Unhappy Family

short story

 

   It had been another exhausting day for Michael. His work consisted of seeing a new emotionally unstable patient every hour. The entire day he got paid upwards of the hundreds to listen to these people’s trivial problems. At the end of their spiel he would give them solutions, yet he couldn't even fix his own problems. At home he had a chronically unhappy wife who spent her days crying, frequenting the gym, and taking care of the daughter, Erica. The two of them had a yapping Dachshund also, and a six month old daughter who used to be adorable, but now cried through the night with no break. He never wanted to go home, but he never wanted to stay at work. He never once thought of an affair, even though he was lonely and their love was distant. Often he spent the night sitting in a bar, watching young couples flirt and laugh. These nights left him wondering what the hell had happened to his life.

 

   As he drove home from the bar tonight, he had to fight the heavy blanket of sleep. After a couple of shots of whiskey on an empty stomach, he called it a night at the bar a few hours ahead. A smart decision for the patrons at the bar, but possibly not for him or anybody else on the road. Numerous times he had to pull over to get himself together. Finally, he stopped and stumbled into a Safeway for an energy drink to wake him up. Minutes later, turning into his driveway he made it out of the car and grabbed his suitcase. Popping a piece of fresh mint gum into his mouth, he made his way to the front door. His house looked like something out of a television soap or sitcom. He had a two bedroom home in a nice suburban neighborhood, just like his parents. Technically, he had everything he had ever aspired to: a house, a family, money. Yet it didn’t seem to matter. Things just seemed to keep falling apart.

 

   Turning the key into the locked door, the house was dead silent but for the stereo upstairs. His baby girl must have finally fallen asleep for a bit, and relief hit to have make it back before she was awake. A hangover already loomed over him expectantly, and he was not in the mood to hear her scream.

 

   Each stair felt like the breaking of a barrier of reality or illusion. He thought of all he had to do before going to bed: shower, shave, sit out his suit for tomorrow, and go over some patient’s files. Drinking and bar hopping could not go on forever. Unfortunately, everything seemed tedious, and he wondered what he might be able to leave out. His wife would probably be awake, watching a movie or writing. Would she speak to him? Did he even want her too?

 

   The closer his steps came to the bedroom, the louder the music became. Confusion crept on him the faster he walked down the hallway, and aggravation followed suit. He didn’t want Erica to be awoken, and he couldn’t understand why his wife would have the music so incredibly loud. It wasn’t like her to be rowdy, and especially not at 11:30 P.M. If anything, he thought she would be asleep. As the door knob became in reach, he pulled and turned, only to immediately regret the decision.

 

   His wife looked up from underneath the man's body, tresses of brunette hair matted against her now red skin. The man's head whipped around quickly, and both faces gaped in astonishment. The man was a co-worker from the hospital who had spoken to Michael a few times. Betrayal and shock set in and he simply stood as his suitcase slipped out of his hand. Papers fell out and swished across the wooden floor to the beat of monotone apologies and hysterical tears.

   “It…it’s not what you think. I promise it will never happen again".

   The man stood and walked out the room quickly with his clothing, mumbling a name that sounded familiar. His wife just stared him in the eyes, then shifted her gaze to the floor and back up again. Her body was covered by bed sheets, now inappropriate and unappealing.  Her eyes shift back up to him, her mouth loosening from a pout.

   "Get out of my bed!” Michael shouts.

   "This is my bed too.”

   “Not now.”

   He punched the wall and she scurried up, grabbing her dress and undergarments on her way out. "I'll come back once you’re sober. Maybe never.”

    Her words echoed against her footsteps on the staircase. With every step and echo, it felt as if it fell directly on his heart. He knew she would be taking Erica with her. His heart beat thumped and his hands shook. Looking down, there lay the same paperwork that needed dealing before this mess. Patients and doctors would not be amused that it didn't get done just because of a possible divorce. Separation. Whatever.

   With another bottle of Jameson, everything would be done: the paperwork. The affair. His life. The temptation stood, lingered, but he did not bate. Amongst the darkness, there is always light.

 

 

Author's Note

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