'Chicks are like this.'

The young couple saddled with child forked their instant spaghetti from the steaming aluminum tin. They argued amiably, sealing the fate of the future they each swore not to entertain, while the rest of us listened in. It was one of those greasy food hangover cures, eyes at half mast, the list of things to do insurmountable; general destitution ten touchy-feely feet away. Warily, I stink-eye the culprit, placing my hot pepper extra garlic slice between us, lack of a useable rosary and all. "She’s obviously upset about the car thing, but you know, mistakes happen. I always try to be there for her, but ..." I consider the possibility he’s a sociopath, who has simply figured out how to appear caring. His concern seems unnaturally underlined. Why are we going to Vegas, she asked. I wanted to go to the beach. I did it for us, honey. This is the trip we’ve been waiting for; I’m going to show my old haunts to you, the secret underside of the legend, you know? I’m almost glad I’m so wrecked, because I’m forced to listen. This is a man who loves to gamble; I never lose, he claimed. It’s a cinch to win. I wonder how many times the headstrong use lines like that, becoming weaker as they go. You’re losing now, I think. You simply aren’t aware the cards and dice are
metaphors.


A truck backfired, and I was too exhausted to jump. My ears rang high C, and they spoke as mimes would, with exaggerated facial expressions. The eidetic fog fell as the trees rustled to blow, and a cat pranced with a midget rat in mouth still wiggling its tail. The utter, compelling, disaster of home life radiated forwards, as I paced nervously to and from its emotional disclosure. I have a flashback to watching a squished mouse in the road while peaking on acid. One moment bliss, the next agony, spiraling down to darkness. The glue of the universe I recognized seemed to be de-tangling from itself, unbinding essential receptor sites, the flaws of causality occupied. A screaming match, and a door-slam synchronize minds at a distance, the resultant telephone call tripped the breaker which smoked the vintage, turn of the century wiring. Chicks are like this, Janet says. It’s sociobiological. Men can bounce around with different people and things, releasing attachments more easily. You have to be careful with us; we create scenarios stretching into the future we add to, and project upon. It’s extremely hard for us to disengage, once we’ve felt the deepest places with people we love. Which strikes me as (un)equal burden, and blessing. We remember everything you’ve done to hurt us; and from what point, forget the good intentions otherwise? I don’t know. We’re mysteries, to the mysteries of ourselves.