“Are you going to eat that?” he asked. It was fairly boring as far as ‘last straws’ went, but it did me in. It wasn’t the first time he voiced the question, nor was it the fortieth. I stopped counting long ago and started plotting.
If he ever waited until it looked like I was finished it wouldn’t have annoyed me so much. But he wanted my food before I was halfway done. I read all kinds of things into it, of course. He was greedy or selfish. He thought I was fat and was trying to keep me from eating too much. He was inconsiderate or just plain hungry. He thought I was a great cook and couldn’t get enough.
All these thoughts ran through my head as I dug the hole. I realized it didn’t matter why he did it. What really mattered was it bugged me and he knew it. Why this bothered me more than his lying and cheating I’ll never know.
After I put the shovel away and washed up, I made his last supper. I included all his favorites. Chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, creamed corn, and fried biscuits. Since I knew what would happen later, I ate as I cooked. I have to say, that was the best meal I’ve made in a long time. I put every bit of skill I had into it to make it perfect.
He sat at the table as usual, a cloth napkin tucked into his shirt. Oh how I hated when he did that! He held a knife in one hand and a fork in the other. I wanted to punch him right in the stereotype, but I kept a sweet smile on my face as I fixed his plate.
“Let’s go outside. It’s a beautiful night and we should enjoy it.”
He agreed and took himself and his cutlery out to the picnic table in the back yard. I followed with the plate. Once he was seated I went straight to the hole, dumped the meal in it, and marched straight back to the house, locking the door behind me.
His already packed suitcase went out the window, along with everything else he owned. The entire time he stood over the hole staring down. He wept, not for me, but for his favorite foods lying wasted, six feet below him.
I guess he did think I’m a great cook. I’m glad I decided to throw the food in the hole instead of him.
This is one of the stories I wrote yesterday while sitting in the dentist’s office waiting on my kid to get a temporary crown. It’s not very nice but it’s nicer than the other one. I’ll edit it and probably post it tomorrow.
The prompt was the first line: “Are you going to eat that?”