Not Even A Morsel II

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The roses were dead. Like he assuredly knew when he had presented them to her and she said offhandedly without much enthusiasm, “Unh! Now you decide to get me flowers?” It didn’t take him long to figure out what that, “now,” meant in her statement. It didn’t take no English major to tell him what inference he should derive from it. “Now,” meant a decision had been made without his input, so it wasn’t anything nice, a decision made by her, and her alone which meant it was about the relationship. Which would only mean one thing, like the roses now five days since presentation, the relationship was and is dead too. He picked them out of the vase. Walked to the trash receptacle in the kitchen, opened the lid. And as in the last rights, said a small prayer, “I know she’s going to leave me. But thank you God for letting her spend the time she has with me. Let her go forth and be blessed with nothing but happiness align her path. You know how I feel about her but just keep her and our child safe. And I will walk with you forever and ever. Amen!” He hadn’t noticed he had closed his eyes but it took him opening them to realize it. Maybe it was just a conditioned response when one prayed? He didn’t know. He looked down at the trash inside the can; still moistened coffee grounds along with the soggy filter; under which cans of diet soda; used paper towels…four separate cracked egg shells. He smiled at that as he threw the dead flowers in. And like every living thing that has died or has been dead for a long time, finally burying it, the closure comes; albeit, with weighted heart. You know it is and was for the best. Somehow one knows everything has to end and all it takes is covering it up with dirt; finally making a grave, a site for the many markings in the mind to understand finality, death and its ubiquitous ominous signs.

Yesterday was a Sunday and a killer to boot. The last two weeks had been nothing but fussing and fighting and he thought yesterday, a Sunday would give some type of rational thinking to them both. Wrong answer! Arguing about shit that didn’t matter at all. Just shut the fuck up! He wanted to yell out but he knew if he did that the argument would have gotten worse. It ended, like most of the arguments did, on a sour note. She saying, “Well fuck you! I can’t take this shit! I’m gonna take a bath.” And she did. Another night of him sleeping on an uncomfortable couch and she sleeping in the bed. He having to work in the morning. Monday being her off day.

He knew this would be marked very clearly. Wanted to remember the signs again for why the death occurred, being a quasi-coroner. Yes, he knew all too well what happened to cause this long fated death of he and Sam’s relationship. It was the cause of death he had seen many of times in the various relationships in his life: The cause of death, Chronic Adam Omega’s disease. Nee Adam Stephan Omega. He only was the disease and had caused the many casualties in his various relationships. He figuring out finally he has always been an ill perceived devout, Tolerant non-Tolerant soul. Though his self righteousness told him otherwise, that he was tolerant of others beliefs and person. He has always been far from it, an elitist visionary who is non-tolerant like the souls he finds so uncomely. He shook his head about his conditioning, still looking down at the trash with dead flowers now atop.  He looked up and closed his eyes again, this time knowingly; flicked his right wrist, the top of the receptacle whooshed downward and closed tight. And said in a whisper, “It is finished! Amen!” He turned with a tear rolling down his left cheek, he wiped it off. Smiled and thought, “Every thing will be fine.” It was time to get on some comfortable clothes. The work day was done. And he knew another job had just begun. (to be continued)