Holiday Blues

I see bright lights, sounds of an explosion, and loud screams. No, it’s not New Year’s or the Fourth of July, it’s November 21st. Today is a new holiday. It’s the day I died. Today will be the anniversary that my loved ones will remember for the rest of their lives…whether they like it or not.
We were supposed to be preparing for Thanksgiving, not a funeral. But as usual, nothing works out as planned. Tonight, he seemed different. In a quiet rage, I would say. I could feel him watching me as I walked, more like tipped, around the house. Careful not to make a sound. Wanting to go unnoticed, in hopes that tonight would be a quiet evening.
Not so fast! He has it all planned. I’m the only one left in the dark about the reason for tonight’s episode. But not for long.
“I found your bag in the basement,” he says out of the blue.
My heart stops.
     Think, Samantha! I scream in my head.
Finally, I say to him, “Bag? What bag?”
“The one you’ve hidden under the tarp with the old furniture.”
“That’s not mine. Well, it is mine, but they’re old clothes.”
“Was the envelope with the checkbook and keys old, too?”
The lump that formed in my throat was the size of a boulder.
“Going on a little trip?” he asked, while tossing the envelope on the counter between us.
“No, Sam. Let me see if I can figure this one out. You were going on vacation and you would be back in a week. Or are you planning for bad weather and that suitcase was for emergencies? Last one,” he said, placing his other hand on the counter. In that hand, a nine-millimeter. “You were leaving me.”
He came around the counter and stood next to me. All I saw was the gun.
“You know how I feel about lying, Samantha. Tell me the truth.”
I shook my head no.
“Come on, own up to it. I promise things will go better for you.”
“I’m…not…lying to you,” I said, practically hyperventilating.
I watched as he slowly raised the gun up and I felt it as he put it against my temple.
“Now, let’s try this again. Were you leaving me, Sam?”
“…Yes,” I cried quietly.
“For another man?”
“No. Please.”
“Please, what? What are you begging for? Your life, your freedom?”
I only nod. God knows I wanted both. And then God answered.
“You won’t leave me. You will never leave this house again.”
The bright light and loud explosion was the gun. The loud scream was my own. I know it doesn’t matter now, but I hate holidays.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s