Shhhh, Listen

Nothing But Voices

By Andrea Corwin Published about 2 hours ago • 3 min read

“Don’t shoot me the bird!”

“You deserve it; you are being an asshole. For your information, I do it all the time behind your back. Can’t you feel the poke between your shoulder blades?”

“Very funny.”

“Not trying to be funny. I’m dead serious. I’m sick of your bullshit every damned day. It’s the same thing every damn day.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, of course, you have no clue! It’s always all about you!”

“That is not true, and I do NOT know why you are so mad. What did I do this time?”

“It’s not this time, you moron.”

“Stop calling names.”

“You are a moron, so I call it like I see it. Do you want to know what I’m upset about, or not? Stop interrupting me.”

“Well, you called me a moron. I’m supposed to just take it and not say anything?”

“I will raise my thumb when I am done speaking, and THEN you can respond. Do not interject or say anything until you see my thumb!”

“Okay.”

“What did I just say! Now shut up; seal those lips, and listen! Shhh, don’t say anything until you get the thumb! So, yesterday, you left early and I was asleep. NO, don’t respond! Wait for the thumb, dammit! You left early, and when I got up, the fridge was beeping. I checked the Ring App for when you left. You drove away at 6:22 a.m. I got up at 7:40. NO, don’t speak! Yes, I slept in because you kept me awake all night with your snoring and peeking outside through the blinds. I got up, shut the fridge, and then picked up your smelly socks from yesterday, which you left under the dining room table. When I took the pillow shams off the loveseat to finish making up our bed, guess what was under them? Shhhhh, remember THE THUMB! You left your dirty t-shirt, your damned flashlight, and your beanie under the shams. AND your bathroom light was on, along with the den overhead lights that TV. Your mom doesn’t live here!”

“All right. The thumb signal works great. I like it. You know the beanie keeps my head warm, which it needs, because you won’t let me shut the window. Sorry about the socks. Do you want me to answer everything? I know my mom doesn't live here…why did you say that?”

“I want you to be respectful of your girlfriend, with whom you live! ME!! I am not your maid or laundress. You don’t live alone. When your 4th-grade daughter visits, you yell at her for leaving the lights and TV on. Do you think you can give me respect for my efforts in our home? Some consideration? Did you hear me?”

“Answer me, dammit!”

“Ah, Trina, I was waiting for the thumb signal.”

“Erik, you are such an ass.”

“You're the one who created the terms of this conversation.”

“I’m done. I’m going for a run and then to a bunch of places – anywhere, so I don’t have to be around you right now. Your messes had better be picked up when I get back. Can you do that for me?”

“Probably. Babe, how much time will I have?”

“Get your hands off of me. I am not in a hugging, kissing, or kidding mood!”

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, you caveman! And bringing flowers won’t fix anything, especially my mood.”

“What will fix your mood, Trina?”

“Oh, for crissakes, Erik, I thought I was pretty clear. You don’t listen, and if you don’t try harder, there will come a day when I won’t be here when you come home. Mull that over while I’m gone.”