Untitled

I hesitate before opening the glass door to the living room, thinking what it is I forget? My shoes… yes shoes are not allowed on the living room floor; (it’s been everywhere) bare feet also (it leaves footprints on the dark wood that (she) can (be) see(n) from miles) Socks on the other hand would do if they are made of cotton and freshly washed and never been anywhere but here. Are my hands clean? How about my nails? Ok… I think I’m ready.

I found here on the big teak carved wooden bench (which had cost a fortune) by the window reading Catherine Cookson’s novel (where she gets that? I thought she ran out of books a long time ago?) wearing a paint splattered jogging suit (God! She has endless supply of paint splattered jogging suits) and a bandana (those too) she look me up and down and right away I feel like a little kid, clumsy and unable.

It’s ridiculous! I tried to get hold of myself (without success) I’m 37 years old, an engineer and a manager, I command people, lead projects, organize meetings and stand up to people more successful, tougher and more shrewd than she is but they can never make me feel like a failure.

Even now with my Armani suit she can reduce me into nothing with just one glance. And I love her.

If someone would ask me why I can’t give any decent answer than I don’t know. Of course she’s all that and beyond but that is not the reason why I would rather lost everything as long as she stays. But I never been secure that she will from day one. She’s good at making everyone feels that way. I heard.

I know she’s angry. She’s always angry, irritated, dissatisfied, annoyed disappointed and disillusioned with me. I know she would criticize my paint job on the ceiling last night. But I did my best! I know I’m slow, inefficient, disorganized and clumsy but I’m doing my best. It’s a fact that she does everything better, quicker, more effective and dynamic than I could ever dream of achieving but I am doing my best! I hardly sleep lately, my work begins to suffer. I know it’s my entire fault! If I could only be more competent… if I could only please her… but I don’t know how!

Everyday I tried. My goal is to make her happy. Anything could happen as long as she’s happy. I wake up every morning with a promise to myself that today I would make it right. But I never did! My entire life is running after the mistakes I made and trying to make them right, but I never could. Seems I always do the wrong things. Lost the way, forget the key, being slow to understand her, not quick enough to finish what she asked. I have no time to deal with the tasks I would like to work with because I’m always running behind the things she told me to do! I know it’s my own fault, if I could only be more systematic… then maybe I could be useful. But I can’t. I think I am, learning I mean… but she still gets angry, so I know I’m not.

So, here I am (again) in front of her, waiting (patiently what it is I do (wrong) and didn’t do (good) this time, praying I will not infuriate her further by giving the wrong answers (excuses she calls them) that I will not cause one of those fierce tantrums or a nervous breakdown which may or may not land her in the hospital so I could feel even more guilty.

The moment she opens her mouth I brace myself. God help me. I love her…

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9 thoughts on “Untitled”

  1. So many mysteries. Who is this fanatical woman who is such a perfectionist about her floors but who wears paint-splattered clothes? What is her relationship to you? Mother? Wife? Boss? Is the narrator female or male? Your descriptions and the tension you build are remarkable. I love your worrying about your fingernails and your repetitions. I like the mysteries. This is a skillful work of prose, Idaho. http://judydykstrabrown.com/2015/09/08/the-old-and-unrested/

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      1. But I like very much that you don’t reveal these things. Your poem can be seen in so many different ways depending on how the reader projects himself or herself into it.

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