literature

Happy

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Literature Text

Leonard tightened his grip about the blue and orange metal, palm all but eclipsing the white middle as his flesh conformed to the tube. Carefully, savoring the moment, he reached his hand up to the top of the can, feeling for the little grooves that marked release.
His other hand reached into the nearby box, and he cherished the sound of wrinkling wax paper as he brought out the first cracker – some expensive wheat brand his wife had sworn was worth the twenty plus dollars. Apparently Ritz hadn't been ritzy enough for her.

He took an extra moment to imagine the look that would appear on Jennifer's face, if she knew he was adding Cheese Whiz to them; the red on her cheeks if she found out that he was defiling something so "precious" with his "common" taste buds… The ways her eyes might narrow, pupils dialing in, lips thinning, the corner of her mouth turning down as she struggled not to scream – it brought a smile to Leonard's lips.

Knowing that she would be so upset made it perversely pleasurable to spread the thick material about the thin waver, fine grains disappearing beneath something so processed it could hardly be called "cheese." It was the ultimate forbidden act in this house, slipping something so utterly bad for him between his teeth, and taking the first delicate bite. "Hmmm… Cheesy…"

No response Jennifer. Leonard smiled, biting through the cracker, and basking in the rare feeling of invulnerability gained from a rare fight won. His only regret was that the cheese cushioned any crunch, leaving him with only the less-than-satisfactory noise of teeth grinding against each other as he chewed. Leonard wanted to be loud. He wanted to rub his victory in Jennifer's nose, and laugh about the fact that he'd finally won a battle.

He settled for leaning against the couch and fetching the next cracker. The soft fabric absorbed him, and he tipped his head back with a sigh, chewing happily on his prizes until the sense of euphoria began to fade, heart slowing down from its earlier excitement; and like a swarm that had just barely been kept at bay, the niggling doubts started to set in. He wondered whether the fight had been worth it – whether victory has been worth hurting the one he loved. He shoved another cracker into his mouth, biting into the coarse food with sudden desperation to find the easy pleasure of before.

It tasted terrible; like a mixture of grit and glue determined to scour his taste buds clean.  With the euphoria faded to near nothing, he wondered how he'd even managed to get the first down his throat. One… two more, and Leonard was at his limits – scrunching the box between his hands and dropping it to the floor. The final crumbs fell to the ground and onto the softened carpet, all that was left of his victory. All he felt was a dull throbbing grey, now that the red of anger and the excitement of victory had passed, paired with a distant regret for what might have been hasty actions.

Rubbing at his forehead, as if the feelings might somehow fall away with the dandruff, Leonard started to hobble toward the dining room. The dramatic exuberance he'd shown while spreading the cheese seemed miles gone – and he grimaced softly to think of how excited he'd been, just going out to shop for it - but his shame also faded to gray as he walked forward. Licking his lips to clear away what he could of the sticky substance, he crossed into the dining area.

What was left of their dinner remained on the mahogany table; thin cut slices of filet mignon arranged in a sunburst about a center piece of caviar – a combination he couldn't see anyone wanting, but his wife had bought crackers explicitly for the occasion.

A little to the right rested the bottle of wine, some hundred plus year old thing; then of course the plate of cheeses. Real cheeses, all "imported," with nothing store bought.  All of it bought for the "happy" occasion of their anniversary. All set at the center of a table so long, they could stretch themselves across it without ever touching fingertips.

It had been here that they'd argued. A few hours had passed, but it seemed burned into his mind, so clear when he closed his eyes. The way his wife had sat, her blonde hair trailing down the chair's back, tresses just barely peppered with strands of gray. One knee had been tucked over the other, as if he would actually try to sneak peeks into her skirt. One hand had gently settled on her lap, against her stomach, the other quietly scooping up a fork as she gave him one of her expectant glances, dark blue eyes focused on him and only him. The message had been clear enough: You know what to do. Do it.

He'd pulled out a chair, trying not to respond to the light squeal of oak against marble tile; or the way Jennifer's eyes had narrowed, brow creasing inward in annoyance. Not worth the trouble, he'd told himself; not worth the struggle. He'd shaken his head, taken a deep breath and settled gently into the seat, sliding carefully forward with barely another squeak.

She'd watched him for a moment, and then calmly reached forward to spear a few slips of steak with her fork. "I trust you enjoyed yourself in the gardens…?"

"Yeah." He'd smiled at her, but she'd simply narrowed her eyes again. "You're getting sunburn. I don't see why you even bothered going out in the first place."

