Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Haunt Me

"Can cockroaches walk on ceilings?"

"Can what do what?"

"Cockroaches. Can they walk on ceilings?"

"What time is it?"

"One or so."

"Are you, in your insomnia, considering writing an insect manual?"

"I think one fell into my hair."

"An insect manual?"

"No, asshole, a cockroach."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because I was staring at this black spot on the ceiling and then it was gone, and then I heard something skitter over my pillow."

"How can you see a black spot on the ceiling? The whole motel room is a black spot."

"My eyes adjusted."

"Are you a cat? You were probably just seeing your own cataract."

"I don't have a cataract."

"That you know of."

"Let's go back to your sister's place. I can't stay here."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm gonna stay up all night worrying that cockroaches are falling from the ceiling into my hair."

"Let's watch some TV, then. Let's open the moscato, watch TV, and, eventually, fall asleep."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm too creeped out."

"Wanna sleep in the car?"

"It's too cold."

"We could fuck for warmth."

"Stop joking."

"Who says I'm joking?"

"Can we just please go back to Cindy's?"

"It's seventy miles. You might be wide awake, but I'm dead tired, and I'd likely fall asleep and crash into an oak tree. What's worse, suffering an imaginary cockroach for one night or dying in a blazing wreck beneath an old hoary poplar?"

"I don't think an oak tree is a poplar, Steven."

"Well, neither is a cataract a cockroach! Maybe it was an earwig! I have it on good authority that they can walk on ceilings."

"You're such a fucking prick."

"Maybe, but at least I'm not hallucinating an insectoid downpour. Do me a favor and shut the hell up, lest you provoke the wrath of the beetles and the locusts."

"Fuck you and your smarm."

"Big words from such a tiny woman."

"Small words from such a humongous son of a bitch."

"You want me to elucidate? Fine! Webster's defines you as a controlling whore who never finds fault in herself, only in me. You cook like a prison chef, have as much grace as a drug addict, and can't tell the difference between a butterfly and a moth, a mushroom and a toadstool. You want everyone to wait on you hand and foot, but you never reciprocate. You chastise me if I sleep in on Sundays and expect me to sympathize when you come home late on Fridays. You deride me in public to the people we know. You can't spell worth a damn, and that's why you suck at Scrabble!"

"That was low."

"I'm just warming up!"

"I'm leaving."

"Where are you going to go? Have fun sleeping in the woods! It's almost as cold outside as your frozen snatch!"

[door slams]







"Gwenneth York?"


"Gwen, stop fooling. Can you hear me?"

"Gwen, a hornet stung me. Can you grab my EpiPen?"

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