smile

You are so beautiful right now. In the dark. Lying there, still and mysterious on the bed. Still asleep, I want to wake you up to see your magical grin, but a few more moments of peace seem so right. Standing here, ready for work, staring at you and I think how fortunate I am for the dark, the blinds closed and the lights off. I can only tell it's morning by the red numbers of the alarm clock. How you sleep through it every morning like this I'll never know, but, really, who cares?

You are just so gorgeous like this.

Flipping on the light switch to wake you up, it’s like the abrupt end of this perfect dream. I hesitantly turn on the lights and we're forced to enter back into this hideous reality.

You.

With the lights on, your face is gross with those pimples all over it. Your eyes aren’t even close to a desirable color. Grey. Your complexion, you seriously need to go tanning. Your ears are so small and pointy. Your hair, with the lights on it’s coarse and full of split ends. With the lights on even your elbows look out of whack. Looking at you, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be thinking this but it’s like God threw up or something.

And I swear if you didn’t have perfect teeth I would so break up with you.

Smile.

That’s right. There’s my girl. You, smiling at me, I look past your disgusting complexion and I see these beautiful pearly whites, so white I nearly have to squint in order to keep looking at them.

Seriously, if I could just tear those teeth out of your face I would totally make a necklace and end this relationship right now. I wouldn’t even write you a letter. I doubt I would call. I think I’d probably just stop showing up at your place.

But then you smile. Smile and I forget how I hate you. Smile and I forget how ugly you are. Smile and I am in love. Smile and I want to marry you. Smile and I can’t stop kissing you. Smile and I can’t stop falling in love with you.

So just keep smiling.

Those perfect teeth, so white I can see them in the dark. The rest of you just tan enough so I can’t see you in the dark and it’s perfect.

Beauty, always and forever, a light switch away.

God, how I love power outages.

Smile.

I promised to make you breakfast, but all you’re getting is toast. I walk down the hall towards the kitchen and as I do I make sure not to step on anything.

Boxes everywhere labeled with my name. I’ve lived here for six months now but everything stays in its box because things could change anytime. You never know. You get much uglier and even your perfect teeth won’t save you.

I grab the bread out of the refrigerator. Pretending not to notice the mold I throw in two slices on the highest setting. The goal being, naturally, to blacken the toast so it hides the mold. You’ll never know.

I put your breakfast on a plate and throw it on the table. I’m having a Denver omelet. As soon as my breakfast is done I turn off all of the lights and I holler your name. It’s about time you get out of bed.

The house is always dark. By now you should be used to this. You should love it. After all, I told you, I have a condition. I made up that story about being extremely sensitive to light or something. Be more sympathetic. Come on.

Smile at me.

Boxes are scattered everywhere through the hall and, to be fair I more than likely kicked a few into new and exciting positions. Some against the wall, others newly in the way of your path. Just trying to keep things interesting.

That’s when I hear you hit the floor. That’s when I hear you scream. That’s when I start laughing.

Four eggs, two pieces of ham and half a green pepper, diced. Hold the onion. In my opinion this is the perfect omelet. It’s very fluffy and very filling and arguably there was way more than enough for you, but I'm pretty sure you really, really like burnt toast.

It’s when you don’t stop screaming right away that I stop eating. Surely by now you should get up and just be embarrassed, come eat your toast and move on with your ugly, incredibly dull life.

Go to work already. Stop screaming. Shut up, seriously just shut up.

Alright. I’m coming.

It’s when I turn the corner and hear the screaming much louder than before that I realize that this is something more than embarrassment and, really, I’m trying so hard to care at least a little bit.

But it’s not until I give in and turn on the light and see you with your face in a pool of blood, shards of glass all around that I realize just how serious this is. What the hell did you break?

Your blood is all over pictures of my dead grandmother. Pictures of my mom and dad’s thirtieth frigging wedding anniversary. There’s my sister’s college graduation. That’s my nephew’s little league photo from last year. Sure, he sucked but come on.

And all of the frames are broken. And there’s all of this clear glass and pieces of wood are in your face and you’re still bleeding all over my poor, sweet grandmother. That terrific picture of me and my old Cocker Spaniel.

Then there’s this tiny piece of white.

And you’re not smiling. And really, you couldn’t be uglier.

I bend down and pick up the enamel. “What is this?”

You won’t stop screaming. “Shut up. Please. Smile, baby. Just shut up and smile.”

I’m on the floor now and my work clothes are obviously ruined and I’m going to be so late for work. I don’t think I have another clean pair of pants.

I cringe as I touch your back and I’m really doing my best trying to comfort you. Seriously, just shut up. We really need to talk about this.

It’s probably only been thirteen seconds but kneeling in this blood feels like three hours and I already hate you. This isn’t helping me out at all. Our love is on the line when you finally decide to stop screaming. Now you’re just panting like a dog.

My Cocker Spaniel. Freddy. Bloody Freddy.

Your blood.

“Seriously. You need to look at me, now. Open your mouth.”

I can tell you don’t want to do this. No way do you want to ruin our relationship right now. I’m the only one who can even look you in the face and even then it’s only when your perfect smile is on display for me.

“Open your mouth.” I say this again but you’re really trying my patience. I don’t have any more time. I really need to get ready for work, again. Start this whole nightmarish day over again. This is so the last thing I need.

Grabbing your chin, dropping the tiny little piece of enamel, prying your mouth open, you resisting is just making this harder for you. You know I will win.

Smile. Whore.

Looking inside your mouth is when I see how bad this all really is. You, seeing the anger in my eyes. The rage of a man seeing his perfect, award-winning smile cracked in at least three places. This perfect grin stained red. And the hole of a missing tooth. And I can’t stand to look at you. The rage welling up inside of me and you know what’s coming. What’s more you know how much you deserve it.

It’s now that you clamp down on my hand. Hard. And whether it’s your blood or mine running down my hand, my wrist, the arms of my dress shirt, I have no idea.

My pain mixed with your pain mixed with your ugliness mixed with my rage. This is the recipe of my perfect revenge.

The end of our extremely sub par six-month relationship. The end of your perfect smile. Those gorgeous teeth. Now you are nothing but ugly.

And as I run the edge of this piece of glass from my parent’s anniversary frame across your throat, your face, your mouth finally releasing from my badly chewed hand; it’s all just a little better.

Your beautiful death.

Shut up now. That’s it. Sh. It’s all over. Nice and quiet.

Quiet.

Sitting in your blood, with blood all over my hands, I reach into my pocket for my phone. Blood on my hands, blood on the phone, now blood on the side of my face, I dial my secretary. I say, good morning. I tell her to cancel my 8:30 cleaning. I tell her to reschedule my 9:00 new patient exam. I tell her to push back my 11:00 root canal. I tell her I’ll do my best to be in by early afternoon for the rest of the day.

Oh, and I tell her to go ahead and place that classified advertisement in the newspaper for a new hygienist.