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Restless
Restless
I tossed and turned in my sweat as the blankets slid further off me. Ouch! Tears sprang to my eyes as my elbow knocked into my night stand. I rolled back over onto my other side, trying to avoid getting any more bruises. These nightmares have got to stop, I thought to myself. I might as well get up before I break something.
I rolled over the side of my bed, landing on my feet. He was already there waiting for me when I reached my kitchen.
He used to scare me; the first time I saw him, I called the police. They didn’t find anything, told me that I must have just had a bad dream. I believed them… Until the next night. I came down to find him still in my kitchen, pleading for me to listen to him. I ran back up to my room and hid like a child. Since then I have tried everything from burning sage to yelling at him to leave; obviously, he’s still here. Finally, I just stood in the doorway. I waited for him to get up, to come at me, do anything. But he never did.
Tonight, I give in.
“This has to stop.” I said.
“Please, listen to me,” he pleaded. Just like the last three weeks. Every night, sitting at my kitchen table, staring down at his hands, he would plead that I listen to his story. He always sounded as if he had been crying.
“Fine,” I said, pulling out a chair. “What do you want?” It was too late at night to be pleasant to a guy you don’t know.
“Genevieve….” He sobbed.
“Who?”
“Genevieve... I love her.” He said, still staring at his hands. “I loved her so much…”
“What happened?”
“I killed her...” He covered his face with his hands. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. It just happened.” I stared in disbelief.
“You what?”
“We fought. She wanted to cut her hair. She had the most beautiful blond hair, you know.” He paused, as if at a loss for words. My hand reflexively went to my own. “She wanted to cut it short, didn’t like it in her face. I loved her hair. I yelled at her, we fought. It got bad real quick. She was going to leave me, went running through the house. She was nearly out the back door, I couldn’t lose her, couldn’t let her leave me. She had this pan, cast iron, used to make chicken in it. Best chicken in the world. I picked it up. I picked it up and I threw it at her, threw it real hard. Hit her square on, too. She was gone before she could scream.” His head was still in his hands.
“So, you killed your wife,” I said. “What do you want here?”
“She’s here,” he answered. He put his hands back on the table and again stared down at them.
“She’s not.”
“I can feel her.”
“We’re the only ones here.” His head started to tip up, slowly. It kept rising until he looked at me full on, our eyes locking.
I felt my skull split in two.
I was gone before I could scream.
I rolled over the side of my bed, landing on my feet. He was already there waiting for me when I reached my kitchen.
He used to scare me; the first time I saw him, I called the police. They didn’t find anything, told me that I must have just had a bad dream. I believed them… Until the next night. I came down to find him still in my kitchen, pleading for me to listen to him. I ran back up to my room and hid like a child. Since then I have tried everything from burning sage to yelling at him to leave; obviously, he’s still here. Finally, I just stood in the doorway. I waited for him to get up, to come at me, do anything. But he never did.
Tonight, I give in.
“This has to stop.” I said.
“Please, listen to me,” he pleaded. Just like the last three weeks. Every night, sitting at my kitchen table, staring down at his hands, he would plead that I listen to his story. He always sounded as if he had been crying.
“Fine,” I said, pulling out a chair. “What do you want?” It was too late at night to be pleasant to a guy you don’t know.
“Genevieve….” He sobbed.
“Who?”
“Genevieve... I love her.” He said, still staring at his hands. “I loved her so much…”
“What happened?”
“I killed her...” He covered his face with his hands. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. It just happened.” I stared in disbelief.
“You what?”
“We fought. She wanted to cut her hair. She had the most beautiful blond hair, you know.” He paused, as if at a loss for words. My hand reflexively went to my own. “She wanted to cut it short, didn’t like it in her face. I loved her hair. I yelled at her, we fought. It got bad real quick. She was going to leave me, went running through the house. She was nearly out the back door, I couldn’t lose her, couldn’t let her leave me. She had this pan, cast iron, used to make chicken in it. Best chicken in the world. I picked it up. I picked it up and I threw it at her, threw it real hard. Hit her square on, too. She was gone before she could scream.” His head was still in his hands.
“So, you killed your wife,” I said. “What do you want here?”
“She’s here,” he answered. He put his hands back on the table and again stared down at them.
“She’s not.”
“I can feel her.”
“We’re the only ones here.” His head started to tip up, slowly. It kept rising until he looked at me full on, our eyes locking.
I felt my skull split in two.
I was gone before I could scream.