"Until death do us part."
In The Gutter, you better be ready to take that vow all the way to the grave.
In The Gutter, you better be ready to take that vow all the way to the grave.
Love You by Beau Johnson
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“For
better or worse. In sickness and health. This is what I remember agreeing to,
Babe. After what I saw, I think you have decided to renege on this part of our
union.”
She
looks at me from the couch. Him too. It’s okay. I get it. I mean, if the shit
is broken and it can’t be fixed then what the fuck are we even doing here,
right?
I
can almost hear her thinking this too, sitting there as she shakes her head,
and only because I know her as I do. Hell, once we get down to the floorboards
and remove the nails, I probably know her better than I know myself.
“What
I can’t let go of is the blame for what you did, Lori, and now for what you’ve
done.”
Those
pretty green eyes are partially obscured by a hairstyle now hours in the making.
She leans forward and gags, but her gaze never loses what it’s trying to convey.
It’s too late, sure, but I applaud her tenaciousness. Perhaps this brings me
down to their level? Agreed, it was
me on the receiving end but it must be known it was her who initiated. She took
me from my pants and into her mouth the night I ended up in this chair.
“I’ll
agree it was exciting. I can’t deny you that. My mind alive with thoughts of Stephen King
and John Irving as you went and did what you do best. Little could I know life
would come to imitate art with the help of not only a Caravan but a goddamn Prius
as well.”
There
ended up being less lockjaw and gypsy curses by the end of our thing, yes, but
still a price was paid.
“You
were good at the beginning too. Not at that, no, but at sticking by my side as
a wife is meant to do. Things end though. More so, they fall apart.” I stop here, pause, and wheel myself up to the
shotguns angled into their mouths.
Took
some doing, getting them hogtied and leaning forward onto the barrels like that,
but if I’m anything, it’s a man who’s able to get things done. It brings forth
gobs of saliva and I watch, entranced, as it flows from barrel to stock like
colorless honey.
I
go on. The words I say are the thoughts of a person who has nothing but time to
think. I tell them I should have known from the start. After considering our
options, the both of us thought it best to go with a physiotherapist strong
enough to handle my frame.
“And
you, Martel. You I truly thought well of. You’d just hoist me up, rub me down,
and your enthusiasm about building up my arms was more contagious than I wanted
to let on.” I pat his head and rub it.
Only
when he begins to vomit down the steel do I understand my anger has gotten away
from me. I turn, roll forward, and let the man continue as best he can.
“What
I remember most, I suppose, is when it became clear I had lost you. Not physically
but in your mind, I mean. We were in Bradbury’s office when he told us
my equipment south of the equator had a less than one percent chance at ever working
again.”
She’s
crying full-on now and the tears I see are as fat as they are full. I imagine
they contain regret, pregnant with all the things she wished she could erase.
I
imagine she wishes I’d died.
“Wasn’t
until last week that everything fell into place, though. As is your way, Lori,
you did this in style. The question which lingered was, did you know I could
see what you’d chosen to do?”
I
don’t hold back, not being so close to the end. I tell her how slow she went to
her knees. How slow she took him into her throat. She shakes her head at this.
Martel too. I tell each of them to suck it on up, the pun certainly more than
intended.
“I
think it was my wheels which gave me away. They aren’t the quietest, I know. But
sometimes it’s the angle of the mirror I recall. The very one I have seen you
redouble your efforts in whenever I told you I was close. And this, right here,
I think this is what did it, Babe. You doing him the same way you have always
done me. Seems a logical step to make. But I don’t know. Not for sure. Either
way, it has finished what we are. What we were. And that is something I do know.”
I
bring out my own gun, a sawed-off, and run it down the sides of my face as I
have so many times before.
I
place the gun on my lap, roll forward, and reach down to pull Martel’s trigger
first. I look up into Lori’s eyes as I do this to make sure we are finally
seeing each other as we should. She is the opposite of what marriage is. My
father and her mother all rolled into one.
“For
better or worse,” I repeat.