Shrug it off, he'd told himself; don't let it bother you. He'd smiled even wider, feeling the muscles strain. "But it was my gardening that caught your attention in the first place, right? I'd organized the school for a compost-program, and-"

"And it was your father working as a gardener that got us cut off," she whispered, stabbing her next piece of meat; he hadn't been able to see her other hand - but he'd imagined it, fist tight, nails digging into her palm, anger to match the white face and all but disappearing lips as she tried to bear her furry down on him. "If not for his heart attack, we would still be living in a cottage, eating your homegrown vegetables. Not the difference will much matter if you insist on making us social outcasts…"

Don't respond, Leonard had told himself; don't respond. Don't respond, don't fight; you can't make things better if you just fight.

"Which is why I had the chef toss today's harvest," she went on. "Disgusting worm infested..."

He shuddered, in the present, shoving the memory away as he reached for the bottle of wine. It was heavier then he would have expected, for being only half full – the heady scent still wafting from the open bottle hours after the meal. He took a sip, swallowing quickly and letting it wash away his victory; examined the walls, almost bare except for a few stern portraits of her father; took another sip. A few drops of red fell from his lips when he finally pushed the bottle away.

That had been when he'd lost it. Hearing she had thrown away his hard work along with his words – treating their anniversary as just another formal occasion during which he could be forced to embrace the world she'd left. He took another sip. A lone mirror reflected his image – brown hair sticking every which way, hazel eyes blinking owlishly out from sleep deprived eyes. He did look sunburned, too, his cheeks too red, too raw. A poor match for the woman of power he'd seen sitting across from him, he thought. Leonard shoved the bottle away from himself, the quick movements shaking a few more drops loose. The red splashed against the blue of his dress shirt, mixing with the stains already there. He'd never liked it anyhow.

His own portion of meat remained untouched; the vegetables he'd prepared were in a trash somewhere. Leonard wasn't in the mood to eat, though. He wasn't even in the mood to drink, though that didn't stop him from sealing the bottle with his lips, or letting the warm liquid trail down his throat as he drained all but the last drops…

He shook his head, letting the wine bottle fall to the floor. It bounced, rolling about the ground until it came to a stop, green neck rest amidst a pool of red fluid. He felt sick staring at it. After a moment, he moved on, toward the kitchen.

Jennifer had always been like this, really. Running in a straight line towards her goal, refusing to give in; when their goals had matched, they'd been happy together. When they'd been fighting against the same obstacles… Again Leonard felt his thoughts drifting back, as he walked down the hallway – to the way she had smiled at him when their plots for vegetable gardens had gone well; the little dimples she had when her lips stretched, eyes lighting up with a sudden idea. She'd worn that smile all night, once; it had been the first clue she would ask him to marry her.

He should have known things would change; she had no time for obstacles in her life. She'd been wiling enough to give up money for him; her father had been the enemy back then. But when she got the money back… Then it had been a matter of him not fitting her lifestyle. Leonard had become an obstacle; and he didn't think she had it in her to look past that.

The slight shift in tile-texture between dining room and kitchen brought him back to the present; diamonds versus squares; a difference in perspective. He smiled softly at that thought, but it didn't last. He found the vegetables in the trash, like his wife had claimed. She hadn't lied. She'd never lied, really. She'd been honest about every bit of herself from the start.

After a moment staring, he walked back out, heading toward the bedroom. He relished it when the cold tile turned to soft carpet, absorbing his footsteps and leeching out the cold as he walked toward the bed. His wife laid there, atop the covers, hair thrown asunder and clothes stained with red; it had been a big fight.

"Jenny?" he whispered; no response. "Jenny… I know you can hear me…" He stepped closer, sighing softly, breathing a bit louder – anything to let her know he was still there. "I'm sorry for fighting with you…" Hadn't he known what he was getting into? "I just… I want you to know… how much you mean to me."

Leonard stared at her for a moment, lying there so peaceful; innocent. He forged on, biting his lip in case she truly could hear. "I just want you to know… that I love the way you are; the way you barrel through obstacles. The way you fight for what you believe. I just wish that I wasn't one of those obstacles; and changing me wasn't one of your beliefs. It feels like you're trying to tear my heart out some days – trying to make me just fold… but I can't. I can't stop being the one you fell in love with, Jenny, just because your priorities have changed… Just like you've never really stopped being the girl I loved."

She laid still as a rock, chest flat breath caught; not a hair shifting out from when he'd come in; and after a moment, he crawled into bed after her, folding the blankets up over their heads.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, gently nuzzling her chin. She didn't speak; couldn't speak, but didn't need to. His hand found its way to her chest without any protest, to the cut his knife had made, and he pressed his fingers into her flesh. After a long moment Leonard fell asleep like that – the way he always wanted to. Head resting against her chin; hand touching her heart.

Happy.
Revising this as we speak - but I don't know which version's better, so have mark 1. ^^; (I'm revising for school, which means I can't do what I'd like to - just edit the bits that need work.)
© 2012 - 2024 Princess-Kay
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Sgtkururu's avatar
simply amazing. This is a very emotional work and if your other version has any less power than this I would avoid using it.