The hour was late, now.  Just after dinner, Frankie and I went into town to pick up some parts for his Pontiac.  While inside the store, I received an emergency call from the office.  With no time to run him home then get to the office, Frankie just came with me.  I called Lauren to let her know but naturally, she ignored it.  After a few hours, the problems were resolved and Frankie and I were headed back home.

Pulling up the long drive sometime past midnight, I couldn’t help but feel like something was off.  I mean, something was off and has been off for months.  This was different.  With Frankie falling asleep in the passenger seat, I slowed the Monte Carlo to a stop in the roundabout portion of the driveway.  I sat for several long moments with the car idling and rumbling as I stared at the house.  Something was telling me not to go inside.

”Can we start on the brakes tomorrow?” Frankie asked through his barely aware slumber.

”Sure,” I replied quietly.

”Why are we still in the car?” he asked.

I didn’t have an answer.  At least, not a good one.

”We just pulled up,” I replied before killing the engine.  It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn't the truth either.

Frankie and I exited the car and started for the house.  Motion lights greeted us as we stepped on the front porch.  Inside, the house was predictably quiet.  The twins usually go down by 8, with Berta soon to follow.  Lauren, normally out like a light by ten.

”Night dad,” Frankie said as he kicked off his shoes and began heading for bed.

”Night Bub,” I said quietly.

I was right.  Something had changed.  One of the reasons I loved this place was because it felt like home.  When I walked in after work, whether it was from wrestling or the office in Manhattan, it felt like home, it felt peaceful yet lively.  What I couldn’t figure out is if it had slowly been starting to feel less like home, or if this was something new and sudden.  Whatever it was, the dynamic had certainly shifted.

I stood in the family room, alone and in the dark.  My heart sank into my stomach.  This had been going on long enough and something needed to change.  Ever since she took Maurice’s life, she’d been killing me with a thousand little cuts.  All of them, enveloped with silence.

Resolving to get her to say something, anything at all, I started to make my way upstairs.  I’d much rather her cut a promo on me in the middle of the bedroom than to kill me with silence.  I’d rather her swear, yell and throw lamps at my head than to suffer alone in the silence.

”Babydoll,” I said as I entered the room.  The lights were on, but no one was home.  To my surprise, Lauren wasn’t there.




After checking the bathroom, I started making my way to every room in the house.  Every stop along the way brought more panic, more pain, more agony.  It was clear to me now, so I made my way to the detached garage.  Opening the door, the lights inside came on.  When the door finished rolling up, her Jeep sat staring at me, almost mocking me.  Upon its hood rested a single white slip of paper.  On top of that… her wedding ring.

She made a clean break.

She left the same way she entered, empty handed.

So many things ran through my mind.  Every bit of it was hard to sort out.  Every emotion you could think of reared its ugly head as my mind raced to make sense of all of it.  As hard as I tried, sense never came.  Staring quietly at her ring as I twirled it in my fingers, I initially balled up her letter and threw it.  Immediately, I regretted doing so.  I wanted answers, I deserved answers, but I didn’t think any of them would be contained in whatever she had written.  Part of me thought she could go to hell.  Another part of me thought she deserved to be heard, no matter what inaccuracies or irrational rationalizations she came up with to justify her actions.

”So this is it?” I asked her as if she were standing in front of me.  My past exploits are well documented.  I know I was only a good husband in our first year when it was convenient.  She was no angel either.  Just, my failures were far more public than her own.  But… since we lost Gracie last year, we’d turned a corner.  We were solid, we were strong, we were unfuckwithable.  We were a well-oiled machine.

Life though, finds a way to fuck you without lube.

Approaching the work bench behind her Jeep where her balled letter came to a rest, I unfurled it and began to read.  Tears undoubtedly filled my eyes.  Tears of anger and of heartache.  The harder I tried to hold them back, the easier they flowed.  Many dropped from my cheek to stain her imbecilic letter.

Laying her letter down on the bench, I ripped the sling from my shoulder and grabbed the sledgehammer leaned against the wall.

”After all we’ve fucking been through!” I yelled and spun around, swinging the hammer in the process.  The head of the hammer smashes through the back window of her Jeep Wrangler.  The same Jeep I bought her for her birthday our first year together.

I swung the hammer again.

”You absolute!”

And again.

”Fucking!”

And again.

”Gutless!”

And once more.

”Heartless!”

One more for good measure.

”COWARRD!”

Dents now pock marked the once pristine driver side of the wrangler.  Shattered glass showered the garage floor.  My separated shoulder throbbed something fierce but the adrenaline of unbridled rage and fury subdued any associated pain.

Using the driver side tire as a step, I climbed to the hood of her lifted Jeep.  My heart raced and threatened to pound itself right out of my chest as I tore my shirt from my own back.  Covered in sweat and swinging the hammer like a mad man, I continued yelling at the woman that no longer heard me.  Over and over, I smashed her Jeep until it barely even resembled a Jeep.

Panting and out of breath, I climbed down to the floor, bringing the sledge with me.  Dragging it behind me, I made my way to the garage fridge and took out a trio of bottles of Miller High Life.  One I dumped over my head to cool down.  The second, I downed in just a few seconds.  The third, I twisted open and savored the first swig.

Still taking the sledge with me, I set my beer down on the fender of my GMC truck.  One more swing, I thought to myself before sending the sledge hammer through Lauren’s windshield.  Picking up my beer I stood outside the garage for a few moments to admire my handy work.  Her Wrangler was a total wreck now.  No body shop would bring this fucker back.

Maybe that was the point.

Maybe there was no point other than simply unleashing months of pent up rage and frustration.

With the adrenaline starting to decline, my separated shoulder flared up again.  Laying back on the concrete driveway I laugh aloud to myself.

”You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I laughed as I stared up at the stars.

”Dad?” Frankie called out, startling me.  Looking to my left, I saw the boy standing not more than five feet from where I laid.  ”Where’s mom?”