don't want a big battle over them. They need us both." She was using her calm voice, hoping that would make him calm.

         "They will be fine? How? Where are you going to live? HOW are you going to live?"

         His tone had become eerily calm as well, like he was coaxing her. Like he was trying to make her see she would never make it without him.

         "How does anyone Mike? I will make it." She turned toward the door. "Now I need to get some air."

         In a few large strides he was there at the door. 

         "Yeah, you need to get your head on straight."

         The man next to her was speaking. It was her turn next. She listened politely as he talked about having road rage on his way to the meeting. He imagined cutting the driver off, or perhaps running them off the road. For not using their turn signal. 

         "And how did you overcome that emotion, Andy?"

         "I took a breath and pulled into the parking lot. I screamed a lot." He buried his head in his hands as he said it. "I can't."

         "It's ok to get mad. We all get mad, even I do. We all have impulses and it's our job as good human beings, to not act on those impulses. We would not have enough space in our jails and prisons if not."

         She talked to all of them as if they were children. Sharon was ready to snort and roll her eyes when the councilor, Lisa, turned her gaze upon her.

         "Sharon, you have the floor."

         "My husband got mad because I told him I want a divorce."

         "This is not about your husband, Sharon. It's about you and the anger you feel inside. Why do you feel the need to pass the blame on others?" She asked, a genuinely confused look on her face.

         "I'm not. I didn't get angry and I don't have anger inside. The police was called on us when we were having a disagreement and I am court ordered to come here."

         There was silence in the small room and all the other angry people in her group looked at her as if she was the crazy one. They wanted to kill people for not using a blinker, she had an argument with her husband because she was, is, unhappy. There was something wrong with that picture.

         "Well, perhaps you should think more on it. There is a reason you are here."

         "Yeah, it's court ordered. I just said that."

         Sharon was surprised at herself. She had always coward in situations where there were people 'in charge'. She didn't like confrontation and she didn't like to cause a scene to herself.

         "So they thought you needed treatment."

         "This isn't treatment! It's lets sit around and talk about our problems because we get mad! Get over it!" And with that she stood and walked out of the class.

         On the way home she knew she would be in trouble. Jail  time was probably in her future but that seemed a lot less painful then sitting in a class with a bunch of people who don't know how to take a chill pill. She didn't have a problem, she didn't need help, and she most definitely wasn't going to take pills.

         So she decided to take charge of her problems at home. She wasn't happy and she wasn't getting out of the situation so there was one solution.

         The kids were in day care and she called Mike home for lunch. Pork chops with corn and hand made mashed potatoes. She even bought his favorite beer, Blue Moon. It was an 'I'm sorry' kind of meal. Maybe he would be on her side when she had to go to court for not going to anger management.

         He walked through the door about fifteen minutes late. Not that it was a surprise. 

         "Smells good. What's the occasion?" He asked, taking a seat at the opposite end of the table.

         "I'm sorry?" She said, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know. I feel bad I guess."

         He nodded and grabbed the barbeque sauce. She eyed the bottle as the brown contents soaked the already flavored meat on his plate. How irritating.

         Nothing else was said as they both started to eat their lunch. The pork was not in the least bit plain. No need for the barbeque sauce. Suddenly she looked up as Mike started to choke. 

         'How odd' she thought as she stood up to look at him. She thought it would take much longer. There was plenty of poison in the sauce but surly it would take longer to work. She was hoping he would be on his way back to work before it kicked in, that way he would be in an accident and it would look like just that. An accident.

         By now his face was blue and he was staring at her in horror as he knew she wasn't going to help him. Eventually he lost consciousness and he was still. As if remembering what to do next, she ran to the phone and dialed 911. More irritation. She didn't need to even bother with the poison, fate had caught up with him.