Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Wrong Side of the Bed
He stopped halfway down the stairs to yawn and stretch.
Down in the kitchen, his wife was already sitting at the table. Her hands were folded in front of a mug of tea.
"Hey," he said, scratching the back of his head. "You're up early."
"I didn't feel well," she said quietly.
She seemed very far away.
"Still now?" he said.
Her attention snapped to him. Something wild was in her eyes. It startled him.
"Does anything seem strange to you?" she said.
"Strange?" He glanced around the room. "Um, no.... Not especially."
Did he forgot to put the dishes in the dishwater?
Her hand flashed toward the window. It was shaking.
He nodded. "Looks like is going to be a beautiful day."
He backed away. "Jesus. Okay. Calm down. What's wrong?"
Now her voice trembled too. "At first, I doubted myself," she said, "but no, it's true. It's obvious. Everything is wrong. The light is wrong. The sun is in my face. It's glaring in my eyes when I'm making breakfast."
"I'm sorry," he said, now really worried. "I don't understand."
"Don't you SEE IT? For fuck's sake! The sun is rising in the WEST!"
He peered out.
"And when I looked outside, I saw the neighbors. It's trash day. And...." She was sobbing. "They're not right either. When they turned I saw they had, almost like they were, one kind of person in the front and another in the back."
Still curious about the sun, he spun around to get a better look with his sharper set of set of eyes. His male side was more of a morning person, but now his female half was finally chasing away the cobwebs. He cleared his female throat to continue the conversation.